The Storm King

“This is some foul trick,” the Jaguar growled as he paced back and forth. “Some ruse to fool us into sending someone important away from our defensive lines.”

Leon frowned in thought as he turned the letter over in his hand. It had been quite well-written—polite, even—but it had sparked nothing but disagreement and argument among his advisors and generals. After speaking with the Sunlit messenger, he’d ordered the man given food, water, and some time to rest before being sent back to his commander—he wouldn’t have anyone claim he treated messengers barbarically—and then reconvened the council that had been interrupted by the messenger’s arrival.

“And what if it’s real?” Singer-in-Caves responded. “The entire western front could be opened up if this man surrenders!”

“Why would he want to surrender?” Menander growled. “He has to know that nothing good awaits him on this side of the river.”

“Why would we do anything untoward to him if he surrendered?” an eighth-tier Tiger asked. “We should reward such actions with mercy, else none of them will ever consider surrender and be that much harder to dislodge from this island.”

“They’ll die all the same,” Menander responded with a frosty grin.

Leon glared around the table, not making a sound but making note of the arguments. He was personally inclined to treat the offer of surrender seriously, but he also acknowledged the risks. It could be a trap, but if it wasn’t… Iron-Striker was still captured, and if tens of thousands of Sunlit soldiers were to surrender to Tribal forces, that might be enough leverage to see him returned. It might also be enough to kick the Sunlit forces off the island completely if the surrender was properly exploited.

‘They also have the other destroyer, don’t they…?’ Leon thought as he glanced at the paper map that had been laid out over the table that had been brought in to replace the one he’d destroyed. Marked on it were all the locations of Thunderbird Clan arks that had been noted to be active on the Sword, with only the one in the east crossed off. There was still one destroyer in the west, as well as the group in the center with the final destroyer, the heavy cruiser, and the scout ark. On top of that, there would be additional arks stationed at those arkpads, which the Ten Tribes would also take control of.

Assuming nothing was sabotaged, of course.

He refreshed his memory while listening to his advisors argue about the merits of accepting the surrender or not. It took an almost shameful amount of time before what he wanted to hear came up, and by then, he was about to lose his patience.

“How does this offer affect Iron-Striker’s capture?” Lana asked. Though she was the weakest at the meeting, she had pull with her Tribe, so no one minded when she spoke despite her relatively low tier and rank.

The Jaguar’s expression darkened and he didn’t immediately respond. Menander scowled, glanced at Leon, and said, “Our King has made it clear he wishes Iron-Striker freed. We will do all we can to accomplish that.”

“This is a great opportunity to make steps toward that,” Singer pressed. She turned to Leon and made a direct appeal. “Your Majesty, whether or not this offer is genuine, we should at least hear it out. Please, send me north and I will ascertain the truth!”

“And lose another ninth-tier mage?!” Menander boomed. “We have already lost Creon and Exallos, we should not put another of our number in harm’s way!”

“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Menander,” Singer responded with a sarcastic smile.

Menander snorted. “I would consider you a friend, so my feelings are not untainted by personal feelings. But I have no doubts: this is a trap, and we should not spring it. We should continue as we have and drive the barbarians off this island on our own.”

Leon laid his hand down upon the table, refraining from destroying this one but making enough noise to silence the room.

“I will accept the offer of surrender if it’s genuine,” he declared. Mouths immediately opened in preparation for argument, but he raised his hand to silence them again. “I understand the risks, so what I want to hear from now on are not reasons for why we shouldn’t do this, but rather how we can mitigate those risks.”

“I can bring my Tribe’s finest warriors,” Singer said. “They’ll ensure my safety, should my own strength fail to do so.” She gave Menander a cheeky grin and added, “What kind of leader of my Tribe would I be if I were to hide myself away while my Tribe’s warriors did all the fighting and risk-taking?”

Menander chuckled to himself, but before he could respond, Leon cut in. “You’re not going, Singer.”

Singer’s head practically snapped from the speed with which she turned from Menander to him, her eyes wide and mouth opening in alarm.

“I don’t doubt your skills or commitment,” Leon said before she could say anything. “However, I agree with Menander that that would be too great of a strategic risk. You’re not just a ninth-tier mage, you’re your Tribe’s only ninth-tier mage. As much faith as I have in your abilities, I’d rather put someone else in that position.”

“Hardly an enviable position,” the Jaguar responded. “The possibility of being executed or captured and tortured is high. Whoever is sent would have to be expendable, but also good enough to get this done.”

Leon gave his Marshall a thin-lipped grin. “No one in my Kingdom is expendable,” he declared, even though he knew that the cold math of war and rulership wasn’t so straightforward. He just wanted his thoughts on the matter spoken aloud before anything else.

For his part, the Jaguar bowed his head slightly and looked suitably chastened. “A poor choice of words on my part, my apologies.”

Leon nodded and then cast his gaze about the room. Some who met his gaze puffed themselves up and tried to look confident and imposing enough for him to choose them to go. Most, however, seemed not at all eager to be sent north of the river.

When Leon’s eyes finally slid off the Tribesmen and came to his retinue, however, he found their demeanors quite different: they radiated confidence even if their expressions were rather stoic. He’d spent enough time in their company to pick up on their body language.

Alcander, Alix, Marcus, and Valeria seemed almost eager to head out, while Maia, Red, and Anzu were more ambivalent but not worried at all. Anna was ready, and Gaius would go if he ordered him to. Anshu was the only one not present since he was busy in their captured destroyer continuing to work on getting it fully operational.

Almost as soon as he laid his eyes upon his retainers, Leon had his answer. His oldest and most loyal subordinates would handle this. He trusted them with his life, and he knew he could trust them with his Kingdom, too.

But he couldn’t send them all. He had to choose who to send. And the answer was clear almost immediately.

“Marcus,” Leon said. “You up for a challenge?”

Marcus grinned and stepped forward. “I’m up for anything.”

Leon grinned back. “Good. Because this is going to be an important few days, and you’re going to be playing the key role in what’s about to happen…”

---

Marcus’ heart raced as he flew toward the meeting point. It had been three days since Arcaion’s messenger had arrived, and in that time, Leon’s adjutants had been moving mountains to set this meeting up. He wasn’t going to go to accept Arcaion’s surrender but to represent Leon at the negotiation. Leon wanted this man to surrender, and the man himself seemed willing to do so if he sent the initial offer, but he wouldn’t do so until he had received certain guarantees.

Establishing an agreement that both sides could accept was his job. And if this turned out to be a trap, which it increasingly looked less and less likely to be given Arcaion’s preparations, then it was Marcus’ job to simply escape alive. Fortunately, Leon had hardly left him high and dry; two dozen Tempest Knights accompanied him, as did Alix. More comforting was the fact that Leon, Naiad, and Red were nearby, along with the rest of the retinue and the Tempest Knights. If the meeting turned violent, they were only a few minutes away.

So, it was with confidence that Marcus and his entourage flew to the small island poking out of the river that had been the de facto border between Tribal and Imperial territory for the past couple months. As if the plane itself knew what was happening and wanted to set an appropriate scene, fog had descended upon the river, and with it being near midnight, a mortal would’ve struggled to see the island from the river banks.

Arcaion’s party had beaten him there. It was just as large as his own, with the man himself standing proudly on a large stone platform constructed mere minutes ago, his ninth-tier aura proudly radiating from his body—not that Marcus, with his seventh-tier power, could truly see through it. To his magic senses, it was essentially an opaque cloud surrounding the man, providing few hints as to his power.

But Marcus didn’t balk despite Arcaion having the power to kill him almost instantly, before Leon and the others could intervene. Undaunted, Marcus landed on the platform, shortly followed by the rest of his party.

Arcaion’s party had watched them approach with great caution for some time, and Marcus knew that they had seen Leon’s much larger relief force land not too far away. He mused that were he in Arcaion’s place, it would certainly deter him from springing any kind of trap. But he couldn’t just leave without it appearing unnatural, so Marcus supposed if this were a genuine negotiation attempt, Arcaion would genuinely negotiate. If not, then he would either take offense at something minor and use that as an excuse to leave, or he would negotiate in bad faith and either not honor any promises made, or simply not make any promises at all.

‘Time to see what he wants to do…’ Marcus thought to himself as he channeled his inner noble and simultaneously put on his most pleasant face while bracing himself for violence. He was wearing a dark blue suit trimmed in silver that vaguely resembled lightning bolts, but if anything happened, his armor was ready to be summoned.

“Hail!” Marcus called out, his voice seeming almost muted in the fog. “Commander Arcaion, I presume?”

He addressed the obvious leader who stood there with an unreadable expression. He had a chiseled jaw, fairly long sandy blond hair that had been brushed back, and a hard look in his eyes that spoke of a long history spent in his Empire’s military. Like all high-ranking officers in the Sunlit Empire, he took after his Emperor’s style of clothing, with his outfit padded to emphasize his shoulders and to draw attention to his codpiece. Unlike the Sunlit Emperor, though, Arcaion’s style was somewhat less exaggerated, if still noticeable.

“I am he,” the man said. “Who might I have the… honor of parleying with?”

Marcus picked up on a bit of hostility, but he didn’t let it bother him at all. “I am Marcus of House Aeneas, native to the Bull Kingdom far to the north. I serve as a Paladin to His Majesty, Leon of House Raime, King of the Ten Tribes of Kataigida, and Chief of the Thunderbird Tribe.”

He spoke with pride, Leon having given him the title as this meeting was arranged on both sides. There had been some concern that Arcaion might take offense at having to deal with a ‘lowly’ seventh-tier mage, and so Leon had given him this title. He’d confessed that he’d given the title some thought and emphasized that it wouldn’t be the same as the Paladins from the Bull Kingdom, but would have some similar functions. Regardless, Marcus had been honored and accepted the title on the spot. Leon had done much for him, not only giving him power he couldn’t have dreamed of before the Bull Kingdom’s civil war but also saving his life on multiple occasions; Marcus was ready to follow Leon just about anywhere.

Arcaion slowly nodded. “And I,” he formally responded, “have the honor of being Arcaion, Commander of Imperial Forces in the West, Defender of the Sunlit Empire’s territories, and… loyal servant of His Imperial Majesty.” He practically spat the last sentence, then added, “At least, I was.”

Marcus lightly smiled, hoping for more, but he didn’t press. He didn’t want the man too angry to negotiate, so simply hoped he would expound on his own.

“So, Paladin Marcus, shall we jump right in?”

“I suppose we should,” Marcus replied. “Time waits for no one, and I’m sure the circumstances we both face aren’t too forgiving to those who waste what little time they have.”

Arcaion nodded in agreement. “Then I’ll make it simple: I wish to surrender to your forces, assuming you can meet certain conditions.”

“That will depend on the conditions, of course, but my King is willing to hear any offers of surrender.”

“My first condition is a guarantee of the safety of the men under my command! We will not surrender if we can expect nothing but mistreatment and abuse!”

Marcus responded, “My King has already told me that he would guarantee this if it were asked. Any troops who surrender will be treated well!”

Arcaion seemed to relax slightly, and Marcus found himself encouraged. Bad faith negotiations probably wouldn’t have started this well.

“Secondly!” Arcaion continued after a moment. “After this war has either reached its conclusion or hostilities have cooled, my men and I are to be repatriated at the earliest opportunity! We will not surrender if we have nothing to look forward to but the inside of a Sky Devil prison for the remainder of our years!”

Again, Marcus readily agreed. “My King has already expressed interest in allowing such a thing! He doesn’t want anything but peace between us, though war has proven itself impossible to prevent. Once we are able, and so long as all of you promise to never fight against him or his Kingdom again, you will be sent back home.”

Arcaion’s response was a little more mixed this time, but he eventually said, “That’s good enough. I have no other major demands, Paladin Marcus! The safety and future of my men are all I care about!”

Marcus felt no small amount of respect well up within for the Sunlit general. But for a man so obviously loyal to his troops, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was surrendering in the first place. He would’ve figured someone like this would’ve fought on, or pushed for peace from within, not give up to the enemy.

“My King has a few small asks of his own!” Marcus responded, and Arcaion stiffened again. “The first is to know why you’re making this offer in the first place!”

Arcaion opened and closed his mouth several times, his aura flickering with killing intent every time. He was furious, but it seemed he didn’t want to say expressly why. “I will answer to your King,” the Commander eventually stated, “and to you, I will say only that my men’s loyalty was not rewarded as it should’ve been. Blame for failures was unfairly placed at our feet, and our Emperor sought to unjustly punish us. I attempted to find some other way but found few that were palatable. It was the actions of my Emperor that have made this surrender happen, not anything your side has done.”

Marcus nodded in understanding. “In that case, our conditions for accepting your surrender are to turn over all the military equipment in your arsenals—the arks in your care, especially—to turn over all of your fortresses and other fortifications, and to give your word not to raise a hand against any in my King’s army.”

Arcaion paused to think, but it seemed he saw little value in dragging these negotiations out further and said, “Those are acceptable terms, Paladin Marcus! With these terms, I and my men will surrender to your King!”

---

Five days after receiving Arcaion’s offer to surrender, Leon stood upon the banks of the river, staring north. Engineers on both sides hurried to finish the construction of a large, practical, and unadorned bridge over the river. Each side of the bridge was constructed of different styles, and Leon couldn’t help but smile as they finally met in the middle, these two differently constructed bridges becoming one.

Without hesitation, he began striding across the bridge with his retainers at his side and his Tempest Knights at his back, while on the other side, he watched Commander Arcaion and his entourage doing the same. Several thousand Sunlit soldiers had been arrayed on the other side, along with two Imperial arks. The rest of the arks and fortresses would be turned over as the Tribal armies advanced—the advance would begin as soon as Leon accepted the surrender.

Leon met Arcaion in the center of the bridge. Arcaion, not hesitating for a moment, took a knee and drew a sword, then held it out with both hands for Leon to take. It was quite the fancy weapon, with lots of gilding and fancy adornments that would probably break off immediately the first time the blade was used to block a strike, not that Leon thought the weapon was actually designed to be used in that way.

“Please accept my surrender, King Leon,” Arcaion said, though clearly not relishing the words.

Leon took the ceremonial weapon and replied, “I accept your surrender. Consider you and your men now under my protection.”

Leon waved Arcaion back to his feet, and with that, Sunlit soldiers began streaming across the bridge, flanked on both sides by Tempest Knights and met on the south end by Tribal soldiers.

At the same time, all across the length of the river, Tribal forces began to cross and take Sunlit fortresses and other fortifications without resistance. Their counteroffensive had begun, and with remarkably less bloodshed than anyone had been expecting.

Leon just hoped that, after all this, they could still get Iron-Striker back.