The crowd packed in shoulder to shoulder and belly to back. When they breathed, they puffed a collective cloud into the chill morning. Summer might have already begun in the city of Iratari but the air stayed cold in the square the people called The Court; Especially on days when the Monastery of Law held trial. All those who could fit crammed into the square. They awoke early and would start work late this morning because they came to witness the city’s most famous spectacle: a Blood Trial; More accurately, they crammed into The Court this morning to see the judge that would preside over the trial: a monster.
The plaintiffs and defendants sat on stools atop a wooden stage constructed ages ago. On the side of the accused was a round-bellied man dressed in a fashion that screamed “New money!”. Next to him sat his wife, of matching shape and style, and their son who was a handful of summers away from manhood. The family’s bright colored garb attacked one’s vision and was disrespectful of tradition. Any family of pedigree knew that when you were summoned to The Court, you were attending a funeral. The plaintiffs, an older bald man and a white haired woman wore blacks and grays and were the portrait of refined stoicism.
From the road leading into the square, spectators heard an anticipated but unnerving sound as if someone were beating a marching drum made of metal and stone in a haunting rhythm. All chatter hushed as if someone had thrown a heavy blanket onto the crowd. The Adjudicator was approaching. The trial was about to begin.
A walking horror clad in armor rounded a final turn and stomped into The Court. The ghastly form had all the trappings of a man: two arms, two legs and a boulder of a head planted between the shoulders but the proportions were grossly exaggerated. The Adjudicator stood nearly the height of two well fed men and his limbs looked stolen from mountain bears. His armor was painted in an equal measure of black and white, the holy colors of the Monastery of Law.
The armor’s helm would have comfortably fit an ox and was forged in the shape of an owl’s head, an animal revered by the Monastery but its stare was terrible. The eyes were grotesquely enlarged and seemed bottomless. If men looked long enough, they inevitably swore that the Adjudicator could peer into every crevice of their soul. The Monastery did not officially name their monstrosities but the people of Iratari called this one Empty Eyes.
Trailing Empty Eyes was a young clerk of the Monastery cradling a box against his white robes like a newborn child. Flanking on all sides was a group of six Bailiffs lightly clad in black armor and each carrying a polearm twice their height. The notion of an Adjudicator needing an armored escort was a worn out joke among the populace involving mosquitoes guarding a wild beast. Tired or not, everyone knew that the joke was preferable to the truth: Adjudicators, like a wild beast, could be unpredictable and should the unpredictable occur, the Bailiffs were the only ones with a chance to put the animal down.
The procession ended at the stage where Empty Eyes climbed without pause, forgoing the stairs. The Baliffs marched behind the platform and stood in a single rank within the ample shadow of Empty Eyes. One of the spearman nodded to the clerk and he ascended the stairs. The young monk opened the box he was carrying, presented it to Empty Eyes and the Adjudicator withdrew the Blade of Law with the slow care of ceremony.
The Blade of Law was the Monastery’s most hallowed talisman, a magical vestige from an age when the order tended to an entire library of supernatural tools. Its blade was a shard of obsidian as long as a man’s forearm. The handle was ivory and had been remade countless times but the blade, forged using magic long banished, had been the same since the Monastery’s founding which predated any surviving records. Though the size of a short sword, the blade was little larger than a dagger in Empty Eye’s grip. The Adjudicator held the blade before him and moved to his place behind the defendants. The clerk produced a piece of paper from his robes and spoke.
“On this seventeenth day of the fifth moon in year 47 of the Abandoned Throne, the Monastery of Law has sanctioned a Trial of Blood to commence. The Monastery of Law, having been petitioned by the plaintiff Raicher Minniston, a land owning citizen of Iratari, has agreed to investigate charges of theft by taking filed against the defendant, Luxem Brachard. Is the defendant’s family all present and accounted for?”
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“Yes, my family is here,” the colorfully dressed man’s answer scraped out of his dry throat.
“Is the plaintiff’s family all present and accounted for?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, all present,” answered the dignified, senior couple.
“Do all parties understand and agree to the terms set forth by the Monastery of Law? Do all families agree to accept the honorable Adjudicator’s justice?”
“We do,” both parties overlapped.
The questions were merely procedural. As they answered, the clerk presented the warrant from which he read to the gathered crowd so that all could witness the pair of thumb prints marked in dry blood that acted as signatures for both plaintiff and defendant.
“Your honor, you may proceed,” the clerk spoke to Empty Eyes and moved to the corner of the stage. Some in the crowd held the hand of a loved one, some had to hold their bladder, but all in attendance held their breath. The time for formalities and dull men reading from dull papers had passed. Now was the time for truth and magic and blood.
Empty Eyes pushed Mr. Brachard’s head forward, revealing the nape of his neck, and then slid the Blade of Law along the defendant’s skin. The obsidian cut without resistance. With one side of the blade coated in blood, the Adjudicator then cut along the inside of his own arm with the same edge. The giant’s body went rigid and still. The Bailiffs checked their grip on their weapons. Time froze.
The respite lasted seconds but the crowd knew in that moment, the Adjudicator was performing his dark works and prowled around in Luxem Brachard’s soul seeking the truth. The Court was still enough to hear the rats relieving themselves in the corners. The clerk’s practiced eye waited until the magic of the blade had run its course. When he perceived the slightest ripple of movement in the Adjudicator’s posture, he thought: “There! The brute has returned!”
“Has the honorable Adjudicator reached a verdict?” bellowed the clerk.
“Not guilty,” Empty Eyes rumbled.
The crowd gasped. Some whispered: “I knew it!” or “I can’t believe it!” A few grinned or sulked depending on which way and how much they had wagered at their favorite tavern. Mrs. Brachard actually clapped, clacking her assortment of gaudy rings against one another.
“You may proceed with sentencing,” the clerk instructed.
Empty Eyes crossed the stage and stopped behind the plaintiffs. The old couple held hands and trembled but was otherwise as poised as people could be when being flanked by a monster. With the gentle touch of a barber, the giant lifted the chin of the plaintiff and flipped the Blade of Law in his palm to use the unbloodied edge. The Adjudicator pulled the blade hard across the man’s soft throat and then did the same to Mrs. Minniston. The Adjudicator worked so swiftly that by the time he removed his hand from the old woman’s chin, the wound on Mr. Minniston had just started to spill into his shirt collar.
The Minnistons, having spent so many quiet evenings together on their fine parlor furniture, sat side by side in The Court and bled into their funeral clothes. The black attire hid the gore well until blood streamed down their legs and pooled onto the stage. Pride held the couple upright longer than their age should have allowed but when Mrs. Minniston’s hand fell limply from her husband’s grasp, the rest of her body followed suit and toppled lifelessly off of her stool. Mr. Minniston accompanied his wife seconds later.
Empty Eyes returned the blade to the clerk’s box and led the morbid march back to the Monastery of Law. The crowd, out of equal parts fear of Empty Eyes and reverence for the Minnistons, held their place until the procession filed out of the square. Some approached the stage to pay final respects to the Minnistons, a well liked couple whose form in the face of death was what all nobility in Iratari could hope for. Some approached the stage to sneer once more at the Brachards but eventually, everyone left The Court and started with the day’s business. The two bodies remained and awaited the undertaker’s cart. The aged wood of The Court’s stage drank thirstily from the mess left atop it and added the blood of Mr. and Mrs. Minniston to its planks’ unique hue.