Stones continued to fall from the black mountain, splattering their sharp, jagged bits across the ground like raindrops in a mud puddle. The captain and his men waited, but there was no response.
Clearing his throat, the captain continued. 'We have come with the intention of negotiating the peaceful retreat of the Obsidian Ridge from the Kingdom of Erlkazar. We do not wish this meeting to become a hostile conflict, but we are prepared to defend our home with any means necessary.' The captain paused, chewing on his next words. 'Even bloodshed.'
No response.
'We respectfully request-'
The captain's message was cut short by the sound of grinding stone. The heavy doors that hung inside the hand-hewn archways slowly opened. The dripping stones falling from the edge of the fortress came down harder, a light drizzle becoming a rainstorm.
Black shapes poured out of the doors. They rolled down the sides of the citadel, dropping off the base and joining the shower of jagged obsidian. When they landed on the ground, they did not shatter-they unfurled.
Like men, they stood on two legs. But that is where the similarities ended. Their skin resembled the broken bits of obsidian littering the ground-smooth, shiny, and pitch black. Tufts of course black hair covered their bodies in patches. Their heads were long and thin; teeth like those of a wild boar; hands covered in spiky bone and long sharp obsidian claws; eyes, light blue circles against huge pure black pupils; hooves in place of feet; and long thin tails with wicked-looking barbs at their tips.
'May Helm have mercy on my soul,' whispered the captain.
That was all he had time to say. The foul beasts pounced upon the front row of cavalry, sinking their teeth into soldier and mount alike. The sounds of bodies breaking and flesh being torn from bone wafted out into the plain. The screams of dying men and horses echoed under the obsidian citadel.
The cascade of black beasts from the floating mountain grew. The creatures poured down on the heads of the king's army. The soldiers' swords broke their peace bonds, but they rarely had time to do much else. The creatures were swift and merciless. They tore into the cavalry with the vigor of hungry dragons. And as quickly as the rain of death started, it ended.
All five hundred men in the unit lay dead, dismembered, or pulverized. Their mounts lay with them, many resembling little more than wrinkled shreds of flesh and mingled piles of intestine, stomach, and broken bone. The field was muddy from the dirt mixing with the puddles of blood.
The beasts let out a cacophony of satisfied wails, then piled atop one another, building a ladder out of their bodies until they could reach the citadel's base with their razor claws. Climbing over each others' backs, moving as one, they scrambled back up into the open archways, leaving their carnage behind.
When the last of them had returned from whence they came, the stone doors swung closed, their heavy grinding signaling the answer of the Lord of the Obsidian Ridge.
Chapter Eight
The long journey back to Llorbauth from Duhlnarim was finally over. It had been early morning when the Claw left Klarsamryn, but he returned in total darkness.
Though inconveniently timed, the information he'd retrieved from Captain Beetlestone would be of great use in his fight against the Elixir trade. But right now, the king's assassin was preoccupied with the gigantic floating volcano perched over Llorbauth and the developing plot against the king's life.
A row of low hedges had been planted just outside the southern edge of the palace. The groundskeeper, in her infinite wisdom, had placed them several strides away from the building, so they had room to grow and mature. After almost ten years, the hedges were still considered young. Though they were not very tall, they were quite full, and the space between them and the palace gave the Claw easy, unobserved access to and from the courtyard where he nightly met the princess.
Tonight was just like most other nights. The outer buildings that surrounded their rendezvous were shut up tight. The spring air was warm, and the new blossoms on the trees filled the courtyard with their sweet fragrance-a romantic place for a late night meeting.
Coming around the corner, the Claw passed the tall statue of Mariko's mother, the queen. She was posed with an open book in her hands, looking down at the pages. Every time he came into the courtyard, the Claw couldn't help but think that she was watching him. He wondered sometimes whether or not she would approve of his rendezvous with the princess.
Slipping past the statue, he entered the courtyard and made his way to their meeting spot near the center. He was quite late, but despite his tardiness, he was the first to arrive. That was unusual but not unheard of. Especially considering the arrival of the black fortress.
Still, something wasn't right. And after waiting in the courtyard for some time, he started to get concerned. The sun would be coming up soon, and with every passing moment, the chances of meeting the princess were growing smaller.
The Claw's long day had become even longer. As he slipped out the way he had come, he glanced up at the stone carving of the queen.
'I'll find her,' he said.
Then he headed down the thinly paved road toward the docks-the stomping grounds of Llorbauth's underworld.
+++++
The shadows near the Obsidian Ridge seemed unnaturally dark. Even in the dead of night, the looming citadel cast a pall over the homes and lives of everyone in Llorbauth.
Though he was still quite a ways away, traversing the road from the palace to the docks was the closest the Claw had been to the hulking mountain. More than simple blackness, or even the foreboding sense of unease that it gave off, there was power here. Great power. He couldn't be certain, but he could have sworn he heard a high- pitched humming, as if the entire citadel were vibrating, pushing the air around it.
Moving cautiously through the trees and brush along the side of the road, the king's assassin froze in his tracks.
He heard voices carrying on the wind. At least two, maybe more. He stopped to listen. They were gruff and deep, and it sounded as if they were just up ahead.
Slipping quietly through the brush, he approached what appeared to be two men. Both on horseback, they sat in their saddles, looking this way and that in the middle of a tight curve on the main road.
'They better get here soon,' said one. 'I'm not all that happy about waiting for our Elixir in the shadow of that… thing.'
'Nor am I,' replied the other.
Moving in a little closer, the Claw crouched in the heavy brush only a few steps away. From this part of the road, neither the palace nor the entrance to the docks were visible- the ideal location for an illicit rendezvous.
'Do you hear that?' asked one of the men.
The Claw didn't move. His heart raced. He'd been preoccupied with the Obsidian Ridge. Had he given himself away?
'I heard nothing,' said the other.
'No, listen,' insisted the first. 'Coming from the docks.'
The sound of horses drifted in off the water and mingled with the breeze rustling the leaves. Then a coach came into view. A driver and a guard sat up front, side by side on a single wooden bench. Both jingled with chain mail.
The carriage had two compartments, a traditional one right behind the driver, and another attached to the top for more important passengers. The upper box had curtains across its windows. The Claw recognized the coach. It had been custom made, and there was only one like it in the kingdom.
The man inside was one of the most notorious wizards-for-hire in all of Erlkazar. He had cashed in on the Elixir trade, traveling from town to town, selling bottled potions to the highest bidder. But unlike many of the cheats and swindlers, this man sold the real deal.
