The man was thin and rather sickly looking-not exactly as the Claw had imagined him. He wore fine, red velvet robes and sported a well-waxed moustache on the front of his narrow face. Lying on the ground, he pressed his robes against the pumping wounds, moaning.
"Please," he said, sobbing and rocking side to side. "I've done nothing. You have the wrong man."
The doors to the lower compartment were still wide open. The inside was full, stacked to the ceiling with sealed crates. Smashing his fist through the wooden top of the first crate, the Claw pulled out a flask of the brownish Elixir.
"So," he said, holding up the proof. "You're not involved in the Elixir trade?"
"That's not what it looks like." The wizard held up his one good hand. "They're just… just healing potions."
The Claw popped open the cork on the flask. "Really? Healing potions?" He looked down at the gushing wounds on the man's right arm. "Looks like you need one now."
Grabbing the wizard by the back of the head, he forced the open bottle into his mouth. "Drink."
The scrawny man struggled against the bigger man's grasp, twisting, spitting, and gasping for air. The Claw gripped a handful of hair and tilted his head back, forcing the flask deeper into his mouth. The thick brownish liquid spilled out the sides of his mouth and drizzled down his cheeks. But despite his attempts to keep it out, the wizard eventually swallowed several large gulps.
The Claw tossed away the empty bottle and shoved the peddler back onto the ground. Scrambling backward away from his attacker, the wizard gagged and coughed, gasping for air.
"Are you-" The wizard convulsed and vomited all over himself-"crazy? You almost killed… almost…" His head began to loll back and forth on his shoulders. His eyes grew dim, closing part way. "Almost… almost killed… killed… me." Slipping backward on the viscous liquid, the wizard tried to hold himself up. He tried to stand, but only got part way to sitting, a confused look on his face.
The Claw lifted the wizard by the front of his robes. Placing his hand on the scrawny man's forehead, he pried his eyelid up with his thumb. The wizard's pupils were completely black, fully dilated, and his eyes were darting back and forth.
The Claw looked down the road, where the trees blocked the view to the docks beyond. The princess could take care of herself. Right now, duty called.
Lifting the wizard off of his feet, the Claw flopped the man's incapacitated body over the saddle on one of the horses. He ripped a strip of the man's robe off and tied a bandage around his arm. He pulled a tinderbox from under his cape, lit a piece of parchment, and tossed it inside the open door of the carriage. The dry wood of the Elixir crates ignited, and soon the flames reached out to wrap the rest of the carriage in their embrace.
The Claw grabbed hold of the reins and lifted himself onto the horse. Adjusting the limp body of the wizard on the saddle behind him, he took one look back. "Healing potions, huh?"
The coach erupted in flame as the Elixir caught fire.
Chapter Nine
A complete slaughter. Not a single man or horse returned alive. The horror of the situation lay heavy on the shoulders of King Korox. He'd been pacing the length of his audience chamber for some time, receiving reports from his scouts and weighing his battle options. He sat now in his throne, his heart darkened. Evacuation, it seemed, was a very real option.
The sun was rising, and he had not yet been to bed. His head was full of thoughts-of the men who had been lost; of Five Spears Hold, the closest, safest location to send refugees if and when he gave the evacuation order; and of the newest threat posed to his kingdom, the hulking, blackened citadel that blotted out the daylight and cast fear upon the hearts of every citizen in Llorbauth.
"You cannot blame yourself for what happened."
Korox looked up to see Senator Divian standing at the entrance of the audience chamber.
"Can't I?"
The senator smiled. "Well, you are the king, so I suppose that means you can do whatever you please."
He smiled back, weakly. "That's what I'm told."
The senator sat down on the steps of the dais, at the foot of the king's throne. "It wasn't you who killed those men. You were only trying to protect the people of this kingdom."
"Tell that to those soldiers."
"Oh, come now," the senator scolded. "You know better than most that the life of a soldier is a perilous one at best. Those men knew what they were getting into. They were men of honor, men of duty, and they proudly served Korox Morkann, the Warrior King."
"You make me sound so glorious for having sent an entire unit of men to their deaths."
Senator Divian placed her hand on his leg. "It was not your actions that struck those men dead. And that may not be the only hard decision you have to make in the coming days."
The king scratched his head. "But you were against the decision to send men out there in the first place."
The senator shook her head. "That's not true. At the time, we did not know what we were dealing with or what that thing wanted."
"We still don't," reminded the king.
"No," she conceded, "but I think there is little doubt that whatever it wants, it means to do us some harm if it doesn't get it. And for what it's worth, I think you did the right thing-for Erlkazar."
The king took in a deep breath and nodded. He sat in silence, the senator at his side, mulling over the choices he'd made and would have to make.
Whitman's voice broke his quiet contemplation.
"My lord!" The scribe's boots made a loud clopping sound across the marble floor. "My lord, there appears to be a message for you outside the palace gates."
"A message? From whom?"
Whitman stopped in front of the throne. "From… from that thing-the ruler of the Obsidian Ridge."
The king leaped to his feet. "Why was it not brought to me?
"Uh…" Whitman fumbled for a moment. "My lord, it's… it's-"
"It's what, Whitman? I don't have time for your mumbling. Spit it out."
"The message is inscribed on a giant slab of stone. It cannot be moved."
The king looked at the senator, questioning her with his eyes. She shrugged, just as confused as he.
"You say it's at the palace gates." The king made a move for the door, his bodyguard Quinn right behind him, Senator Divian a close second.
Whitman followed. "Yes, my lord."
Down the steps into the great hall, the king collected followers like rats to a piper. They fell into step behind, wondering, he assumed, what the message from the Obsidian Ridge would bring to light.
Outside of the keep, a crowd of servants and court functionaries were already gathered. Though the drawbridge was down, and the heavy wooden doors were open, the portcullis that protected the gateway was shut-a sign that not all was well in Erlkazar.
"Step aside!" shouted Whitman. "Make way for King Korox!"
The crowd, previously too preoccupied with the sight before them, now turned and parted. They bowed their heads, many dropping to one knee before the king.
Korox looked at each one of them as he passed, nodding his acknowledgment. He knew these people, some better than others, but he knew them. He had grown up with many of them, and had seen them have many emotions. He had watched them celebrate the new harvest, cry over the death of close friends, rejoice at the birth of a new child. But as he looked upon them now, he saw something new-he saw fear. He knew how they felt. And though it was comforting to know that he was not the only one afraid of the floating black citadel, he also knew that these people were looking to him to bring them safely through this time of uncertainty.
Reaching the portcullis, Korox gazed out between its rough iron bars at a huge black obelisk. Carved completely out of obsidian, the enormous stone stood three times the height of a man, and it rested now just on the other side of the drawbridge. Words, written in Common, were inscribed on its surface, but from where he stood, the king couldn't make out what they said.