CHAPTER 1247: KHOSROW'S FANE II

Arks seemingly made of slivers of radiant light escorted Leon’s convoy to a huge arkyard on one of the mountain-sized ‘moons’ suspended over Khosrow’s Fane by enormous bands of golden Lumenite. While some of the arks in the convoy were so large that they almost had trouble fitting through the river gate—Realiz’s veritable flying mountain, in particular—there was little trouble finding room at the arkyard. Even if they couldn’t land directly on an arkpad, there was room beside one, allowing for a tight and secure mooring.

Storm Herald touched down on one of the largest arkpads on the moon, flanked on both sides by buildings made of sparkling black granite. A welcoming party met them at the main airlock, numbering only a dozen. All were male, shaven bald, and dressed in plain black robes cinched at the waist by rough hemp cords instead of proper belts.

When the airlock opened and Leon’s party descended onto the arkpad, the welcoming party remained unbowed even though none of them had achieved Apotheosis. Instead, the ninth-tier who led them smiled serenely and said as Leon approached, “Welcome to the temple and resting place of the Great Lord of Mankind, Khosrow! So long as you are no enemy to our glorious race, then you are welcome here!”

A flutter of irritation flashed through Leon’s mind, originating not just from within his heart but also rippling across the connection he shared with Maia. However, he held his tongue.

“We’re glad to be here,” Leon neutrally replied. “We’re also looking to get going, so…?”

“Of course,” the leader of the party replied.

Several minutes of fairly standard bureaucratic business followed, though they sped through it quickly enough that Leon’s patience wasn’t tested. Their names, their reason for journeying to the fane, and their intentions during and after their journey were all asked and recorded, but thankfully never challenged. Soon enough, Leon, his family, his Paladins, and a dozen Tempest Knights were released from the reception—thankfully with no fees since the Sun King had guaranteed passage through the fane for the duration of the Belicenian Games. His friends and other advisors, meanwhile, Leon gave leave to explore the fane as they pleased, or remain on the ark.

Most remained on Storm Herald, especially the officers, and no one left any of the three escorts, but Alcander and Marcus took off on what was apparently a race to find the darkest and seediest tavern on the shining demiplane. Leon silently wished them luck while from a nearby arkpad, Gwarim came tearing out, following closely by a harried-looking guard detail of only half a dozen.

“Leon!” Gwarim boomed. “How does the city find you? The journey doesn’t seem to have been taxing, though given your ark, I never doubted it would!”

“It was easy enough,” Leon smoothly replied. “And this place is certainly remarkable. I don’t think they could flaunt wealth more than they already are…”

“Haha! Aye, that’s the case. The Sun Kings have always fancied themselves the inheritors of Khosrow’s legacy, but that hasn’t meant much aside from maintaining this place!”

“Is it true that the Great Lord himself is interred here?” Elise asked, satisfying not just her curiosity but Leon’s, too. He even felt the Thunderbird and Xaphan perking up, his wife’s words heard even in his soul realm. “Is there a public tomb we can visit?”

Gwarim suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, and it was Archelaus, appearing from another direction, who answered her question.

“There is a shrine down in the fane itself where respects can be paid, but there are no public displays of his body, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ah!” Gwarim responded. “Archelaus! I see Ramin tired of your presence on his ark! His loss, I say!” He walked over and pulled Archelaus into a tight, brotherly hug, which Archelaus allowed for only a moment before struggling for freedom. Gwarim only reluctantly allowed it and remained smiling.

“Basileus Ramin is still concerned with Iaivi Fortress,” Archelaus said. “He’s with Jors-kil attempting to contact Drenthor.”

“Still nothing from him?” Leon asked, prompting Archelaus to shake his head in the negative.

Archelaus then turned his eyes back to Elise. “To return to your question, there are many fantastic places to visit, but no proper tomb, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a shame,” Elise said with a calculating twinkle in her emerald eyes. “I’d hoped to lay eyes on the Great Lord’s face while we were here.”

“There are statues, murals, mosaics—all manner of depictions, really,” Archelaus said. “That will have to satisfy you, unfortunately. I don’t think any of them were even made by anyone who knew the Great Lord personally.”

“Where would you recommend we visit first, then?” Cassandra asked.

As Archelaus and Gwarim exchanged contemplative looks, Valeria said, “I’ve heard great things about the War Gallery and the Forum of Brotherhood…”

“Both good choices,” Archelaus murmured as Leon gave Valeria a quick questioning smile. She rarely spoke among others, which led him to think there might be something she was planning. She just smiled back and shook her head slightly, her silver hair shimmering in the golden light of the nearby Lumenite and artificial sun above them.

“For understanding that glorious war that won humanity the entire universe,” Gwarim said, his enormous body practically exuding excitement as he raised a clenched fist, “nothing beats the War Gallery! Ten times I’ve walked its halls, and every time I’ve left awed at what was accomplished! At the sheer fucking grit of our ancestors! What powers they must have had to free our kind from ancient tyrants!”

The Thunderbird scoffed loudly in Leon’s soul realm but offered no further comment.

“It was the pinnacle of mankind, if some can be believed,” Archelaus said with an eye on Gwarim.

“It was!” Gwarim insisted. To Leon’s group, he continued, “You’ll see! The greatest collection of art and records from that time is in the War Gallery! Strategissa Valeria has the right of it! No other place can be visited first!”

“Not even the temple?” Cassandra pointedly asked, the gleaming white and gold structure demanding attention.

“The temple itself is only open on select days,” Archelaus explained. “But the courts around it are free to explore. So long as we do not trespass into any private residences and leave the priests to their business, there won’t be any trouble here.”

Leon nodded, and together, their fairly large group, led by an enthusiastic Gwarim who chattered on about the War Gallery and the art and artifacts it contained, and followed by the combined group of Tempest Knights and Gwarim’s guards, made their way to a large octastyle portico resting on the edge of the moon. A cliff several dozen feet high dropped off the edge of the portico and into the stream of Lumenite holding the moon aloft. There were no guards around the portico, though seven black-robed priests were standing within the columns.

As they walked, Leon called upon his meager command of darkness magic and silently asked Valeria, [Looking for these places, specifically?]

She responded slightly apologetically, [I apologize if I took you off-guard. It only occurred to me in the moment.]

[I don’t mind,] he hurried to assure her. [I’m just wondering… why those two places?]

[My father told me about the War Gallery once,] she confessed. [I was young; we were still in the Bull Kingdom. The way he described it… the peace, the sense of power and pride that it gave him as a man… I’ve always wanted to know what he meant by that.]

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There was some slight hesitation in her explanation, but Leon felt he knew why. Justin had been sent to assassinate the enemies of Kamran, the enmity at least partially justified by Khosrow’s Law if Leon wasn’t mistaken. Thoughts of Khosrow’s Fane might have given him the strength to do what he thought he needed to do to see his wife again.

When Leon didn’t interrupt, Valeria continued. [The Forum of Brotherhood is one of the most diverse marketplaces in all of existence. Shops and stalls selling wares from every corner of the universe. I was told that if the War Gallery celebrated mankind’s ancient glory, the Forum of Brotherhood celebrated mankind’s present glory.]

Leon turned her words over a few times in his head, liking how they sounded, and not just because they’d come in Valeria’s velvet tones. Seeing how the war that ended the Primal Age was remembered would undoubtedly be enlightening, especially since he had two participants in his soul realm—assuming he could get the Great Black Dragon to show up—he could contrast the records with.

The forum, meanwhile… was certainly tantalizing. One of his Kingdom’s greatest strengths, as far as he was concerned, was their advances in materials. Thunder wood and amber, storm crystal, cloud glass… he wondered if he might find analogues of any of these materials in such a ‘diverse’ forum.

A light pinch from Elise brought him back to the conversation just as they were approaching the portico. His attention recaptured, his eyes asked a silent question of his first wife, and she responded with a subtle tilt of the head, her fire-colored locks drawing his gaze to Archelaus. The man himself watched Leon with both expectation and growing amusement, and Leon realized he’d missed a question the man had asked.

“I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere for a moment…” he quickly said.

Archelaus chuckled quietly and repeated, “How long will you remain here, my friend?”

An immediate response didn’t immediately come as Leon’s lips turned downward in a thoughtful frown. “That… will depend,” he finally said.

“On what?” Gwarim asked as the seven black-robed priests waved them into the portico.

A group had descended to the fane before them, so Leon knew what came next: they walked right off the edge of the moon and floated down into the Lumenite until they’d fully submerged into the light. The magic in the golden river bore them downward almost instantly, gently depositing them on a large marble platform in the center of a wide courtyard where the Lumenite band terminated. From there, they merely had to take a few stairs to reach the ground, and they’d be on their way.

Despite this magnificent display of power and wealth, Leon forced himself to continue the conversation as naturally as he could.

“You know that I have a friendly relationship with Princess Miuna?”

The large man visibly grimaced, his hands momentarily balling into fists. “Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Moderating his statement slightly, Leon explained, “She… was hoping to accompany me to Belicenion. An innocuous enough request, and given how instrumental she is in ensuring peace in the Far West, I was willing to indulge her. We’re to meet her here before proceeding.”

Gwarim’s pace slackened a bit before giving Leon a more appraising look. “Why would she ask for something from a Storm Lord? Unless…” He glanced briefly at Leon’s wives walking at his side.

“She wants to breed with our husband…” Cassandra bluntly said, a smile of pride on her face as she added, “… and she will not be getting what she wants!”

Stunned, Gwarim outright halted, nearly causing Archelaus to crash into his back. He stared first at Leon, who somewhat sheepishly grinned, and then at a more irritated Archelaus, who briefly nodded in confirmation.

And then he let loose with a laugh that felt like it almost shook the entire demiplane. They’d just exited the courtyard through an identical portico, which spat them out onto a wide street lined with charming three and four-story buildings with shops facing the street and apartments above. People lined the street thickly enough to be busy, but not enough to truly impede anyone’s progress if they wanted to get anywhere.

Gwarim’s laugh momentarily froze the street for more than a hundred feet, and an overwhelming number of eyes swiveled in their direction. The vast majority of these people were between the first and fifth-tier, but Leon counted one pale Strategos and his twenty-strong entourage also looking curiously in their direction.

“Leon…” Gwarim said, his teeth bared in a mad grin. “That is easily one of the funniest things I have ever heard! I don’t doubt it for a second!” He threw his head back again and gave another thunderous laugh, but by then, most of the people on the street had gone back to their business and paid this group of Nexus Lords and their followers no more mind. Leon supposed they were used to Lords acting out of the ordinary here, of all places…

“Anything to get an advantage over potential rivals…” Archelaus said as they started walking again. “Is the plan still that she’ll be here within a week?”

“As far as I’m aware, yes,” Leon said. “We’ll see.”

“I expect her to be early,” Elise said confidently. “She wants our husband badly

. I’m surprised she wasn’t here already waiting for us!”

Leon just smiled and repeated, “We’ll see.”

From there, the conversation turned to Gwarim denigrating the Ocean Lords a fair bit, which Leon had little problem with. However, instead of enthusiastically joining him, Leon’s attention was captured by the many shops they passed.

Merchants showed off bolts of magical wool and flax, ingots of shimmering metal, household tools, and various knick-knacks of the sort that tourists often purchased. Leon even saw a potter selling some finely made if rather simple dishes and vessels decorated with recreations of the nearby murals extolling Khosrow’s deeds, while not too far away, another merchant who looked suspiciously akin to the potter sold stones and bits of broken ceramic supposedly touched and ‘blessed’ by the Great Lord himself—or if not the Great Lord himself then at least one of his sons or close followers.

Most attention-grabbing, however, were the stalls selling simple, if tantalizing food. Bright fruits seemed to flash in a bid to draw his attention—and his money—but he recognized none of them. He could smell lightly spiced meat grilling nearby, and from a bakery came the heavenly scent of freshly-baked bread and pastries.

He had no need to eat, but the chefs in his employ always delighted his sense of taste. But there was a significant difference between meals prepared in the Royal kitchens and the kind of simple, filling meals found on the local, human level. The food here, more than anything else, tempted him to stop, but he reluctantly kept going.

‘If we get some extra time, though…’ he thought with a hopeful glance over his shoulder as they left the street behind. It didn’t seem like he was going to get much of an opportunity to not only taste the local food but also soak in the fane’s atmosphere since they soon reached an intersection over which floated a large sign.

‘Flight lane: open,’ the sign said in large, bold runic letters—and in several other languages that Leon couldn’t read. Below that, it read, ‘Remain below twenty feet and above the street. Violators of this decree will be punished.’

What the priests might do to those who broke their rules wasn’t something Leon was keen on finding out, and it seemed Archelaus and Gwarim shared his attitude as they only floated about a foot off the ground before shooting down the street. Leon and the rest of their group followed suit.

They flew with purpose, but more than slow enough to take in the sights, at least, if not much else. They hadn’t been flying long, however, when Gwarim slowed briefly and frowned at what seemed to be a construction site where mages were getting ready to raise a new structure.

“Damn,” he whispered as they passed, “they demolished Brandon’s Temple of Battle…”

“What was that?” Cassandra asked, sounding intrigued and disappointed at the same time.

“One of the only fighting arenas on the plane,” Gwarim said, dismay dripping from his tone. “And the best damned place in the universe for roasted katteman nuts and cloud quail skewers…”

“The ones spiced with dust of dreams?” Archelaus asked, and when Gwarim nodded, he hung his head in dejection.

“A great loss,” Gwarim said as they continued toward the War Gallery.

However, they didn’t get far before he slowed again, his eyes scanning a large park on their right.

“Wasn’t this… the House of the Silver Lords?” he asked Archelaus.

“It was…” Archelaus answered. Answering Leon’s questioning gaze, he added, “A temple to the gods of a particularly dense pocket of planar clusters further out in the Great Strand of Lux. The temple would’ve covered this entire park if it were still around.”

“Why get rid of it?” Gwarim asked, voicing at least in part what was in all of their heads. “The House took care of orphans who often joined the priests here! They had official sanction!”

“I’ll ask around when I get the chance,” Archelaus said, and after a concerned glare, they pressed on.

But a third time, Gwarim slowed until he nearly came to a stop, a look of complete disbelief on his face as he stared at a large courtyard with a granite monolith in the center. Leon, in his haste to try and find what had captivated Gwarim so much, almost missed the glowing text on the monolith, which enumerated many virtues—chastity, honesty, temperance, and charity in particular—with long, lecturing sermons.

“And… they got rid of Vetta’s House of the Weary,” he said in disbelief.

“A brothel,” Archelaus whispered to Leon and his wives. “A very high-class one that catered exclusively to Nexus Lords. It was operated by a woman powerful enough to be a Strategissa if she’d wanted, but instead she devoted herself to her goddess of healing love and pleasure.”

“What is going on?!” Gwarim angrily asked no one in particular. “What changed?! How are places that have been on Khosrow’s Fane for millennia suddenly gone?!”

The outburst attracted some attention, but the street here was less populated than around the courtyards connected to the many arkyard-moons. A few dozen people, including one particularly wizened third-tier woman with the meanest, most judgmental glare Leon had ever seen, stared at them until Archelaus finally got Gwarim moving again.

Given the dejected look in Gwarim’s eye, Leon wondered if he’d been planning on visiting any of these establishments during their stay, and when they started moving again, his eyes remained locked on the street. The shining pavers, at least, seemed unlikely to disappoint him.