The Black Ring

Chapter Two: Procession of Tears

The wind shifted, blowing from the southwest, and the Scaled one's nostrils flared as it caught the scent of mare-flesh. The beast's amber eyes studied the harbormaster's warhorse with carnivorous intent, its sickle-like talons rapping against the cobblestones in a steady rhythm, as it peered at the stallion with hungry eyes. The horse reared in terror at the presence of the scaled war-beast, a pitched shriek escaping its lip as the harbormaster pulled back on the reins of his steed in a stream of curses. Darius pretended not to notice, drawing spike up short with a good-natured kick to his flanks, as he read the missive the harbormaster had handed to him.

The Hunting Maiden rode uneasily in the algae-infested waters of Vor Surya. Its moorings twisting and aching as the leading edge of a thunderous rainstorm lashed at the walls of the city in gusts of frigid rain and cold winds. The black masts of scores of Drukerian reavers cluttered the skies of the waterfront like a thorny forest of black spears. Fully two-thirds of Imani's agile fleet was anchored at Vor Surya during the last vestiges of the summer months, right before the coming of winter, and the freezing over of the straits that led to the open ocean.

The City of Chains lay in a broad valley bounded by the barren crags of the Redspire mountains. Dry docks, warehouses, and slave quarters covered the river's eastern shore while tall manors and narrow streets rose in the west. The noble citizens of the city kept their docks on the western coast as well, and Darius had bribed the harbormaster a substantial sum of gold and silver for the power to temporarily claim one of the highborn docks as his own. Three bridges of stone and iron connected the two halves of Vor Surya, and it was common knowledge that the nobles of the city paid bands of thugs to extort 'tolls' from travelers crossing in either direction. Any other day Darius would have savored such a confrontation, but not with almost two hundred Assanian slaves in tow. The sounds of their scraping chains ringing through the air, as the two lines of a hundred slaves each, hobbled and shuffled their way down the extended gangway of the Hunting Maiden.

Darius's small Warband of a dozen nobles mounted on Scaled Ones and a company of spear-armed mercenaries surrounded the shivering slaves on the granite landing. A handful of taskmasters kept the Assanian's in line with the flickering tongues of their long whips, while the troops turned their gaze outwards, monitoring the three narrow approaches leading to the quay and the small windows of the surrounding buildings. Nearly five hours had passed while the ship's hands had offloaded the volatile Dromeosaurs, the slaves, and finally the warbands baggage. Night was soon approaching, and every passing minute set Darius further on edge. The sooner he was out on the road to Nul Archid, the better, he thought, his mind turning over to the missive that he held in his gloved hands. The letter had been waiting for Darius when the Hunting Maiden arrived, delivered by the harbormaster, Jorhan, when he'd come to collect his payment.

The noble turned the little packet over in his gloved hands, lazily checking for hidden needles or razor edges. It was a fine, light stock, sealed with a blob of red wax and a sigil of a blackened dagger, the imagery sparking a sense of familiarity within Darius as he peered at the icon. Then, groaning, he pulled out a thin-bladed dagger from the side of his boot and sliced the letter open with lazy efficiency. Inside a single sheet of wrinkled paper. Darius stifled an irritable gnarl and held the paper close to his face, trying to make out the barely-legible handwriting.

To the illustrious and great Lord Darius, honored son of the dread prince Kurhan Ironblade, greetings: I pray this letter finds you complete with victory, and I hope your belly is full from the raiding season. Though we have not met before, your name is well known through the black court. Recently I've come to possess certain family secrets, that I imagine will be of great service for one so cunning as yourself. I await your comfort at the Court of Iron, dread lord, stay safe on your travels, and watch the hills.