"I've never seen anything like it." The leader of the Magistrates shook his head. "But whatever it is, we need to be ready to fight it."
"Are you suggesting that we send our army up against that… that abomination?" asked Senator Divian. "Do you think that is wise? We still don't know anything about it."
"What I am suggesting, Senator," said Kaden, "is that we must be ready to defend our home. And yes, one option is force."
"I hardly think provoking an attack from a magical foe is the correct course of action, Captain," said the Senator.
"Silence," said the king. "We have enough trouble without the two of you getting into one of your philosophical squabbles."
"Yes, my lord," replied Kaden, shooting the old cleric a nasty glare.
Senator Divian picked up her tome and crossed her arms, holding the book to her chest. She returned the captain's look. "As you wish, my king."
"Good. I will need the both of you on the same side if we are going to guide Erlkazar out of this in one piece."
Both nodded, but they continued to stare at one another, refusing to look away.
The sound of footsteps on the marble floor broke the awkward silence.
The king waited for the senator and the captain to break their gaze with one another before looking up himself to see that Quinn had returned.
The king's bodyguard escorted the late queen's tailor. The impeccably dressed old half-elf walked with the aid of a cane, and Quinn held his arm, helping him finish climbing the stairs.
"Plathus," said the king, relieved by the tension breaker and genuinely glad to see an old familiar face. "It's been a long time."
The half-elf, his back hunched from a century of bending over a needle and thread, ambled to the king and took his hand in greeting.
"Too long, I'm afraid," replied Plathus. "Your clothes are looking quite shabby."
The king smiled. "I see you haven't lost your charm."
"No, no," said the half-elf. "I've lost much of my eyesight, and many of my teeth, but not my charm." Reaching into a pocket on his vest, Plathus pulled out a tiny pair of spectacles and placed them on the bridge of his nose. "Now," he said, looking the king up and down. "What sort of garment did you have in mind?"
"Actually, Plathus, I have asked you here for another reason."
The half-elf lifted his nose. "Oh?"
"Yes," replied Korox. "I want to know if you've ever heard of or seen that." He pointed to the floating black mass hovering over Llorbauth.
Plathus followed the king's outstretched arm and gazed out over the balcony.
"Oh my." The old half-elf lost his balance and tottered sideways. His spectacles fell from his face, shattering as they hit the marble.
Kaden, Quinn, and the king all dashed to catch him, but they weren't fast enough, and Plathus spilled to the floor. His cane slipped from his hand, bouncing several times, and the harmonious knock of the solid silverwood filled the chamber.
"Are you hurt?" asked the king.
The old half-elf seemed confused and a little dazed. He checked himself over, looking in each of his pockets before nodding.
"No, no. I don't think so."
The king and Quinn helped him back to his feet.
Plathus grimaced sheepishly. "Thank you," he said, dusting himself off and trying to regain some of his dignity.
"So I take it you've seen this before," said Korox, handing him back his cane.
The old tailor pursed his lips, seriousness written on his face. "Not with my own eyes. But I have heard of it, have met others who have seen it hang in the sky."
"Do you know what it is?" asked the senator. "What it wants?"
"It is called the Obsidian Ridge," said Plathus. "At least, that is what we called it at the time. What it wants, I do not know."
"Do you know where it came from?" asked the king.
The tailor shook his head. "No. All I know is that no one will speak of the terrors that follow the arrival of the dark citadel. To speak of them gives them life. Makes them real-flesh and blood from shadow and hate."
"How long ago did it last appear?"
"It's hard to say." Plathus thought for a moment. "I was only a boy, and the elves who spoke of it were old themselves. Perhaps a hundred, two hundred years ago?" He shook his head.
"Did it appear here?" asked the senator. "In Erlkazar?"
"Erlkazar had not yet been conceived. It was still part of Tethyr, and the Crusaders who liberated her were not yet born." He shook his head, a grave look on his face. "No, this very thing appeared over Calimshan."
"What else can you tell us?" The king was growing more and more nervous with every word the old half-elf spoke.
"Just that you are right to be afraid-terribly afraid of the Obsidian Ridge."
"That's all you have to say?" said Senator Divian. "That we should be afraid? You know nothing else to say?"
The old half-elf leveled his gaze at the senator, the stern look of a disciplinarian about to scold a disobedient child. "I know that we are wasting time standing here talking." He turned back to the king. "We're in for a fight. And not a quick one. You'd do well to make preparations to defend Llorbauth." He bowed his head before his king. "My lord, the battle has not yet started, but I do believe we are at war."
An entire unit of the king's army rode out from the palace. Five hundred men strong, they carried the royal flag of Korox Morkann at their head-the twin red wyverns slithering as the fabric was pushed by the wind. Polished to a high shine, their armor reflected bright in the afternoon sun. The war-horses donned the livery of the kingdom of Erlkazar. The riders carried long swords, their hilts tied symbolically shut with peace ribbon.
It was the king's great hope that they would not need to use their blades-not against this foe, not today, not ever. The peace ribbon had been the compromise he had made to appease Senator Divian. If his army was going to ride out to meet this threat, at least they could arrive with the illusion that they were willing to negotiate. Or so the senator argued.
The shadow of the Obsidian Ridge had grown longer as the day had gone on. And the riders' armor, reflective and bright, went dark and dull as they rode into its embrace. The captain at the head of the column held up his hand, and the well-disciplined unit of cavalry came, as one, to a stop.
The captain looked up at the floating citadel. If possible, it was even more imposing up close. The black stone that formed the fortress's base looked as if it had simply been ripped from the earth. Like a huge hand had reached down from out of the sky, grabbed the ridge, and tore it from its home-leaving a gaping hole in the ground and taking with it most of a mountain range.
Broken stone seemed to drip from the mountain's surface. Angular boulders tumbled over each other, shattering and re-shattering as they crashed into the sides of the citadel, only to fall off the base into the open air, ultimately burying their sharp edges in the ground below.
The captain swallowed hard. He'd been sent here with a message for whoever or whatever was inside.
"In the name of King Korox Morkann, the capital city of Llorbauth, the Barony of Shalanar, and the Kingdom of Erlkazar, we come to speak with the lord of the Obsidian Ridge!" His words echoed in the chasm between the floating citadel and the city below.
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."