1108 - War of Establishment V (Patreon)

The anger among Leon’s commanders when he returned from his brief talk with Terris was great.  There hadn’t been any real considerations of surrendering or acquiescing to the demand to leave, but that defiant sentiment was truly and irrevocably cemented by the arrogance Terris displayed.  Though they were undoubtedly the weaker side, a position that Leon’s Tribal vassals weren’t used to being in, the determination to stay and fight for their claimed land was strong enough to surmount any fear of reprisal.

That anger and determination only grew stronger in the hours after the opening clash; during the night, Terris’ forces picked over the ark wrecks in the plains, taking anything of use and gathering the bodies of the fallen.  Leon had quietly hoped that the bodies of their people would be returned to them, especially since he couldn’t send his own recovery crews out beyond the veil without putting them in enormous danger, but Terris, it seemed, had other ideas.

Open-air pits were dug close to the edge of the misty veil, the remains of Leon’s people were placed within, and war beasts were called to feast upon them.  Many-tentacled horrors and scaled, serpentine monsters of all shapes and sizes descended upon the remains and gorged themselves in a mad, bloody frenzy, ripping and tearing and leaving nothing behind.  More egregiously, skins and skulls of his defeated warriors who’d taken the forms of their Ancestors were strung up for display, with the large, bloody head of a gold-maned lion—the transformed head of Split-Knuckle, Leon identified—being the most notable.

For Leon’s people, this disrespect was hard to take.  Respectful handling of the dead was important in their culture, and especially so to the Ancestral Harts.  Leon didn’t think he’d ever seen the normally fairly balanced and unflappable Harts so furious.  It was all he could do to prevent similar desecrations to the fallen Ocean warriors within the veil.  Instead, he had their bodies gathered and put on ice, just in case they were useful later.

What stuck out to him almost as much as the desecration of the dead was that he didn’t see a single Thunderman prisoner taken by Terris’ forces.  While he thought it possible that he simply missed them doing so, he’d watched throughout the night, his magic senses sharp and focused, and still didn’t see a single living Thunderman taken into captivity.

The temptation was strong to give his Ocean captives similarly harsh treatment, but he managed to control himself.  The prisoners could be an asset, and killing them would gain him little, save for fleeting satisfaction.

While all this was happening, Leon made sure to spare attention to monitoring Terris’ troop movements.  Activity was mostly concentrated along the shore and the camps being erected there, but the whale-like arks slowly fanned out to the east, drawing a circle around the Artor Valley.  They weren’t moving west yet, but as the sky above Leon’s storm began to brighten, the arks in the east started turning north.  By the end of the day, he thought, the valley might be surrounded.

Being surrounded was hardly the best position to be in, but given the casualties taken by the Ocean forces, there was also an opportunity there, which Leon ruminated on throughout the night.  When dawn broke, he finally abandoned his vigil, trusting in his people to prepare for the siege adequately without him breathing down their necks, and made his way to Nestor’s lab in the city.

As with most architecture in Artorion, Nestor’s lab was simple, barely more than a rectangular box on the outside, reminding Leon rather unpleasantly of Memoria back on Aeterna.  The city had been built with speed and efficiency in mind, and as more of his people migrated to the Nexus, those buildings would be demolished as needed and replaced with grander structures more befitting the new capital of his Kingdom.

Such was the plan, anyway.  They’d have to break this siege before it could come to pass.

To that end, Leon sauntered into Nestor’s lab, easily finding his way through the controlled chaos of the dead man’s many half-built experiments and unfinished projects to find Nestor in the back, tinkering with a Lance design using an enchanted mirror to keep track of his work.

“Nestor,” Leon softly said as he halted and observed his ancient kinsman’s work from over his metallic shoulder.

“Leon,” he neutrally responded.

“Working on power management?”

“The new Lances can do with some optimization.  Give me a week and I’ll increase their power by half, if not more.”

Leon whistled in appreciation.  “Upgraded weapons will only help us in this situation.  As much as I would love for you to continue without interruption, however, I need to consult with you for a moment.”

Nestor gave him an exaggerated sigh and turned to face him.  He said nothing, but his body language communicated all that he had to anyway: impatience.

“How feasible would it be to mount one of these new Lances on a MALL?”

Nestor snorted.  “Current MALLs are too small.  The new Lances are larger than the old, and MALLs have strict weight limits.  They don’t have sufficient lift or thrust capacity to bear the new weapons, and that’s not even considering power requirements.”

“Fine,” Leon dismissively replied, “then let’s consider something else: what would we have to do to make these new Lances mobile?”

Nestor looked annoyed for all of half a second—quite the feat given his static and inexpressive faceplate—but as the problem percolated into his head, he sat up straighter and started to consider the problem.

“There are some… easy modifications that can be made to MALLs…  Discard the troop-carrying module, get rid of needless armor, upgrade the engines…  At that point, though, you might as well start with fighter designs, not MALLs.  Or even ask Mari’Kha about installing one on an Ulta suit.”  Nestor paused and considered Leon more closely.  “What is the job you have in mind?  Having the Lances be self-propelled might not be the best solution.”

Leon glanced to the west.  “These fish fuckers will struggle to put a tight cordon around the entire valley.  Some parts of it will be weak.  I’m thinking they’ll prioritize sections of the front based on how easy it would be to sneak in or out, and what they have to defend.  They’ll be concentrating in the south to protect their camp and because that’s one of the valley’s entrances.  The north, too, is an entrance, but the land up there is more rugged and harder to pass, so their forces in that direction may be weaker than the south.”

Cottoning onto what Leon was saying, Nestor, too, looked west.  “The mountains,” he whispered.  “Hard to get in or out that way, hard to monitor.  Smallest Diluvian patrols might be out there, you think?”

“‘Diluvian’?”

Nestor sighed again.  “Old name for those sworn to the Ocean King.  Doesn’t matter; are you thinking of attacking the enemy where they’re weakest?”

“I’m not one for hiding,” Leon stated.  “I’d rather attack, if possible.  Do something.”

“Sieges are hard on morale,” Nestor added.  “Better for those within their stronghold to do something rather than sit around and wait for the enemy to get bored.”

“The ‘Diluvians’ aren’t going to leave unless they’re forced,” Leon continued.  “By circumstances or blood, we have to get them to fuck off.  So while they settle in for a siege, we bleed them where we can.  See if we can reduce their numbers enough that they can no longer maintain such a strict barrier around us.  That’ll be hard to do without being able to strike at their supply lines and potential avenues for reinforcement, but… it’s better than doing nothing.”

“And you want the new Lances to be mobile enough to support these attacks?”

“I’m thinking ambushes in the mountains, first.  Maybe have Bolt in Shadow and Silver Spear stick their weapons out of the veil and pop off a couple shots, too.  Anything we can do to make this siege as shit-painful and maddening as humanly possible.”

Nestor grunted appreciatively.  “The new Lances are prototypes and hand-crafted; as a result, they’re not as standardized as I would like.  They’re also large, cumbersome, and bolted in place for stability.  But… I think I can get them more easily transportable…  The bigger problem is that we only had enough Aurichalcum to build four of these new Lances.  If you want them, you’ll have to pull them off defense duty.”

“I’m aware.  But the veil is working so far, and with such a shield, our other Lances and remaining arks can pick up the slack.”

Bluntly, Nestor stated, “Be that as it may, it would be better if we had more Aurichalcum.”

“Many things would be improved with more resources, dead man.  I don’t think we’re going to be getting more Aurichalcum anytime soon, unfortunately.  Especially not if this siege isn’t disrupted.”

“Fine.  I’ll make do with what we have.  The Ocean King trying to shit on us while we’re busy reclaiming the Clan’s old position cannot be tolerated!”

Leon grinned.  “I’ll be remembering this for a long time, to be sure.  As for the Lances, do what you can.  If this doesn’t work out, we still have other possibilities…”

Nestor waved at Leon, wordlessly dismissing him from the lab while he turned back to the Lance designs.  Leon didn’t appreciate being treated like this, but he was used to it from Nestor at this point.  He departed and made his way back to the southern Talon to make more preparations for his planned strikes.

---

Even in the projection from the comm slate, Tauri looked nervous and harried.  His bright, multicolored clothes were wrinkled, and his face and hair looked unwashed.

“Speaker Tauri,” Leon said with as much good-natured cheer as he could muster, “how has Alhamachim been?”

“King Leon,” Tauri uneasily replied, “my city has finished rebuilding most of our homes and walls.  We’re not quite done restoring our defenses, but… recent events make it clear that we need to rush on that front.”

“Indeed,” Leon agreed with a knowing nod.  “Have Terris’ forces reached out to you yet?”

“We have received no word from the Ocean’s soldiery, whether from Despot Terris or otherwise,” Tauri reported.

“That’s something, at least,” Leon murmured.  He stole a glance at Gaius, the Jaguar, and Marcus off to the side, who had come to him with a certain concern before this call was arranged.  When his eyes fell upon Tauri once again, Leon asked, “How willing is your city to support Artorion in this time?”

Tauri grimaced.  “That… is difficult to say.”

Leon smiled thinly.  “Your city is obligated to provide tribute.  Are you still able and willing to fulfill that end of the bargain struck?”

Lumenite, ambrosia, and other items as tribute; citizenship—and thus, the ability to enlist in Leon’s army—for Alhamachim’s people; and acknowledgment of Leon as the city’s overlord.  These were the terms for the city to receive Leon’s protection, terms which they agreed to.  It had only been a matter of months since the terms were put to paper, but now they were being put to the test quicker than anyone had expected.

“My city respects all agreements made by our Assembly,” Tauri insisted, but the way he ended the sentence led Leon to think there was more to the story than what he just said.

“What aren’t you telling me, Speaker?” Leon pressed.

“I…”  Tauri went quiet for a long moment, and Leon almost lost patience waiting for him to find his tongue.  “There have been… voices… calling for ‘discretion’ in this matter.”

Leon maintained a stoic façade, but it wasn’t easy given the way Tauri’s statement stoked his inner fire.  With a withering glare, Leon demanded, “Define ‘discretion’.”

Tauri took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and explained with palpable anxiety, “Some of Asa’s old allies in the city have called our bargain into question.  They believe that with the Ocean King’s wrath called, that we should… seek other options.”

His annoyance growing, Leon again demanded, “Be specific.  What ‘other options’?”

Again, Tauri grimaced.  “Withholding tribute…  Inviting Djoser to return…  Avoiding all conflict with the Ocean’s forces…”

“They advocate for your city to leave me in the lurch?” Leon asked.  He almost couldn’t believe it—almost.  “By bolt and talon I saved your city, and agreed to rather generous terms when you suggested swearing allegiance to me.  I did not annex your city, nor impose undue tribute upon you, I should think.  It’s less than what tribute Djoser demanded, isn’t it?”

Tauri nodded in confirmation.

“And yet, barely twenty-four hours after my city finds itself isolated and endangered, your people are already advocating for you to abandon your agreement and abandon me?”

Again, Tauri nodded.

With a deep scowl, Leon asked, “Is this how your city treats those it is grateful toward, Speaker Tauri?  How you treat your friends?  I had thought my agreement to your terms to be generous, that I had taken your city on as a welcome wingmate!  But over the course of a single stormy day, your wings are already faltering?!”

“It’s only a few people, my King,” Tauri insisted.  “These attitudes do not represent my city as a whole!”

“And it’s too much to silence these voices?” Leon darkly asked.

Tauri, a little taken aback, replied, “That… is not our way…”

Leon’s scowl lessened slightly.  He didn’t think it was his way, either, and he did promise the city its autonomy; interfering with its politics too overtly could trigger greater backlash.

“Keep your people honest and true, Speaker Tauri,” Leon all but ordered.  “I dislike fair-weather friends.”

“Alhamachim keeps its word,” Tauri insisted.

“Good,” Leon replied.  “So long as your word to me remains true, all that remains is figuring out how to get supplies from your city into the Artor Valley…”

---

The day was gone, replaced with the strange pseudo-night of the Nexus, and with it, any hope of conventionally leaving the Artor Valley for the cordon around the mountains was almost complete.  The Diluvian arks were spread across the sky, patrolling just outside the cloud cover of Leon’s storm, but more than close enough to keep a close eye on the edges of the misty veil.

Leon stood at the entrance of a tunnel down to the Aesii beneath Artorion.  Around him were some of his strongest remaining fighters, including Anastasios, Eva, Red, Valeria, Cassandra, Maia, and the Jaguar.  Alcander and Alix led a small squad of Tempest Knights while Anzu, Gaius, and Gaius and Alix’s son joined them.  Even Anna and her wyvern ‘sons’ were with him.  Powerful mages of his army and Tribal allies were joining him, too, but his company didn’t exceed one hundred souls.

Within the soul realms of several of his more highly-ranked followers were the new Aurichalcum Lances that had once sat upon the towers around the Artor Valley.  Working faster than Leon had expected, Nestor—along with Mari and several Ravens—figured out the best way to break down the Lances into more manageable pieces and taught Leon’s people how to reassemble them as quickly as they could.

With the pieces spread across multiple bearers, there was less of a chance for any single stray lethal strike to deprive them of a Lance, though it increased the logistical burden of Leon’s plan.  Regardless, he was determined to press forward with it.

The weapons now taken from the towers had been replaced with salvaged Lances from more heavily damaged arks, so the defenses around the Artor Valley didn’t suffer too much with the absence of the new Lances.  Still, it was a risk, but a risk that Leon was willing to take.

Above his gathered company hovered Bolt in Shadow and Silver Spear, with Anshu captaining Bolt in Shadow.  The remaining carrier and heavy cruiser were held back in reserve, not to be used in this operation unless the situation turned truly dire.

Looking around at his assembled company, Leon loudly declared, “I made the call for volunteers, and all of you answered!”

Most of the assembled warriors roared and stomped their feet so loudly that Leon was almost worried they’d ruin their hopes of a surprise attack.  When they quieted down a moment later, he continued.

“Right here, right now, I offer to all of you one last chance to back out!  I won’t lie to anyone here; this is a risky plan!  Many of us may not return to our new home!  But I intend to ensure that more of them do not return to theirs!”

Again, his declaration was met with the roaring and stomping of agreement.

“So, if your heart isn’t in this, if you do not wish to meet your Ancestors just yet, or if you have other responsibilities at home that might come before this, then excuse yourselves now!  No one will think any less of you, your honor will remain unstained!  If you follow me, you must be sure of your action, you must be committed to seeing it through!  If you are not, then remain behind!”

He went quiet, as did most of the company.  Almost a hundred of his strongest remaining warriors, and not one made a sound.  Not one man or woman moved from where they stood.

With a proud smile, Leon declared, “No King could be prouder of his people than I am of you now!”

Stomping and roaring followed, and Leon’s smile grew for a moment before taking on a darker quality.

“Our enemy is at our gates!  Let’s go kill them!”

With one last great roar, Leon turned and ventured underground.  His people had explored the caves connected to the Aesii extensively, and he knew of a couple that would take him right where he needed to go: right beneath the arks flying above the western mountains.

If all went well, many of those arks would be brought to fiery ruin amidst the stone and trees of these mountains.  If all went well…

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