CHAPTER 1223: HISTORY

For several days, Leon allowed Archelaus to stay at his palace. The Despot hadn’t indicated a desire to leave, but neither did he present any kind of serious threat to Artorion as far as he was concerned. He simply wandered the palace almost aimlessly, occasionally stopping to stare at something with strange intent for hours at a time.

As Leon, Ipatameni, and several of his tax ministers were mediating a land dispute between Shatufan and Sentudon by official petition, Iron-Striker entered the room, a rare, flabbergasted look on his chiseled face. Leon, desire to do anything other than pour over ownership and tax records despite his commitment to his duty, asked in the moment of silence following Iron-Striker’s entrance into the room, “What’s happening?”

Perhaps he was too eager because Iron-Striker simply stood a couple paces into the room, visibly searching for the words.

“Despot Archelaus… he’s…”

While Iron-Striker still seemed unsure of what to say, Leon had already heard enough.

“Ipatameni, see to this for the time being. How long do you think it’ll take before you have a recommended course of action?”

The Eagle who’d long served as Leon’s Steward glanced at the piles of documents that both cities had brought to support their claim to the disputed land and said, “Shouldn’t take longer than a few hours.”

“I look forward to it,” Leon said, feeling only slightly guilty as he approached Iron-Striker. “Now, what’s this about Archelaus?”

In those few seconds, Iron-Striker finally found his voice.

“He’s standing in the Ancestral Courtyard, staring at your totem. It’s… not illegal, but he’s been there for nearly half a day, and it’s unnerved several Chiefs.”

Leon frowned even as he and Iron-Striker left the room. “Unnerved? I didn’t realize any of the Ten Tribes had Clans led by those who are so easily unnerved.”

“I suspect it’s less the act itself, so much as a post-Apotheosis mage acting strangely in the Royal Palace. I would recommend asking him to refine his behavior.”

Leon shot him a cheeky grin. “You’re asking me that because I’m the only man capable of matching him, aren’t you?”

With deadly seriousness, Iron-Striker replied, “Lady Red, any of the Queens, and I would be enough to take him, I’m sure.”

“He’s old enough to remember Jason Keraunos,” Leon stated.

“I maintain my position,” Iron-Striker confidently said.

“Well. I think it’s for the best that we’re probably never going to have to have that question answered.”

“Yes, Despot Archelaus may count himself lucky in that regard.”

Leon shot a skeptical look at Iron-Striker just in time to catch the ghost of a grin already fading on his face. Neither said anything more on the subject as they strode through the halls, joined by a contingent of Tempest Knights that shadowed Leon everywhere, though they had enough time for Iron-Striker to give Leon a quick update on the shipments of Lumenite scheduled to come in from Alhamachim and a much grander shipment of Aurichalcum soon to come from Shatufan—both were on schedule and larger than expected. РᴀNоβ̧

They met Alix close to the Ancestral Courtyard, the woman taking to her new title well. Leon hadn’t had time to personally forge new armor for any of his new Paladins yet, but she still wore a tabard over her armor with a stylized silver and blue wing to symbolize her position as answerable only to Leon himself. As befitting her status, she—and the other four Paladins—had also been allowed to form retinues of their own and given high salaries to pay for them. Alix had taken a dozen Tempest Knights into her personal service, which Leon or Alcander might’ve had a problem with if she were anyone else.

As it was, Alcander had been only too happy to get some of the older knights out of the guard since it allowed him to recruit replacements. The Tempest Knights were still capped at twenty thousand strong, but in the years since their formation, they had accrued a reputation as the best of the best warriors in Leon’s Kingdom. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he acknowledged both that membership in the knightly order required a high degree of skill and was highly prestigious, and openings were highly coveted. Men and women from all over his Kingdom and throughout his vassals would be trying out to fill those open positions, and as the order’s commander, Alcander had final say in who made the cut.

Anyone else and Leon would have their actions watched closely. But he placed a lot of trust in Alcander to find the right people, and if Alcander ever wanted to leave his position, Leon would be hard-pressed to replace him. He had half a mind to simply break up the order into smaller pieces, each with their commander, if only to reduce the power any single commander might hold over him or Artorion, since Alcander’s position also made him de facto in charge of police forces within Leon’s capital city.

“Dame Alix,” Leon greeted, Alix’s nearby knights straightening up in his presence, their presence demanding Leon’s formality.

“Your Majesty,” Alix replied with a slight bow as she fell in with Leon and Iron-Striker, her retainers falling in beside their former comrades. “Despot Archelaus hasn’t moved an inch in four hours.”

“You’ve been keeping an eye on him?”

Iron-Striker answered for Leon’s new Paladin. “I asked her to do so. I thought it inappropriate for someone of Archelaus’ stature to have completely free rein here. I am grateful to Dame Alix for agreeing with me.”

Leon nodded, understanding what Iron-Striker meant. He was Leon’s Chancellor, the most powerful man in the Kingdom after Leon himself, but he had no power over the Paladins. Alix could’ve told him to kick rocks if she’d wanted to.

“Did you consider consulting Clear?” Leon asked not so much out of criticism but also out of curiosity.

“Clear Day has been busy helping to integrate the new territories into the Kingdom,” Iron-Striker stated, which Leon found a reasonable enough excuse.

“Very well,” Leon said as he looked out at the Ancestral Courtyard, easily finding Archelaus.

The Ancestral Courtyard was where the porphyry totem depicting Leon’s ‘Tribe’ had been placed. It wasn’t the largest of Westmount Palace’s courtyards, but the main entrance to the Royal Apartments ran through it, so it saw at least some daily foot traffic. Archelaus, it seemed, was captivated by the highest image on the totem, which depicted the Thunderbird in intricate detail.

“Wait here,” Leon commanded the others. He was quite confident in assuming that Archelaus wasn’t going to attack him in the middle of his own palace.

So, leaving Iron-Striker, Alix, and all the others in the trapezoidal halls, Leon walked out into the Ancestral Courtyard and joined Archelaus close to the foot of the enormous reddish-purple pillar.

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His fellow twelfth-tier mage didn’t acknowledge his presence, and in fact seemed to be making his best impression of a statue as he stared up at the Thunderbird. He was standing so still that he wasn’t even breathing.

“… You know,” Leon said after some interminably long seconds, “there are better angles to view this from.”

“This one is fine,” Archelaus immediately replied, almost taking Leon aback for how readily he spoke given how little he was moving otherwise.

“So be it,” Leon said as he turned his golden eyes up to the image of his feathered Ancestor. “I’ve been told you’ve been here awhile.”

“I apologize if I’ve been a problem,” Archelaus stated.

“You haven’t. But some people have been concerned about how long you’ve been here. Seems a bit unnatural, is all.”

Archelaus’ lips curled upward ever so slightly. “The young rarely understand the old, just as the old rarely understand the young. I have the time to admire this work of art, and I have decided that spending that time is worth it. Should any of the artists or gravers yet live who made this, I would be most pleased to pass on my regards.”

“I’ll see about that,” Leon responded. “The totem is less than two centuries old, so most of them are still with us.”

Archelaus finally tore his eyes away from the Thunderbird and ran his gaze down the totem. “The Thunderbird is obvious, but I do not recognize any other faces on this ‘totem’.”

“Figures instrumental to the survival of my Clan,” Leon explained. “Third from the top is supposed to be Demetrios, youngest son of Jason Keraunos. I had no proper references for him and had to go based off a few scant descriptions of him that I’ve found. I believe he’s the only one on this totem that you might have known before. Or at least known of. After Jason Keraunos got most of the Clan’s elites killed, Demetrios managed to not only survive that disaster but also flee. He lived out the rest of his days quietly and securely, and it is from him that House Raime descends.”

“Demetrios was young and hadn’t yet acquired much of a reputation before your Clan left the Nexus for the previous Reconstitution. I couldn’t tell you if your depiction is all that accurate.” Archelaus’ eyes finally hit the bottom of the totem, where Leon’s image was carved. “You, I recognize,” he said with amusement. “Strange to see you on the bottom; I would’ve figured you’d place yourself higher. Most people would in your position, I think.”

“The Tribal Totem is a little unintuitive in that way,” Leon explained. “The most important position is actually on the bottom, as it bears the weight of everything above it. The top holds significance, of course, and so you’ll find that all totems, from family to Clan to Tribe, have their Ancestors who began their line at the top, or close to the top if they include the Thunderbird.”

“Ah, this makes more sense now.”

Leon nodded slowly as Archelaus fell silent. “There… weren’t totems around before, were there?” he asked. “Before Jason Keraunos led my Clan to doom, I mean.”

“No,” Archelaus answered. “Depictions of your Clan and its Honored Ancestor were everywhere in art, but never depicted quite in this way.”

Leon was about to follow up on that, but a spike in magic drew his attention, and even finally got Archelaus to turn his eyes away from the totem. The source of that spike in magic was Storm Herald, the rest of the ancient arks, and many of the defense arks idling on their arkpads taking flight to join the arks already patrolling the skies around Artorion, many of which Leon now noticed were heading southward.

“Ah, Storm Herald,” Archelaus said, these movements apparently not triggering any worry in his mind. “One of the most revered arks in the universe in your Clan’s heyday. The arks of some of the more powerful players in the Nexus might now have arks that outclass her, but she’s still beautiful.”

“You’re familiar with her?” Leon asked.

“Jason Keraunos never went anywhere without his flag ark,” Archelaus explained. “All post-Apotheosis Storm Lords knew her. Unfortunately, most of those Storm Lords are now gone in one way or another.”

“How so? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“I believe you already know, Leon Raime, despite your youth…” Archelaus turned his eyes on Leon now, his gaze boring straight into the core of Leon’s being.

Leon knew what he meant, he’d just wanted to be sure. Xaphan and the Thunderbird had been upfront with Leon almost from the beginning: immortality was a heavy burden to bear, and many simply couldn’t. The loss of friends and family who either couldn’t achieve Apotheosis themselves, or who died in some other way. The endless march of time could grind them down until they yearned for death, oftentimes seeking it out on their own or directly leaping off the mortal coil using their own hands.

Paraphrasing the Thunderbird, Leon would say that apathy, boredom, and loss were immortality’s greatest challenges, not an immortal’s enemies. If what the Thunderbird told him was still accurate, he knew that even with Apotheosis granting immortality, the average age for immortals was ‘only’ about four or five thousand years, or about two or three times that of a tenth-tier mage. Few mages, when considering things from that angle, ever lived so long as to experience a single Reconstitution of the Nexus, let alone several.

“How many Storm Lords are still around who might remember my Clan?” Leon directly asked. “And I don’t mean ‘familiar with the legacy’, but I mean have direct, first-hand experience with my Ancestors?”

“That’s hard to say,” Archelaus admitted. “I’d say less than one percent of all Strategoi in the Storm Lands, so maybe one hundred, though I can’t imagine any more than that. Perhaps fifty Despots? And half of the Basileis, so about as many as the Despots… Nearly all of the Anakes for sure. The percentage of the total goes up the stronger we get. Storm Herald was true to her name, leading the mighty host of the Storm Lands through many wars. She was built during the reign of Storm King Hessier Leshkh, if I’m remembering correctly, who was before even my time—he preceded Philip Antitheus, who preceded Jason Keraunos. He wasn’t particularly glorious, having come to power just after a long period of instability in the Storm Lands. But it was his work that laid the groundwork for the glories won by Philip and Jason. Without his focus on infrastructure and military reform and buildup, the Storm Lands would’ve been ravaged by the Mountain King and the Shadow King when they allied against us… oh, eleven Reconstitutions ago? Or was it nine? It can be hard to remember sometimes…”

Leon nodded, though as fascinated as he was by the history the Despot was sharing, he had a worry that needed addressing. “I appreciate the candor, Archelaus. Would you mind if I asked if any of these people are going to be problems at the Belicenian Games? I wouldn’t want Storm Herald to make a fuss…”

“The Belicenian Games are guaranteed safe havens by Sun King Anushirawan,” Archelaus stated. “During the games themselves, no, that ark won’t be in danger so long as you are not instigating anything. After them… you might become something of a raski in a puorchour den…” At Leon’s blank look, Archelaus clarified, “You may be a target. The power of Storm Herald will surely ward off many, but others may see taking that ark as a potent symbol of legitimacy.”

“I’ve heard of some who might be interested in my Clan’s legacies,” Leon diplomatically stated. “A certain Aeschylus interests me…”

“All Basileis are interesting to some extent… or ‘most’ are, anyway—Basileus Leandros is one of the drollest, most inane people I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!”

“Aeschylus has my family’s vault,” Leon pointedly stated.

“Worried about him? You should be, but I wouldn’t say for anything in particular. Think about this, Leon Raime: you are as far removed from the center of power in the Storm Lands as you could be without leaving for some other Elemental King’s territory. All eyes are on the east, where the Anakes are busy figuring out who will succeed Jason Keraunos as the Storm King. Heading this far west just to take Storm Herald isn’t that worthwhile—not because Storm Herald isn’t valuable, but more because leaving at all would be strategically dangerous, and those that matter won’t consider having Storm Herald to be all that legitimizing.”

“That only applies to the Anakes themselves. If Aeschylus—or any other Basileus for that matter—wants what I have, then fighting against them would be… complicated.”

“You did well against Despot Terris. While I have heard no rumors about your possession of Storm Herald leaking that far, your reputation does precede you, my friend. Goodwill and respect have had a chance to set in amongst many of the Storm Lords.”

“And my descent from the Thunderbird doesn’t bother them?”

Archelaus scoffed. “We get some new ‘last descendant of the Thunderbird’ every few centuries, no one even blinks when they hear that anymore! All of that will likely die down once a new ass is polishing the throne of the Storm Lands…” The Despot gave Leon an almost accusing look, and Leon almost agreed with him. He intended to be the next Storm King, and once he was, claims of descent from the Thunderbird would not be taken well without ironclad proof…

Given how amenable Archelaus was to his questions, Leon was about to ask a few more when Alix strode out into the courtyard, drawing his attention.

“Your Majesty,” she said with a formal bow. She followed that up with a slight incline of her head in the other man’s direction. “Despot Archelaus. I apologize for interrupting, but we’ve just received word that Princess Miuna’s transport has been sighted just off the southern coast.”