The Storm King

“Remarkable…” Clear whispered as his magic washed over Leon. “Truly remarkable… I hadn’t thought you’d be back on your feet so quickly after such horrific injuries…”

Leon grinned. “Just got tired of lying there, I suppose.”

“Sure, sure, we’ll go with that. If you have any further pain, be sure to let me know.”

Leon clapped Clear on the shoulder. “Thanks. Go and see to the wounded, they’ll need your help more than I do right now.”

The tau nodded in acknowledgment and left the tent, leaving Leon alone with Valeria, Maia, and Cassandra. He gave them a tired look before collapsing into the nearest chair. While it was true that his body had been healed by the power of the Iron Needle, it wasn’t something he’d been in control of, and the Needle had consumed a significant amount of his power instead of using its own. Add to that the amount of power he’d expended in battle with Terris, and he felt drained.

Still, work waited for no one, and after a moment of quiet thought, he summoned up the power to project his magic senses to refresh his knowledge of the damage done to his city.

Countless additional wrecks were burning in the misty veil. Between his Lances and Mir, about a third of Terris’ arks had been shot down. The cost to his defending forces had been great, however, as half of the defensive towers had been destroyed, the southern Talon was reduced to little more than a pile of rubble, and more than half of the city’s remaining defenders had been injured or killed, including the Iron Order reinforcements.

“When did they retreat?” Leon asked after gathering his thoughts.

“When you two fell,” Valeria responded as she sat next to Leon, her tone gentle and somewhat hesitant, “the arks started to pull back.”

“It was strange,” Cassandra said as she took a seat on Leon’s other side, “they had us. We were almost done.”

[Many of them were killed,] Maia silently growled. [Maybe their stomachs turned at the thought of finishing us.]

“They’ve eaten heavy casualties already,” Cassandra pointed out. “I still find it strange that they’d balk right when victory was in reach. I’d have thought they were going to keep going until the end.”

“Where’s Terris?” Leon asked.

“Fucked, most likely,” Cassandra glibly responded.

“He was left in nearly the same condition as you,” Valeria explained. “He was still conscious and able to move, but as his arks were retreating, one of his Strategoi came down and carried him off, despite his protests.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “So his forces retreated despite Terris’ demands otherwise?”

“Seems that way,” Valeria agreed.

“Then… either his troops rebelled against him, or orders were received from higher up…”

Cassandra shook her head. “Given it was one of his Strategoi that pulled him away, we’re looking at orders from above countermanding Terris’, not a rebellion amongst his troops.”

“That tracks.” Leon turned his eyes southward, noting that the Diluvian arks had largely abandoned their siege, gathering in the south rather than continuing to surround the Artor Valley. They didn’t seem like they were making preparations to leave, but it also didn’t seem like they were going to attack again anytime soon. He particularly noted the enormous ethereal jellyfish dancing in the sky amidst the hovering arks, and the continuing mining operations further east taking all the Titanstone they could carry.

Then, he turned his gaze northward once more, the grimness of the situation setting in once more. He located the Jaguar quickly, as the man, despite evidence of some injuries, coordinated with many of the remaining able-bodied defenders to clear debris, rescue anyone still alive in the destroyed Talon, towers, and crashed carrier, or retrieve any bodies that could be found.

‘Many more heroes are going to be added to the mausoleum when this is all over with,’ Leon thought, purposely not thinking about the possibility of being forced out of the valley now that his forces were at their weakest.

“They fought well,” Leon said with determination. “No matter what happens next, we’ve done what we could.”

“If they attack again…” Cassandra whispered, but Leon gave her a look that quieted her immediately.

“Then we’ll do what we must,” he stated. “We’ll do what we must.”

Having taken those minutes to regain some strength in his limbs, Leon pushed himself up and made for the tent’s exit. The Iron Needle hadn’t allowed anyone to touch him while he was out, so the tent had been erected where he’d fallen just south of the southern Talon. The tent was surrounded by two dozen Tempest Knights, including four giants, led by a harried-looking Alix, whose armor was battered and bloody. Despite this, she looked relieved beyond words when Leon emerged from the tent.

“Your Majesty!” she exclaimed, and the Tempest Knights around him repeated her exclamation as they fell to their knees.

“Please, rise,” Leon said. “I’m fine. Dame Alix, I don’t need such a large escort, send most of these people to aid in recovery efforts.”

Alix bowed and began to issue orders, sending the Tempest Knights to the southern Talon. Leon followed at a more leisurely pace, hoping to use it to mask the pain he felt as he lifted himself into the air and flew toward the Jaguar. Along with him were his ladies, Alix, and only two more Tempest Knights.

When he reached the Jaguar, his presence had already been made known; all over the ruined fortress, those who saw Leon raised their voices in loud cheers, letting all the valley know that their King was alive and apparently well. Leon did his best to live up to their expectations and exultations, even as with every foot he moved he wished he’d taken more time to recover his power.

The Jaguar greeted him warmly, and Leon stood with him for just long enough to receive a preliminary report.

The ancient arks were still operating, and Bright Intent and the Iron Order arks were on their side of the misty veil. Of all the missing warriors, Marcus was the most important one, as he’d been in the southern Talon when the fortress’ keep collapsed. They were still looking, and the Jaguar held hope that he was still alive, given the strength of the fortress.

Leon’s mood was hardly that great, but the prospect of losing one of his oldest friends and supporters soured it further. Still, in his state, he wasn’t of much use, so he urged the Jaguar to continue rescue efforts before making for where the wounded were being treated. Triage tents were set up all over the valley, but for the most part, the wounded were being seen to not far from the southern Talon—the ruined fortress and the downed carrier meant that most of the casualties were in the area.

Once inside, he was greeted with the stench of blood, the groaning of the wounded and the dying, and the thick aura of light magic as the healers did their best to heal those who could be healed. Red, in particular, drew his attention, as she was still in her wyvern form. She was unconscious, but breathing, and half a dozen healers were in the process of reattaching her severed wing, which he was grateful to see seemed to be going well.

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He wanted to visit as many wounded as he could, but just reaching the tent had drained him of what power he’d managed to recover, so he decided to visit Anastasios and Eva first, keen on taking a few minutes in their private tents to recover a bit more energy.

The healers took him to the respective tents. There, he found such a strange sight that he halted in the tent’s entryway and stared.

Anastasios had nearly been beheaded, yet he was still alive. He lay in bed, his aura weak, a jagged two-foot-long chunk of pale white ice stuck in his throat in what to a mortal would’ve been instantly fatal. So thick was the ice that Leon thought if the man’s throat wasn’t so thoroughly wrapped in healing spells, his head might’ve come all the way off.

[Ha!] the Thunderbird cried at the sight. [And he hasn’t even reached the Immortal Body tier yet! Isn’t origin power magnificent, my boy?]

Leon suppressed a snicker; he couldn’t argue with his Ancestor in this case.

Eva was much less injured, but she still lay in bed with several high-quality healing spells pressed against various parts of her body. Her aura was much stabler than Anastasios’, which hardly surprised Leon given the state of the former Lord Protector of the Ilian Empire, but she was hardly the picture of health and vigor. Upon his entrance, she looked up, smiled weakly, and croaked, “Leon… Cassie…!”

Cassandra immediately went to her grandmother’s side while Leon took a few tentative steps toward Anastasios.

“How’re you doing?” he asked the old man.

Leon felt a quick probe against his mental defenses and, after recognizing the probe’s origin, lowered them.

[Leon Raime…] Anastasios whispered into his mind. [I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time.]

“No shit…” Leon muttered.

[Got in a bit over my head, I guess,] Anastasios cheekily replied as he rapped his knuckles against his skull. [Maybe next time, I’ll quit while I’m ahead. I guess this should teach me to fight when I don’t have my head on straight. Anyway, don’t mind me, feel free to head out whenever you like.]

“It’s good to see you treating this situation with the seriousness it deserves,” Leon said, smiling despite himself.

[I’m alive, and by all logic, I shouldn’t be. My body is being sustained by my power reserves, I’m only alive thanks to my opponent’s distraction after landing a critical blow. Had he managed to destroy my connection to my soul realm, it would’ve been the end of me. Had he fully taken my head, I doubt I’d still be here.]

“Fixing this… is going to be difficult,” Leon muttered as he took a long look at the ice still thrust through his throat.

[Rest assured, Leon, that I’m not dead yet. Don’t worry about me, either way, there isn’t much more that can be done. I’ll heal, or I won’t. Don’t stress too much on my account. Clear Day’s already seen to me, I have faith in his abilities.]

Leon patted the man’s arm. “Should you need anything, I’ll be sure to get it for you.”

[Quit fussing, boy, and leave me to my recovery.]

Leon smirked and turned to face Eva. However, he’d barely managed a single step before Helen walked in, her arms laden with spells and potions.

“Ah! Leon!” the blue-haired woman exclaimed.

“Helen,” Leon said with a smile. “You’re going to get these two on their feet, right?”

“Uh, yeah! A-Absolutely!” she said, stumbling over her words a bit as her eyes drifted over Anastasios’ nearly headless form. “There’s… uh, something going on. You should… maybe check it out?”

Leon cocked his head before summoning as much power as he could to project his magic senses again. Immediately, his expression darkened.

An ark was slowly advancing toward the misty veil. It was small and moving slowly, and in front of it came a small host of well-dressed and unarmed Diluvian mages, all wearing purple robes with golden serpentine dragons embroidered over the torso, arms, and legs. The leading delegate carried above her head a sheathed sword, a nail driven through both blade and sheath to prevent it from being drawn.

“I need a mana potion,” Leon said to Helen, who quickly gave him what he asked for after setting down what she was carrying. Leon downed the thing in seconds, relishing the feeling of magic entering his blood again—right before his body began to sting all over as his blood carried that magic to every corner of his body.

He shivered slightly, maintaining his composure despite the pain, and sighed. It seemed that despite Mir and the misty veil covering the battlefield south of the southern Talon, his recovery was known to the enemy.

‘Or their Ancestors have just given them remarkable timing…’

Regardless, his plans to visit the wounded, it seemed, were going to be cut short.

---

Leon, flanked by a force of Tempest Knights, a fortunately uninjured Gaius, and the Jaguar, met the Diluvian delegation at the edge of the misty veil. He’d kept them waiting there for nearly an hour while he got his response force assembled and recovered enough power that he could project a degree of strength.

The delegation waited patiently, their escort ark maintaining a greater standoff distance than the mages, the leader of whom—a tenth-tier mage with the look of a refined aristocrat about her—floated forward and, the nailed sword still held above her head, announced loudly, “WE ARE HERE TO INVITE LEON RAIME TO DISCUSS PEACE!” She had a detectable accent, though not one that Leon had ever heard before. Still, it was rather delightful, lilting in an almost sing-song way.

Other announcements were made of a similar tenor, but Leon still kept them waiting. He was skeptical and wanted to see if they were serious, but he also wanted peace and wasn’t willing to let them past the veil. That would be too risky, and even if they didn’t do anything, he didn’t want them to know just how weak his city was after the last attack.

Despite this apparent snub, when he met the delegation, they were the picture of professionalism, not looking even slightly put out by the length of their wait nor his lack of invitation to enter the valley.

Instead, they hovered some few dozen feet away from the misty veil’s edge, remaining unarmed and nonthreatening.

“I’m here,” Leon said, his patience for courtly formalities long dried up. “You want to discuss peace?”

“My Lady does,” the leading delegate stated. “She invites you to her palace.” She bowed and extended her hand to the hovering Diluvian fleet, which was parting to allow the jellyfish to flit past until it came to a halt a fair distance away from the rest of the fleet. “She was impressed with the valor of your warriors and ordered the retreat of Despot Terris’ assaulting forces. She wishes for you to accept her invitation, so that these unpleasantries might come to an end, and an accord might be reached.”

Leon lightly scowled. A large part of him wanted to spite everyone and continue fighting. Another large part of him thought back to the suffering and pain within the wounded tent. His people wouldn’t survive another assault. Negotiation, as much as he hated to admit it, was his only option to ensure the survival of Artorion.

‘I guess this ‘Princess Miuna’ is the one asking to negotiate. Might be better to do so with her rather than Terris. Assuming it is her who’s asking…’

Aloud, Leon asked, “Who is your Lady?”

The lead delegate held herself up, putting on her loftiest and most arrogant air, and declared in her sing-song accent, “I have the honor, by personal appointment of the Wise and Powerful King of the Universe’s Water, to serve Princess Miuna, Thirty-Third Daughter of the Ocean King!”

Leon grinned thinly. He deeply wished Carver hadn’t died in the fighting, as he might’ve offered a useful perspective on just who this Princess was. As it was, Leon contemplated the invitation for several long seconds, during which the Diluvian delegates showed not a hint of impatience.

“I’ll tentatively accept the offer of negotiation,” he said. “When might I expect the Princess’ arrival?”

Despite weathering the wait and Leon’s mild provocations, the lead delegate finally looked scandalized and offended. “The Royal Princess does not invite just anyone! She offers you hospitality in her palace! That is where the negotiations must be held! She represents divinity! To ask Her Highness to sully herself by entering this filthy world of men is impossible!”

“You expect me to believe that she’s serious about opening negotiations when she won’t even appear in person?” Leon asked, a wry smile spreading across his face. “I’m eager to open negotiations, but you ask me to put myself entirely at her mercy? What guarantee do I have that she would even allow me to leave should negotiations break down?”

“Her Highness’ word is inviolable!” the delegate insisted. “Safe passage is guaranteed!” Her expression turned into something a bit more derisive, and she quietly added, “You are already at her mercy. For your own sake, I urge you to accept her offer.”

Leon smiled back at her, tempted to draw Iron Pride or his new bow. With both, he felt strong, but he needed another day or two to truly recover. “When do you propose these negotiations take place?” he asked.

“Immediately,” was the delegate’s response.

“We can begin tomorrow at dawn,” Leon countered. Before the delegate could launch into a furious tirade at his impertinence, he added, “I’m looking forward to it. My people love peace and would relish the chance to come to an accord with your people.”

“You dare to show such disrespect!” the delegate angrily growled.

“Respect is a two-way street!” Leon replied as he turned to his people and jerked his head back to the misty veil. “I’ll see your Princess tomorrow morning! I’m looking forward to it!”

With that, he led his people back into the misty veil. Dawn was barely more than twelve hours away, hardly that long of a wait. He wagered that Princess Miuna wouldn’t be so insulted that she’d rescind the offer of negotiation.

As he disappeared into the mist, the delegate began to shout after him, but her voice hitched a moment as Leon felt a gentle wave of magic reach them, and with audible reluctance, shouted, “Dawn, Leon Raime! Do not keep my Lady waiting!”

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