The Storm King-Chapter 1182: Daryun

The wind whistled through the snowy peaks, while bells rang and drums beat in the valley below. Light in the mountains allowed the watchers to track their enemy’s approach, slowly coming closer and closer to their walls.

The Sylphians would have a rough time getting to their fortress. The path was strewn with the frozen bodies of their dead, some lying where they’d fallen years ago, no one able or willing to collect them and give them their proper rites. By now, after a century and a half, the bodies in the pass numbered in the thousands. Yet no matter how many were killed, more kept coming. The ragged imperialists who couldn’t accept their loss of station were determined to assert their authority over the Alamati Valley, but in the valley’s defenders, they found an equally determined force.

From the rocky, snow-battered slopes of the Stalking Tiger, the mountain on the north side of the pass, Daryun glared at the frozen pass. The top of the mountain had been carved by someone with more money than sense into the likeness of a crouching tiger ready to spring upon its prey in the pass. At one point, the snarling visage had its jaws opened so wide that from tongue to the roof of the mouth ten men could stand on each other’s shoulders and only barely reach the top. That head had been blasted to dust decades ago, leaving only the paws and rear half of the Stalking Tiger itself behind, now almost entirely covered in snow and ice.

There had been many times in his youth when Daryun had wished to behold the Stalking Tiger in its prime with his own eyes. Unfortunately, it had been destroyed before he’d been born, and in the chaos that had gripped Kesken since then, it had never been rebuilt.

The walls of Kaarahi Castle were a blur of motion as men and war beasts swarmed, readying themselves for the fight about to come. Daryun allowed himself to indulge in a moment of pride, his men retaining their discipline even though they’d had to send nearly half of their comrades to the valley at their backs for burial or medical treatment. Many more needed the attention of skilled healers, but Daryun simply didn’t have the men to spare from the wall—thus, the injured who could still fight were ordered to remain, to ensure the walls remained staffed.

“There’s a lot of ‘em,” the wizened eighth-tier mage beside him whispered. His face had lost nearly all of the color that Daryun had remembered, leaving skin about as pale and fragile-looking as paper. His face was marred by more scars than wrinkles, and of the latter he had many. His hair was short, thin, and silver, while his gaunt cheeks spoke of long-endured hardship. Despite these obvious signs of age and fatigue, however, his eyes remained bright and his aura strong.

“Aye,” the middle-aged seventh-tier mage on Daryun’s other side agreed. “This may be their main push for the year. If we weather this assault, we should be safe. The people should be safe.”

Daryun had known this man almost his entire life. He’d been brought into Kaarahi Castle before Daryun had seen the end of his first decade, training him to ride, shoot a bow from both a standing position and from the saddle, wield both sword and lance, and most of all, how to win battles. His advice was always welcome, even if the man himself was still looked upon with fear and suspicion in Alamati.

The reason for that suspicion was obvious: his looks were obviously foreign, with his gleaming golden hair and ice-blue eyes. His skin was much paler than the valley’s natives, as was his wolf-themed armor. It reminded the people too strongly of the Sylphians on the other side of the mountains, whom they’d been fighting for more than a century.

Daryun wasn’t old enough to remember the start of the war, though he’d been sixteen years old when his father had ridden off at the head of their army, never to return. Instead of his triumphant father, the enemy that King Hekaj had summoned their army to fight arrived on Kaarahi’s doorstep, demanding submission.

Almost a century of blood and battle had been Daryun’s answer.

He didn’t blame the Sylphians for desiring Alamati; the valley was gorgeous and fertile, the picture of agricultural paradise, while the other side of the valley opened onto a flat plain that connected the valley to the sea. A great port had once been there, back when the plane had been dominated by the Sylphians. When the Sylphian ark fleet vanished, however, their authority dwindled, and with it, trade and the need for that port. Few ships now came to the port, leaving ninety-five of the hundred piers to decay from lack of use. It was a small but noticeable sign that the plane of Prachtor descended into chaos.

Chaos. ‘Kesken’, in their language. A fitting name for the divided remnants of a planar cluster-spanning Empire, though the Sylphians still insisted on calling it by the name that their pirate Lord had imposed upon them.

Not that Daryun thought it had truly been an Empire, but before the Sylphians assaulted his castle the first time, he’d thought that perhaps the planar cluster would’ve been better off if it had remained united under them. Now, as he approached his hundred and twentieth birthday, he had no such thoughts. The Sylphians were monsters, they were bandits and marauders. The only way peace could be achieved would be when the blood of every Sylphian had returned to the earth, to nourish the new life that might arise in the soil.

“If,” the aged Nimrak spat.

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” the middle-aged Jontos sniped back. “Break the Sylphians’ back here, and they will struggle to attack us again for years.”

“And you assume that’ll be possible?”

“Look at the light,” Jontos responded as he pointed at the approaching glow, soon to crest over the narrow ridge of the pass and enter their visual range. “Do you see the size? Use your magic senses, you’ll see what I can already tell: they’ve deployed their entire war band. This isn’t the same measured assault they’ve thrown upon our walls time and time again. The Ark Lord knows that we’re vulnerable.”

Nimrak scoffed. “Anyone who calls themselves the ‘Ark Lord’ these days must need help lacing his own boots!”

“But would he be wrong? Are we not vulnerable? How many men man the walls now?”

“Enough,” Nimrak spat. “They only need to hold long enough for us to save them.”

Daryun quietly sighed. Behind him, utterly, eerily silent, were a thousand of the best heavy cavalrymen in the history of Prachtor. Their steeds were relatively small, but they were sure-footed enough to almost gallop even on the icy slopes of the White Horn Mountains. The Stalking Tiger was especially treacherous, but the White Horn horses still ascended above Kaarahi Castle with ease.

Now, they waited. They were concealed in the snow, and the moment the Sylphians committed to the assault on Kaarahi, Daryun’s cavalry would sweep down from the mountain and smash them against Kaarahi’s walls.

A good plan, and one that Daryun had wished he’d been able to enact before this moment. Unfortunately, the cavalry wasn’t his but rather had been raised by King Imak, King Hekaj’s successor. The defeat of Hekaj had thrown the Kingdom into turmoil, with the Sylphians only being checked at Kaarahi. Because of this, Imak’s Kingdom, and much of the plane as a whole, was given much-needed time to try and recover from their long occupation by the Sylphians and their arks.

And they had largely wasted that time. They’d warred amongst themselves, keeping themselves weak enough that no resources could be spared for Daryun’s cause. Nearly a fifth of the largest continent on Prachtor remained occupied by Sylphians even as the rest of the plane reveled in their reclaimed freedom by killing and depraving one another in every imaginable way.

It seemed that time of chaos might be coming to an end, though. King Imak had finally consolidated his power, stabilized most of the Kingdom’s borders, and sent reinforcements to Daryun, who’d long been left to weather the Sylphian storm on his own. Imak sent the mountain cavalry from other parts of the White Horn Mountains which now lay hidden in the snow of the Stalking Tiger.

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‘All for the low price of renewing my homage,’ Daryun thought. It was a price he’d paid gladly to see the Sylphians broken and his home saved from their depravities.

His two closest advisors continued bickering until Daryun growled, “Quiet. Any louder and our enemies will hear you before they crest the ridge.”

The two promptly shut their mouths, though from the way their auras flexed, Daryun thought that they might still be communicating silently. A soft pang of jealousy hit him; though he was ninth-tier, he’d never learned enough darkness magic to communicate in that way.

But he didn’t dwell upon that, as before his eyes, the first Sylphian warriors finally reached the top of the ridge, allowing him to lay his eyes upon them for the first time. They were rough men, looking not all bothered by moving through a pass filled with the corpses of those who’d come before. Their killing intent was staggering, however, and they bore their shields, spears, and axes well.

These first men were the Ark Lord’s marines, those who had once been trained to throw themselves into battle from the open bays of transport arks. Daryun could barely remember the last time he’d seen any kind of ark, however, the great machines having either broken down or been destroyed over the years. The Ark Lord was a Lord of arks in name only.

The man himself followed his finest warriors. Clad in dark steel, he was easy enough to spot amidst the ranks of his warriors by the golden plume of his helmet, made from the feathers of some bird that was said to fly through the Void between the planes of the Kesken Cluster. Daryun neither knew nor cared about the truth of the bird; only that the golden feathers marked his target clearly, and for that, he was grateful.

The Ark Lord led his men down through the pass, looking like an endless stream of steel and death. Thousands of men pressed and packed into the pass, which narrowed to barely a hundred feet across in places. Fortunately, the spot Daryun had chosen to conceal his cavalry stared down at a wider part, where the mounted force could maneuver, if only just barely.

He and his people remained quiet as the Ark Lord traipsed past with hardly a glance up in their direction. Their hearts beat so loudly against their chests that Daryun could practically hear it. He could certainly hear many men’s breathing quicken in anticipation and trepidation, silently wondering if their ambush would remain undiscovered.

Fortunately for them, the Ark Lord didn’t so much as inspect the snow for tracks—not that he’d have found any thanks to the water mages in Daryun’s employ. Daryun thought a man like that might’ve been more used to looking up, or perhaps thoroughly inspecting the battlefield ahead before ordering a charge. Thankfully, it seemed the Ark Lord had tightly focused on Kaarahi Castle itself, leaving Daryun and his cavalry without worry.

Daryun wasn’t the only one breathing a quiet sigh of relief, but he pretended not to hear anyone else. Instead, he checked his equipment again, ensuring that he was as ready as he could be. His white armor blended perfectly into the snow, while the roaring tigers engraved on the cuirass hinted at the majesty that the Stalking Tiger once had, and what Daryun would ensure it would gain. His long spear was sharp and eager to spill blood, while his horse quietly breathed immediately behind him, calm as could be.

His pale yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight reflected off the snow while his long black hair ran down his back in a tight ponytail like a river of purest darkness. His clean-shaven face spoke of youth, yet his clear eyes watched the Sylphians approaching his castle with the experience of a man who’d been doing so for more than a hundred years.

Soon enough, the Ark Lord ordered his charge. Minutes later, as arrows flew and bodies began to pile up, Daryun turned to the White Horn cavalry behind him.

“This is it,” he spoke quietly, though the mages of the cavalry unit were all strong enough to hear him, even over the din of the battle down in the pass. “For too long, our homes have been ravaged by the Sylphians! This is the day that we end their pretensions for good! Cut them down, each and every one of them!”

The cavalry stirred as men raised their lances into the air, their blades glittering amidst the snow. Daryun himself mounted his steed, Scarlet Star’s red hair sparkling like starlight. Jontos and Nimrak beside him also mounted their horses. Daryun then whispered a quiet prayer to Yrati, Alamati’s preferred war god, and ordered his cavalry to charge.

The Sylphians never saw it coming.

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Gasping, wheezing, bleeding in the dirt. Armor smashed, weapon broken, allies fled or dead. The Ark Lord had once been a warrior feared throughout the Kesken Cluster. Some said that he’d even been the man who’d persuaded the Sylphian warlord to name the cluster after their people.

If it was true, then it only made what the man had become that much sadder.

In the past twelve hours, any dreams that the Ark Lord had of conquering Alamati and using it as a stepping stone out into the rest of Prachtor had been dashed for good. The Sylphians had been crushed or put to flight, with the Ark Lord himself barely managing to lead his personal retinue in a mad dash through Daryun’s cavalry and back into the plains of New Sylphia as he called it.

But not wanting him to survive, lick his wounds, and return with another army, Daryun had pursued him. Down the slopes and into the plains, the White Horn horses had proven their worth, Scarlet Star leading the way. Daryun himself had landed the final blow that mortally wounded the Ark Lord as the remnants of his retinue were put down.

Daryun slid from Scarlet Star’s saddle, grim determination set in his heart despite the momentous occasion. Any relief he felt at the victory was being held back, afraid to surface until the deed was done. He slowly stalked the Ark Lord as the once-great warlord crawled away, his left leg little more than ground meat after Daryun’s second-to-last blow.

“You… pigeon…” the Ark Lord gasped, his accent thick enough that Daryun almost missed these words.

“A meaningless taunt,” Daryun spat. “You are going to die before the sun rises again. You will never bask in its rays, feel its warmth upon your skin, smile in its light again.”

Nimrak shot ahead of the Ark Lord, cutting him off. Jontos had fallen in battle, though whether or not he was dead Daryun didn’t yet know. Regardless, the Ark Lord was soon surrounded, and with an ugly chuckle, stopped trying to crawl and rolled over onto his back.

He didn’t turn his blue eyes upon any of those men surrounding him. Instead, he stared directly up at the stars in the sky, and the moon, halfway through its fall toward the horizon.

“Do you think… he made it?” the warlord asked in what Daryun could only surmise was a bit of blood loss-induced madness.

“Who are you speaking of, madman?” Daryun asked, pausing just a moment to give his enemy this one last conversation. He may never see the sun again, but Daryun could at least hear his final words.

The Ark Lord laughed, though the effort to do so brought blood to his lips. “Who else…? The Lord… Reaver… Do you think… he reached the Nexus?”

The Ark Lord’s aura flared slightly, causing Daryun’s cavalrymen to lower their lances at him, but Daryun waved them down. The Ark Lord wasn’t moving anymore, he was only using the last bit of magic in his body to aid him in speaking.

“Is he… up there now?” the soon-to-be dead man laboriously continued. “Is he laughing at us now…? Those who remained in his abandoned home?” ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Daryun glanced up at the bright star in the center of the night sky. The Nexus. “I don’t care,” he said. “So long as he stays away. So long as all powers stay away. You and your kind have imposed upon the people of this plane, and all the planes in this cluster, for too long! How does it feel, ‘Ark Lord’, to know that all that you have strived for in the past century is lost to you? That all your efforts have been wasted?”

“Spare me, boy,” the Ark Lord spat. “Your ‘people’ were safe and orderly under our rule! What war was there to speak of? It was a golden age!”

“You extorted the people for all they could spare,” Nimrak responded bitterly. “You impoverished billions, selling hundreds of millions into slavery!”

“As was our due! What other price can there be for peace?”

Daryun closed his eyes a moment.

Peace. Such a strange word.

When he opened his eyes, he stared down at the Ark Lord rather than up at the Nexus. “You have brought us nothing but war and suffering. Peace has been won today by blood and magic. We will guard it with our lives, knowing now how precious it is. Though you Sylphians will never recover, there will always be others who seek to subjugate us, to enforce their wills upon us. They will learn the same lesson you have learned over the past century, ‘Ark Lord’.”

Daryun paused long enough to kneel and look the Ark Lord in the eye, his spear resting on man’s battered armor, the blade right over his heart.

“The people of Prachtor will never give in. We will fight to keep what is ours. And we will never let it go. What has been won with blood will be kept with blood if need be. Go now to the River of Stars, ‘Ark Lord’, and receive the condemnation of all those you have unfairly sent to their graves.”

Without waiting for a reply, Daryun applied pressure, and the Ark Lord’s cuirass buckled. Daryun’s spear penetrated the armor as the enchantments within the plate failed in a flash of light. Flesh parted before steel, and the light in the Ark Lord’s eyes dimmed.

He was dead. The battle was over. The war was over, and for the first time in more than a century, the people of Alamati, at least, even if not all of Prachtor, would know peace.

‘Gods help anyone who attempts to take that peace from us,’ Daryun darkly thought as he glared back at the Nexus. ‘Even if the Lord Reaver were to return, I’d run him through with my spear or die trying. No one will threaten my home ever again and live without the shadow of Yrati around them. No one.’