Jess Lebow - Obsidian Ridge

Slipping his sword into his belt, the king stepped up beside the head of the Magistrates and slapped him on the arm.

"Let's go take back our palace," said Korox.

The two men stepped out of the door and made their way down the hall.

In the short time between being attacked in his bed and pulling on his armor, the portcullis had been breached and the great hall swamped with invaders. This was the first time since Erlkazar had become a country independent from Tethyr that the halls of its capitol had been breached by an enemy.

King Korox picked up his pace. Today was not going to be the day Klarsamryn fell.

Down the hall and through his private entrance, King Korox and Captain Kaden stepped into the audience chamber-and into the pages of history.

What had been designed as a place of peace, a place of negotiations, a place where the ruler of Erlkazar could conduct his business without being perceived as a tyrant, there now raged a horrific battle.

Malicious, misshapen beasts from the Obsidian Ridge swarmed in every corner. They blotted out the light. Anything bright or good about this room was swallowed by their darkness and evil. The white marble floor ran red with blood. The statues that adorned the outer wall were all torn from their stands, many smashed to bits. Even the ceiling, with its painted reminder of the dark days of Eleint, was not left unscathed-a soldier's sword jutted from the stone overhead, its edge dripping with black ichor.

In the center of it all, Magistrates stood back to back, their swords striking in unison, their movements frantic as they fought for their lives. Mixed into the melee were soldiers from the regular army, their uniforms less elaborate, but their skill in battle no less sharp. And on the edge, spilling from the many secret doors that fed into and out of this chamber, came the Watchers, Princess Mariko's spies and the king's eyes in Erlkazar.

The seat of power was under attack. Lines of battle and discipline had broken down, devolving into a free-for-all. One look at the faces of the men and women fighting to defend the throne of their king and it was clear. Everything they stood for, everything they had ever held sacred, was in jeopardy, and they fought now not just for honor and duty. They fought now because this fight was all they had left, for if they did not win, all that they knew would be gone.

King Korox Morkann pulled his enchanted blade from its sheath. With one step and one stroke, he cut down a black beast. With another step and another swing, he cut down a second. And so it continued, Captain Kaden at his side. The King of Erlkazar fought his way to the center of this swirling melee. He fought his way through the teeth and the mass of twisted blackened muscle until he reached his throne on its dais.

Dispatching the beast that sat upon it, he placed his foot upon the seat and lifted himself up to stand above the fight. There, poised atop his throne, Korox lifted his sword high in the air, looking down on his soldiers, the Magistrates, and the Watchers.

"For Erlkazar!" he shouted.

And in the next moment, he disappeared from view, buried by a pile of shiny black flesh.

Quinn made his way through the dark passage, the spell cast on his open palm lighting his way. He scanned ahead as he marched, not sure what he would find but hoping that he found it before it found him.

He waved his magical light over the wall at the next corner-and it lit up like the full moon on the clearest of nights.

"Trap!" shouted Evelyne, dodging back.

But Quinn shook her off. "Shh. This is no trap."

Stepping up to the stone, he traced the line of light with his index finger, mimicking the lit symbol that had appeared when his own light had hit it. For the first time since arriving in the Cellar he finally had some hope.

"What are you doing?" Evelyne came up behind him, still cautious.

Quinn smiled at her and lifted his hand, showing her the glowing symbol on his palm-it perfectly matched the one on the wall.

"It's the princess's sigil," he said. "She's alive, or was not that long ago." His smile grew even wider, and he pulled Evelyne along down the hallway. "Hurry. We're on the right track."

+++++

A gasp went up in the audience chamber as Korox disappeared under a pile of black creatures.

"To the king!" shouted Captain Kaden.

The grunted exertions of men and the sound of metal cutting into flesh grew to a cacophony. This was not the entirety of Erlkazar's fighting forces, not even close, but each of the nearly one thousand warriors who fought inside the palace had become a berserker. Each had found the strength of ten soldiers. And blood continued to spill, as those warriors fought and died.

They moved as a group, each trying to reach the same goal, converging on the back center of the audience chamber and the raised dais that was now a swarming mass of shiny black beasts. They hacked, shoved, and slashed, aware even without words that every strike counted, that every moment they were unable to see their king meant that the chances of him coming back to them was diminished. And they fought all the harder for it.

A shout rang out through the hall. This was not the sound of a dying man. It was not the horror of a solider being torn to bits or the shriek of pain the beasts let out when pinned to the floor. No, this was the victorious shout of a conqueror, the sound of a man who led through not only his words but also his actions.

It was the defiant roar of a king.

The mass of twisting black flesh burst up and away from the throne. And in the middle, appearing from the attacking beasts like a phoenix from the flames, Korox Morkann arose.

His helm had been torn from his head. Bits of blackened flesh streaked his armor. Blood covered his face. But he arose nonetheless, a beacon in the dark, a sight to behold in the middle of his besieged audience chamber. "To me!" he shouted.

The king cut down the black beasts with each swing of his blade. His soldiers pressed in, clearing the floor between them and him until finally they had reached their goal. Until they were beside him.

Regrouped at the top of the room, the king led his army onward. Diving back into the flood of attackers, he made them pay for their impudence-and they made him pay right back. For every beast the king and his warriors slew, two soldiers fell.

It was a war of attrition. Had he stopped to think about it, Korox would never have fought this way. He never would have willingly sacrificed so many of his brave men and women to fight such a foe. But he had not started this war, nor had he picked this battlefield.

Slowly the audience chamber cleared. Slowly they grew closer to victory, pressing the invaders in an organized fashion out the door and toward the portcullis. If they had to, they would clear Klarsamryn one room at a time until they took back that what belonged to them.

Bursting through, they swept into the great hall, pushing back the invaders all the while. Victory was within reach. The light at the end of the chamber came in over the drawbridge. If they could reach the entrance, they could win back the day.

Mere moments away from completing their victory, their momentum stalled. Their push came to a halt as the light at the end of the drawbridge went black and a huge second wave of beasts from the Obsidian Ridge crashed into the front of the palace.

It flooded past the portcullis, swamping the great hall, turning the tide on King Korox and his warriors.

The creatures scampered up the walls, filled the ceiling, and surrounded the remainder of the Erlkazarians in the great hall. The king's offensive became a defensive, and the surviving warriors encircled their king, preparing to fight to the death. The beasts closed on them, their numbers growing by the moment.