The Black Ring

Chapter Three: Judgment

Orange light seeped through the excellent crystal skylight of the audience chamber, bathing the inner court with a boreal display of moving, unsettling tangerine light. Darius clenched his teeth at the humid breeze that kissed his face. Unhinged fear trickled down his spine as he stared at the darkened figure before him. High upon a circular dais in the center of the vaulted room, the warlord of Nul Archid, merciless fist of the Hag King, loomed like a nightmare before his subjects. He bore his station's ancient sorcery in scrolled armor, an intricate combat harness constructed of obsidian skithian plates, burgundy dragon scales, and cunningly-forged hooks. Firey light and humid steam seethed from the seams in the armor and the eyes of the ornate helm that was expertly crafted into the face of a snarling viper. The joints of his armor cried like the souls of the damned, with every shift of his imposing figure. Two freshly decapitated heads hung from the hooks attached to his belt and the heavily curved saber he clutched in his left hand steamed with hot gore. His right hand was enclosed in a thin fingered armored gauntlet laced with thousands of tiny glowing sigils. In that vice-like grip, a noble writhed in her own blood and filth, her eyes glinting with fear and pain as the warlord's right hand pulverized the bones in her neck. The noble saw only darkness, black and absolute, but he uttered not a single sound. 

The ashen faces of the court shone like spirits in the chamber's uneasy light, bearing the highborn's brush with ancient night and waiting for their turn to come. This was the culmination of Tribute Day, the presentation of tribute, and the renewal of the promise of loyalty to the Warlord and through him, in turn, the Hag King. The inner court was packed with the highborn of the city - powerful nobles wealthy in gold, slaves, or battle honors, with honorary lineages and titles. The houses clustered in discrete groups, maintaining a wary distance from rivals and even allies - murder attempts were standard during public gatherings, especially on ceremonial days. Each family member was further insulated by a cadre of retainers that left each left high-ranking Drukerian to their thoughts. 

Darius watched the Highborn suffer under the Warlord's grip and wished he were the one that was wearing the frightful gauntlet. The need to lash out, to slice into skin and flesh and spill sweet blood, was so intense it set his teeth on edge. The noble could feel the stares of his former partners upon him, those highborn who'd funded his scheme and risked the wrath of his siblings - and not to mention his father. They watched him like wolves, waiting in the shadows for the perfect time to sink their teeth into his throat. And they could do it. They knew exactly how weak he was. He'd broken with ancient tradition, going outside his own family for the funds and alliances needed to launch his late-season raiding cruise. Worst of all, he'd returned empty-handed, and now there was a sizeable debt to pay, and his father wouldn't hesitate to disclaim any obligation in the matter. The Scion hadn't yet, only because the Drukerian lords hadn't yet pressed the issue. Of course. They would when they sensed the time was right. He had little support to draw on; the survivors of the mercenary band had left his service as soon as the train reached Nul Archid, and Darius was forced to pay them in whole or risk a blood feud he could ill afford. That left him with no more than a score of retainers and twice that many household servants. 

He'd only brought three retainers with him to court. Sugimoto, Atticus, and Venir. The retainers stood in a tight semi-circle behind with their hands on the hilts of their weapons. It was a small guard at best, but against the combined strength of his debtors, his entire cadre of warriors wouldn't be enough. Better to keep them guessing at his display of courage instead of confirming their suspicions with a phalanx of armed guards. The children of the warlord were arranged in order of age and observable influence within the city, though gauging the strengths of a highborn family was murky at the best of times. There was a conspicuous gap between Illion Redblade and his second-oldest son, Bale. 

Kaizoku the reaver, eldest son of the great warlord, was still on leave with his raiding, filling his holds with plunder and the choicest cuts from the Southern Kingdoms. He would not return until the earliest vestiges of spring, and instead spend most of his time on the sea. A feat that only a handful of other pirate lords could manage, and his favor with the warlord was such that Illion made it plain that none of his siblings were fit to take his eldest son's place, regardless of circumstance. It also had the effect of focusing the resent of Illions other children, chiefly on Kaizoku, a fact that had not escaped Darius.