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When Tyndareus wanted something, he went out and got it; barely a month after their agreement, he’d called on Leon to reinforce him as he launched his assault on Basileus Massadan. Leon had complied, traveling alone to Tyndareus’ realm to join his war. Thankfully, it was short, as Massadan’s vassals all either allowed Tyndareus to pass or retreated out into the planes.
‘Either he prepared a lot more than he’s letting on, or Massadan is truly hated,’ Leon noted at the time.
Massadan made his stand outside of his capital city, a shining jewel in sparsely vegetated hills that sprawled over as much acreage as it could. Such a city was less conventionally defensible than something more compact, but it still took Leon and Tyndareus working together for a week to pry their way through. In the end, Tyndareus personally took Massadan’s head, then tore his heart from the man’s chest.
Now, Leon stood in Massadan’s great hall, listening to strikingly chipper and upbeat music as Tyndareus sat in Massadan’s ivory throne, receiving all of the men and women of means from the city, as well as a host of Massadan’s former vassals who were tripping over themselves to swear themselves to the man who’d killed their Lord.
Leon received quite a bit of attention, too, though mostly from Massadan’s vassal Lords. He’d ruled over four Despots and six Strategoi. All of them stared at him with varying emotions when they entered the hall to kneel before their new Basileus. It wasn’t until Massadan’s neighbor—and now Tyndareus’ neighbor—N’chezzar appeared, however, that anyone worked up the nerve to approach him.
The man entered the hall dressed for war, with golden Adamant armor adorned in images of lions and lightning bolts. He wore no helmet, however, nor did he carry a weapon, and perhaps most striking of all, he came alone.
“Basileus N’chezzar!” Tyndareus boomed as the man entered the hall. He waved away the eighth-tier city official he’d been speaking with and, beaming, leaned forward in his new throne to welcome his guest. “Welcome, my friend!”
N’chezzar barely spared him so much as a smile as he confidently strode over the hall’s gleaming marble floor. Instead, he stopped before Leon, bowed his head slightly, and said, “King Leon, it pleases me greatly to meet you again.”
His reaction slowed by surprise, Leon took a moment to gather himself before replying, “And you. It’s been a while since we met at Voidshore.”
“Too long. How is your family?”
Leon smiled, but as he took a brief moment to think over his answer, one of Tyndareus’ new Despots angrily shouted, “It is unbecoming to ignore a man’s host!”
N’chezzar turned his head slowly, his eyes sharp, his aura cracking like a whip. The Despot, to his credit, froze only for a moment before boldly standing against N’chezzar’s evident displeasure.
A tense moment followed, and several of Tyndareus’ warriors looked ready to respond to anything N’chezzar said with violence. Even Tyndareus himself frowned deeply, his own displeasure sparking against N’chezzar’s. The meeting of their auras began shaking the hall, and Leon could sense a few tiny cracks forming in the marble floor between them.
And then Tyndareus smiled and rose from his throne, and the tension drained away in an instant. “There’s no need for that kind of talk,” he said as he spread his arms welcomingly, though his tone was anything but, and began walking toward N’chezzar. “The Bolt That Cleaves the Waves is always welcome in my halls! I am not so petty as to demand his attention whenever we share a roof.”
“My Lord…” the mouthy Despot whispered, but whatever he intended to say went by unsaid as N’chezzar acidically cut in.
“It is right and proper to greet the Lord of the Thunderbird Clan before anyone else, isn’t it? Even over the ‘host’…”
Leon controlled himself as every pair of eyes in the hall turned in his direction, if only for a moment.
“Few are the Clans that can match the Thunderbird Clan in prestige,” Tyndareus whispered. More quietly, but still audible to most mages of any power in the hall, he added, “Or the Great Dragons…”
At that, Leon couldn’t help but smirk, if only shallowly. His suspicion that Tyndareus was planning on killing Massadan for a while only strengthened, and given how easily Tyndareus swept through Massadan’s territory and then killed the Basileus, it was clear that he hadn’t truly needed Leon—at least, not for the physical invasion. However, Leon was conscious of both his own power and his prestigious lineage; simply having him along for the invasion could lend Tyndareus’ invasion a degree of legitimacy that it wouldn’t have otherwise had. He idly wondered how many of Massadan’s vassals would’ve given up without even token resistance if he hadn’t been present…
“So, my friend,” Tyndareus continued, “what brings you here? Surely this shuffling of crowns and thrones isn’t so great a matter as to demand your personal attention?”
“My friend,” N’chezzar replied coldly, “you are upsetting the balance of power out here. Not only have you brought war to my border, but you have also drawn the attention of Anassa Parthena. She doesn’t appreciate her Basileis fighting amongst themselves.”
“And yet she sends you instead of coming personally?” Tyndareus testily asked. “I would have thought that—”
“She trusts me,” N’chezzar interjected. “And she is coming here. She cut short a punitive expedition against a Shadow Lord who raided her territory in the planes to make her way here. You can expect her presence within the week.”
Tyndareus went silent, the weight of an Anassa’s attention heavy despite the immense, incomprehensible distance between them.
“I would be careful about how I conducted myself, if I were you,” N’chezzar said. “We all saw what Alderion did to Anax Yun—though I will say that it was quite bold of you to take such violent action so soon after the death and usurpation of our neighboring Anax. You have to know that those more powerful than us will be… jumpy for a few millennia now. Boldness of action isn’t going to be taken lightly…”
“I have only defended my honor,” Tyndareus began before N’chezzar again cut him off.
“Save it for our Lord. I assure you that you have nothing to justify to me, as I would prefer to either kill you now or leave you alone; not treat with you as I am now.”
Leon sensed the killing intent in the room ramp up, and he heard a few blades whisper as they tasted air instead of their sheaths. He stiffened as he was suddenly presented with something of a dilemma: if things became violent, what was he supposed to do? Fight only for himself, or support one of the Basileis over the other?
“The man who defended the northern shores from the Ocean Lords,” Tyndareus whispered viciously. “Famed. Legendary. But if you want my head, you’ll be leaving this place empty-handed…”
“I wouldn’t,” N’chezzar said, his tone shifting to something more pleasant, to Leon’s relief. “Fortunately for you, I’m only here to get your measure, to make something clear to you.”
“What’s that?” Tyndareus asked, a proud, challenging smile spreading across his lips.
“You won’t find me so easy prey. Do not be fool enough to try. Ah, that’s assuming, of course, that our Anassa will let you off for so brazen a play.”
With that, N’chezzar turned away from Tyndareus, showing the man his back in what was nothing short of a striking display of confidence. The Bolt That Cleaves the Waves made for the door, but paused as he was set to pass Leon.
“I hope you’ve been well-compensated for your part in this, Leon. Though, even if you weren’t, I don’t imagine Anassa Parthena will make too great a deal out of it. Not for you.”
On that curious note, N’chezzar left before Leon could ask any clarifying questions.
‘And why wouldn’t she make a great deal out of it?’
“Leon,” Tyndareus said as he joined Leon about midway between the far wall and the hall’s door. “You have honored me with your presence. I thank you, and hope that, perhaps, we might come to another arrangement?”
The man’s smile had tightened in N’chezzar’s absence, his eyes wide and almost manic as he stared at Leon.
“Is our business concluded?” Leon asked. “Do you relinquish Despotissa Ingrid’s oath of fealty?”
“Yes, yes,” Tyndareus replied as he waved his hand dismissively, as if he never truly cared about that matter in the first place. “My friend. Will you stand with me? As a Thunderbird?”
Leon cocked an eyebrow and waited for something, anything, any sign at all that such an arrangement might be beneficial to him in any conceivable way. But Tyndareus simply stared at him expectantly, as if wanting Leon to just agree without any promises of benefits.
‘If you were a friend, maybe that could’ve been the case…’
As it was, Leon didn’t have the highest opinion of Tyndareus, and he’d only gone along with this invasion to get the Basileus off his back over Ingrid.
“I’ll consider it,” Leon diplomatically stated.
“Is there a way,” Tyndareus said, stepping forward and into Leon’s personal space, “to speed up your consideration?”
Leon didn’t back down, standing firm against Tyndareus’ advance. “I weigh my decisions carefully,” he said definitively. His golden eyes pierced Tyndareus, and his aura rose subtly enough not to alarm anyone, but strongly enough to make his power clear. He hadn’t been needed that much in Tyndareus’ invasion, but that didn’t mean he was weak.
For a long moment, Tyndareus looked set to press the issue, but finally, he backed down, his demeanor relaxing. “Very well, my friend, very well. Let us keep in touch. We ought to be good neighbors in the future.”
Leon replied steadily, “Let’s.”
Tyndareus then turned away, and Leon took the opportunity to leave. He and the Basileus exchanged no further words, not even goodbyes. As Leon left, though, he knew that peace was unlikely on Ingrid’s border with Tyndareus—at least, not in the long term. For the foreseeable future, at least, Tyndareus was likely to be busy with his Anassa and consolidating his gains, so Leon figured he’d have plenty of time to secure his own position before anything serious broke out.
‘Hopefully…’
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Leon intended to return to Artorion quickly, but as he journeyed home, he stopped in Luthergard to personally share with Ingrid the news that Tyndareus was likely to leave them alone for a while, but that they shouldn’t let down their guard. Ingrid agreed gratefully, and the two relaxed with the job largely done.
However, Leon hadn’t even spent half a day in Luthergard before he received a dire message from Artorion.
Menander was dead, and his fleet had been decisively defeated. The remnants were retreating in good enough order under Red-Knuckle’s command, but Task Force Torfinn was a shadow of what it once was. They were likely going to have to abandon their conquests in that planar cluster at least, if not more, given their diminished strength.
Leon stayed in Luthergard only as long as he needed to privately share the news with Ingrid, and then he left, making for Artorion at the speed of a Thunderbird’s wing. The entire way, his mind was filled with dark thoughts about what the consequences of this defeat might be…
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“… is the greatest defeat we’ve ever had!” Iron-Striker announced to the war council. “Red-Knuckle reports that Task Force Torfinn has lost more than ninety-percent of its war arks. The legion transports are mostly untouched, having not participated in the battle, but those war arks that he managed to save from that disaster are all damaged and not capable of making the return journey to the Nexus!”
The high officials and officers in this innermost chamber of Flash Fortress’ Sky Wing were silent in shock as the details of the loss scrolled past on dozens of projected screens. The casualties were truly astonishing, especially since even those arks that had managed to get away had lost significant percentages of their crews. To say that each ark was running on a skeleton crew was to be just shy of accurate.
‘A disaster, truly,’ Leon thought, his mood dark as the storm clouds that now surrounded the Artor Valley.
His eyes flickered to the Lion representatives in this council. They’d been some of the biggest advocates for allowing the Tribes to take at least some part in this conquest, and it had been that pressure that led Leon to give Menander an entire Task Force. Leon hadn’t thought poorly of Menander, though, and hadn’t worried for the fleet under his command.
Now… now, things were different. Menander had brought many of his Tribesmen with him into the fleet, augmenting some of its forces with his Tribe’s own. Thankfully, most of their forces were with the legions, but thousands of their best still fell with Menander. It wasn’t a crippling loss, but the Lion Tribe was going to be reeling for several generations at least.
Those Lion representatives, led by Xanthippe, were stoic, a reaction that might’ve looked like a show of strength to anyone who wasn’t familiar with the boisterous bruisers. Had the loss been less heavy, they would’ve been braying for blood. But now, they simply sat there, absorbing not just the losses the Kingdom suffered, but the losses that had been inflicted upon them as a Tribe. Leon didn’t blame them for such an understated response; he knew that several of the elders present had lost family with Menander’s defeat.
“A response must be meted out,” the Jaguar declared, breaking the stunned silence. “New fleets must be raised. We cannot let such a defeat go unanswered.”
“And are we to conjure this fleet from nothing?” Ipatameni asked, the Steward always there to remind Leon and the rest of his councilors about the financial cost of their actions. It was his brilliance that ensured that Leon hadn’t bankrupted his Kingdom overbuilding arkyards before the rest of his Kingdom could support them.
Now, however, such talk was far from most of the minds in the room.
“The arkyards are hot,” the Jaguar hissed. “More arks join our fleets every day. We can easily pull together another fleet of comparable size and restore our honor!”
“Against this ‘Makarios’, that might be the best call,” Iron-Striker said as the others in the room exchanged tense looks. “But… with the additions of these other arks present in the battle…”
“We received similar reports from Paladin Marcus,” Anshu reminded the room. “Burning Lords intervening in our conquest.”
“This leaves our campaign in a difficult situation,” Iron-Striker said as he pulled up a map of the Great Strand of Rhea, with the routes of Leon’s Task Forces marked in red. Though more than a thousand planes had been added to his Kingdom, almost a quarter of which were inhabited, barely any territory in the Great Strand as a whole had been taken. Those five thin lines of territory wound through the Great Strand, leaving millions of planes between them along the way. Seizing all of that territory would be the work of decades and centuries.
Iron-Striker continued, “We began the campaign with the assumption that outside interference would be limited. If Burning Lords are getting involved, then we have to change our strategic evaluation.”
“Kill the enemy,” the Jaguar growled. “That will discourage the rest.”
[He’s not wrong,] the Thunderbird sounded off from Leon’s soul realm. [No loss like this can go unanswered…]
Leon didn’t respond to her immediately, but instead, he looked at the map of Menander’s conquests. Even if the conquest ended where it was, it could be considered a success. The other four branches of the campaign were going strong, which meant that the strategic success of the campaign wasn’t at risk.
Yet.
Drawing the attention of everyone else, Leon said, “The planes that Menander won for us might revolt if they get wind of this defeat. Reinforcements would have to be sent anyway. How much slack do we have in our fleet capacity?”
Understanding his question, the Jaguar immediately answered, “Our frontiers are heavily garrisoned. We can pull some arks from there, and with the fleets we were already sending to garrison our gains, we could build another fleet of Task Force Torfinn’s size in a matter of weeks!”
“And how many of our frontier fleets would we have to weaken, exactly?” Solomon, the de facto ruler of the Tiger Tribe, asked.
The Jaguar hesitated for a second, enough to give Leon all the information he needed about the answer. He’d launched the campaign with fairly low reserves of arks and manpower. His frontiers might be considered overly guarded, but he knew that not everyone wanted a return of the Thunderbird Clan. So he could build a new fleet to seek revenge for Menander, but it would come only at the expense of his frontier fleets.
‘And that’s if everything goes well…’
Garrison fleets wouldn’t stand up long against the kind of fleet that defeated Menander. If they pressed into the planes won by Menander, then they could destabilize all of Menander’s conquests. But if any of his enemies noted his borders getting weaker…
‘Of course this had to happen now,’ Leon silently bemoaned, though he made the effort to ensure that his expression didn’t hint at his inner thoughts.
“We have many enemies,” he said aloud. “More now than ever before, most likely. We are known to the entire Nexus, and many eyes are watching us for signs of weakness. Removing arks from the frontier might be the sign that someone is waiting for. But if we allow such a defeat to go unanswered, then is that not another sign of weakness?”
He looked around the room, noting that his words were finding a relatively receptive audience, even if there were more cautious voices among them.
“I will personally venture out into the Void,” he said. “By my own sword, this defeat will be avenged, and the planes of Makarios will be added to this Kingdom!”
His people began to stomp and roar, slowly at first but rising in volume and force until the entire floating structure at the center of Flash Fortress began to shake.
Leon welcomed their enthusiasm, but within, his heart was hammering. He could not afford another loss like that. It would set him back too long and leave his lands vulnerable—though, he supposed, they already were. No matter what, though, he would bring this interfering Burning Lord to heel and show the entire universe that the Thunderbird Clan was not so weak that it could be pushed around.
And if anyone tried making trouble on any other front in the wake of this defeat, he’d do the same to them, too.
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