The King of the Vile by David Dalglish

that’s what they were upset about...
    “Is that what bothers you?” Tarlak asked, and he spun about to face all nine of the Grand Council. “That I flung a few fireballs without your permission? Or that I did it for coin you received no cut of?”
    “A bit of both, truthfully,” said Roand, and he sounded strangely amused.
    Tarlak hated what he was about to say, but he saw no other way out. Dropping handless into the freezing Rigon River was not how he wished to die.
    “By killing Madral, I earned myself a spot on your Council,” he said. “That’s the rule, right? Fifty spots, with each spot taken only by defeating a holder in a duel. Then let me claim the position I earned years ago. Would any of you doubt my skill? My knowledge? I’ve dueled a god, some demons, even a daughter of balance. My abilities are beyond questioning, so let me end this farce and become one of your members like I should have always been.”
    The nine fell silent. Tarlak tried to read their faces. Were they surprised by his audacity? Insulted by it? Perhaps, but Roand’s comment at the start had clued Tarlak into realizing the meeting wasn’t truly about his execution. Joining the Council was. Execution was an unfortunate side effect if he happened to be denied.
    “You might be powerful,” Anora said, “but it is coupled with recklessness and crass humor. I see no reason to admit you, for what value do you bring to our community?”
    The hawk-faced man cleared his throat.
    “Given his involvement in the second Gods’ War, his many travels with the angels, and his role in Mordan’s reconstruction, his extensive experience alone might be invaluable,” he said.
    Tarlak didn’t know his name but decided he liked him already.
    “What new knowledge could we possibly learn about the angels?” asked neck-beard. “Just dump the bastard in the river so we can move on to the business with Avlimar’s collapse.”
    Avlimar’s collapse?
    Tarlak kept his face passive, though it took great effort to do so. The floating city of the angels had fallen? But how? And why? What in blazes was going on in Mordeina during his absence?
    Roand rose to his feet, scepter in hand.
    “If you were to join us, you must obey all our laws,” he said, taking a step toward him. “You will accept a position in the tower, along with all its responsibilities, and perform them without fail or refusal. You will forfeit all remnants of the life you once led, and grant the Grand Council total control over you future upon this mortal plane. Before we vote on the matter, do you accept such conditions, and vow to keep them all to the best of your abilities?”
    In many ways it was a death sentence no different than the one that awaited him should they reject his offer. But at least this way he’d get to keep his hands. He swallowed down a stream of bile.
    “I accept.”
    The Lord of the Council looked to the others and nodded.
    “We are all aware of Tarlak Eschaton’s accomplishments,” he said, “as are we his faults and crimes committed against us. By accepting him as a member of the Council, all insults shall be forgotten, all his crimes forgiven. He will be one of us, given a new standard to follow, and a new life to lead. If you believe he is a worthy addition, and his defeating of Madral an appropriate approximation of a duel, then lift your hand now.”
    The nine voted, and Tarlak was surprised to see Roand raise his right hand in favor. Five others did as well, with only Anora, neck-beard, and a dark-skinned man with an elaborate mustache and beard choosing to deny him.
    Unable to help himself, Tarlak lifted his own right hand, and he grinned.
    “Well,” he said. “That was unexpected.”
    Roand tapped his scepter with his hand.
    “I do not yet trust you, Tarlak Eschaton, so know that certain protective measures will be enacted until we are more certain of your loyalties. I’m sure you understand.”
    “Perfectly,” he said.
    “Fine and good,”