Given the celebrations soon to happen, Leon would’ve expected the square in front of the portico to be busy, but as he and his party crossed the marble stones toward the guarded columns and the golden river beyond them, not another soul preceded or followed them.
When they climbed the steps and set foot on the stylobate, the eight guards standing outside the portico’s door moved. Four of them blocked the closed door while the other four surrounded Leon’s party.
“Identify yourself,” one ordered, his tenth-tier aura shining through his golden plate armor, and the halberd he wielded glowing softly with hostility.
The man providing their cover advanced past Justin to speak for their group. “Maemon of Antiochus, alongside his friends from that city, here to present tribute to our Lord Anax.” Maemon paused for a moment as he retrieved a crystal slate that shone with starlight. “I’ve had the honor of serving Lord Kamran in his palace for nearly half a millennium.”
He extended the thin, delicate-seeming crystal slate to the tenth-tier guard, and the guard ran his fingers over the surface. Leon couldn’t see anything happen with his physical eyes, but he felt magic roil off the slate like static.
A moment later, the guard said in a less confrontational tone, “Wait here.”
As he was turning around, Maemon asked, “I heard the city gates are closing; is it the same for the palace?”
“No,” the guard stated after giving a silent order to one of the others, who scurried through the doors. “But passage has been restricted. Whether or not you’ll be allowed in isn’t up to me.”
“Right,” Maemon said. “Captain Iridentis commands this passage up to the palace, does he not?”
“You’re speaking to the man himself,” the guard said.
“Ah, I didn’t recognize you in full armor.”
Iridentis huffed noncommittally, but after, he seemed to be about to speak. However, right then, the guard sent in came back with three others in tow.
“Maemon!” shouted the clear leader of the newcomers, if his clothing was anything to go by. At the sight of him, Leon, who by now was standing beside Justin, felt the man tense up. Thankfully, their disguises were still up, and they had plenty of time until their power started warping the bands and they had to be replaced.
“Qoros!” Maemon called out. “You’re on gate duty? Today of all days?”
“Believe me, I’d rather be drinking my way down the Street of Sin by now if I hadn’t been called back in. But so it goes, right?”
Maemon chuckled as this thin, well-dressed bureaucrat turned to the rest of the party.
“You’re bringing tribute, are you?” he asked. His friendly demeanor faded a little as his eyes swept over them, and from the way that Iridentis seemed physically deferential despite being a tier over Qoros told Leon all he needed to know about Qoros’ position—if they were getting into the palace, it was only if he said so. “You couldn’t come in through one of the lifts or other entrances?”
“Yes, tribute,” Maemon confirmed. “My friends from Antiochus wanted to bring their tribute in today, and I offered to go with, at least until the palace. And you know as well as I that strangers are only allowed up to the palace through one of a bare handful of facilities. So, I’d thought to bring my friends up by the most spectacular of the available options.”
“Hmm… Understandable. Now, Antiochus…” Qoros whispered as he took a few steps toward them, his eyes narrowing as he inspected them closely. Leon felt his magic senses wash over them, but to his relief, their disguises didn’t so much as flicker. “As I recall, Antiochus isn’t due to present tribute for at least another three months…”
Maemon shrugged with a wide smile. “We had a good year, and with the Fallen Raptor Festival, it was decided to present it a little early.”
A thin smile spread across Qoros’ lips. “I hadn’t thought your home city to be so…”
“Obsequious,” Iridentis stated bluntly, his voice echoing behind his closed-face helmet.
“An apt word, though perhaps not the one I was going to use. Regardless, Maemon… today is complicated. I can allow you through—and indeed, you should head to your office once you get up there. But the rest of you… you’ll have to come back when the festival is over.”
Maemon smiled and took a few steps forward until he could whisper comfortably to Qoros. “We had a very good year, my friend. Storm crystal—enough to match two full-grown men in weight. It would be a shame if we had to wait to present it to our Lord, wouldn’t it?”
“Storm crystal…” Qoros whispered uncertainly.
“And when the festival is over,” Maemon said, “come over to my home. I have an unopened bottle of Denisian wine that shouldn’t be enjoyed alone.” He glanced at the guard captain. “And you should, too, Iridentis! Have you ever had wine from the Denisian hills?”
“Once,” the guard said. “I didn’t care for it. Too sweet.”
“Ah, your loss!” Qoros exclaimed, his countenance markedly brightening. “Very well, I’ll allow you in, Maemon! But be sure that your tribute party has the storm crystal ready for presentation immediately!”
“Thank you,” Maemon said. “And even if the wine isn’t to your taste, Iridentis, I’ll still send you an invitation.” Then, he allowed Qoros to steer him toward the door, chattering his ear off about how much of an imposition it was on his plans to have to watch the gate instead of enjoying the festival. The guards allowed Leon’s party through after them, opening the doors wide enough to allow them into the long hall beyond, and closing them once they were through.
The hall beyond was as lavish as it was deserted; hardly anyone could be seen in the cavernous structure, and there weren’t any individual rooms within. Several desks had been set up just beyond the door, behind which the two who’d come out with Qoros sat themselves. As they logged Maemon’s entry into the palace, Leon breathed in the magic of the room, analyzing it as was his wont.
The marble had been enchanted with light, giving it an ethereal glow designed to overpower the senses. The walls and the spaces between the pillars were adorned with projected scenes straight from the legends of Khosrow’s war against the Primal Gods and Devils. In fact, the entire hall reminded Leon quite acutely of Khosrow’s Fane—the proper fane which was said to hold Khosrow’s body.
But as he drank in the hall’s power, he realized that there was quite a bit more beneath the surface impressions that it was designed to give. The hall, as one of the front doors, so to speak, of Kamran’s palace, was designed to impress and overwhelm with majesty, to prepare a newcomer to enter the city-sized palace of one of the most powerful men in the Nexus. But it was also designed to obfuscate the myriad other enchantments in the room, to prevent newcomers from realizing that they were being scanned from every angle, watched from every corner…
Had Leon been free to act, he could’ve dispelled the illusions and revealed what he guessed would be more guards filling the room. However, he set his jaw and let the scans go while doing his best not to stare at the parts of the hall obscured by the illusions.
With Qoros there, the log of their entry was made quickly, and then they were shown to the back of the hall, where another set of doors opened onto the Lumenite platform. And there, Qoros bid them farewell while the half dozen men operating the platform—all but one, Leon noted, had a gold tattooed collar around their neck—had them stand close together in the platform’s center.
Then, with a burst of magic and light, Leon’s party found themselves on a similar platform extended off the floating palace, with additional guards and bureaucrats waiting for them.
Fortunately, Qoros had simply called ahead, so they didn’t have to explain what they were here for a second time. Unfortunately, however, the guards and one of the bureaucrats—another man with a gold collar tattooed into his copper-toned neck—were there to escort them to another hall. Once there, they’d wait to be called in to present their tribute.
‘And once there, wait until we see an opportunity to slip away…’ Leon thought, his mind already tracking their progress on the map he’d memorized, even though they hadn't left the platform yet.
However, they were thrown another loop when, just after stepping off the platform, a short, harried-looking man walked briskly over, his face red and a few beads of sweat collecting on his brow. Given that he was seventh-tier, Leon doubted that it was the exertion of walking that had caused the sweat.
“Maemon!” he called out. “Scribe Tellian has been trying to get ahold of you for hours! Where have you been?”
“With my friends from An—” Maemon began as he tried indicating to the rest of the party, but the other bureaucrat just waved him off.
“Forget that! They’re in good hands; you’re needed! Come on!”
Maemon could only give them an apologetic look before he was all but literally dragged away by his colleague. This didn’t surprise Leon too much; he’d already been warned by Maemon that he likely couldn’t stay with them for long, but the way he was led away certainly watered the seed of anxiety that had been slowly growing in the pit of Leon’s stomach since the gatehouse.
Still, Leon would’ve reached out to his companions with darkness magic to assure them that this wasn’t an issue, but with how under watch they were, he decided not to risk letting out any more magic than he absolutely had to. However, Justin quietly said to them, “We’re in the halls of our Lord. We have nothing to fear, even if our friend isn’t with us.”
“As you have said,” their guide stated, smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “Come with me.”
They fell in with the guide, while as many guards as there were people in their party—including one for Nestor—followed a few paces behind them. Leon hadn’t thought that they’d have an opportunity to slip away into the hidden tunnels this soon, but it wasn’t promising that they were under such heavy guard.
As they walked through into the gleaming halls of Kamran’s palace, their feet cushioned by thick red rugs and their bodies illuminated by more projected murals, Justin took charge of their party and made conversation with their guide.
“Just getting up here was a pain,” he said. “Bringing the tribute is an honor, of that I won’t argue, but I’ll admit that I wasn’t expecting this city to be so locked down mere hours before a festival…” His question, though not directly stated, was still heard.
“There are… guests,” their guide said. “Once we reach our destination, you’ll be waiting with them until you are called upon to personally present your tribute.”
“Personally?” Justin asked, his voice wavering in a way that Leon never would’ve guessed might be unnatural. “I’ll admit to a degree of nervousness about this whole process; are we placing the tribute at the feet of Kamran’s throne…? Or giving it to Lord Dionysias?”
The guide didn’t answer, though he threw a look over his shoulder that clearly said, ‘Shut up.’ It seemed he wasn’t interested in alleviating Justin’s ‘nervousness’ in any way.
So, on they walked, through halls and doors and more halls, passing more guards and palace attendants—the former standing at perfect attention and liberally placed, while the latter were usually seen only when they were hurrying somewhere with papers in hand. The entire palace felt tense, and Leon could feel his shoulders tightening from just how reluctant it seemed everyone was to just explain in no uncertain terms why it was like this. He knew that the palace had important guests, but who they were had not yet been named.
It took many minutes of walking in heavy silence for them to reach their destination: a great domed hall filled with tables and chairs. The floors were gorgeous blue crystal, glittering like a stormy sea, while the ceiling was made entirely of golden Aurichalcum, with thousands of glowing runes hovering over its surface. Their guide led them to this domed hall through a glass corridor, through which they could see the extensive gardens that surrounded the dome, though it didn’t seem anyone was out there enjoying the mastered nature.
Upon the doors opening—more guards stationed beside them—Leon’s party was assaulted by sound and power. The enormous circular hall was packed with people, and all of the tables were covered in food. A higher table on the opposite side of the hall, and in the center of the blue crystal floor was a gargantuan pit where, in a more conventional place, a bonfire might have burned. In Kamran’s palace, however, a golden bolt of lightning linked the floor to the ceiling, extending upward like a tree made of light.
But for all the hall’s majesty, it was the people that Leon paid more attention to, for so many of them were men and women of repute that his heart almost stopped at the thought that his disguise might fail under the pressure of their combined auras.
“You’ll wait here,” the guide said. “You will present your tribute here. And when the time comes for you to leave, you will do so without question.”
“Thank you,” Justin said as the guide turned around and left, most, but not all, of the guards that had accompanied them following him back through the glass corridor. Within the hall, after all, were hundreds more of Kamran’s gold-clad, halberd-bearing guards, standing ram-rod straight, as if waiting for any excuse to use their vicious weapons.
They stood there as the door closed, attracting a few stares, but none lingered overlong. None of Leon’s party appeared to have achieved Apotheosis, after all, and they were now sharing a hall with, by Leon’s count, two hundred Lords and their retinues.
“Over here,” Justin said as he led them to the edge of the room. There were no open tables, and it seemed this was by design, as all of the Lords had seats, but most of their retainers were forced to stand. By this point, every seat at every table had been filled.
As they did their best to fade into the background, Leon let his eyes wander.
“Anyone you recognize?” Valeria whispered as they ceased to be the focus of anyone’s attention.
Leon nodded grimly. “Over there…” He nodded toward one of the tables closest to the high table at the other end of the hall. “Anax Masataka.” He gave Valeria a pointed look. They’d met the fourteenth-tier mage at Belicenion, and though they’d only shared a single conversation, it would be folly to think that the man might have forgotten them after not much more than a century.
“And Basilissa Damini,” Valeria replied, nodding to the woman who had played a small part in inciting Basileus Triyr into challenging Leon on Voidshore.
“Neither of them matter,” Cassandra responded, leaning her head in close so that her words wouldn’t carry even to the august ears in this hall. “Morui is over there…”
Leon had to immediately and almost violently fight the urge to scowl until his disguise slipped right off. Morui had stood with Triyr during his and Leon’s duel, and if Leon had lost that duel, then Morui would have tried to take Leon’s wives. After Leon’s triumph, Morui had blatantly not fulfilled the obligations that he’d sworn to before the duel, but unlike Triyr, who had lain low while he healed, Morui had held party after party on Voidshore, flaunting his violation of that oath before all on the demiplane.
“There are more than Storm Lords here,” Justin added grimly. “I see a few Burning Lords, an Ocean Lord, and a Shadow Lord. Others from other Elemental Lands, I’m sure, but none I immediately recognize.”
“Non-Storm Lords come to celebrate with Kamran on a day like today?” Leon hissed lowly. “Note their faces. Learn their names. I feel like they’ll be enemies upon a day…” He had not forgotten what the Fallen Raptor Festival was supposed to celebrate…
They spoke for a few more minutes, running down all of the Lords that Justin could recognize. Of them, there were five fourteenth-tier mages, representing such an immense amount of power in one room that Leon could scarcely believe so many of such power had gathered here. He also wondered if this was why the city had become so locked down, but if that were the case, it still raised certain questions, as such high Lords could easily defend themselves if need be.
They were interrupted when a great chime sounded through the hall, echoing in the vastness between the blue crystal and Aurichalcum, and behind the high table, another great door of shimmering Adamant began to open. A herald stepped out the moment the doors were opened widely enough, and began making announcements in a voice that rang through the hall—and possibly through the whole damned city, given how it hammered Leon’s eardrums.
“Dionysias, regent of Torn Sky!” More titles followed, but Leon focused on the man himself, who commanded Torn Sky in Kamran’s absence.
His aura was less than what Leon had expected at only the eleventh-tier, but he supposed that was a good tier for the administrator of an important city. Anyone stronger would have insisted on territory of their own and a title to match. Indeed, the eleventh-tier was about the ceiling of those that Leon expected to see in the Nexus without a title in Khosrow’s Law.
Dionysias himself was tall and slender, though not particularly handsome. He had sandy hair and wore an elaborate dark blue ensemble that was richer than almost anything Leon had ever chosen to wear. He smiled at the hall, but didn’t linger long in the spotlight and, to Leon’s mild surprise, took a seat at one of the far ends of the high table.
Five more entered, each one from a different Elemental Land, each one immense in power. However, it wasn’t until they reached the final men that Leon’s heart began to squeeze.
“Anurak and Johan,” the herald announced as the two men entered the room, neither willing, it seemed, to allow the other to go first or after. “Anakes paramount!”
No other titles followed, but none needed to; it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. These two men were fifteenth-tier mages, two of only nine in all of the Storm Lands. They were strong enough that even in the days of Jason Keraunos, they had almost complete autonomy from the rule of the Thunderbird Clan. They were vassals, to be sure, but called on only rarely, and given privileges that other, lesser, more easily subdued Lords received.
Anurak, dark-skinned and powerfully built, reveled in the attention. His exposed arms, face, and shaven head had been covered in golden lines that looked less like tattoos and more like someone had cut into his flesh and poured molten gold into the wounds. They were not random, forming long and straight lines that led Leon to think they were not natural, but he’d seen enough strangeness in the universe to not make that immediate assumption.
Johan, in contrast, appeared much more modest in comparison. He was pale in complexion, almost ghostly in the light cast by the central frozen lightning bolt, and his shoulder-length hair was a glimmering golden blond. Despite his lean and somewhat unimpressive physique, he walked with the confidence of a man who had earned every spark of power that ran through his veins.
A whisper ran through the crowd upon their entrance, and that whispering only intensified as these two fifteenth-tier mages sat to the right and left of the central chair on the high table. As the whispering rose, Leon started to feel his heart beat in his throat and sweat start to pool in uncomfortable places.
‘No…’ he thought. ‘He isn’t…’
One more man walked into the hall, and the herald announced his name.
“Kamran! Anax paramount! Lord of this city, Anax of an empire without end, and future Storm King!”
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