Obsidian Ridge - Jess Lebow [80]
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.
Then, just as quickly as they had arrived, the creatures stopped. They held their ground, pawing at the floor, growling at the soldiers, their advance halted.
"What are they doing?" asked Captain Kaden, his eyes wide, his back to the king.
"I do not know," replied Korox, breathing hard from the exertion. "But something tells me we're about to find out."
The mob of horrific beasts parted, lining up in an organized row and leaving a narrow passage that stretched out under the portcullis and across the drawbridge. What had been a chaotic, bloodthirsty horde had become a disciplined, organized army standing at attention.
Down the center of their ranks walked a hunched, disfigured man.
He wore the trappings of a mage-robes instead of armor, a wand in his belt instead of a sword, and wrinkles upon his face instead of scars. He walked upright on two legs, had two eyes, arms, and hands, but that was where the similarity between this figure and the rest of humanity ended.
His spine curved over itself as if it were trying to turn his whole body into a giant question mark. His back rose higher than his head, one shoulder more elevated than the other, and was marked mostly by a large, misshapen hump. His face, covered in blackened boils, was caved in, making his eyes bulge as he scanned