Free Obsidian Ridge by Jess Lebow Page A

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.”
    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.
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