Far more than a chance to counsel Emperor Covifaht, the Emperor’s summons to the Earth Angel offered yet another chance to avoid Forynda’s wrath over his failures to achieve a settlement. Vorlan dreaded having to face the High Angel without something he could point to as a tangible achievement. Anything would do.

He viewed an audience with the Emperor as just such an opportunity, albeit a poor one. Speaking with the world’s most powerful man offered at least some faint hope. Of course, it was also fraught with the possibility of an intemperate and unfortunate step. Perhaps an irreversible one.

Arriving at the imperial court in Solnaht Citadel, Vorlan was looked upon by all of the lords and ladies with great excitement. He heard all of their whispers. Amidst the generally vacuous banalities, he discerned several conversations that betrayed the purpose of Covifaht’s audience. Covifaht was not interested in a public debate, but rather a simple declaration. Based on his prior experiences with Covifaht, Vorlan winced at that thought.

Atop his throne, shimmering in the afternoon light beaming down through the crystal ceiling, Emperor Covifaht appeared truly majestic. He wore his full regalia, including the heavy imperial crown, and he grasped his scepter menacingly.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Vorlan bowed to the Emperor, who replied with a simple nod. “For what purpose have I been summoned?”

Covifaht looked upon Vorlan and then the court before standing, which caused the entire court to kneel before him. The Earth Angel sensed an unsettled temperament in the Emperor, one that made him quake in fear.

“My Angelic Lord, I have appreciated you and your brethren’s efforts to remedy the conflict that we face. However, with the angel Nethron’s betrayal, matters have become irretrievable. That’s why I summoned you here today. I will resolve this matter myself,” the Emperor boomed. “I am calling up all of my armies, and those of my loyal son, King Rohmhelt, to march on Zarmand and rid our world of this corrupting presence once and for all.”

The vision Simel warned of for the past few years suddenly became a far more real presence in Vorlan’s mind. No longer was it unthinkable that such an even could occur. Full confrontation, as Emperor Covifaht outlined it, would make that eventuality only one of many terrors that lurked.

“I do not seek war. My wayward son, Duronaht, may yet see reason and expel the dissident angels. It’s my hope that he does,” Covifaht continued. “And you, my Angelic Lord, you will aid us.”

Vorlan shot his head upward at the Emperor, shocked at the suggestion.

“I do not understand, Your Imperial Majesty,” Vorlan said, wracked with confusion.

Covifaht fumed visibly, likely annoyed that the Earth Angel had been unable to discern his subtle meaning.

“I know full well that we’ll be unable to beat my son if those angels actually fight on his side against us. I ask only that you keep them away and leave this matter to us. If you can ensure that this only is a battle between my son’s armies and my own, I believe he’ll relent without a single drop of blood,” the Emperor declared with swelling confidence.

Vorlan was struck speechless. He could only imagine Forynda’s resistance to any such notion. For the mortals she had thought of as loyal to view the angels as being foot soldiers for their own games was a view she would likely not countenance for even a moment. In his own mind, it represented a needlessly provocative action that could only serve to hasten any potential conflict between the angels themselves. That would be a truly irrevocable occasion.

The Earth Angel rose to address the Emperor as an equal so that there would be no misunderstanding his words. This drew immediate irritation from Covifaht, who scowled at Vorlan for doing so.

“Your Imperial Majesty, there is one last attempt underway to avoid a conflict over this point. My great fear is that what has been spoken here today would scuttle such an effort before it is given any chance to be successful,” Vorlan said in a gentle, yet powerful voice. “On behalf of all of my brethren, I implore you to…”

“No,” Covifaht interrupted. Gasps sounded out throughout the hall. “We’ve waited far too long with promise after promise of resolution. That moment is over. I’ve already dispatched my orders.”

“Your Imperial Majesty, I am obliged to tell you that this course represents a grave error,” Vorlan attempted to implore the Emperor.

“The error has been my softness up to this point!” Covifaht barked back. “I’m at the end of all patience! Either it will be surrender or war! We’ve dithered for too long!.”

After some rumbling in the court, the nobles burst out in cheers for their Emperor. They appeared comforted by Covifaht’s strong declarations. There was always symbolic appeal to a strong leader, but Vorlan mused to himself that this was a fool’s comfort. None of them realize what this means, the Earth Angel despaired. Few may live to understand what they have endorsed.

~~~

Lyfress and Cesord had traveled to the northeast for weeks, meeting with some greater success in consolidating support among the rural villages that had spurned Lyfress’s efforts when she tried alone. Or rather they had been meeting with success before Nethron’s declaration. Lyfress, in particular, noticed a steadily building discord rising across Batrehn Province in the days after Nethron loosed his chaos upon the world. First it was merely confusion. Almost no one knew what to say. Then speculation. Then came the resentment that it was the rebellious angels that seemed to offer generosity.

She had worried about her father succumbing to another bout of introspective melancholy. That he had doubts even before Nethron’s betrayal had caused her to steel herself against another bout of toxic pessimism. However, her fears proved unfounded. Instead, Cesord Etelet seemed restored by the struggle. Lyfress was glad to see it, now more than ever before.

The old man sat back in the village of Nagreht and let Lyfress step more into her own in the attempts to convince the wavering souls to stay true to Forynda and their Emperor. Lyfress was glad for the chance. She refined her message at each stop they made. She learned to narrow her focus and to lop off the extraneous diatribes that had left prior audiences baffled by her winding arguments.

:”Omonrel and the others would have you lie prostrate as a beggar as he would sprinkle whatever it is he decides for you into your bowl. Forynda offers you the pride of filling your own bowl,” she explained in passionate metaphors. It was just as well that her message became simpler and more effective because, as Nagreht showed, the challenges steepened.

“Aye, but my dear priestess, does pride fill the stomach when our own efforts fail?” the local magistrate, a portly young man with reddish hair said, stepping forward. “All well and good to say we’ll have the pride of our own achievements, but look at how many suffer and die pointlessly for all of that. We’ve all seen it. All of us.”

“It’s a false offer from Omonrel,” Lyfress retorted. “Even he and his brethren can’t come close to remedying all of your needs. It’s foolish to believe that they can.”

“Aye, but you’re forgetting one thing that’s changed: Nethron!” the magistrate passionately intoned, pointing at Lyfress in an accusatory manner. “We now have the Auras we can wield ourselves. What has Forynda ever given us that’s even close to that?”

The brazenness of the question threw Lyfress onto wobbly terrain. She had no good reply. However, her father had the benefit of having watched the entire afternoon and he had prepared an aiding argument,

“Tell me, my friend, can you wield the Auras?” Cesord asked, his voice carrying a note of mischief.

The magistrate appeared confused by the inquiry.

“I don’t understand the point.”

“Well, you’re saying that we have these great new gifts due to what Nethron declared. Where are they?” Cesord pressed.

“I haven’t actually…” the magistrate started, but Cesord’s mocking glance caused him to fall silent.

“Go on. We were getting somewhere there,” Cesord urged to light laughter.

“There are others who have managed some things. A few sparks here and there, some freezing of water. I’ve heard it for myself!” the magistrate protested.

“Ah, you heard it for yourself, but have you actually seen it?”

“No, but it’s only been a week. There are those who will…”

“Supposing for a moment that all you say is true, what then? Will they be able to effortlessly mend fences, cure wounds, move stone, and so on? I’ve mediated enough disputes to know when someone has sold more than they can deliver,” Cesord said in a pleasant, yet scathing attack.

Lyfress smiled broadly at seeing her father so animated yet again. Evidently the thrill of battle was enough to sweep away the clouds of melancholy. The problem, however, was that even at his best this was a difficult conflict. She could sense that the village was, at most, divided evenly. She suspected that the effect of Nethron’s intervention was more than she had feared.

“That’s just nonsense,” the magistrate responded. “The point is that Nethron has at least given us means that we can use to improve our lives. What has the High Angel given us? Neglect.”

“The High Angel has offered you freedom,” Lyfress interjected. “Total dominion over your own lives without an angel looming to order it for you. That’s a sign of love and respect, much like parents ultimately give their own children emancipation. Omonrel would have you come to him for all of your difficulties, leaving yourselves entirely at his mercy.”

“It isn’t Omonrel we’re after, my dear priestess,” the magistrate scoffed. “We seek Nethron. He alone has offered us both the abilities and the freedom to truly rule our own affairs! Praise be to Nethron! Hail Nethron!”

“Hail Nethron!” much of the village chanted, to the remainder of the village’s obvious horror. Lyfress and her father met the chants with similar dismay.

Her father clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Then he stepped forward.

“This is madness, all of you cheering Nethron. Can you not see the manipulation? Truly? And beyond that, King Rohmhelt’s army is only a week away and you choose now to rebel? This is gross imbecility!” Cesord shouted, exasperated.

The insult he attached upon his conclusion triggered recriminations and debates within the crowd. Before long, those supporting Nethron and the magistrate departed, shouting slurs and insults at both Cesord and Lyfress.

Come morning, word trickled in from other villages that whole swaths of Batrehn Province, and others, were now teetering fully away from the Emperor, King Rohmhelt, and the High Angel. Local militias in the communities where the dissidents outnumbered the adherents forced the faithful to depart.

“First those running toward Zarmand for the angels. Now this,” Cesord lamented.

“We still did a great deal of good, father,” Lyfress said, trying to raise the spirits of her crestfallen father.

“Did we? Yet again all I see is collapse. I pray that Forynda, and Vorlan, and the others understand the urgency. It’s not just errant kings who will cause their problems, but far more ordinary folk.”

Lyfress wanted to disagree, but she couldn’t. She then prodded her father to return with her to Gulnholn and prepare the village of the arrival of King Rohmhelt’s armies.

~~~

“And you couldn’t convince him?” Rohmhelt whined at the Earth Angel in his command tent. “Nothing you could say?”

Vorlan patiently nodded at the King.

“Indeed, that is so, Your Majesty. Further, upon an attempt to return to Solnaht Citadel, I was not welcome. He must not wish to hear any further counsel that would alter his decision.”

Rohmhelt fumed, pacing back and forth while Lohs, Evinda, and Yldrina stood behind him silently.

“Surely there must be some way of reaching him,” the king groaned. “Lohs, send some more letters to him. Tell him that…”

“With respect,” Lohs interrupted, “telling your father anything is a poor approach. A gentle prod would…”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” Rohmhelt grumbled, running his hand through his hair.

“Your father may be reached by other means. There are those with whom I am acquainted that he may listen to at this moment,” Vorlan assured.

After a sigh of exasperation, Rohmhelt plopped onto the uncomfortable chair heading the map table.

“Why couldn’t he have waited until our armies were in place before announcing this?” he whined again, motioning toward the figures representing his armies on the map. “He’s always so… Gah.”

“With respect, Your Majesty, I should depart immediately to achieve what I can,” Vorlan bowed respectfully before disappearing in a whir of light.

In the uncomfortable quiet that followed, Rohmhelt lamented to himself that he should be a king at this of all times. Others were meant for this time, not me. Grandfather would have been perfect. Or Emperor Dovrehn. His word was never challenged. As for me…

It was then that he noticed Yldrina looming next to him, placing her hand near his head and mumbling a variety of incomprehensible utterances.

“What is it that you think you’re doing?” he asked the Matriarch.

“You’re denying what you know to be true and I am trying to discover why,” she said in her crackling voice.

“What are you talking about?” the king protested, tilting away from her.

“You’re worried about your father confronting your brother with your combined armies and yet that’s precisely why we’ve come all this way,” she said, avoiding condescension, but being abrasive nonetheless.

“It just doesn’t… feel like the right thing to do,” Rohmhelt blurted back, frustrated.

“My love,” Evinda began, “the Matriarch is right. This is why we’ve come with our armies as far as we have. A show of force to convince your brother to abandon this rebellion.”

He felt as though he was being pressed between two walls. He grasped for Lohs to be his ladder out.

“Please tell me that at least you’re on my side, Lohs.”

The old man shook his head grimly back at him.

“I’m afraid not, not this time at any rate,” Lohs replied. “The Queen and the Matriarch are quite right, if I may say so.”

“I wish that you wouldn’t.”

That caused Lohs to raise his bushy eyebrows high into his forehead, which instantly told Rohmhelt he had made a mistake.

“Your Majesty,” Lohs sighed, “you’re being delusional. I know you don’t want any of this to happen, but it is. It’s awful and it’s happening. There’s no other way around it. You need to accept reality to rule properly.”

Much as he desired to bristle at Lohs’s blunt assault, he couldn’t. He had one last attempted defense to try to win the day.

“But if Vorlan is holding out hope for peace, shouldn’t I follow?”

“With respect to His Angelic Lordship, Vorlan has always been far more optimistic than he should be,” Evinda retorted, drawing a scroll from her robes. “We have received word that some dozens of villages are melting away from us to declare loyalty to Nethron. If you’re wishing to avoid civil war, we’re already too late. Cutting off this rot at the head is the only choice.”

Rohmhelt flared with outrage at the brutality of his queen’s statement, but he immediately saw that both Matriarch Yldrina and Lohs nodding in agreement.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t see this?” the King asked in exasperation.

“Hm…. Yes,” Lohs quipped to Evinda’s laughter and Yldrina’s ever stony expression.

Frustrated with the entire encounter, Rohmhelt waved the others away except for his queen. Lohs bowed and left while Yldrina merely gave a vacant stare before retiring. Rohmhelt and Evinda stared at one another in tense silence. It was a ritual he had become accustomed to by this point and he knew she had as well.

“Shall we get to the point? Do you rule my lands or do I?” he asked.

She smiled, which he knew meant she found the question absurd.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” she said. He tossed his hands up in frustration. “You know that we agreed on how to divide…”

“Oh, I know,” he sighed. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“So you’ve said,” she replied, smiling. “I know this was not the reign you envisioned, but this is your reign now. You must own that responsibility and I’ll help you bear that burden. I knew what duties I took upon myself when I married you.”

He only breathed deeply and hung his head in shame. She rubbed her hand through his hair, ruffling it.

“I suppose we should get some sleep,” he said.

~~~

Reading his father’s edict caused Duronaht’s heart to pound with rage. He had thought Emperor Covifaht would inevitably decide that the matter was not worth the dissolution of the empire, or at least the threat of dissolution. Then again, his father rarely could keep his temper. The royal court, including Feradnor and Lord Golious sat while their king decided on his course of action.

That, however, was an open question. Urging him toward an aggressive course was the agitating aura of Parlon lurking behind him. Without Parlon speaking, Duronaht felt the commands clawing at his mind. At least he thought they were from Parlon. When he considered it, matters became less clear.

Queen Torhess, at his side, looked on with an air of concern. Thus, from all sides, he felt unyielding pressures. He wanted to have a moment to himself, but that would display weakness. He couldn’t show any hesitation. That would cast doubt on everything he had committed to. No. Now was the hour for strength. Only strength. Nothing else presented itself as an option.

“Marshal Vildrious,” the King called out. Dressed in his full Marshal’s regalia, Vildrious stepped forward in customary pomposity and bowed. “Our armies will march toward Methrangia. I will go to meet my father.”

Vildrious hesitated, as though he had not heard the order. Others in the court also looked confused about the directive. Parlon, however, swept in from the flanks, floating above the floor and clapping his hands with glee.

“A king as strong as he is wise,” Parlon sang with lyrical joy. “The Emperor could learn from his son.”

Vildrious looked even more astonished by the angel’s pleasure with the order.

“Was I unclear, Marshal Vildrious?” Duronaht quickly added.

“N… No, Your Majesty. When shall the army march?” Vildrious squeaked.

“At once,” Duronaht replied. “The army is ready, is it not?”

“Q… Quite ready, Your Majesty!”

“Good, then we leave in the morning. The Emperor needs to know that the presence of the angels in this world isn’t a matter for negotiation. It has been decided already,” Duronaht declared. “A show of force is the only way to do that.”

Lord Golious stood from his chair and beat his belly, chortling.

“I’m so damn happy that I can serve a king with a spine of steel!” the nobleman chuckled. “We are behind you, Your Majesty.”

Feradnor leapt to his feet and clapped at Golious’s words.

“Most well said, my friend,” he boomed, pointing toward Golious. “Your Majesty leads us toward a better future than any had dared until now. It is by his judgment that we prosper. Hail Duronaht, the rightful Emperor of Methrangia!”

The rest of the nobles gathered at the court rose in rapturous reverence for their king and joined into the cheers. “Hail Duronaht! Emperor Duronaht!”

The adoring voices in the throne room almost drowned out the gnawing voices in his own mind. Behind his contented smile and royal regalia, those voices told him a variety of conflicting and confusing things. They converged, however, around a single point.

This is a rush to ruin.