1253 - Invitation to the Mausoleum

The atmosphere in the courtyard was tense and silent.  No one said a word, and even the sounds of the people outside the courtyard seemed to die down.

‘Or they fucked off,’ Leon noted as he glanced behind him and projected his magic senses.  Sure enough, the arrival of the Black Robes behind his small group hadn’t gone unnoticed, and not only had most of the people on the street made themselves scarce, but more Brown Robes were racing their way, some of whom were quite high-tier.

Leon turned his head back to the leading Black Robe.  He hadn’t moved despite his provocative words, though his shit-eating grin remained fixed on his face.  He didn’t seem willing to make the first move, and Leon couldn’t help but wonder why.

With Iron Pride in hand, Leon took a few steps forward, glaring past his featureless helmet at the Black Robe, ready to move at a moment’s notice if he were to try anything.

The Black Robe’s grin widened slightly, and though he didn’t try to stop Leon, neither did he back down.  His shining mace, the head of which looked almost like someone had torn a star from the heavens and bolted Lumenite spikes to it, remained at the ready.

The seconds ticked by so slowly that they felt like hours, and still no one moved.  Leon even felt sweat starting to form on his brow, among other places.

‘What are they waiting for?’ he wondered, noting that, as far as he could tell, no other Black Robes were on their way.

“Yo—” the leading Black Robe smugly began, perhaps to explain his lack of action, but cutting him off just as he’d begun, the Lumenite band in the center of the courtyard pulsed with magic.  “And there it is,” he said, smiling so arrogantly that Leon wanted nothing more than to run him through with Iron Pride.  “You’re out of time.”

He moved, appearing in front of Leon in a flash of light.  His mace descended, and it was all Leon could do to bring it up and deflect the mace to the side.  The force of the impact still blasted Leon back into his group, with Gwarim steadfastly catching and steadying him.

“HALT!” someone thundered before Leon could even magically respond.  “CEASE THIS AT ONCE!”

The Black Robe, about to press his assault, froze as figures stepped out of the Lumenite in battle formation.  All of the other Black Robes, too, themselves about to attack Leon’s group, halted where they stood.

Leading the new arrivals were two figures, standing strong, their auras towering, matching those of the leading Black Robes.

Ramin and N’chezzar stood side-by-side, fully armed and armored, the former with a pair of hand axes that glittered with lightning and other arcane powers, and the latter with a long dark spear that looked rather like a solid storm cloud.  Behind them came Nuertis, Illum, Realiz, and even more Storm Lords, themselves backed up by more and more warriors.

Leon smiled behind his helmet to see his own people stepping out of the Lumenite after several seconds—led by the Jaguar came Red, Clear, Singer, Sar, his wives, his friends, his Paladins, giants, and soldiers.  Even several Ulta suits stepped out, their blue blades shining brightly enough to be seen even with the golden Lumenite.

More and more came pouring from the Lumenite, filling the courtyard with bodies until it was the Black Robes who were grossly outnumbered and not Leon’s group.  Still, Leon, Gwarim, Archelaus, and Ingrid were surrounded by the Black Robes.

“What has happened here?!” N’chezzar demanded as he brandished his spear, his smoky black armor sparkling as lightning danced across its surface, matching the animalistic figures wreathed in lightning that had been elaborately embossed on his breastplate.  “Have the Sun King’s assurances of safety been abandoned?!  Has the Great Lord’s resting place declared war against the Storm Lands?  Stand down now, or face our wrath!”

“You wouldn’t dare desecrate this holy place with your heretic blood!” the leading Black Robe retorted.  “Attempt to halt our justice and you will be duly punished!”

“Who even are you?!” Leon demanded.  “I’d like to at least know your name, if only to inscribe it upon your tombstone.”

Black Robe sneered.  “The universe will be glad to be rid of you, heretic.  You have the stink of profanity all over you—how many times have you betrayed humanity?  Demonstink isn’t the only stench wafting from you…”  He took two quick, though dramatic, sniffs.  “Brimstone.  Fire demon, then.”

He leveled his mace at Leon and looked about ready to say something else when an aura of unimaginable weight suddenly came crashing down upon the entire courtyard.  No words needed to be said; everyone froze, even the Basileis.  Everyone was like a helpless lamb in the jaws of a wolf, unable to respond as a light came gently falling within, interposing itself between Leon and Black Robe.

Though Leon’s senses were strong, it wasn’t until the light began to fade that he could discern any details from within.

The figures of two men soon resolved, each tall and broad-shouldered.  As the light faded further, Leon saw that the first figure wore simple yellow robes, made in a more civilian style than the monastic robes worn by the Black and Brown Robes of Khosrow’s Fane.  He wore no ostentatious jewelry nor came bearing world-ending weapons, his feet clad in unenchanted sandals emphasizing his humble appearance.  He had long brown hair that fell in tight curls down his back, while his brown beard was perfectly clipped to his handsome face, from which thrust a proud nose, and above glimmered rich brown eyes.

His beard was shorter than when Leon had last seen him, but he was still immediately recognizable—Sasan, the fifteenth-tier mage who Leon had encountered at the Stormborn Oak a century and a half ago.

Likewise, the man standing at his side radiating twelfth-tier power was familiar: olive skin where it had once been paler, and his face was fuller and prouder, but standing beside Sasan was the werewolf that Sasan had cured at the foot of the Stormborn Oak.  He wore simple Adamant armor, sans helmet, and at his waist was a sheathed longsword roughly the same shape and size as Iron Pride.

“What is happening here?” Sasan asked, his deep voice smoothly flowing into every syllable in such a way as to be almost purposefully designed to relax everyone who heard it.  “I feel like I’ve just stepped into a warzone.  That seems strange given where we are…”

He smiled at everyone around him, all of them still essentially paralyzed by his titanic aura.  His eyes soon found Leon, and he asked, “Might you be willing to explain your side of this mess to me?”  His request came with a lightening of his aura, enough to allow Leon to move, though not enough to give him the freedom to easily fight.

So, Leon forced himself to relax.  Sasan was a man of honor, if their previous meeting was anything to go by, so he willingly pulled his helmet back into his soul realm.

Even without Leon saying anything, the moment Sasan beheld him, his pleasant smile widened, and he exclaimed, “Leon of House Raime!”  He opened his arms and quickly pulled Leon into a brotherly embrace.  “My, it is wonderful to see you again!  You’re looking well; it seems that little war you fought in concluded favorably enough?”

“Well enough,” Leon said as he awkwardly returned the embrace.  A moment later, as if sensing Leon’s discomfort, Sasan released him and looked around the courtyard again.

“My young friend, how have you come to find yourself in this situation?” the fifteenth-tier mage asked as all attention in the courtyard fell upon Leon.  He could even see some of the Black Robes start to look more than a little nervous.

“These men,” Leon said as he gestured to the Black Robes, “attacked a friend of mine.”  He nodded to Ingrid, who didn’t look at all willing to refute Leon’s claim of friendship.  “She recently suffered a personal loss, so my friends and I came out to support her, which is how we became entangled.  I don’t know why she was attacked, but I can say that it’s entirely unjust by all measures of morality and justice.”

“Strong words,” Sasan said as he turned to the leading Black Robe.  “How about you?  Will you explain how you’ve come to be here, ready to attack a man who did me a fine service not too long ago?  Here, of all places?  In this sanctuary of peace and brotherly love?”

As with Leon, Sasan’s aura lessened around the lead Black Robe, who immediately, if nervously, explained, “W-we were enforcing the Canticles o-of Hormizd and cleansing our pure race of that beastly mongrel!”  He pointed accusingly at Ingrid.

“Is that so…” Sasan murmured as his eyes scanned an irate Ingrid.  Had his aura not been suppressing her, Leon guessed she might have launched into a furious tirade of her own.  After a moment, Sasan said, “I’ll be speaking with Prelate Deimos about this.  I am… displeased at the behavior on display here.  All of humanity should be welcome in this ancient place.”

“The impure should not—” Black Robe began, but Sasan cut him off.

“Your opinion no longer matters.”  With a wave of his hand, Sasan threw Black Robe out of the courtyard as if he were throwing a handball.  With a glare and only a mildly threatening smile, the rest of the Black Robes were dismissed—no words were needed nor was any fuss made; they left the courtyard the moment Sasan’s aura abated, his display of power cowing even the most gung-ho among them.

“To defend one’s friends…” Sasan said wistfully.  “To defend one’s fellow Lords…  I think the Great Lord Khosrow would be delighted to see such a thing, even if, in his idealism, he envisioned humanity united in the wake of our liberation from the Primal beings.”

As the last of the Black Robes shuffled out of the courtyard, Sasan released the rest of the Storm Lords, who looked a tad lost now that there were no enemies to fight.  Leon’s family and advisors shot down to him, though, with Cassandra reaching him first and throwing her arms around his neck.

Hugs were shared, kisses were exchanged, and words of comfort were intimately whispered, all under the smiling gaze of Sasan.

“You have a lovely family, Leon,” he said as Leon released Valeria, the last of his ladies to celebrate their ‘win’ with an embrace.

“Thank you,” Leon replied as N’chezzar and Ramin walked over.  “Perhaps it would be a good idea to send everyone back who doesn’t need to be here?  I think deploying so many might be taken as a threat…”

“Yes,” Sasan agreed.  “There has been enough violence here today; let us all relax now and see to our own affairs.  But Leon, my young friend, now that we’ve seen each other again, I can’t help but want to catch up!  Tell me, will you meet me later?  Say, at the War Gallery or the mausoleum?”

Leon glanced around at everyone else, feeling the weight of their attention amplify since he was the only one Sasan had asked.

“…  Sure.  Whichever you want.  Assuming I don’t get attacked again…”

“I’ll ensure that you won’t be,” Sasan responded.  “And bring your family, too; I’d love a chance to meet them under better circumstances!  I’ll send Mhar here with a formal invitation later today.  Until then, I’ll leave you to your business.”  The former werewolf nodded to Leon with a ghost of a smile on his face while Sasan finally acknowledged N’chezzar and Ramin, leaving Leon to get pulled away by his friends and family, a sigh of relief finally escaping his lips.

Violence, which had seemed inevitable, had somehow been avoided.  Some part of him was certainly disappointed, but he still knew this to be a good thing.  At the very least, once his group left, he didn’t think he’d ever be returning to Khosrow’s Fane again.

---

“The sheer damned arrogance on display!” Miuna raged, the normally calm, even in anger, Princess now pacing and throwing her dainty fists around as if punching an unseen foe.  “I have never heard of Khosrow’s Fane being so…”  She went quiet as her mouth opened and closed, searching in vain for the right word.

“I think ‘arrogant’ is about right,” Elise quipped.

“I’d go with ‘violent’, or ‘heavy-handed’,” Cassandra said.

“Maybe ‘zealous’?” Valeria asked.

Miuna threw herself into the nearest chair in a huff and exclaimed, “All of them!”

Leon smiled and chuckled through his nose as Maia clung to his arm, violent protectiveness flowing freely through their connection.  The six of them were alone in the room, Miuna having flown over as soon as she heard of the near-battle in the courtyard.  Fortunately, she had little trouble getting through the fane even without her massive entourage, nearly all of whom she’d notably left behind.

After regrouping, Leon and the rest of the Storm Lords retreated up the Lumenite band to the arkyards in short order.  N’chezzar and Ramin, both having exchanged a few words with Sasan, brought up the rear.  Unfortunately, it was there that Ingrid realized that her ark was missing, as were the escorts that had accompanied it.  No one could say for certain, but she didn’t waste any time guessing that her husband, having run off with a twelfth-tier Gale Lord, had stolen them.

Her wrath had been extreme, but Leon had offered her hospitality on Storm Herald, which she’d eventually accepted after glaring into space and almost visibly warring with her pride.  Now, she was resting in one of the guest cabins with Archelaus, the two of them attempting to get her back into contact with her Despotate.

“Would you have come to our aid if you’d known?” Leon asked with a wry grin.

“Yes!” Miuna answered without a shred of hesitation.  “I wouldn’t have any partner of mine, especially not you, attacked by some monks who worship a man long dead like a god!”  She crossed her arms and nodded as if that was the last word that needed to be said on the topic.

“I feel safer already,” Cassandra muttered, her ruby eyes glittering with mirth.

“You should!” Miuna insisted.  “But… at least it’s all done.  It’s—”

A knock at the door interrupted the Princess, and after she concealed herself according to her custom, Leon called for the knocker to enter.  Anna stuck her face into the room just long enough to inform Leon that Mhar, the former werewolf, had arrived with the formal invitation.

So, excusing himself from Miuna and his family, Leon rose to meet with the man.  He heard the ladies already getting back into vehemently denouncing the Black Robes before the door shut behind him.

“He come alone?” Leon asked Anna.

“He did,” she replied.  “He was exceptionally polite, too.  I was kind of taken aback.  Most of the messengers I’ve had to field with Clear have been… not arrogant, but still pretty full of themselves.  Refreshing to talk with a post-Apotheosis mage without having to fight the urge to roll my eyes.”

“That frequent?” Leon asked, to which she nodded.  He frowned.  “What about with me?”

“It’s especially bad with you,” she cheekily responded before halting at the door to another chamber.  She nodded to the Tempest Knights standing guard, and they opened the door, revealing a more casually dressed Mhar staring out of a projected window into the Void.

When Leon and Anna entered, he turned around with a wide smile and began speaking even before the door closed.

“Leon Raime,” he said, his voice smooth, no trace of lupine gravel anywhere to be heard.  “I have been looking forward to this reunion for a long time.”

Leon smiled to hide his awkwardness.  He truly hadn’t given Mhar that much thought since leaving Redspark Forest.

’I’ve been busy,’ he mentally justified to himself.  ‘Had to beat Terris and build a Kingdom…’  Still, traces of shame burned in his cheeks, and he hurried to cover it up with words.

“I’m happy to meet you again, this time with much less fur in the way.”

Mhar softly chuckled.  “Yes.  I owe you much, Leon, and I hope to repay you someday.  You saved my life, and though it was Sasan who cured my curse, I will never forget who brought me to him, who came upon me in my darkest hour and bore me to my second chance when I couldn’t do so myself.”  His eyes turned to Anna as he added, “I haven’t forgotten you, either, Lady Anna.  I owe all of you who were there.”

“No need for that,” she said with a blush.  “I was only there, I didn’t do much to help…”

“It still needed to be said.”  Mhar paused a moment, a grateful smile on his lips as his eyes flitted from Anna to Leon and back again.  “Now, how about we get down to business?”

“That works,” Leon responded.  “What have you brought us?”

“An invitation to a private viewing of the mausoleum,” Mhar said as he produced a letter of invitation, written on sturdy if simple and unenchanted paper, and signed by Sasan in elegant, though just as simple as everything else about him, script—and, if his signature was any hint, the invitation was written in Sasan’s own hand.  “He hopes you’ll join him there in one day.  That’s twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes hence.  Feel free to bring your family along, though my Lord did insist that soldiers and other weaponized platforms remain behind.”

“That seems… dangerous,” Anna said.  “What’s to stop us from being attacked while down there?”

“The word of my Lord,” Mhar smoothly replied.  “It carries enough weight here that you’ll find no harm will come to you for the duration of your stay at Khosrow’s Fane.  My Lord also made sure to express to me that he would completely understand if you had to turn the invitation down—this bit of unpleasantness was… well, unpleasant.”

“I accept the invitation,” Leon immediately said, confident in his skills to at least escape if anything untoward were to happen.  “Not every day one sees the supposed resting place of the Great Lord, is it?”

Mhar smiled and bowed his head in assent.  “It sure isn’t.  I’ll take your acceptance back to my Lord.  I look forward to seeing you there, my friend.”

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