The group hightailed it away from the marketplace as quickly as propriety allowed. Gwarim and Archelaus, after exchanging a look and what felt to Leon like a brief mental exchange, steered them in the direction of the Roaming Lark, a high-class dining establishment whose schtick was hiring chefs from all over the universe to come and work for a few years and add their recipes and techniques to the abundant menu that the restaurant already had. Far more appealing than the menu, however, were the private dining halls for Lords visiting the fane.

As they shot through the streets, Theron rapidly regained his strength and soon flew entirely under his own power while matching their speed. For all his regained strength, however, he remained quiet despite the dark look that Leon watched slowly spread across his face throughout the journey.

When they reached the Roaming Lark, they were relieved to find that it was not only still around, but it was busier than ever. It occupied a four-story white brick building large enough to serve as an apartment complex for two hundred families. People were constantly coming and going from the various entrances, appearing from or disappearing into bright private alleys or a bustling forum just off the Roaming Lark’s small forecourt, and only one that Leon saw was a Nexus Lord—a Strategos, specifically.

Still, when they reached the entrance to a private alley leading to one of the Roaming Lark’s back entrances, the two green-painted bronze golems watching the entrance remained still. They were not challenged once as they approached, and as they reached the porch, the wide oaken doors swung open, revealing a dozen concierges and a host dressed in green and gold.

“Welcome, my Lords!” the host warmly greeted with an obsequious bow, which the concierges mirrored. “What can my es—”

“A private room,” Gwarim growled, his patience a thing of the past after the near-conflict they had in the marketplace.

“Please forgive our haste; we would appreciate some time without interruption,” Archelaus more diplomatically stated. “Cost is no concern.”

The host bowed again, this time a little shallower than before. “Of course. Most of our halls are filled, but the Jurgen and Haliban halls are open…” As he spoke, he led them to a lift just off the small entrance hall that was large enough for their entire party, including Gwarim’s guards, Leon’s Paladins, and the complement of Tempest Knights.

“Haliban,” Gwarim stated.

The host pressed his finger to one of fifty runic circles on the lift’s console, and the lift smoothly carried them first up, then accelerated laterally for a ways. When the lift doors swung open, they revealed a splendidly-appointed dining hall with twice as many seats and tables as their party required. The floor was shining red wood, but little of it shone past the thick rugs woven with intricate runic patterns spread liberally throughout the hall. Most of the walls were taken up by windows—real, not projected—but several colorful tapestries were hanging from the ceiling, showing snow-capped mountains, deep valleys, and dense forests of red-leaved trees. Most of the tables were smaller and concentrated closer to the lift doors, but the largest table was at the other end of the hall on a slightly raised dais. The ceiling was painted sky blue, and several magical clouds drifted around, softly glowing and serving in place of light fixtures.

What Leon noticed more than the décor, however, were the multitude of enchantments channeling magic through the walls, ceiling, and floor. The place wasn’t particularly hardened against attack, but it would take a lot of time and skill to set up any kind of outside surveillance of the hall.

“We will give your esteemed selves some time to get settled,” the host said as the party exited the lift. “I will send my staff up to handle your needs at your convenience.” He extended a hand to the wall, showing several runic circles glowing on the wall next to the lift door and instructions written next to them in several languages. The most relevant runic circle would summon a host or several, depending on how long it was held.

Once the last of the party filed out of the lift, the host bowed and closed the lift, leaving them in peace.

“Not bad,” Elise said with an appreciative smile. “Not up to Heaven’s Eye’s standards, but this works.”

“They do their best with what they have,” Archelaus said. “Khosrow’s Fane has visitors aplenty, but this place only truly explodes in popularity in the months leading up to the Belicenian Games. This building has fifty halls of this size, and honestly, we’re lucky that they had two available when we arrived.”

As they spoke, Gwarim silently led the post-Apotheosis mages in the party to the high table while the Paladins and guards took up positions either along the wall or sitting in one of the smaller tables closer to the lift doors.

“Forty-eight Lords are here?” Leon asked as he and his ladies sat on one side of the table, and Gwarim, Archelaus, and Theron sat on the other side.

“Doubt it,” Gwarim grunted as he ran a hand over his shaved head. “Most of the halls are rented or reserved for days at a time.”

“Half at best have Lords within right now,” Archelaus concluded.

“But that’s irrelevant,” Gwarim said as he turned to regard Theron. “My friend… what happened back there?”

Theron looked much better and his aura was more energetic than when he’d been in chains, but his face still looked thin and haunted, his alabaster skin looking more sickly than regal. When he spoke, it was with a tone of barely-repressed anger, frustration, and bitterness.

“NaxTigrad happened,” he spat.

“Who?” Gwarim asked.

“That hellspeaker who chained me—may his manhood be devoured by wild prennatikki!” Theron caught himself nearly baring his vampiric fangs and took a deep, steadying breath. When he spoke, he sounded like he was forcing himself to be calmer than he felt. “He ambushed me as my men and I were staying at a friend’s villa near the edge of the plane.”

“How?” Gwarim asked, disbelief dripping from his voice. “My friend, after that disappearing act you pulled at Thang Tellamore, I can’t imagine you being ambushed!”

Theron grimaced. “Maybe… maybe ‘ambush’ is too strong a word. We were attacked somehow. I was resting and reading some dispatches from fellows in my consortium regarding… recent events, when Nax Tigrad burst into the villa with his monks, I found myself with no recourse. I resisted, but they had antimagic stronger than any I’d ever seen. One rune of light drawn in the air, and I was unable to use magic outside of my body, but they were free to use their powers as they saw fit.”

“What was this rune?” Leon asked, intrigued enough to lean forward with an eager look.

“And… you are…?” Theron leadingly asked with a glance at Gwarim.

“This is Leon Raime,” Gwarim said with a grin. “Surely you’ve heard of him?”

Theron stared long and hard at him, his face unreadable. Finally, he said, “I have been out in the planes for the past millennium. Despot Nurasius returned his soul to the universe nine hundred and ninety-seven years ago.”

“I heard about that,” Gwarim remarked.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Then you might have heard that his Despotate collapsed without him,” Theron continued. “His Strategoi and closest advisors murdered his sons and carved his Despotate apart, taking all of his land for themselves. They then went to war with each other, leaving me with five violent Burning Lords and ten other small interplanar Kingdoms on my border.”

Archelaus scoffed. “Did Nurasius have no plan in place for his succession?” Leon agreed with his incredulity; the Bull King had made a mess of his regency that wound up lasting years longer than he’d intended, leading to the civil war in the Bull Kingdom. Likewise, the war between the Bull Kingdom and the Talfar Kingdom began because a Talfar Prince felt slighted by his place in the succession and was desperate to achieve legitimacy through military victory. Successions were messy, in his experience.

“Whatever his plans were no longer matter,” Theron hatefully said as he scribbled onto a sheet of paper in front of him. When he held it up, an intricate rune had been inscribed. “This was what Nax Tigrad used on me. I was still able to fight, but without access to elemental magic, I soon found myself in chains.”

The rune that he’d drawn wasn’t familiar to Leon, but he memorized it anyway. Without knowing its precise meaning, its effectiveness would be limited, but he might be able to work out some kind of countermeasure.

“And your patron did nothing to help you?” Gwarim pressed.

Theron sighed deeply, deflating slightly and seeming to age several decades in one exhalation. “Prontis is dead.”

Gwarim’s eyes widened while Archelaus practically reeled. Even down in Leon’s soul realm, he felt Xaphan suddenly tune into the conversation, announcing his attention with a blunt, [What?!]

[You know this ‘Prontis’, demon?] Leon asked.

[Heard of him, yes,] Xaphan crackled in response. [One of the Prince of Thunder’s middle-demons for dealing with humanity. He was the equivalent of a fourteenth-tier mage in human terms, occupying a place just beneath the Lords of Thunder in the Elemental Plane of Lightning.]

Leon’s eyes narrowed as Theron elaborated somewhat, “I don’t know how. Our relationship was transactional; he didn’t tell me much about what was happening out in the Elemental Planes. I only knew he was gone when the power he lent me vanished and our contract was dissolved. Now, I have none of the benefits and all of the drawbacks…” His fingertips lightly brushed against his lips over his fangs.

“Why’d you do it?” Cassandra interjected. “Become a vampire, I mean. I’m given to understand that’s not necessary to a demonic contract.”

She received a dirty look from Theron, but he explained anyway. “It wasn’t planned. The most common way that a human becomes a vampire is through ingesting blood. The power in the blood is then pulled through their contract to their contracted demon. The demon then shares its own power in exchange. But through prolonged ingesting of this mana, the human body adapts to it until it becomes dependent on blood to survive.”

“The ‘most common way’…?” Cassandra pointedly asked.

Theron’s cheeks regained a little color as his face contorted with shame. “Sometimes, blood magic can go wrong. My contract was light. Transactional, like I said. I facilitated trade between the Nexus and the Elemental Plane of Lightning. Having that contract made it possible, but most demonic contracts are sustained through blood sacrifice. My blood mages devised a way to get around that—or so I thought. It took centuries, but eventually I became… this…”

Cassandra pursed her lips as she turned her gaze from Theron to Leon.

[This man swallowed a whole ass-load of shit if he truly believes that,] Xaphan mockingly crackled. [Most likely, blood was part of his contract, and he just doesn’t want to admit it.]

For a moment, Leon contemplated whether it was worth challenging Theron on his claims, but a glance at Gwarim and Archelaus made the decision easy.

“Let’s move on,” he said. “So you were attacked in this villa. They just dragged you several miles to execute you in a random marketplace?”

“It’s the closest marketplace to their temple,” Theron stated. “That’s where I was taken first. Then the marketplace.”

“And the rest of your people?” Gwarim asked.

“Dead,” Theron said. “They… as I was dragged out of the villa, it looked like all of my guards had died where they stood. Just collapsed, no sign of a struggle. Pale like White Death had already taken them. I don’t know what magic could do that.”

“What happened to them?” Leon asked.

“A monk stayed behind to burn them.”

‘So no checking that evidence,’ Leon thought, wondering just how far he could trust this story. Gwarim and Archelaus seemed to be taking it on its face, though, so that inspired at least some confidence.

“Where was the temple they took you to?” Gwarim asked, his aura raging murderously as his eyes turned to a window. A mortal could’ve just made out the marketplace in the distance from where they were.

“It was a small place, more like a small chapel,” Theron said. “They returned there as far as I can tell. After you rescued me. Nax Tigrad was their leader, I saw no one else there. I was held there for no longer than half a day before they settled on the manner of my death.”

“We might have to pay them a visit…” Gwarim growled.

“Moderate yourself,” Archelaus cautioned. “Violence in Khosrow’s Fane is not tolerated. The Sun King himself has this place under his protection.”

“I can destroy one temple and be long gone before he gets here,” Gwarim retorted, but Leon could hear in his voice that he wasn’t arguing seriously.

“He’ll come for you anyway,” Archelaus shot back. “What I’m more concerned about is how these men behaved. They attacked a Strategos and nearly took his head in broad daylight!” He paused a moment before an embarrassed look flitted across his face. “Theron, your ark is still here, isn’t it?”

“No,” Theron responded almost despondently. “I traveled here with a friend and stayed here to wait for another. Everyone who I waited with died in that villa. Thankfully, my family wasn’t with me; I hate to think what those mad monks would’ve done otherwise…”

“The other Lords should know about this,” Gwarim spat. “Something is happening in this place! All the closures, and now monks attack Lords! Someone here at the fane is allowing this, if not everyone! And who was this Nax Tigrad mudeater before becoming a monk?! Or should we just believe that a monk somehow achieved Apotheosis?!”

“… Maybe…” Archelaus murmured. “Maybe it’s better to keep as low a profile as possible. I don’t think we have anything to fear, Gwarim, but Leon, you might have problems here…”

Leon nodded even as Cassandra exclaimed, “If anyone tries to harm this family, we’ll hang them from their temples by their entrails!”

Maia nodded furiously in agreement, while Valeria expressed the same with the ghost of a smile. Elise was more physical, taking Leon’s arm and giving him a determined look.

“That won’t be necessary,” Leon said. “Maybe we’ll skip seeing too many sights, then. At least until Miuna gets here.”

“Miuna?” Theron whispered. “The Despotissa? Princess? Daughter of the Ocean King?”

“Ah, right, you’ve missed quite a bit since you’ve been gone from the Nexus,” Gwarim said as at least a bit of cheer returned to him. Since it seemed that Theron had already shared everything that he knew about the incident, Gwarim and Archelaus each offered him plenty of hospitality, and after Theron accepted Gwarim’s offer, the Despot launched into an enthusiastic and rather exaggerated version of the same story Leon had already told him.

Leon was fine with that, only adding in some details here and there and simply enjoying how Gwarim told the story, but for the most part, he was more concerned with Nax Tigrad and the implications that his apparent free rein over the fane gave. If they attacked Theron for having a demonic contract, then he couldn’t help but wonder what they might do to him if they knew about his bloodlines.

His eyes strayed down to the inscribed rune more and more frequently, even as many exotic dishes were brought out and savored. He had some experience with antimagic, which gave him some ideas, but he wondered if they’d work with an ancient rune…

At the very least, he doubted any of these monks would attack while he had friends and fellows with him. Gwarim was someone he felt had his back, if acting as his second was any indication. Archelaus, too, was a friend, and he was certainly willing to throw down when Morui was threatened, but he’d backed out of rescuing Theron, which Leon certainly noted.

His other allies were few and far between. Some were friendly, but none he felt he could count on. If for nothing else, he felt like he could at least depend on Miuna to throw her weight around and keep some of the heat off him. He just didn’t know when she was going to show up…

---

After his group returned to their respective arks without visiting the War Gallery or any other sight, Leon immersed himself in studying the rune, Valeria at his side. Even Xaphan got in on it, but the Thunderbird was in the Mists of Chaos and couldn’t yet contribute her wealth of knowledge. However, not even half a day had passed before Leon received a certain message that had him put his work on hold.

He and Valeria put their work aside and went to a projected window that gave them the requisite view.

“Is it just me,” Valeria whispered, “or does it look like she’s in a hurry?” She glanced at him, her sapphire blue eyes narrowed with mirth. “Like she wants to see you?”

Leon sighed as he watched the ethereal jellyfish ‘swim’ through the Void at a speed that defied reason. Behind it extended a long convoy of at least two hundred arks of varying sizes, though at least ten of them were comparable in size to his newest supercarriers. There were even a couple of fish-like beasts in the convoy, treating the Void like an ocean as they swam beside fish-shaped arks. The jellyfish, however, outpaced them all, to the point that it was starting to draw ahead of the rest of the convoy.

Princess Miuna had arrived at Khosrow’s Fane.