The Storm King

“Ahh, Sir Leon Ursus,” the hulking giant whispered from behind his desk. He was easily seven feet tall, and with a physique that Leon had only ever seen exceeded by Trajan. His skin was darker than most natives of the Bull Kingdom, but the way he spoke indicated he was far from foreign. His warm brown eyes glittered with intelligence, his face was square, strong, and handsome, his thick black hair was cropped even shorter than was the typical norm for the Bull Kingdom, and his lips were curled in the confident smile of a man completely in control of the situation.

And Leon couldn’t blame him for that feeling of control, for there were seven other sixth-tier mages present. Even with his new seventh-tier power, Leon doubted he’d be able to take on all eight of these sixth-tier mages by himself. Anzu was stuck waiting on the main deck, and Maia was out in the bay behind several layers of thick enchanted hull.

“I’ve heard about you,” the Consul of Discord, Sir Abronius said, his smile turning somewhat sarcastic and provocative. “The Thunder Knight, the White Griffin. I heard you were declared Lord of the Stone Giants by Prince August, that you killed ten thousand men and women with your own hand, that you were like a god of death in the forest reaping the souls of any foolish knight who wandered too far from his fellows…”

Leon did his best not to cringe, but his displeasure was still written all over his face.

“What’s wrong, Sir Leon?” the Consul sarcastically asked. “You don’t like these stories? Are they not accurate?”

“Not in the slightest,” Leon replied through slightly clenched teeth. He took a moment to relax his jaw before continuing, “From what I understand, those on the losing side always make up stories about those who defeated them. Easier and less embarrassing to say that you lost because the other side had a death god rather than because of the failings of your own side.”

“Well said,” the Consul said, his smile turning genuine for just a moment before slipping back into provocative mockery. “But surely there must be a kernel of truth in there somewhere?”

“I won’t deny that I’ve been rather successful on the campaign so far, but I’m far from what you’ve just depicted me as,” Leon said.

Abronius chuckled.

“You’ll have to forgive me, though,” Leon continued, cutting off the Consul’s chuckling quite effectively, “you’ve heard about me, but I confess I haven’t heard much about you.”

“Not surprising,” Abronius replied, not taking any offense from Leon’s statement. “The fleets don’t see much use now, not since the Serpentine Isles were pacified fifty-some-odd years ago. The Samar Kingdom is no threat, so the fleets have had little to do except patrol the merchant lanes and watch for resurgent piracy.”

Leon bitterly smiled. “I seem to recall the fleets getting in some work during Talfar’s latest incursion, though not without some resistance on the part of the Legate leading Ariminium’s fleet.”

“Yes, Prince Trajan got in touch with me regarding that particular incident,” the Consul said, his tone softening in empathy with Leon’s obvious annoyance as the younger man recalled Trajan having to toss a Legate around like a ragdoll to get the Legate’s fleet to move. “In fact, he felt it important enough to reach out with a comm stone rather than simply writing me a letter. I think he wanted to hear my explanation for my subordinate’s behavior from me personally without having to come all the way down to the southern coast.”

“This must’ve been after we returned to the capital?” Leon wondered aloud.

“It was, only a few months after Talfar was pushed back,” the Consul explained. “You can rest assured that that Legate has since been ‘convinced’ to retire early. I was actually in the midst of promoting his successor when all this unpleasantness broke out and Sir Constantine seized Ariminium’s fleet.”

“That’s good to hear,” Leon said, taking some small delight in the arrogant fleet Legate’s punishment.

“I would never allow such insubordination to happen from one of my people toward a Prince of such stature,” the Consul said with a proud smile, his gaze momentarily flickering toward the other Legates in the room.

“But you would allow it against a Prince of lesser stature?” Leon inquired, his eyebrow raising in interest.

“Now, Sir Leon, do my ears deceive me, or is that the tone of a man finally getting to the point of his visit?” the Consul replied, his smile widening until it took on a more authentic look.

“Perhaps,” Leon said, keeping his tone playful for just a moment longer before his demeanor turned completely serious. “I’ve been sent by Prince August to seek your support for his claim to the throne.”

“Have you, now?” the Consul quietly breathed as he looked the young man over. He saw Leon’s deep, dark brown hair, the unusual golden eyes, the strength in his body that his loose-fitting clothes and beautiful snow lion coat couldn’t hide, and most of all, the power of his aura, which so dwarfed the Consul’s own that Abronius couldn’t truly perceive it, indicating a minimum of seventh-tier strength. “I don’t deny your power, Sir Leon, and I quite respect you for achieving it so young… But I do have to wonder at the wisdom of Prince August sending someone so young on such an important task…”

“I would question it, too, and I did,” Leon easily replied. “However, of all the knights in Prince August’s service, I was the only one with a history with the Diplomatic Corps. It wasn’t a long time I was with them, but I suppose that history made me seem like the best qualified to conduct such a task.”

Leon could see the Consul lean back in his chair in what Leon hoped was an indication of being quietly impressed. He hoped this because Leon was, for the most part, making things up as he went along, he had no idea how this negotiation was supposed to work. For all his projected confidence, he truly wished August had sent someone more experienced in these matters like Aeneas or Gratian instead of him.

But Leon kept himself steady as best as he could. The past few months had given him some perspective and served to teach him many things, and while he was nervous now, he knew that he was doing so much better than he would’ve even half a year ago.

“Does Prince August have a specific offer in mind?” the Consul asked, one of his eyebrows rising to match Leon’s previous expression. “I can’t imagine His Highness would send someone all the way here just to ask for my support without anything else…”

Leon smiled again, knowing that the Consul wanted to see what August was offering before he made any decisions. He wasn’t going to blindly support August without seeing some benefits. Leon just hoped that there were some benefits included in August’s letter—he didn’t know for certain because the Prince had neglected to explain the letter’s contents to him; neither had Leon tried to open the sealed letter to investigate.

Leon reached into his soul realm and procured the letter. The Legates at the Consul’s side tensed for a moment as Leon channeled his magic and took a few steps forward, but he moved slowly and didn’t release any killing intent, so they kept their weapons stowed.

Abronius took the offered letter, examined the seal, and once he was satisfied as to its authenticity, tore it open and began to read. It was only a single page, so the Consul was finished quickly.

“Hmm. No promises made, no offers to try to persuade me, just a polite request…” Abronius’ demeanor had completely changed, his voice dripping in confusion, his brow furled in thought. “I have to admit that wasn’t the sort of letter I was expecting, Sir Ursus…”

“I can’t speak to that, I wasn’t told what was in it,” Leon replied.

“That’s… irresponsible,” Abronius observed. “You were sent here to negotiate with me, yet you weren’t given the terms of the negotiations?”

“It does seem strange when you think about it,” Leon replied, not too awfully bothered but still compelled to try and comprehend August’s thinking. “If… I had to guess as to his intentions, I’d say it’s not so much about the offer, I’m meant to be a threat.”

“You’re a seventh-tier mage,” Abronius replied, his confident smile returning to his face, “Prince August is betting that he doesn’t need to offer generous terms, only to spell out his position.”

“And it is a strong position,” Leon added. “Duke Duronius has been defeated and now flees this way with his tail between his legs. His armies have been shattered and scattered, and now, even Octavius’ greatest advantage, that of having two full Paladins on his side, has been neutralized. Prince August has two seventh-tier mages, control of the silver mines and mints of the Eastern Territories, and is now dominant in the Southern Territories. With his losses, Octavius is vulnerable in the Central Territories, and I doubt there are going to be any reinforcements from the west coming anytime soon. If I were in your position, I would seriously consider defection, because trying to fight against Prince August at this stage might not be the best course of action.”

“Indeed, Prince August is winning from where I sit,” Abronius agreed, though Leon was guessing that the Consul wasn’t letting on just how much he believed that—he’d seen the larger man twitch when Leon mentioned August’s control of the Kingdom’s silver mines. “I take it you haven’t gotten any word from the Northern Territories recently?”

“None that I’ve heard,” Leon admitted, letting his suspicions stew in the back of his mind for a moment.

“Octavius has been losing badly up there, too,” Abronius explained. “At first, his forces were under the command of Marquis Grandison, but Dame Minerva and the Brimstone Paladin kicked him around the Great Plateau like a line-ball. Grandison was killed in the fighting, and Octavius’ forces there haven’t managed to recover. As far as I’m aware, Sir Clovis is now fighting on your side, making the situation in the north as untenable for Prince Octavius as it is in the south.”

Leon cocked his eyebrow. “I hadn’t heard about any of them, but I’m glad that the Consul of the North has seen fit to finally take a side. That should, not including you, only leave the Consul of the Ocean and Western Consul in Octavius’ camp?”

Abronius hummed in agreement. “Those two have been politically marginalized with Octavius’ latest… reforms.” The Consul practically spat the word, making it clear to Leon what he thought about Octavius’ ideas of reform.“I suppose that makes it my turn to choose a side, now, doesn’t it?”

“Before you make a decision, there’s something I’d like to ask you,” Leon said.

“Go ahead,” Abronius said, a look of intrigue spreading across his face.

“How’s Prince Octavius’ financial situation?”

Abronius almost did a double-take. Of all the questions Leon could’ve asked, that wasn’t one he was expecting.

“I only ask because you seemed to look a little frustrated when I mentioned that Prince August has control of the Kingdom’s silver production. Is something wrong in the capital?”

“What isn’t wrong in the capital?” Abronius muttered in disgust. “I think I know what you’re implying, Sir Leon, and you wouldn’t be wrong. Prince Octavius hasn’t the funds to pay the armies and the fleets anymore without eastern silver. He has control of most of the Kingdom’s food production in the west, but clearly, that hasn’t done him much good…”

“Not yet,” Leon replied a little more smugly than he intended. “To be honest, supply problems have been present in Prince August’s camp, which is why we’ve been relatively aggressive so far, not trying to fortify ourselves in the east despite being outnumbered. If we’d waited a few more months, we’d probably be starving if we reached this point. As it is, our supplies probably wouldn’t last long enough to return our army to Ironford.”

“Is that really something that you want to admit to me?” the Consul asked.

“Is the fact that you haven’t been paid in how long something you wanted to admit to me?” Leon shot back. “A little honesty is good for us, I think. We deserve to know what we’re getting into. How about this, you support August and furnish his people with the food that you’ve gotten from Prince Octavius—I’m sure he’s given you plenty to spare?”

With Abronius’ quick, hesitant nod, Leon continued.

“In exchange, Prince August will be able to pay your sailors and marines their due. Maybe even with a little bonus to make up for making them wait so long for their pay. The mints haven’t shut down just because we’re in a civil war, so I’m willing to bet there’s a substantial stockpile just waiting to be paid out to those who… prove loyal to the cause.”

“Sir Leon, be careful, you’re almost sounding reasonable,” Abronius said in mock warning and a bit of genuine amazement. “You won’t make it far as a politician if you continue on like this…”

“Who says I want to be a politician?” Leon laughed as the idea of being an active figure in Bull Kingdom politics flitted through his head. He wasn’t politically weak, of course, but he’d never be a proper courtier or bureaucrat in the Kingdom; he hadn’t the temperament for it, of that he was certain. “So, Sir Abronius, what do you say? Will you support Prince August?”

Abronius made a show of thinking hard and staying silent as he stared at Leon, trying to keep his expression stoic and unreadable. But allying with August was his best choice, both he and Leon were well aware of that. His armada was essentially unassailable out in the Gulf, but August controlled the land and didn’t need to assault his fleets. The only problem they might pose was if some of the ships made their way up the Naga River to reinforce the capital, but Leon doubted that would happen from what Abronius had told him.

And besides, if Abronius did decide to aid Octavius, his fleets would be much more vulnerable meandering through the southern wetlands than they would be out in the Gulf. Leon almost wanted Abronius to declare for Octavius just so he could see Maia tear some of these ships to bits.

“Let’s say I agree, what do you think I ought to say to Duke Duronius’ army when it arrives?” Abronius asked.

“Maybe make a show with your Flame Lances, make it clear that they won’t be receiving any aid from your fleets,” Leon said. “Prince August will extend an offer of surrender to them. If they’re smart, they’ll take it.”

“Duronius is a proud man, he might choose death instead of surrender…”

“How many of his subordinates will do the same?” Leon countered. “Especially since he’s lost just about everyone but the Legions. Hopefully, once they see that those who defected to Prince August were welcomed into his forces, they won’t feel the need to fight to the death.”

“Hopefully,” Abronius said.

“If they fight, we’ll beat them again,” Leon said with a shrug. “We’ve beaten them at almost every turn despite having a terrible numerical disadvantage. How do you think another battle would go now that we outnumber them more than four to one?”

“Badly for them.”

“Exactly. We’re not foreign invaders, we’re their countrymen, they’ll surrender.”

“You’re mighty confident about that.”

“Do you think I have cause not to be?”

Abronius couldn’t help but chuckle, which soon turned into full-bellied laughing, taking Leon completely by surprise.

It took a moment for the Consul to settle down, and when he did, Leon asked in mild shock, “What was that about? Know something I don’t?”

“Ahhh. Maybe I do. Maybe I know for a fact that Duronius won’t surrender.”

“What makes you so confident in saying that?”

“Because he didn’t just roll over for me when I took him prisoner,” Abronius said.

Leon blinked as he froze, his brain freezing as it processed what the Consul just said.

“You… took the Duke prisoner?” he asked. He knew that the Duke’s army was still hours away, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made that the Duke would ride ahead.

“Indeed I did,” the Consul proudly replied. “I suppose that means I threw in my lot with Prince August before you even arrived, Sir Leon. The old Spymaster got into contact with me before you even arrived, I was just waiting to find out what you would offer me. You can take to His Highness my acceptance, and my expectation that my sailors and marines will be paid what they’re owed.”

Leon laughed, both at himself and at the situation for how the Consul played this.

“I’ll do just that…” he said as he regained his composure. “You won’t regret this, Sir Abronius. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I may be a fool for doing so, but I trust your word, Sir Leon,” the Consul said as the two men locked eyes. Mutual respect could be seen in both of their gazes. “I’ll see you again.”

“I look forward to it,” Leon replied, giving the Consul a genuine smile.

With that, Abronius had one of his adjutants see Leon back to Anzu, and the young knight didn’t stick around. He only took enough time to circle Abronius’ flagship once before he was off. After all, the capture of Duke Duronius was a huge move, and he had to report back as soon as he could.