The Storm King

Chapter 1141: The Lance's Master

Wind fiercely battered him, threatening to pull him from the mountain and hurl him to the earth far below. Leon was undaunted, however, even in the face of his previous slip. The wind coming from the lance at the top of the mountain was powerful, but he knew he was strong enough to reach it.

What happened when he did, though… he wasn’t sure.

“No master shall I have,” the voice of the lance said to him. “My power is not for you to wield.”

As Leon pulled himself over the third ledge, his heart pounding from exertion, his mind roiling with frustration, he simply growled back, “That doesn’t matter. I need your power, so I will have it!”

With teeth clenched and grit steadying his heart, Leon began to surmount the fourth cliff. He was three-quarters of the way to regaining his position on the mountain from where the lance had previously thrown him.

The lance, however, seemed intent on preventing him from reaching that point again. This time, it didn’t wait for him to reach the fourth ledge and start on the final climb to throw its power against him; instead, concentrated bursts of razor wind crashed into Leon’s shield before his feet left the third ledge.

Throughout this tempest, Leon remained steady, crawling upward at a steady, if slow pace. His eyes were locked upward, the light of the lance calling him upward, even as the lance’s power did its damnedest to throw him back down.

“Such effort, all to be wasted,” the lance said as another blast of wind attempted to dislodge Leon. “Turn back, no master shall I have.”

Leon’s fingers were as iron, securing him to the cliff wall. The wind that tore at him was strong, but he proved himself stronger.

“If you will have no master, then you will remain there until the Nexus is Reconstituted,” Leon growled.

“Such is my fated end,” the lance stated.

Leon paused as another powerful gust came in from a different direction, almost taking him by surprise and hitting a weakened part of his shield. The statement, however, was what truly gave him pause.

“‘Fated’ end?” he whispered. “Whose word decrees fate? Who planted you upon this mountain and told you to stay put until your end came?”

“One greater than you,” the lance simply stated.

“I seek to take you from here, to prolong your existence, and yet you call the one who told you to die ‘greater’?”

“The truth is what I speak.”

Leon sneered. “Why, then? What was the point? Did this ‘greater’ person use those exact words? Maybe you’ve misinterpreted the instructions.” He clenched his jaw and forced himself upward, handhold by handhold. “And even if you haven’t, even if you’ve understood everything perfectly, why follow that instruction? Surely you want to continue existing?”

“My wants are no concern,” the lance said as another gust slammed into Leon, this one more powerful than almost any others before.

If Leon had to guess, he was starting to get to the lance in more ways than one.

“Seems a shame to me,” Leon said. “You are a magnificent being. I would rather you not die.”

“Your wants are no concern.”

“My wants matter if I have the power to make them matter!” Leon shouted. “The only reason you call your previous master ‘greater’ is because of his power!”

The lance didn’t verbally respond, but its anger was displayed in dramatic fashion—instead of merely launching wind to combat Leon’s interminable rise, golden lightning struck the summit of the mountain several times, and then a terrible storm came rolling down the mountain. The storm was filled with lightning of such power that Leon almost started salivating at the sight.

He paused his ascent and braced himself, calling upon his magic and backing it up with origin power. He would take the lance’s strength head-on, and he would emerge the victor. He refused to do anything else.

The wind reached him first, pulling at his magic shield, and managed to punch holes through it. Leon clung to the wall despite this, his fingers closing around their handholds like they were part of the stone.

And then the golden lightning began to strike him. His shield was torn asunder under the heat and power of these lightning strikes, but as each bolt slammed into his body, their power was diffused throughout not only him but the stone he hung from. Cracks were blasted into the cliffside, and many rocks and boulders fell, but Leon remained right where he was, unaffected by the storm called upon him.

The storm passed and dissipated beneath him, leaving the only threat to those waiting below to be the falling stone. His people were strong and attentive, however, and Leon didn’t fear for them.

Instead, he focused on continuing his ascent, on reaching for the next handhold and pulling himself up. The cliff had suffered immensely from the power of those lightning bolts, and Leon didn’t think he’d be able to make it back up without flight if he were thrown from the mountain again.

‘Not a problem if I’m not thrown off again,’ he thought with both confidence and determination.

It took him no small number of minutes to reach the fourth ledge once again, and once he’d pulled himself over it, he stopped. One more cliff lay between him and the summit of Kavad’s Lance. One more cliff and he’d stand before the reason why he’d come so far, the thing that might give him the best chance of breaking Terris’ siege.

As he lay upon the ledge, the lance seemed just as willing as he was to take a break. It wasn’t trying to speak to him, but neither was it trying to hurl him back down.

Breaking this silence between them, Leon asked, “Why are you so insistent on not lending anyone else your power?”

For a long moment, naught but the howling of the wind whipping around the mountain was his answer. But after waiting for so long that he didn’t think the lance would answer, it finally said, “Tired have I grown of service to those of lesser quality to my maker. He only remains in my memory.”

Leon cocked his head, noting that the Thunderbird was also closely listening in.

“You… do you speak of Kavad?”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Lightning again struck the mountain peak, though this time, it wasn’t thrown down the cliff. Still, when the lance spoke again, it did with a hatred that sent shivers down Leon’s spine.

“No.”

Leon mulled over that single syllable for a long moment. So much communicated in such a short word…

[Was this lance made by Khosrow for one of his sons?] Leon asked the Thunderbird.

[I hardly have an encyclopedic knowledge of all that happened in my time,] the Thunderbird replied. [I… was inclined to believe the stories that it was, but stories were all I was going on. If the lance claims a different maker, then this is news to me.]

Directing his attention back to the lance, Leon asked, “Why not set the record straight? Who is your venerable maker?”

Silence was his answer for another long moment. Leon remained on the fourth ledge, though, waiting patiently for the lance to speak. He was sure it would, though every passing second was a hit against that certainty.

Finally, the lance simply said, “Valen Kanto.”

The name meant nothing to Leon, but he heard a gasp of surprise from the Thunderbird.

[That Kanto?]

[You recognize the name.]

[Of course I do! And you should too! Master Kanto was the greatest of all smiths of the Primal Age! The weapons he made were some of the finest that have ever been forged!]

[This guy must’ve been great if you speak so highly of him.]

[It’s not for nothing I call him the best, boy. Unfortunately for the universe, he died before the war with the Primal Gods and Devils, but those who bore his weapons were some of the finest champions in history. He was selective and eccentric, but given who wielded his weapons and what they accomplished, I’d say it’s not that much of an overstatement to say that he had the second-greatest impact on the war, after only Khosrow himself.]

Leon blinked in surprise, his eyes turning back to the lance. Learning the context just made him want to claim that weapon even more. However, he was starting to realize that it wasn’t going to be quite so simple as to just ascend the mountain and confront the weapon. It obviously had a level of sapience that made it hard to deal with. His approach thus far hadn’t worked in that respect, but there were other tacks he could try.

“Your maker was prestigious, indeed!” he shouted to the lance. “Your existence is proof of his extraordinary skill! I don’t think I’ve ever met a weapon so sapient as you are!”

If his words had any effect upon the lance, it wasn’t shown. The lance remained silent, and it certainly had no facial expressions that Leon could read. He took its continued policy of not trying to blast him off the mountain so long as he remained unmoving on the ledge as a good sign, though.

“What do you want?” he pressed further, eliciting a response from the weapon.

“To be left alone,” it boomed as thunder rolled over the mountain.

“Seems an odd place for that,” Leon stated. “Many climb this mountain in the hope of claiming you.”

“Fools.”

“Perhaps. Is that all you want, though? To remain up there until the day you die? I understand that’s what you said your previous master wanted, but if you want something else…”

“My wants are no concern,” the lance repeated.

“I beg to differ! What you want matters quite a bit! You have such an effect on this area just by existing! And you have power I need to save my city! Unless you’ve been locked in place, what you want is of great concern!”

Leon paused, wondering what he ought to say next. He was flying off the cuff, unsure of even how he ought to speak with the lance. He didn’t think that his approach of treating it like a human was working, and he was thinking that he’d have to find some other way to get it to lend him its power.

As he wondered, he glanced down the mountain to check on his people. They were fine, as he’d been expecting, but his eyes lingered for a long moment on the remaining giant of his party. An idea sprang to mind, and he turned his gaze back to the lance.

“Why did Master Valen Kanto make you? What was to be your purpose?”

Wind and lightning pulsed at the top of the mountain, the gray light that shone from the lance rippling like water in response. It was certainly a reaction, but whether or not it was good, Leon was unsure. Some kind of power was building up at the peak, and he judged that if he were to try and continue his climb right now, he’d face a storm far stronger than what he’d faced thus far.

Not enough to make him think he couldn’t reach the top, but enough to give him some pause.

“I was to be a slayer of gods,”

the lance said. “The spear that skewered the hearts of the divine. I was to be a guarantor of humanity, no hand other than humanity’s finest, most glorious, most deserving champion was ever to grasp my haft.

“Instead, I was passed around like a cheap tree branch, treated as nothing more than a weapon that others used to fulfill their base desires and ambitions. Instead of humanity’s champions, I was borne by the foulest dregs. Instead of protecting humanity, I spilled the blood of countless men.”

Leon started to sit up, though he didn’t push himself too far off the ledge.

“If you would allow me to try, I would like to fulfill your purpose. You were designed to protect, not to slaughter. I ask you now to aid me in defending my home.”

“Your hands are unworthy to wield me.”

“I do not ask to wield you. I ask for your help.”

“You ask me to spill more blood.”

“I ask you to help me defend my home. I ask you to shield my city from those who would harm it. Killing… that would be your choice, as far as I’m concerned. Just…” Leon’s breath caught in his voice for a second, and he was rather glad that only the Thunderbird and Xaphan were around to hear it. “Half of those who joined me in my expedition to the Nexus have died already, trying to build a new home for our people. As their King, I have a responsibility to defend those who remain, and to those who will join us in the years to come. But… my strength alone is insufficient. That is why I ask for yours. Your maker wanted you to be a defender of mankind; help me now in defending my home.”

Silence stretched uncomfortably, but right before the lance spoke again, Leon realized that part of that silence was an absence of wind or lightning.

“I will not allow you to wield me.”

Leon looked around at the series of floating islands around Kavad’s Lance, and he was quite aware that the mountain itself floated high above the earth.

“I do not ask to wield you. Bring your strength to Artorion. So long as that happens, I vow to never so much as touch you. I further vow to prevent anyone else from ever trying to become your master again. I will defend you if you defend my people.”

The mountain fell eerily silent as the last bolts of lightning and gusts of wind died down.

“Face me,” the lance demanded.

Leon grinned and began to climb the final cliff. Without the wind and local monsters, he felt like he could’ve flown to the top, but he decided that a bit more humility would be useful, and scaled the cliff manually.

Without resistance, he swiftly reached the top of the cliff. The lance was impaled into the tapered tip of the mountain about thirty feet above him, though the gray light was so powerful at this distance that he couldn’t see much more than a shadow of the weapon within it.

“Nothing…” the lance began, momentarily concerning Leon greatly with how long it took to continue. “Nothing at all… would ever destroy my desire to fulfill my maker’s wishes. I will… accept your offer. Take me to your home. Leave me somewhere quiet and secure, ensure no one ever tries to master me, and I will defend your city.”

Leon breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Even if the weapon didn’t want him as a wielder, so long as it protected his city, then it was a win in his book.

“How should we do this, then?” he asked.

Together, he and the lance worked out a way for him to carry it in a manner that it was comfortable with. Leon gently lifted off from the ground, hovering several feet away from the lance. The gray light began to dim as Leon gathered power from the storm around them. With a wave of his hand, a dozen bolts of silver-blue lightning fell from the sky and struck the mountain around the lance.

The lance had been buried fairly deep within the stone, but the stone shattered under the pressure of Leon’s power, and the lance was freed. Before it could fall, Leon grasped it in his elementless power, telekinetically holding it up. And then, in a show of faith and trust, he pulled it into his soul realm.

He placed the lance at the top of a mountain far from his Mind Palace, though he could tell the Thunderbird and Xaphan were keeping a close eye on it. He trusted them both not to disturb it unduly, though there might be some study or attempt at communication. So long as the lance was comfortable with it, Leon had no problem with that.

It wouldn’t long linger in his soul realm, anyway.

The sense of triumph that built up in Leon’s chest with the acquisition of the lance was almost immediately broken when the mountain shuddered. The clouds around the floating islands dissipated with alarming alacrity, and the bolts of lightning that often spanned the distance between them and Kavad’s Lance ceased.

The islands then began to fall, and Kavad’s Lance fell after them.

Leon’s heart almost stopped as he realized the implications of what was happening.

The mountain and many of the islands around it were going to fall on Lancefoot.