Free Obsidian Ridge by Jess Lebow

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