The Storm King

“… and they are a truly despicable people! So pigeon-hearted, and with faces akin to dogs! You’ll see, Your Majesty, when your valiant army conquers them, the Karlians are worthy of nothing but disdain!”

Leon nodded along, not quite listening. He suppressed a shudder of impatience as he watched a destroyer firing its main cannon into the walls of a defiant stronghold in support of his ground forces, to great success. His forces assaulted the breach from both ground and air and the defenders, though brave, began throwing down their weapons in the face of defeat and imminent death.

‘There’s another one,’ Leon thought. The battle was taking place hundreds of miles away, at the wild edge of the southern continent. He sat upon a throne at the continent’s heart, the King whose ass had polished it before him having fallen in its defense. His son and heir, Prince Ochera, had bowed to Leon in the days that followed and was allowed to keep his Kingdom, though now reduced to a Princedom.

It had been a storied defense against unfathomable odds, as Ochera’s father was by no means a powerful King, though he’d been proud and stubborn, and had won Leon’s respect by defiantly spitting in the face of defeat. Had he survived, Leon would’ve easily accepted him as a vassal. Fortunately, Ochera was much his father’s son, and though he looked almost sick from lowering his head, he’d been considerably more enthusiastic in the days that followed, as Leon had honored their people’s bravery by imposing lenient terms—in effect, they were completely subordinated to Leon’s Kingdom, subject to his laws and administration. They were not allowed to maintain an army, though provisions for a lightly armed police force were given. They were allowed to pass their own laws, but Leon’s laws took precedence. Tribute was also imposed, payable in coin or kind.

Aside from that, Ochera and his people gained much for their subservience. Shared citizenship rolls, access to the Nexus once Leon allowed them access to unarmed arks—it would be a while for that, however, as Leon’s arkyards were still devoted entirely to the needs of his Kingdom as a whole—and the right to relative self-rule. Ochera as a Prince was essentially a hereditary Exarch, and given the same level of prestige and authority. Once the conquest finished, he would only be subject to whatever body Leon installed to act as the planar authority, and Leon himself, or his appointed representative—which was to say, local Praetors. So long as Ochera kept the peace, obeyed the law, honored his end of the vassal contract, and stayed loyal to Leon, there wouldn’t be a problem. Leon would keep his hand light, and Ochera could enjoy the benefits of belonging to a transplanar Kingdom as he pleased.

Ochera was a military man of the seventh-tier, with more than three hundred years of experience in defending his Kingdom from its neighbors—all of whom had either submitted or been quickly conquered by Leon’s forces. Leon would’ve much rather been talking to him rather than his current conversation companion, though in his position, he couldn’t quite bring himself to outright dismiss her.

“How is the conquest going out there?” Princess—formerly Emira—Danah asked, a sultry smile crawling across her face as she leaned forward slightly, giving Leon a good look down her low-cut dress. She was a beautiful woman, with dusky skin and an enviable figure. Her seventh-tier aura was solid, her hair was long, dark, and glittered in the light, and she had a face that all lady lovers would’ve desired.

She was also quite forward, her ‘innocent’ gestures coming across as anything but to Leon. He didn’t think she was actually trying to seduce him, but rather she intended for him to be smitten and possibly give her concessions in the hope of something more.

‘Then again, if I made a move, she’d probably allow it,’ Leon thought. He didn’t seriously entertain the idea of trying, his golden eyes barely flickering to Danah before glancing out of a window of colorful stained glass.

“Your people are certainly strong,” Danah said admirably. “Karlios will fall with hardly any effort on your part! Lord Archon Ranarius has long made trouble with me. Disputing the border, skirmishing with my limit militias, and doing anything he could to get my attention. Just a few years ago, he marched an army into one of my border forts and has refused to return it! I hope Your Majesty can rectify this situation soon, as tensions in the area have grown so strained that I was on the verge of declaring war before your arrival!”

‘There it is,’ Leon identified.

Over the past month, this had been his life—schmoozing with those who’d been conquered, his only aid in the endeavor being Marcus and his bureaucrats. Clear Day was gone, deployed to the other planes while some of his diplomats remained behind to aid in the conquest of Prachtor. Leon expected much from him, and his reports thus far had been positive. The rest of Leon’s expeditionary force had largely been focused on securing the rest of Prachtor, and so hadn’t been present in Sakhmej, the former capital of Ochera’s Kingdom and now the center of Leon’s provisional government. He almost felt like he’d been left on his own to deal with those who’d surrendered, all of whom apparently had business with each other that they wanted him to settle—in their favor, of course. This business with the former Emira was at least made easier since Karlion hadn’t submitted to Leon, so returning her border fort would be easy, should he be so inclined.

He'd probably follow through with it, though with how brazen Danah had been in the past few minutes, he played with the idea of not doing so.

“We’ll see,” Leon stated. “My people will look at the history of the region and decide on something fair and equitable. If all is as you’ve said it is, then you’re likely to see the return of the fort.”

Danah’s expression didn’t show even an ounce of shame as she laughed in delight, one of her hands coming to a light rest on Leon’s forearm for just a moment before she removed it. She gave him a sultry smile, one that promised much, and said, “I look forward to it, Your Majesty. May your appointed arbiters decide on a just and satisfying outcome…”

She winked at him so quickly that he almost thought he’d mistaken it before rising from her seat next to him, bowing at the waist—and once more giving him a generous view of cleavage—before turning and sashaying away.

Leon sighed as subtly as he could since the seat didn’t remain empty for long; Annotios Elegaros, Demarch of the Republic of Jurogion, soon took Danah’s place. Jurogion hadn’t been one of the first to surrender to Leon, though as his conquest began in earnest, his people quickly voted to surrender after watching their neighbors fall by the day. In so doing, not a drop of Jurogian blood had been spilled, earning his people relative autonomy and the status of an Exarchate, with their popularly elected Demarch acting as their Exarch.

For a moment, as the Demarch launched into a long and flowery greeting, Leon almost regretted the breakthrough that had allowed him to reproduce the Rumble Stone half a century ago, which allowed him to spread Nexus common throughout Prachtor, which had more than two hundred local languages. It was useful, to be sure, but it also meant these people were able to try his patience with longer petitions, unbound as they were by translators.

He spared a look in the far distance again, watching his forces press in on the Prachtorians from all sides. The three continents and all of the major islands now had some kind of presence from his armada, and resistance had been easily manageable so far. If all continued at this pace, all of Prachtor would be his before three months had even passed.

‘If…’ he thought, quietly hoping something would happen that might allow him to get out to the field…

---

Despair. It was hard for Daryun not to lose himself in it after the events of the past few months. The Sylphian attack on Kaarahi, his accepting the vassalage of King Imak, the defeat of the Ark Lord, and the beginning of the final campaign against the Sylphians. Had all gone well, this might’ve been the last time he would’ve had to lift his lance in anger.

Unfortunately, fate was cruel. A would-be god from outside the plane arrived, sending first a minion to demand the surrender of all those on Prachtor, then arriving himself in force. Imak denied this envoy, his anger so great at the vassalage offer that had the envoy not had the strength he did, Imak might’ve had him returned to his King without hands. Daryun could hardly fathom the kind of power one would need to have an Ascended Beast at least of the tenth-tier as his envoy, so he was glad Imak kept his cool. Still, the defiant part of him, the part that had encouraged and berated him in his darkest moments, in those times when he thought about ending the Sylphian attacks by doing what some might consider the ‘right’ thing: surrendering to them… This part of him that had kept him from bowing to the Sylphian barbarians roared in defiance, demanding he resist this wannabe god with all the strength in his arm.

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‘We are unlikely to succeed,’ he thought as he stared up from his place of concealment at the great ark hovering overhead. It was hardly the biggest out of the armada, or even the biggest in this task force, but it was still larger than anything Imak could bring to bear, and quite easily, too. Numerous bays dotting its hull could open and allow hundreds of war machines to spill forth—arks piloted by single individuals, and what looked like bronze and iron-colored golems, none of which any Prachtorian power could build. This ark-carrier had an escort of a dozen other arks, eight of them armed with large forward cannons that could cleave entire armies in twain, and the remaining four larger monsters that seemed more specialized in ark-to-ark combat. A dozen other smaller arks had been part of the escort, but they’d dispersed in patrols as they searched for Imak’s fleet. Finally, the largest ark in the enemy fleet floated at the rear of their formation, a monster of metal and magic that boasted no serious weapons but hosted a complement of ground forces at least two thousand strong that could deploy startlingly easily from the behemoth—a manageable number for Daryun’s army, though their war machines gave him no small amount of pause.

When their newest enemy had appeared, Imak had wasted little time in ordering his arks to muster and called up all of his vassals, even those initially exempted from the Sylphian campaign. Ninety-eight arks had been pulled together, some of them old and rickety with only about twenty representing the peak of skill that Imak’s arksmiths possessed. Their numbers were much greater than their enemy’s, though even with how they’d prepared, Daryun wasn’t sure it would be enough.

With the arks, expensive as they were to field, the Sylphians were crushed. Doing it in this manner had cost almost ten times as much as the campaign should’ve and had driven Imak into debt, but the King hadn’t hesitated. Finishing their war with the Sylphians was paramount to resisting their new enemy, and Imak had done what he’d had to; Daryun had nothing but respect for the man.

Now, Imak was aboard his flag ark, leading the twenty-strong contingent of the newest and strongest arks in his fleet. The remaining seventy-eight lay in wait, having been obscured by large-scale invisibility enchantments, while Daryun waited in the forest of a wide valley. Imak commanded the arks, and Daryun led the ground forces. When the ambush was sprung, Imak’s concealed arks would hit the enemy arks from all sides, hopefully knocking them out of the fight quickly, while Daryun would engage any ground elements that might deploy, as had been witnessed happening in prior battles across the continent.

Much rode on the success of this ambush. A quarter of the Kingdom had already fallen, leaving them without access to the sea. Nearly all of Imak’s combat power was here, with his arks and nearly a hundred thousand men, most of whom were hidden amidst the brush or in underground forts within these mountains—relics of much older wars against the Sylphians during their initial rise.

Imak’s arks pulled deeper into the mountains, flying over the valley Daryun waited in. Their engines groaned and screamed under the strain, Imak demanding as much speed as they could generate. The force of magic they emitted roiled over the valley, unsettling man and beast alike. Daryun’s stomach twisted and he almost lost his lunch, while even his best friend and most steadfast partner beneath him whinnied and shifted. The force of those arks simply passing by hundreds of feet high and the response on the ground had Daryun momentarily worried that their magical concealment might be disturbed, but a glance over his shoulder at the shadow engineers confirmed that it remained up.

Daryun allowed himself a brief sigh of relief as he stroked Scarlet Star’s dark red mane, calming him in the wake of Imak’s passing.

“Steady yourselves!” he called out, his line commanders repeating his order further down, and order was quickly restored.

The enemy arks pursued, though not quite at a breakneck speed. Daryun braced himself for the wave of magic that would herald their arrival, but he felt nothing substantial. The enemy arks were so efficient that no such magic was emitted.

It was certainly more comfortable that way, but Daryun couldn’t help but shiver at the implication.

He was committed, however, and despite this implication, he wouldn’t swap places with anyone else in all of Prachtor. He breathed deeply, steadying his nerves for what was likely to be the last battle he ever fought, one way or another.

Lances suddenly roared, hammering his eardrums. A moment later, they were answered, and the valley was abruptly filled with waves of terrible magic. Again, Scarlet Star shifted anxiously, but again, Daryun was able to steady him. Two of the enemy arks were stricken from the sky, at the cost of six of Imak’s. The mountaintop fortresses then abandoned their magical concealment and added their firepower to Imak’s, launching enormous balls of fire and shadow which downed two more enemy arks.

Fire peppered the mountaintops, and the fortresses were lost in clouds of smoke and dust. At the same time, ground forces spilled forth from the massive transport while the carrier deployed its cloud of smaller arks and golems. It took only a matter of seconds for these forces to reach the ground, and as their feet touched dirt, Daryun glanced to his right, where Nimrak stood on his own White Horn horse. Jontos should’ve been on his left, but he’d fallen in battle with the Ark Lord, surviving just long enough to learn of their victory before passing with a smile on his lips.

Nimrak smiled at him, trying to show confidence. Daryun appreciated the gesture even if he couldn’t bring himself to return it. Instead, as hundreds of enemy soldiers in glittering armor, augmented by ground-based golems and what looked like strange arks that floated a couple feet off the ground, began organizing themselves on the field ahead of them, Daryun brought a horn to his lips.

He silently whispered a prayer to Yrati, then sounded the horn. Imak had shaken the sky with his ambush, and now Daryun shook the earth; thousands of warriors rode from the tree line, the White Horn Riders leading the charge, and Daryun leading the White Horn Riders. Scarlet Star resembled his name as he raced across the land, his red hair gleaming even beneath the barding that Imak had gifted them weeks ago. Daryun lowered his lance, noting that the enemy reacted with complete professionalism, forming lines as their war machines turned their weapons in the direction of Daryun’s army.

A magical shudder ran through the air, cutting through the chaotic currents kicked up by the battle above, and Daryun gritted his teeth, waiting for the inevitable. Time seemed to slow as a moment stretched to a lifetime. Daryun glared across the field from behind his visor, his lips pulled back in a defiant snarl…

… and Lancefire tore through his ranks. Explosions to his right and left echoed in his helmet, and the war cries of many of his battle brothers were cut short. But the charge continued, hundreds turning to thousands turning to tens of thousands, and the space between their forces narrowed by the second.

“FOR PRACHTOR!” Daryun roared. “FOR OUR HOME! OUR KING! OUR FAMILIES!”

The war cry of his charge grew, almost drowning out the sounds of screaming, the explosions, and even the battle above. Daryun focused and urged Scarlet Star onward. He could see his enemy readying themselves, but even their admirable discipline shook in the face of thousands of large, angry horses, and their defiant riders.

A roar of his own escaped Daryun’s mouth as a Lance shot blasted past him, impacting about fifty feet behind him. He thrust his lance forward, blades of wind tearing through trenches into the earth before him and then the ranks of the enemy, disrupting their wall of halberds. Magic answered, both sides launching waves of fire, ice, light, shadow, earth, wind, and lightning at each other. Some of what the enemy answered with was colored strangely, but Daryun soon focused entirely on the terrain in front of him. He and his lance bored through the wall of clashing magic, and in another moment, he was upon the enemy.

His lance, guided by his expert hand, impaled one soldier through the neck—Daryun would’ve aimed for the eye slit, but rather queerly, these soldiers wore helmets without visible visors. The force of his charge and impact ripped the soldier’s head from his shoulders, and Scarlet Star battered through him, crashing through the lines as the White Horn Riders followed his lead.

Chaos. Daryun thrust again and again, used his magic to exhaustion, endured the enemy’s counters, and kept moving, cutting through the enemy line to the field behind them. With one last swing of his lance, he summoned all of the power in his blood and launched a wind blade into a charging golem, one of its arms raised with a blade of blue light extended from its wrist. His wind blade caught it in the midsection, tossing it to the ground where an earth spike from another rider met it. Metal screamed, and then an explosion of lightning tore the golem apart from within.

Daryun blinked in surprise, but he kept riding, making room for the riders behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. The enemy line had been torn to pieces, and their war machines were growing scarcer by the second, explosions marking their destruction. Far above, Lances continued hammering the enemy fleet, even at the cost of friendly arks. Several of those enemy arks were already plummeting from the sky, crashing onto the slopes of the surrounding mountains.

Daryun breathed deeply as he led his riders to charge the remaining enemy soldiers again. This was it. Though there was still fighting going on, the battle was over.

He and Imak had won.