Chapter 46: 46. Seat of Power

Mark had to admit he was impressed as they flew into Deloise. The city was what he imagined a great Mediterranean capital of the Middle Ages or Classical Antiquity would have looked like.

Columned buildings perched atop a crowded mesa overlooking the giant river at its side, which was as wide as the city itself. Narrow roads split the city into neat square blocks. This was not the disorganized chaos he had seen everywhere else since arriving.

The pegasus knights led Mark’s ship to an opening at the center of the mesa, surrounded by the giant, columned buildings. As he got closer, he spotted hundreds of people seemingly waiting for his arrival—a combination of the knights in scale metal armor and toga-wearing men, most of which were graying or whiting.

He was thankful that the two acolyte boys were almost back to their old selves, sitting upright and healthy-looking, but fatigue still followed and it was evident in their lethargic movements.

Bringing the ship down to a jerky landing, Mark climbed up from the cockpit and nodded to the boys as they released their belts.

“I probably don’t need to say this, but don’t speak unless spoken to, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys echoed.

“Alright, open her up.”

Callum nodded and made for the button, pounding it with the soft of his fist and opening the ship to the city heart of their people’s long time rival and enemy.

Walking out, Mark felt the gazes of hundreds fall on them. The people were tame, but he could hear the murmured voices of hundreds whispering among themselves as he walked through the crowd.

The knights gestured for them to follow and wordlessly led them through stone arches into the largest of the buildings.

The building was only of the world's jewels, the Reborn Temple. Mark had read about it in the maps he received from Xaarn. The mosaic ceiling held up by columns that were thicker than most houses, must have been fifty or so yards above his head, and a cool breeze entirely divorced from the heat outside brushed through the awe-inspiring temple.

On both sides of the red-carpeted path that led through the temple’s middle, where hundreds of angelic choir singers humming in perfect harmony.

“Amazing,” Mark murmured, looking around at the impressive spectacle.

At the far end of the temple, they climbed what must have been a hundred stairs, continuing up until they reached a platform centered around a throne with at least a hundred or so people sitting and standing about doing all manner of jobs. Two men fanned the ancient-looking man on the throne with giant, man-sized feathers that looked like they were plucked from a titan of a peacock. There were also dozens armored guards standing with their hands on their hilts, while others entertained, dancing and strumming instruments. At one end there were barely dressed women feeding one another, and at another, men hunched over maps reading from notes and moving wooden pieces of some kind of game—but when Mark reached the platform in his unmistakable Imperator suit, they all fell silent.

A beautiful woman dressed in revealing rags standing beside the throne poked the sunken-eyed man with thin, wiry white hair, hunched into his own lap and sitting on the throne. Startled awake, he grunted and propped himself up to sit, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“Imperator,” came his breathy voice as he tried to focus on Mark.

Mark fell to his knees and into a bow. The two acolyte boys followed closely, with an irritated grunt escaping Radic's lips. Mark figuring bowing was probably the right thing to do, and the act eliciting gasps from the spectators.

“An Imperator bowing to the embodiment of the Reborn God—a once in a millennia sight to behold.”

As the ancient man spoke, people broke into cheers, evidently not entirely sure how to react at first.

“Your people have saved us. It’s the least I can do.”

“Come closer, Imperator. My voice doesn’t travel as it once did.”

Mark nodded, rose to his feet, and strode toward the impressive throne of stone, velvet, and gold trim.

“What a time it is,” the Archbishop said, trying to see Mark through his tired, folded-over eyes, almost entirely lost to wrinkles. “Do you know of our prophecies, Imperator?”

“I am sorry. Please accept my apologies, Great Archbishop, but I don’t.”

“It is quite okay. The fact that you’re here is more than enough for this tired old soul. Imperator, our stories tell of a great change brought in by a malignant force within our enemies ranks. It has been quite the fascination amongst my people for as long as our histories have been written. It is said that this force will help to usher in The Great Change and with it, a period of prosperity. The truth is, many already wonder if you might possibly be this malignant force.”

“Me?” Mark raised a brow.

“Yes, you. You are the first Imperator to ever step foot in this great temple, and what's more, you bowed to me. And by doing so, you put the Reborn God above a servant of your precious God-Lord. As an Imperator, are you not the caretaker of your so-called god’s law?”

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“I am,” Mark said cautiously.

“Tell me, is bowing to me no an affront to your Law of Hierarchy?”

That’s what he’s getting at? I was just trying to be respectful... is he right? Bowing in a religious sense is symbolic on Earth—humbling even. I hadn’t considered that they might use it similarly here. I just figured he is the leader of an entire nation and I'm barely the lord of a little settlement.

Mark glanced back at his two acolytes. Callum seemed rather calm, the scarf he wore around his head wrapped tightly, but Radic’s face was twisted into an embarrassed snarl.

I’ve slipped up. This is nothing short of heretical. Mark's mind briefly drifted to the thought of dealing with the troublesome acolyte, but his conscience would never allow him to. He could read the anger on the kid's face and would need to find a method to tame the boy before he caused trouble.

“I merely come in peace, not to make religious statements,” Mark carefully said.

“Ah, diplomatic to the end,” the Archbishop nodded. “Not that it matters. Your presence here is enough. I had no interest in taking chances against fate, especially not when their telling comes from my god.”

“Pardon me, Archbishop, but would you speak plainly? Why have you brought me here?”

“To see you with my own weary eyes. I might not live through the great events that are to come, but I at least wanted a chance to see the catalyst before my passing.”

“Well, here I am.”

A smile crept across the old man’s fragile lips. “Here you are.”

“If I may.”

The Archbishop nodded.

“Maybe I am this catalyst you speak of but I have many grave threats clawing at me. Winter comes to the Frontier, and with it, hordes of the most heinous monsters. If we are unable to defend ourselves, we stand no chance of making any kind of change happen.”

“You plead for assistance?”

“I do,” Mark nodded.

“Troubling,” the Archbishop hummed. “It is not wise to step between fate and its path, even if you mean to help it along its way. If you are indeed the avatar our god speaks of, then your fate should be bound and unbreakable against all but the most determined actors. However, for me to act on what I know could see that path of fate severed, and your destiny would be left to the fates of chaos. This could lead to much uncertainty, and bring havoc to all of those across the world.”

He really believes this, doesn’t he? I wish I had this kind of faith, but maybe he would change his tone if he saw the Frontier with his own eyes.

“You don’t believe me?” The Archbishop raised a wiry brow.

“What if I’m not this avatar or catalyst you speak of? Maybe I just die in the snow when the wargs charge across the Frontier. It’s my life on the line, so as you might imagine, it makes me a little more nervous to believe in stories I don’t even know.”

“Understandable,” the Archbishop nodded thoughtfully. “And wise. I hope dearly not to tempt fate, but I shall give you one small gift as a compromise in the hope of you remembering the aid my people lent you during your time of need.”

"I appreciate the offering, Archbishop. I will remember it as I do the help I have received from others, such as the King of Xaarn."

"I wasn't aware that Xaarn had a king," the Archbishop crooked his head. "Chronicler, have you heard of this?"

Another man rose to their side, pulling open a scroll and glancing across it in a hurry. "No, Archbishop, I haven't. Xaarn is marked as a city port in our chronicles."

"Hmm, odd. But perhaps things have changed," the Archbishop gave an indifferent shrug."

“Yeah," Mark grimaced, hoping his weird little stunt hadn't gave the wrong impression.

“As for your gift," the Archbishop continued. "One of our apprentices will join you. They shall be placed directly under your command and will obey any order you give them, as long as it isn’t against the Temple of the Reborn God. Let me assure you that even one of our apprentice healers is better than even the most gifted healer within your Imperium.”

“I’m grateful,” Mark bowed.

I was kind of hoping for resources, but seeing how they fixed me and the boys up, this could prove just as, if not more, valuable.

“Now go, Imperator, save your people. I shall pray that I have not interfered too greatly in your fate.”

“You heard him,” Mark turned and nodded to the two boys, leading them back down the stairs and out of the cool chamber.

“We did what we had to do,” Mark said as they entered the throne ship.

“Yeah,” Callum nodded.

“If you say so, Imperator,” Radic grunted, crossing his arms as he sat down.

He’s not going to let this go, is he?

“Look, if you’re grumpy, fine, but we’ve got a long road ahead. Can you put it to rest for now, at least?”

Radic looked up with a bent brow. “Guess so.”

“Good,” Mark said, unconvinced. “Okay, we should get moving. We’ve got a long journey back—”

“Hello?” A voice echoed along the steel ramp into the ship.

“Come in,” Mark called back.

Steps resounded on the metal ramp as the apprentice priest climbed up. “Imperator Atlas, I presume,” the skinny man with oversized glasses said as he entered the cabin, extending a frail hand.

Mark took the man’s hand, weakening his grip as he watched the man grimace and fold under the pressure of his shake. “Ah, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” the man said, tenderly rubbing his hand.

“You’re our new healer, I take it?”

“Yes, the name’s Altono Visard.”

“Pleased to meet you, Altono. Please take a seat with my acolytes and make sure to belt up. The ride can get a little rough at times.”

“Hello,” the priestling waved and flashed a thin smile to the acolytes as he made his way into the ship.

“Hi,” Callum waved back.

“Hmph,” Radic grunted and turned away.

“Don’t mind me. I’ll try to keep to myself,” Altono said, taking his seat.

“Imperator, how do you know this heretic isn’t a spy?” Radic hissed. “Or don’t you care anymore?”

“Radic, have you forgotten yourself?” Callum said. “You can’t speak to our Imperator like that.”

“It’s fine,” Mark shook his head. “He’s right; our new friend here might be a spy. Radic, can I trust you to keep an eye on him and report anything suspicious?”

“Huh?” Radic turned to Mark with a wide expression.

“It’s important. You can’t hurt him, though. At most, imprison the healer if you are without a doubt of your suspicions, but I will pass down the law.”

“I-ah,” Radic stammered, straightening in his chair. “Of course I can, Imperator. If this rat does anything out of line, I’ll be sure to spot it.”

“Good, I’m counting on you, Radic.”

“Yes, sir,” Radic saluted.

I think that actually worked. The kid just needed a purpose and some responsibility. Besides, it would be silly not to assume that this Altono fellow isn’t a spy—just because the Archbishop is helping us doesn’t mean we’re suddenly friends. Hell, the Archbishop didn’t even say if this so-called avatar is supposed to be on his side or not.

“Trust me, I’ll be on my best behavior. You’ve nothing to worry about,” Altono reassured.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Radic turned, snarling at the priest. “Don’t forget for even a second you’re going to be in the God-Lord’s territory.”

“I-I-I won’t, I promise,” Altono nervously nodded, his teeth softly chattering. “I’m just a healer.”

I have a hard time imagining this cowardly healer being much of a problem. I better keep and eye on these two, but Radic seems manageable… I just need to make sure he feels valued.

“Great, seems like you’re all getting along,” Mark teased and turned for the cockpit. “Now, are we all ready for the cold?”