The Storm King

“Manuchehr has retaken control in Shatufan,” Icarius informed the meeting room.

Leon sighed. The Shatufan problem was messy, and it was a mess largely of his own making. He didn’t regret his actions, but dealing with it was going to take some doing, especially now that Krizos and Rolor’s Highcastle were both officially on Shatufan’s side.

“How?” Leon asked.

“Sentudon, Krizos, and Rolor’s Highcastle joined forces with loyalists who fled the city with Manuchehr,” Icarius replied. “It wasn’t even a battle—the self-proclaimed King of Shatufan had bloodied himself fighting Jamshid, and what few forces he retained were skeletal. There wasn’t even a fight; as soon as Manuchehr appeared at the head of an army, the guards threw open the city gates and surrendered. Manuchehr took control over the city and had everyone associated with Jamshid and the ‘King’ executed. The ‘King’ he executed personally.”

“What do the other cities get out of this…” Leon wondered aloud. “Their armies didn’t stay in Shatufan, did they?”

“No,” Icarius answered. “They aided Manuchehr in securing the hinterlands and in boosting the size of his army’s profile, but it was natives of Shatufan who retook the city itself.”

Leon nodded. “So they’re not after hard power, then. I suppose that makes sense, but it leaves open the question of what they expect to gain. How many troops did they deploy to support Manuchehr?”

“Getting accurate numbers based on second-hand accounts is nearly impossible, but I can estimate that Sentudon sent ten thousand soldiers, Krizos sent twenty-five thousand, and Rolor’s Highcastle sent around thirty thousand. Manuchehr and the loyalists, plus those from the countryside they conscripted or recruited, numbered nearly fifty thousand.”

Leon frowned in appreciation. Such an army was impressive, and he was surprised there was enough discipline that no towns were sacked along the way, and Shatufan apparently wasn’t damaged in Manuchehr’s retaking of the city.

“How was he able to take on that ‘King’?” Gaius inquired. “Wasn’t he one of the tenth-tier mages left in the city?”

“There had been three before we arrived,” Icarius answered. “Jamshid was one. The King was another. The last supported Manuchehr, and the allies sent enough force that the King wasn’t able to put up enough of a fight to keep his seized throne.”

Leon sighed again. “I suppose that it doesn’t matter in the end…”

The room went quiet for a moment before Icarius asked, “What doesn’t?”

Leon bit his lip for a moment as he let the lingering anger from the visit bleed out of him. “What these cities are getting in return for their support. I’ve decided that I don’t care.”

“It would be easier to break their support if we knew what they were getting,” Valeria pointed out.

“I don’t care,” Leon stated. “I’ve decided that my Kingdom will include all of the Far West. These cities have acted in bad faith, leaving me with no faith in them that they won’t be problems. When the next wave of colonists arrive, their arks will aid us in bringing these cities under our control.”

“With respect, Your Majesty,” the Jaguar whispered, “even that wave of colonists will leave us short-staffed. These cities are large, and providing sufficient garrisons for them will be impossible even if we limit ourselves to just Shatufan, Krizos, Sentudon, and the Highcastle. If we expanded our ambitions to include all of the cities in the Far West, we would have perhaps a handful of soldiers for each garrison at the most.”

Leon slowly nodded. “This will be no lightning campaign. And once we have arks… we can move more quickly. If we’ve taken our lessons from our first wave well enough, then we’ll be able to ferry more troops from Aeterna. Accelerate our plans.”

“We can do that…” the Jaguar conceded. “Each trip will take weeks. We might not have that long.”

Leon projected his magic senses briefly, noting that the delegation from those three cities had already been escorted beyond the misty veil. He found it somewhat curious that Sentudon hadn’t sent a delegation of their own and briefly wondered if that meant they’d be more open to surrendering to his authority. He didn’t mind giving them generous terms, as he’d given to Alhamachim, but no such terms would be offered to Shatufan. Krizos and Rolor’s Highcastle… would depend on how they responded to his rejection of their terms, he supposed.

He pushed his magic senses out further, due north.

Of these cities, Rolor’s Highcastle was the closest by a considerable margin, being south of the Southcourse mountains that separated the cities of the Finger Lakes from the plains and forests that extended to the King’s Ocean.

The Highcastle itself was a relatively small, though still imposing structure built on a hill overlooking Tyrant’s Lake, a deep lake with green water. A river emptied the lake, serving as one of the larger tributaries of the Blue Feather River, and allowing easy access for shipborne travel from the Highcastle to Artorion.

The problem for that was the Blackbone Fens, a dense, wild forest that the tributary almost, but didn’t quite skirt. For a large military force, however, the danger of the Fens was low.

And Rolor’s Highcastle certainly appeared powerful enough to assemble a large military force, the army they sent to support Manuchehr looking to Leon like only a fraction of what they could assemble if they truly went to war.

The city was large, hosting a population of at least a hundred thousand souls, and more likely than not close to two hundred thousand. The city was well-ordered, with straight streets and a grid pattern. Several layers of square walls formed layers of defense, with the suburbs and some fields protected by one wall, another wall protecting the outer city, and a final wall protecting the inner city. The Highcastle itself served as a citadel, though wasn’t large enough to host even ten thousand people for long periods of time, let alone the city’s entire population. All of these fortifications were quite heavily warded, but the Highcastle was particularly warded—Leon couldn’t get many details given its anti-magic senses wards, but the structure radiated magic so intensely that it was obvious a tremendous amount of power was flowing through its stones.

The King of Rolor’s Highcastle didn’t live in the eponymous Highcastle despite these defenses, however; he instead chose to live in a palace closer to the lakefront. That palace was behind the final layer of walls, but the lakefront wharfs were not. Dozens of large ships plied the waters of Tyrant’s Lake, and some even braved the river to trade with the cities of the Finger Lakes.

The city’s hinterlands were filled with farms and villages and towns. Most of the towns were fortified, but there were only two of note along the river. Neither of these towns impressed Leon with their defenses, however, despite being almost buried in the Blackbone Fens.

Krizos, meanwhile, was another beast entirely.

That city, much like Rolor’s Highcastle, had been built upon a lake. However, while Tyrant’s Lake was fairly normal, Treasure Lake was a pit of malevolence that sent shivers down Leon’s spine. Its waters were black as pitch despite the mountain streams that fed it being pure and clean. The forests along its shores were sickly and dark, while Krizos did little to brighten the ambiance.

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Black stone seemed to be the only real building materials around given the lifeless Shaded Plain to the north and the weak-looking trees around the lake. The footprint of the city was much more natural than that of the Highcastle, with streets winding and twisting upon themselves in such utter chaos that Leon couldn’t fathom how anyone other than a local could navigate.

The city’s chaos was thrown into even starker relief as there didn’t seem to be any kind of zoning in the city, allowing affluent businesses, regal palaces, and public entertainment buildings to rise next to and even amidst slums.

Krizos didn’t have much agriculture to speak of, relying instead on large-scale food imports. This kept the city’s population relatively low, but given the bounties of Treasure Lake, there was surprising wealth to be found.

Treasure Lake was like a tar pit, swallowing up almost anything that touched it beneath its black waves. Only ships built in Krizos could remain afloat in those waters, but only just. In feats of sheer insanity, the ship sailors would cover themselves in some kind of black sludge before diving beneath the lake’s surface.

Many would never surface again, lost to the living forever. Others, however, might resurface with arms laden with golden treasures, sparkling jewels, and enchanted wonders. The less fortunate might come back with a single small item. The just-barely-fortunate-enough returned to the surface with naught but their lives.

Where all of these treasures came from, no one seemed to have an answer. In fact, the lake itself seemed bottomless, with some speculating that it led all the way through the Nexus’ shell and into the Void. The bravest and most powerful of mages had only ever made it about a hundred miles deep. No Anakes or Elemental Kings had attempted the dive, however, since the turmoil in the Far East mostly took up their attention.

Leon couldn’t help but wonder what kind of awful magic was at work in the Nexus to create such a place.

‘If this is someone’s hell, they’re afraid of water,’ he idly thought. The Aesii and Treasure Lake were proof enough of that, and that didn’t even touch on the strange, ghostly Lake of the Lost further north of the Shaded Plain, lying about halfway between Krizos and Lancefoot, or the eldritch horrors that lurked beneath the surface of the Nexus’ oceans.

The power of these two cities was considerable. Their population rivaled that of Shatufan, and they had several arks at their disposal, not to mention their small but hardly inconsiderable navies. Their armies were clearly coordinated and large enough to support Manuchehr in regaining his position, but not so great that they could truly compare to Leon’s Kingdom on Aeterna.

While the five-thousand-ish people that remained in Artorion, including the noncombatants, were no match for the power of these cities, let alone including Shatufan and Sentudon, Leon’s resources back on Aeterna would be more than enough to easily subjugate them in little time at all.

But it wasn’t quite that simple.

“We don’t have the troops to garrison these cities once taken,” Leon conceded to the Jaguar as his mind returned from its momentary tangent. “With those arks, plus any more that we build in the meantime, we can ferry thousands more soldiers to the Nexus and solidify our position here. We can also recruit some citizens of Alhamachim, though I’d honestly rather hold off on that for at least a few decades. They not only need time to recover from their city’s sacking but they also need some time to build up more goodwill with us.”

“Supporting thousands of people here will be difficult,” Gaius pointed out. “We planned on sending waves of colonists for a reason. Setting up the necessary infrastructure to feed and otherwise supply thousands of warriors will require a deep pool of workers and infrastructure that isn’t yet built.”

“We can rely on others for the moment,” Leon stated as he shot Icarius a look. “I don’t want to flood the market with storm crystal, especially since so much of it has already been ‘spent’, but it has practical uses that’ll take it off the market anyway, and we have a monopoly on its production. So…”

“You want to purchase what we need with storm crystal,” Icarius stated neutrally, giving away none of his thoughts as to how that might work out.

“Gaius is correct,” Leon stated. “Supplying our forces will be difficult. At worst, we’ll be sourcing supplies all the way from Aeterna. But if we can make up for shortfalls in supply production by purchasing from local suppliers, then why wouldn’t we?”

“Practical,” Icarius whispered with a trace of approval in his tone, but a frown soon crossed his aged features. “But there are so many other concerns plaguing this city that focusing entirely on the soldiery may prove detrimental to our long-term prospects.”

“This can’t just be a military colony,” the Jaguar said more directly. “On Aeterna, we needed ten to twelve people engaged in support roles for every soldier in the central army. Add in arks, MALLs, Ulta suits, giants… I’m afraid that this will be a logistical nightmare.”

Leon sighed once more, his control over his frustration slipping slightly. “What would be your solution?” He bit back an addition all but accusing the Jaguar of not wanting to wage war at all. But he knew the man; the Jaguar did not shy away from conflict.

“Monitor the situation,” the Jaguar stated. “Take a year or two to fortify, build, and rebuild. Increase migration as much as is feasible. Once our position is more secure, deal with these arrogant cities permanently.” His tone and slight, nearly imperceptible emanation of killing intent made it clear how he wanted to ‘deal with’ those cities.

Leon glanced around the room, silently asking for the opinions of the rest of his advisors. They were so few now that this was not a lengthy process, especially since many of those who yet lived weren’t present for this meeting.

It was almost unanimous—all of Leon’s human followers wanted to wait, telling him that they were not in any position to be waging offensive war at this time.

Anzu, Maia, and Siddi—who was present in a thin, ‘civilian’ variant of the giants’ frame—were more hawkish, being more than ready and willing to take any potential fight to their enemy’s doorstep rather than wait for it on their own.

“Compelling arguments,” Leon stated. “The challenge of conquering these cities will be great. Fully expanding our Kingdom into these lands will be many times more challenging, still. Give me some time—a day or two—and I’ll think the matter over.”

There were others he wanted to consult with, too. The Thunderbird, Xaphan, Clear Day, Anastasios, and Eva were the five at the top of his list. So, when everyone else acknowledged his decision, such as it was, he ended the meeting and made his way back to his bedroom. Maia, Cassandra, Valeria, and Elise followed him back, but he didn’t linger with them long before diving into his soul realm.

To his relief, the Thunderbird was there, waiting for him in her human form, a stern if motherly look on her aquiline features.

Without prompting on his part, she said, “I hope you’re not intending to let these common humans tarnish my legacy.”

“Of course not,” Leon replied with incredulity. “I am to be the Storm King! How can I lay claim to such a title if I back down when a handful of city-states without a single post-Apotheosis mage between them—at least, as far as I know—make threats?”

“How, indeed…” the Thunderbird replied, looking slightly mollified. “This is your chance, my boy. Sink your talons into the land here and never let go, not until the Nexus undergoes Reconstitution. By then, you ought to have planes you can evacuate to.”

Leon nodded. “I think I’ll have the Far West in hand, for the most part, within a decade. From there, my Kingdom’s efforts will be directed outward. The planes. Reclaiming Tiryns, Kypros, and Minos.”

“Don’t lose focus on the Nexus,” the Thunderbird warned.

“My enemies are here,” Leon replied. “I’ll never turn my back upon it. Kamran and his lieutenants. The Clan’s vault. Justin. I… There is much to do. Children, too. Children most of all…”

The Thunderbird’s expression softened. “You will live a long time now, Leon. There will be plenty of time for other endeavors. Propagating the Clan should be a priority that comes before all others.”

“Still working on that,” Leon hissed, a sour look crossing his face. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop. My wives might cut me into little pieces if I tried.”

“No they wouldn’t,” the Thunderbird replied. “I’d kill you, and thus myself, before they ever got the chance.”

Leon met her gaze and detected not a trace of deceit in her demeanor. She meant what she said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He was about to ask her some questions about the planes when he felt a light squeeze on his physical shoulder. With a growing sense of both irritation and concern, he returned to his throne and the physical world, finding that it was Valeria who was gently shaking him by the shoulder.

“Leon,” she whispered, her tone tinged with concern. “The Highcastle…”

Leon immediately projected his magic senses. It hadn’t been even a single day since the delegates were thrown out of Artorion and he could see them still flying northward along the Blue Feather River. Coming down from Tyrant’s Lake, however, was a veritable armada of small military ships, while four arks flew above, acting as escorts.

As a scowl spread across Leon’s face, he widened his attention, noting that a similar scene was playing out farther north—ships were leaving both Shatufan and Sentudon, with the latter even sending out a comparable number of arks as the Highcastle. Krizos, meanwhile, sent a dozen frigate-sized arks into the sky, followed by a cloud of other mages all flying under their own power.

Individually, none of these military groups were that big of a threat even in Artorion’s diminished state, but all of them together could wreak considerable damage should they be left unchecked.

Leon’s scowl deepened with every passing second, and he slowly got to his feet, wrath racing through his blood almost as fast as his lightning. There was no doubt in his mind about what the intention was for these various forces—they wanted to force him into concessions on their terms.

His people may be averse to offensive campaigns at the moment, but such obvious movements could not be ignored. His neighbors wanted war, and he was only too happy to give it to them.