Old, New, and Other

King Sporatos

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As was always the case in the pre-dawn mornings of this accursed land, a dismal rain splashed itself against the King’s armor. He felt each small drop tip-tapping on his helmet, his pauldrons, and even felt the slow trickles running down the faceplate to spatter against his gorget. The air had the smell of a powerful storm, but the only thunder he heard was rare and distant, with the rain having done little more than gently sputter for the last hour. All the weather had achieved was wetting the fields, leaving his greaves and sabatons specked with mud.

The woman before him suffered no such irritations. Her robes floated off her frame, turning away water before it so much as grazed the enchanted cloth. Though her hood was raised and the skies still dark, King Sporatos could see her youthful face peering at him from within the shadows, eyes unfocused in that strange way that was common to Archmages of such distinction. King Sporatos was the sixth monarch of his lineage to have benefitted from Lusanya’s faithful service, yet he’d recently begun to fear that he was losing her to the strange ravages of Talavan’s Gift. Though age no longer wore at their bodies, creatures as powerful as Archmages inevitably lost interest in the affairs of lesser mortals. Over the centuries of their lives— if they did not kill themselves with some infernal experimentation, that is— their kind almost always drew further into reclusion, chasing mysteries down rabbit holes that only they could see. Lusanya was beginning to show signs of that habit; before the war it had been eight years since King Sporatos had last seen her, and twice she had referred to him as Queen Sporatos, briefly forgetting his mother’s death. She had corrected herself quickly on both accounts, but it was not an encouraging sign.

I doubt she will be present to gift my daughter with her services, the King thought wearily, but I ought to maintain her opinion of me regardless. Even Archmages are not above gossip.

“And you say the spell suffered no permanent ill effects?” He asked. The bobbing lights of the Star Shield lit them both from above, casting dozens of shadows at strange, ever-shifting angles.

“‘Tis just so, your Majesty,” Lusanya replied, her long-dead Continental dialect peculiar to his ears. “As were it designed to heal, so it has healed since. That the great leaden bolts nearly did strike home were a concern, but one that has passed us by. We know now that even the might of their weapons entire can fall upon us, only to be turned away by this luminous shell.”

“Excellent.” He glanced to his right, at the razor-tipped castle. Its guns were dark, but he knew that could change in a flash. “It seemed to me that the enemy’s barrage nearly broke through, however. The shield required tending and management during that brief time that they tried to strike my tent, did it not?”

King Sporatos had been awoken by the fusillade a few hours before. He hadn’t been concerned for his life, sleeping in his armor as he’d been, but he’d grown concerned that the shield might fail. Hundreds of cannonballs had screamed through the night, all converging on his command tent as their target. The shots had fallen in such volume that he witnessed the Star Shield writhing under the blows, endless specks of light rising up to meet the onslaught. The outer perimeters of the army had been left briefly uncovered as the gunfire continued, their portion of the shield migrating inward to reinforce the section that, it had seemed in the moment, was nearly overwhelmed.

When the cannonade finally ended, it was with the Star Shield rearing up and forward, taking the shape of a breaking wave in the midst of its curl. As it became clear the enemy had ceased their barrage, the wave collapsed, sending thousands of lights washing back to their place. He’d been relieved that the shield held but, secretly, the emotion kept far away from the surface, he’d been worried by how close the last volley of cannonballs had come to their targets. If the Star Shield failed, not only would his army suffer unimaginable casualties, those that survived would be forced to camp impossibly far from the enemy’s defenses. It would be the end of the siege, and likely the war.

Lusanya did not appear to mirror his concern. She sniffed dismissively at the Tulian castle.

“I am not worried, yer Majesty, and I dare say neither should you be. The great bolts were slackening in their number at the end, with their crude workers quickly exhausted by the pace they serviced their machines. Even had the Stars failed, and I don’t think they would, it is but a simple matter to cast the spell again, so far as these things are measured. The greatest difficulty did lie in the shaping and making of the spell, not its employment, ye see.”

“I do, yes. And I am glad to hear it. But in the event that the shield does fail, however unlikely, how long would it take to summon up another one?”

“On mine own, nought but a paltry few minutes. I am afraid it’s unlikely I’d be so unoccupied at the time, however. I would worry more that the duty will be falling upon yer more common mages.” Lusanya sneered derisively. “Once they gather in number enough to perhaps manage the task, its casting could take an hour or so, assuming they fail to foul it up. But a single mistake will set them to the beginning, and I don’t expect their kind to manage it on the first of tries.”

“I see.” King Sporatos kept his words impassive, but scowled behind his helm. An hour or two wasn’t enough for the cannons of Tulian to eliminate his army outright, but it was more than long enough to do nigh-insurmountable damage. The supply wagons would burn, the peasants would doubtlessly be overcome by cowardice, and if the enemy had any sense, they would focus heavily upon the Knights in the minutes before they could don their armor and mount up for an evasive sprint away. It was an eventuality to be avoided at all costs.

“I see,” he repeated. “Thank you for your input, Archmage.”

Lusanya smiled loftily. “Of course, Yer Majesty. Facing such powerful weapons has been a lovely distraction, might I say. I look forward to seeing how the future changes with their spread.”

“Perhaps it will,” King Sporatos allowed, grinding his teeth. “But I am afraid that the objective of this war is to deny the enemy the chance to enact such changes. It is our role to prove to the world that these barbaric instruments have no place in the future of warfare.”

“Of course, Yer Majesty, of course.” She peered up at him. “But you haven’t forgotten what you promised myself for my time, no?”

“I have not. You will have your toys to play with. In fact,” he took a deep breath to help force the words out, “I encourage your experiments. It has become clear that these firearms, however detestable they may be…” He paused to swallow the acid in his throat. “...cannot be fully purged from this land. I am eager for the Mage Cadre to learn all they can about these weapons— and, I remind you, how you will ensure the peasants cannot turn them against their betters.”

Lusanya’s eyes twinkled in the night. “A tall order, Yer Majesty, but one we look forward to. I only ask that you take as many of the contraptions intact as you are able. A puzzle cannot be solved without its pieces, and the works of a Champion shall be a fascinating puzzle indeed.”

“Indeed.” King Sporatos took one last look at the enemy castle, then turned to the tent. “Your time, as always, is greatly appreciated, Archmage Lusanya. We will speak again soon.”

“Doubtlessly so, Yer Majesty.”

The woman retreated with the shallowest of bows, leaving him alone for a short time. Turning his attention inward, King Sporatos gathered his thoughts. One of his mother’s earliest lessons had been the importance of ensuring he was in the right mindset for the task at hand. In all but battle, a monarch was one of the lucky few who always had the luxury of time. None could harry, rush, or harass him, and so there was never an excuse to enter a critical occasion unprepared. When his thoughts had settled, he entered the command tent.

He heard only the tail end of a raucous conversation. Voices died in an instant as he stepped into the space, leaving only the sound of rattling armor as Knights and guards came to attention at the perimeter. The Dukes and Duchesses of Sporatos sat at a wide, oval table, their loyal Knights and heirs arrayed behind them. The tent had a crystalline chandelier dangling from above, but its light was hardly needed. The shimmering glow of so many pieces of enchanted armor would have been more than enough to keep the tent comfortably lit.

All eyes were on him as he raised his visor. He swept his gaze across the assembled individuals, evaluating each in turn. It was a stern, bleak collection that looked back at him. Even in the earliest years of his rule, when he had ascended to the throne amongst his mother’s untimely demise, he had never faced such hostility. The nobility of Sporatos had obeyed his summons for this war, but doing so had stretched their loyalty to its limits.

This war must be won at all costs. He walked toward the head of the table, lowering himself into the opulently decorated chair that served as his throne. They do not dare rebel, but they begin to whisper of it. Their dissatisfaction is plain.

He had been planning to keep this meeting to matters of pure military strategy. Looking about, he doubted that would be possible. The nobility, much like the peasants beneath them, required careful shepherding.

“The Starshield stands strong,” he began. “The enemy’s weapons unleashed their full strength against the barrier. It achieved nothing. The Archmage Lusanya is confident of its efficacy, and so our siege will remain unbroken.”

Few were interested in this announcement, he could tell. Some even looked like they doubted his words. He considered addressing those individuals directly, but decided against it. Giving them an opportunity to voice their grievances could only be counter-productive.

“As you are all doubtlessly aware, our attempts at infiltrating the city were ineffective,” he continued. “We have had no contact with the Knights who volunteered for the duty, nor has the ship that brought them to the harbor been seen leaving the city. It can only be assumed that they failed in their mission.”

“That’s what they get for offering themselves up for such a fool’s errand,” Duke Roth grumbled. He took a gulp from his wine goblet, then set it down on the table with a muted thunk. “I’ll wager they were blown out of the water before they even disembarked from the ship. More than one of those cursed cannons can point inward to their city. They wouldn’t hesitate to fire on a ship they thought their own if they saw the slightest possibility it might help slake their bloodlust for the deaths of nobility.”

“A possible explanation,” King Sporatos allowed, “but not one that I personally believe. We have received quite a fascinating series of messages from our allies in the True Empire as of late.” King Sporatos nodded appreciatively to Captain Seareye and his small contingent of fellow fliers. “They believe, incredibly, that the Mad Champion and her family have been broken apart following the atrocity in the Empire’s Holy Capital. Reports firmly claim that the slave and smith have left the army, leaving the Champion alone.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Seareye confirmed. “I am told by the True Adjutant himself that multiple of our agents have independently confirmed these reports.”

“Fascinating,” the King hummed. “I would not have expected that the Empire could be so easily fooled.”

“...Sir?” Seareye asked, brow furrowing.

“I saw the slave with my own eyes, Captain,” King Sporatos said. “She is in Tulian. That means that the Mad Champion is no longer with your foes— and it stands to reason that she and her slave are the ones who felled our Knights.”

“But-” Captain Seareye quickly swallowed his protest. “I see, Your Majesty.”

“There is nothing for your agents to be ashamed of, naturally,” King Sporatos assured him. “She has proven herself a master of powerful illusions, capable of weaving spells that fool even Archmages. But I am confident of what I saw on the battlefield: no one else in this peasant republic could fight as the slave does. And the Mad Champion would not abandon her paramour. Their relationship is… decrepit. Obsessive. They could not stomach such a thing.”

The rest of the meeting’s attendants mumbled to one another at the King’s assertion, but it was the sound of agreement. Only the Imperials seemed to believe their people’s reports. He could tell Captain Seareye held an objection on the tip of his tongue, but the man didn’t let it fall free. The wyvern rider reluctantly sat back in his chair, content to accept the King’s word.

“Now,” King Sporatos said, sliding a map to the table’s center, “with the Mad Champion confirmed to have assumed command, our focus can be narrowed. To capture the castles or, if we are fortunate, the city itself, would be excellent. But it is a secondary objective. As is well known, our primary goal is simple: to neutralize Mad Champion. This so-called Republic’s farcical attempt at governance shall disintegrate without her.” King Sporatos looked at the Knights assembled behind their lords. “While the peasants and the lesser nobility will continue their assault upon the enemy’s defenses, it is the Mad Champion that I wish to discuss with our true combatants. We must capture her if we can. Kill her if we must. But no matter what happens, it is she who must be defeated. There can be no exception, no greater priority. We must draw her out into combat.”

“If she has not yet responded to the wholesale slaughter of her people, what could possibly provoke her further?” Duke Sentan growled. He was young for his station, yet he was perhaps the Duke that King Sporatos trusted the most in this war. His mother had once been the finest warrior in all of Sporatos, second only to the King himself, yet she had died in the first war against Tulian. To this day no one knew how, but it was clear that only a Champion could have felled someone so powerful. Unsurprisingly, Duke Sentan had proved a stalwart ally in the politicking which had been required to bring this war to bear. The boy clenched his fist as he stared at the map. “If she is in the city, she has been proven even more of a hypocrite than I thought possible. After all her lofty rhetoric, she has failed to protect the peasantry she claims to care so deeply for.”

“Patience, Duke, patience,” King Sporatos cautioned. “Our assault was rapid, unexpected, and nearly succeeded in ending the war within a few short hours. The Mad Champion had little opportunity to challenge our Knights. Now that she has gathered her bearings, I expect her naive empathy will lead her to wasting her efforts in the field, rather than staying with her army. And to that end…” King Sporatos lifted his gaze to the Captain of Knights standing behind Duke Sentan’s right shoulder. “Captain Yvonne. You will need to alter the formations of your outriders, I am afraid. I am pleased with the pace your Knights set yesterday, but today will require greater caution. How you go about doing so is at your discretion, as you better know the placement of your scattered troops, but you must stiffen their ability to resist ambush. As the Mad Champion herself has readily admitted before, this will not be an honorable fight. You are to anticipate every form of foul conduct imaginable.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the Knight replied, bowing her head respectfully. “I have already ensured that each raiding party is commanded by Knights of high birth and the finest training, always seconded by those with considerable experience on the field of battle. I will send dispatches to do as you command, but already feel confident they will be ready for almost any trickery.”

“Excellent.” King Sporatos drew his finger along the map. “Now we must discuss the assault upon the castles. While the enemy was not initially afforded time to occupy the trenches that they had dug before the walls, we can only expect that they will have done so overnight—”

A rumbling crackle of thunder interrupted the King’s words. Several of the squires at the tent’s exterior ducked, expecting a cannonball, but the rest knew better. Similar though the sound may have been to cannonfire, the bright flash of light against the tent walls was a sure sign that it was merely the natural elements making themselves known. Enough had reacted to the split second concussion that it was necessary to address it, however.

“Calm yourselves, young squires,” he chuckled. “While not all of you may be old enough to have lost your childhood fear of thunder, I know from my time in your shoes that pretending otherwise is an important skill to develop.”

A light titter of laughter went around the room. Service beneath a Knight was an ancient tradition for any noble of Sporatos that intended to take up the blade, and all present could remember their early days in the squire’s shoes.

“As I was saying. The trenches, while far more easily overcome than the castle itself, will allow their handheld firearms to fire on a flat trajectory into our approaching troops. I have received private proposals that it would be best to leave many of our peasants as a reserve, so that we might utilize more of the mages who would have protected them in the advance. It is a measure with considerable tradeoffs, however, and—”

King Sporatos frowned as another powerful rumble of thunder drowned out his words. It appeared the fiercer storm he’d seen on the horizon was arriving.

“We must consider it carefully,” he continued. “Our mercenary forces are eager to test their mettle. Their enchanted shields have already proven capable of turning away bullets from the enemy’s handheld firearms, and it is they who will be best suited to clearing the trenches. Of course I anticipate a retreat before contact is made—”

A third boom of thunder shook the tent, this one considerably louder than the others. Suppressing a frustrated sneer, King Sporatos began to wave toward the contingent of mages, preparing to ask them to cast a spell of silence.

He was interrupted by yet another thunderbolt. Then another. Then another and another and another, each coming closer together, stark shadows flashing against the tent’s walls. The intermittent booms became a rattling staccato in short order, rattling cups and plates on the table with the continuous concussions. Before anyone else could so much as stand, King Sporatos flipped his visor down and burst from the tent, staring hard into the night at the Tulian castle.

Though the thunder continued unabated, the distant concrete walls were pitch black and silent. He was joined by other high-ranking members of the Sporaton nobility as his gaze swept left, out onto the ocean.

It was thunder. Lightning was rippling down from the sky like the raindrops that accompanied it, dozens of bolts crashing into the sea with every passing second. He squinted against the blinding light, eyes aching until they adjusted.

The lightning bolts were striking something. Or trying to, at least. An endless procession of bolts were converging on a single point in mid-air, perhaps a hundred or so feet off the ground. They whipped and weaved around that spot, creating a space of circular darkness amidst the cacophonous flashes. Whatever lay at the center, it was tossing the furious barrage of bolts aside like so much trash.

His lips split in a savage grin. The thing was traveling south along the waterline. Toward Tulian.

“I would not find such joy in the sight,” a voice rasped.

A mace was in the King’s hand before the first syllable was finished. He whirled in place, searching for the source.

Emerging as if from nothing, King Sporatos’s gaze fell upon a blue-skinned azarketi girl. Nearly naked, unarmed save for a peculiar dagger at her waist, she nonetheless approached him confidently, too light on her feet to sink into the muddy ground.

The spy girl, he realized. The one who was in the Eliah household— and whose master killed two of the Night’s Eye.

King Sporatos debated bashing the thing’s skull in and being done with it, but decided against such rashness. It had chosen to reveal itself for a reason. He would hear it out.

The voice that fell from the creature’s lips could not belong to the frame it carried. Its words were wet and guttural, spoken with an accent closer to Lusanya’s garbled grasp of Continental than any Tulian accent he knew.

“That which approaches is no ally of yours,” the thing told him. It was making solid, unblinking eye contact with him. “Some beings exist which are too revolting for any mortal to make an alliance with. This is one of them.” The creature’s head jerked to the side in a sickly, too-rapid imitation of a thoughtful tilt. He thought he could hear bones rolling and cracking as it did so. “Ask your pet mage. It is her wards which you can see battling its influence. The city’s defenses will begin… ah. There.”

Despite how unwise it felt to take his eyes off the thing before him, King Sporatos could not help jerking his attention toward Tulian’s walls. A volcanic eruption of liquid color spewed and boiled from the land and sea, expanding into gaseous columns of energy which burned thousands of feet straight upward, piercing through the bottom of the clouds, shooting upward for gods-knew how high after that. Perhaps beyond the sky itself, judging by the unbridled power they possessed. He suspected that a clear day would have allowed any ship in a hundred miles to see the phenomenon.

The entity within the darkness neared the colorful torrent. The lightning pouring down upon it had intensified even further, now resembling a solid column of vibrating power more than a collection of distinct bolts. An unending roar shrieked across the land, putting all the cannons and muskets of Tulian to shame. More spells began to spill forth into the night; mages at the perimeter of his army began to launch their own spells at the spot of blackness, fire and lightning and chunks of spinning stone flying up to be uselessly consumed by the conflagration.

The darkness pushed inward. The colors it touched at Tulian’s perimeter began to intensify even as the edges faded, the spell finding its footing as it began to focus its efforts on its true target. King Sporatos felt a chill run down his spine as the darkness vanished into the maelstrom. It wasn’t visible, but he did not think it had been overwhelmed. It was merely out of sight.

As the lightning joined the riotous colors, King Sporatos could finally see the path the entity had taken. The bolts had been so intense that a vast swathe of the sea had been burned away, clouds of steam and blackened fish laying on lightning-marred sand. Dozens of square miles lay exposed. A great tidal wave of water was rushing inward to fill the gap, and he realized that there was a real risk that its momentum would send it rushing up and over the flanks of his army. But he didn’t have time for ordering the peasants to brace for its arrival.

“Why did you come to-” he began to ask, turning back to the creature puppeting the azarketi girl, only to discover her gone. He cursed, spinning to order a search, only to nearly swing his raising hand into Lusanya’s jaw.

“Ah. Yer Majesty,” she said, bowing.

“Are you well?” He asked quickly, inspecting her face for signs of spellsickness. “What is your condition? Are you able to fend that entity off should it return?”

“You think me wounded?” Lusanya blinked in confusion. “There hasn’t been a fight, Yer Majesty.”

“What was that then?”

“The witch-familiar told ye, sir. It was only mine and the Tiger of Salacia’s wards reacting to the creature’s presence. I’ve no idea what it may be, but the witch was right about one thing: it was a foul thing. Wards such as ours don’t react such without good reason.” She smiled fondly at him, plainly savoring the moment. “I did warn ye that I would not fight him. None can win in a duel between Archmages. If I or he begin to fight, Yer Majesty, it will be known to all. All that survive long enough to comprehend the first instant of it, that is.”

“Bah,” he spat, stepping around the woman. “If you do not know what it is, I must begin preparing my army. It must be one of the prophesied threats to Tulian. We will seize whatever advantage it might have given us at first light. Return to me if you learn more.”

“Of course, Yer Majesty.”