The Storm King

Things moved quickly in the wake of the Ravens declaring for Leon. He stayed in Raiginn for only a few days, and in those days, he handed over his transformation enchantment, the roc feathers, the bull horns, and a significant amount of thunder wood. He had other business he could discuss with the Ravens regarding arks, Titanstone, and a host of other matters, but unfortunately, he couldn’t spare the time; he left the city with the silent promise to return as soon as was convenient.

In the meantime, he and his supporters returned to Raithellion where he met up with the rest of his retainers and the other half of the Tempest Knights left to guard Valeria and Cassandra. Accompanying him were a number of Raven elders, including the ninth-tier Frode.

In the days since he’d been gone, Cassandra and Sar had spent a significant amount of time talking. They discussed quite a bit, though given they didn’t quite trust each other yet, not as much as Leon hoped for. Still, when he returned to the city, Sar met him on the outskirts with the rest of his people, and there he expressed a little more optimism about Leon’s intention to bring peace to the Empires and the Ten Tribes.

Fortunately, their talks had been productive enough that Cassandra agreed with him.

So, with that happy news, Leon re-entered the city, and following Sar’s recommendation, he did so on foot. His party was large at a few hundred strong, but it wasn’t large enough to be considered much of a parade. Despite that, as he entered the city with several Hart heralds moving ahead announcing him, the crowds in the streets parted before him even as the people flocked to see him. It was much like the last time Sar had asked him to walk through the city, with thousands of Harts coming out to see the last of the Thunderbirds and to cheer his passing.

He was cynical enough to think in a small part of his mind that it could very well all be staged, but there were so many Harts coming out to cheer him as he walked by that he ignored that part of his mind. Instead, he focused only on waving politely and trying desperately not to make a fool out of himself. The last thing he needed was to trip and smash his face into the stones of Raithellion’s streets.

‘What a King they’d think of me,’ he thought with some amusement as he imagined just that scenario.

To his great pleasure and fortune, after taking a circuitous route through the city, he made it to the Harts’ Tribal Totem—where he paid his respects to their Ancestors and his own—and the gathering hall without involuntarily kissing the ground.

Or voluntarily, for that matter.

The gathering hall had already been filled with Hart elders and Chiefs, and Leon had to fight the instinct to cringe as they all rose in unison and fell to their knees upon his entrance.

“That’s unnecessary, everyone,” he said as he strode down the aisle. “Please, take your seats.”

There was some confusion, but by the time Leon stood upon the dais, the Harts had returned to their seats, most with expressions of bemusement.

Joining Leon upon the dais was Sar, while the rest of Leon’s party sat further away in the hall. Frode was the only exception, but he stood in front of the dais. As silence fell upon the hall, he said loudly and firmly, “The Ravens-of-Hail-Hall have sworn themselves to Leon of House Raime, last of the Thunderbirds…!”

He faltered a bit at the end as it had seemed that he wanted to continue lavishing Leon with fancy titles, but Leon quietly ordered him to make it quick with his darkness magic.

Fortunately, hardly anyone seemed to notice as the room erupted with the roaring and stomping of delighted tribesmen.

It took a while for the hall to quiet down, and when it did, Leon spoke.

“It humbles me that so many have placed their faith in me. To be the King of so generous a people as you will be the honor of my life!”

More stomping and cheering followed.

As it died down a moment later, Leon continued, “But we’re not quite there, yet! We still have the Elder Council to call, a Thunderer to defeat, and a Kingdom to rebuild! This will take some time and planning, but I know that with so many powerful and talented men and women with me, even these obstacles will prove themselves easily surmounted!”

Again, the hall was filled with the sounds of cheering and stomping, but it was cut short as the hall's south door—shut following Leon’s entrance—was flung open.

“Who dares to interrupt official business?!” an eighth-tier Hart roared as he shot to his feet, anger writ large upon his face. He was joined by nearly half of the Harts, followed only a moment later by the rest of the hall.

The man who interrupted them wasn’t a particularly imposing man, but as he strode into the hall, his aged face impassive, his eighth-tier aura neither respectfully restrained nor arrogantly projected, the entire hall fell silent.

The man was neither richly dressed nor heavily armed or armored, but Leon noticed that at his side he carried a ceremonial hatchet. The blade was made of green, oxidized bronze, while the handle was wood, intricately carved with animalistic images of the Ten Tribes’ Honored Ancestors. Hanging from the hatchet were strings of feathers and beads.

Leon recognized the man though he’d never seen him before. He wasn’t someone overly powerful or important, but he held a respected—even sacrosanct—office in Stormhollow.

Without a word, he strode to within a step or two of the dais, turned to face the entire hall, drew the bronze ax from his belt, and raised it into the air. “Let it be known that the Elder Council has been called!” he declared. “It will meet by the winged grace in eighteen days!”

The Ax-Bringer returned the hatchet to his belt, straightened out his shirt, and then turned and stared expectantly at Sar.

Sar, a look of grave seriousness gracing his features, asked, “Who called the Elder Council, and why?”

“The Elder Council was called by Solomon of the Tiger Tribe,” he stated, his voice echoing throughout the otherwise silent hall. “Addressing claims of treason, sabotage, and collusion, as well as the continuance of the ongoing war.”

Sar pondered his words for a moment before nodding, and the Ax-Bringer turned and left, undoubtedly to visit the Raven Tribe next.

Xanthippe was the first to speak after the man crossed the threshold, and she spoke the word on everyone’s mind.

“Fuck.”

---

“That lumbering beast is scrambling now that all the Tribes have taken sides,” the Jaguar growled. “This is a ploy to catch us off-guard, to prevent us from having adequate time to plan and prepare for the Elder Council!”

Following the announcement, Leon had cut his already short speech down to what he’d already said and quickly called the meeting to an end. After that, he’d quickly made his way to Sar’s residence along with Sar himself, the Jaguar, Xanthippe, Singer-in-Caves, Ipatameni, and Frode. His knights and retainers followed, but of them, only Maia, Valeria, and Cassandra joined him for the much smaller meeting between Leon and the rest of the Tribe’s top leaders to discuss their strategy.

“It’s not the best plan, calling the council early,” Frode responded. “All he’d be hoping for would be for elders to be surprised or absent and unable to be informed in time. But that’s not a—”

“It’s a perfectly valid plan,” Xanthippe practically hissed, interrupting the Raven. When Frode gave her a questioning look, Xanthippe explained, “Most of my Tribe’s elders remain on the Sword, and they won’t be able to reach Stormhollow in time for the Elder Council.”

“Same with ours,” Singer-in-Caves whispered. “This is going to restrict our voting power considerably.”

“The Thunderer will still only have four Tribes,” Leon said. “And the Bison still have their army, led by their elders, on the Sword, don’t they? Is the Thunderer not reduced as well?”

“Yes,” the Jaguar spat, “but by calling the council early, it’s clear he wants to grab us while we’re still gathering together. He’s had weeks to assemble the Tigers, Bears, Spiders, and as many Bison elders as he can in Stormhollow. We now have to scramble to make sure all of the elders on our side can reach the city in time.”

“How long do we need?” Leon asked the room.

“If the Elder Council is meeting in eighteen days, then we’ll need every one of those days,” Singer-in-Caves said.

With a deep frown, Leon looked around the room, making eye contact with his Tribal supporters. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Then this is where we’re going to call it. I’d called us all here hoping to debate our strategy for at least a few hours, but if you need all the time we have, then go now. Get home and get your elders moving. We’re going to need every damned vote we can get at that council!”

The elders had already sent word back to their respective Tribes using comm stones and vox bats—though the Harts and Ravens were the most distant from Stormhollow, so the other Tribes probably already knew—but Leon wanted their ninth-tier mages to lead them personally.

“Get going!” he ordered. “Don’t wait around!”

Aside from a few apprehensive looks, the elders bowed to Leon and made for the door. Eventually, Leon was left alone with Sar, his wives, and only the Jaguar.

“You need to head back to the Jaguars too,” Leon said to the Jaguar of the West.

“I would rather accompany you, Leon,” he replied. “My Tribe has the privilege of being the closest to Stormhollow. Nikolaos has already gotten nearly all of our elders heading to the city. They’ll be there before us.”

Leon sighed, then looked to Sar. “How many Harts have been assembled?”

“All but two,” Sar replied. “Eighty-nine elders are in the city, getting ready to make for Stormhollow as we speak.”

Leon nodded. “Good. Good. How quickly can we get them moving?”

“By morning,” Sar easily replied.

Leon made eye contact with Valeria, and without him even having to say anything aloud, she smiled and nodded. Maia, too, understood him, if the flexing of her aura was anything to go by.

“We’re going to Stormhollow in the morning?” Cassandra asked, a look of anticipation on her face.

“Yes,” Leon replied.

[Have to finally put the Thunderer in his place,] Maia snarled.

“His place is on death’s own ark on its way to the Ashen Fields,” Cassandra added.

“Look at that,” the Jaguar said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, “something we can agree on…”

Cassandra just stared at him for a moment before turning back to Leon. “What do you want to do?”

“This changes nothing,” Leon said. “We can still settle the issue of kingship then, can’t we?”

The Jaguar sighed loudly and furiously. “It’s complicated. The matters of the Elder Council can be complex. There aren’t many set rules, but by long tradition, the one who calls the council dictates the schedule. So that means the Tigers will be presiding over this meeting of the elders.”

Valeria quietly asked, “Will that mean Solomon will be in charge?”

“Yes,” the Jaguar confirmed.

“Not the Thunderer?”

“No. The Thunderer derives his power by consent of the Elder Council, and as such is subordinate to them. However, the Thunderer is still an elder of the Booming Brown Bears and has a seat on the council. His current position doesn’t change that—and in practice, still gives him significant power. More than that, I can almost guarantee that he’s the one who actually called the council, even if Solomon is the one who physically went to the Ax-Bringer.”

Leon asked, “What is Solomon like? You know him better than I think anyone else here, unless Sar is on good terms with the Tigers…”

Sar simply shook his head.

“Solomon,” the Jaguar whispered, “was an honorable man when we were younger. I welcomed him as my brother-in-law gladly, especially since it would’ve meant Hector and I would be bound by kin. Since my sister’s death, however, I haven’t spoken much with Solomon. We’ve been too busy dealing with our own duties—mine protecting the western shores and Solomon’s as Hegemon of the Tiger Tribe.

“I don’t know how devoutly he follows the Thunderer or what his intentions might be for this meeting. I expect him to conduct himself well, but that expectation is based on the man I knew hundreds of years ago.”

“Then let’s prepare as if he were a complete unknown,” Leon said. “This ‘treason’ matter is directed at me, isn’t it?”

“Or others,” Sar mused. “Good excuse to execute or exile elders who might support you. Fewer elders means fewer votes.”

“If you can’t win the votes,” Cassandra said with a derisive smirk, “just get rid of the voters, huh? Arranging so that as few can attend as possible, and then disqualify more right before. Devious. How likely is this to work?”

“That depends entirely on how many of our elders we can get to show up,” the Jaguar explained. “All votes in the Elder Council are by simple majority. If we outnumber them, then we’ve won. But if they outnumber us…”

“Keep in contact with all our supporters,” Leon ordered the Jaguar. “I want an accurate headcount of absolutely everyone we can bring to bear. Once we get to Stormhollow, I want the same for the Thunderer’s side. How many elders do they have and whether or not it might be possible to turn some.”

“Turning elders away from their Tribes will be functionally impossible,” the Jaguar said. “In eighty-thousand years, a Tribe has had split votes only thrice, and even then never on important issues. For something like this, don’t count on any elders breaking ranks.”

Leon frowned as he lost himself in his thoughts but he was almost literally pulled back as Maia took his arm.

[If they reject us, then we kill them,] she said to him. [So don’t worry.]

Leon just about burst out laughing at her suggestion, put forth so earnestly. “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said as he leaned a little further into her. “I really do…”

---

“I gave no such order!” the Thunderer thundered. So loud was his voice that his home shook down to its foundations despite its spectacularly powerful enchantments. Fortunately, it was unlikely that anyone in the city itself would be able to hear him despite this—only those in the room with him would hear.

Those people were Linda, the High Inquisitor, and Hector, his right-hand man. Linda was as impassive as she always was, while Hector looked almost more like a mad dog than a tiger.

“I know that!” Hector shouted. “You never would’ve! Too blinded by your own ideals that you can’t see what’s about to happen!”

“You have no idea what’s about to happen,” the Thunderer growled as he advanced upon his subordinate.

Hector shrunk back for a second before straightening up and standing firmer against the Thunderer. “I do know. If you had your way, Leon Raime would’ve walked right into the hall and been acclaimed King then and there! He has six Tribes now! Even with the Hawks and Harts counted he still has more elders than you do! You were going to give them time to assemble themselves, and in doing so, lose everything!”

The Thunderer’s nails dug into his palms from the force of his clenched fist. It took him all of his self-control not to slam his fist into Hector’s face so hard that it turned into a fine pink mist.

“You have been too passive,” Hector continued. “Our dream is about to die because you’re too honorable.”

“My record is enough,” the Thunderer stated. “What I have built must stand on its own if it’s to outlive me. The elders will see the government I have built and know that I am where I need to be.”

“They will crown Leon Raime their King and throw you out,” Hector scoffed. “I am doing what must be done. What you cannot. That’s why I’m here, to keep you from dirtying yourself and our goals from these matters. I will not kneel to that pretender, and I will ensure that he never becomes King!”

“And so you called the Elder Council,” Linda neutrally stated.

“I did,” Hector admitted. “Our allies are here, ready to go. If even a few of their elders don’t come, then we can block all their attempts to crown Leon Raime! And if this session closes, then they won’t be able to call another one for at least a year!”

“That’s not a rule,” Linda replied.

“Then we only need to get rid of a few of their elders,” Hector replied. He might’ve said more if he hadn’t been sent flying across the room, blood pouring from his mouth.

“You will not utter such words again,” the Thunderer said as he straightened up and rubbed his knuckles. Though he was stronger than Hector, Hector was still a ninth-tier mage and possessed a thick skull to boot. “We will do this my way.”

“No,” Hector growled as he rose from where he’d landed, an almost manic look in his eyes. “You are too soft-hearted to do what must be done. I’ve made arrangements.”

“What arrangements?” the Thunderer asked as his fury grew.

“You’ve been in contact with the other Tribes,” Linda said. When the Thunderer gave her a searching look, she added, “All of them.”

“Leon Raime will not be our King,” Hector repeated. “He will not be. I have ensured it. Not all the elders from those Tribes who support him have awakened blood. They number only a handful, but it’s enough. They can be elders for any Tribe if properly incentivized.”

Hector paused as if expecting another strike, but the Thunderer controlled himself. As much as it angered him, Hector wasn’t entirely wrong. He couldn’t say for certain that the Elder Council would choose him. Leon Raime stood a damned good chance at becoming King.

And neither was he wrong in blaming him and his passivity.

“My friend,” Hector said, his tone softening, “all I ask for is your trust. Your trust. Only for a few days. And what we’ve built together will survive this. Please.”

The Thunderer turned away from Hector and stared at a finely-made woolen tapestry that had hung in his office for many years. It depicted the Ancestors of all Ten Tribes coming together in harmony and mutual understanding. As was typical for all such works, the Thunderbird soared above them all, her eyes glowing with power and seeming to track him no matter where he was in the room.

“Leave,” he snapped.

Linda rose from her seat and immediately complied. Hector, on the other hand, stared at him for a long moment before departing. The Thunderer hadn’t given him another look, but he’d seen with his magic senses that as Hector left, he wore a wide smile.

As soon as the door closed and the wards flared ensuring that the Thunderer was alone, he glared back at the Thunderbird, her gaze now seeming mocking. Faster than the mortal eye could track, he tore the tapestry from the wall and let it crumple to the ground. But as it fell and settled, the Thunderbird was still visible, and all the other Ancestors were obscured by the crumpled wool.

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