Despite the hopes that Emperor Covifaht’s sixty-first birthday would be a carefree event of some magnificence in the capital, word of the Bohruum crisis and its swift resolution by angelic intervention dominated the city. Rohmhelt heard of little else in his discussions in the imperial court at Solnaht citadel. Duronaht was not there himself to absorb the attention. Instead, every potential sycophant seemed to feel the need to pour their praise of Duronaht onto Rohmhelt.

“A wonderful victory by your brother, Your Grace,” Lady Bidrehln of the southern port city of Waficord said as she fanned herself. An almost impossibly thin elderly woman adorned in bright orange robes, she had always been one of Duronaht’s most fervent supporters in the court. “You must be very proud of him!”

“It appears he stabilized the situation, my lady,” Rohmhelt said, barely able to hear himself with the clamorous discussions all about him in the crowded reception hall. “I have sent him my cong…”

“Oh, you can be happy for him!” she chided him. “You’ve both been doing marvelous jobs as kings! Marvelous!”

He simply nodded toward her with a forced smile. His salvation from the conversation came in the form of Lohs gently tapping him on the shoulder.

“Pardon the interruption, Lady Bidrehln,” Lohs said, leaning over from Rohmhelt’s right. “I require His Majesty for but a moment.”

“Gah, maybe the Emperor has time for me,” she said playfully. “Until dinner then.”

Rohmhelt breathed a sigh of relief and rolled his eyes as he turned to Lohs, who was dressed in a fine verdant merchant’s robe laced with silver thread.

“Thank you,” the King said quietly.

“I saw my king was in distress and I rushed to the rescue,” Lohs said with affected seriousness and bowed mockingly. “Your father seems to be besieged as well.”

Their eyes shifted up the hall where Covifaht stood near his throne in his full imperial regalia laughing uproariously with a gaggle of the lords and ladies of the court surrounding him.

“If there’s one thing I know about father, it’s that the harder he laughs, the more he doesn’t actually find what he’s talking about funny,” Rohmhelt brooded. “Remember my mother’s funeral nine years ago?”

“Only too well,” Lohs groaned. “Perhaps you can rescue him.”

Following that suggestion, Rohmhelt dutifully marched toward his father, arms folded behind him with a forced smile on his face. His father gave him only the faintest of nods to agree that he was in need of saving.

“Yes! I almost forgot!” Covifaht barked over the heads of the gaggle toward his son. “My son and I need to talk about the dinner festivities later. You all probably think I’ve gone and spoiled the surprise! Don’t worry! There will be quite a show for all of you!”

The small crowd of lords and ladies all bowed toward the Emperor and Rohmhelt, who both ventured off to the small chamber behind the reception hall.

“Now I’ll have to think something up to have at dinner,” Covifaht mumbled. “Maybe the Solnahtern can come up with something….”

“Father, I…” Rohmhelt started, but was cut off.

“Maybe one of their little dances. It’s all they’re really good for anyway,” Covifaht continued.

“Father, we need to talk about my brother and what he has done,” Rohmhelt insisted. “Father please.”

“Oh?” Covifaht asked, snapping his distraction. “Yes, yes. I agree. Now what’s your thought on it?”

Before the Emperor asked him the question, the answer had seemed so clear. Once the question was before him, however, he paused with apprehension. As his father’s steely eyes faced him down, his words shriveled.

“Damn it all,” Covifaht sighed. “Well, I’ll tell you what I was thinking first, alright?”

Rohmhelt nodded.

“I’m going to issue an edict that all angels will no longer be welcome in the presence of the imperial army, the imperial court, the royal courts of Zarmand and Karmand, and members of the imperial family unless we give our express consent,” Covifaht declared, pacing back and forth as though he were dictating his orders to a scribe. “There! How do you like that?”

“It’s… very much along the lines of my own thinking,” Rohmhelt said. “You would have my strongest support. However, what of Omonrel and Tathyk, who live on our lands?”

“Blech,” Covifaht spat. “One thing at a time. If they want to live peacefully on our lands, that’s one thing. Tathyk never does a damn thing except preventing famines. That’s fine by me. Omonrel, he’s Parlon’s creature, or Parlon is his, and he’s damned disruptive as you well know. It would be cleaner to toss them all out. Of course, your brother is going to whine about how Myrvaness saved the kingdom and whatever else…”

As his father began ranting, the room spun and blurred. Sharp pains roiled through his eyes and he saw Solnaht Citadel collapsing around him. Chunks of stone crashed against one another. His father’s face melted into the mangled visage he had seen previously. Blood squirted from the emperor’s throat even as his lips kept moving. His abyssal eye sockets oozed blood into the scratches on his face and soaked his beard. Rohmhelt closed his eyes and braced himself against the wall, breathing heavily as he did.

“Rohmhelt!” Covifaht barked to shake his son to attention. “Are you well?”

“It’s… nothing, father,” he responded.

“Well, I will summon the lords to the citadel as soon as they can all make it to decide this matter together. Next time you see one of those angels, Vorlan, Simel, whoever, I don’t care, you tell them as much,” Covifaht commanded. “We can’t have angels tipping the balance in our own affairs. What if Duronaht uses them to seize the throne for himself once I’m gone? Just think of it!”

Nodding, Rohmhelt faintly agreed.

“Now, I’ve got to tell the Solnahtern what they need to do at dinner. Hopefully they can pull it all together in time, lazy bastards. They’re paid at least ten times what they deserve. One of these days…” Covifaht rambled as he walked out of the room.

Sure enough, at dinner, the Solnahtern, managed an impressive performance in the great dining hall. Dressed in their multi-hued plate armor, each color representing a different region of the empire, they spun their elaborate pikes in ceremonial patterns and tossed them skyward so that the soldier behind them could catch it and continue to twirl. Amazingly, without rehearsal, the performance went on without a single momentary flaw. If only they understood combat this well maybe we wouldn’t need the Home Armies, Rohmhelt mused.

Rohmhelt sat beside his father with Court Minister Bolgrelt on the other side and the Queen sitting behind him nursing his newborn son, Vingraht. After some debate, he had settled on the name of his great grandfather, who had established the entirety of the Western Empire that he now ruled. It seemed a fitting tribute. Evinda had agreed grudgingly enough, though she had wanted to pay tribute to her father, Lord Forsok. He conceded that if they had another son he would yield to her on that one. She simply glared at him. He laughed even thinking about it.

“Something funny, boy?” Covifaht scolded him.

“Nothing,” Rohmhelt said through a forced smile as he saw more members of the court training their eyes upon him. “Say what you were going to say.”

“I’ve decided I’m going to make my announcement now,” his father whispered in his ear.

“Good luck,” Rohmhelt said, swigging a massive gulp of wine.

With a huff, Covifaht rose and clanged his knife against his chalice. Echoing in the vaulted ceilings, the scraping reverberated and drew the attention of the some dozens of lords and ladies gathered around the glistening platinum and glass table.

“My dear friends, thank you for celebrating my fifty-first year,” he said in a sincere tone, leading to a great deal of confusion. “I’m the Emperor. I can decide how old I am!”

Forced laughter followed. Rohmhelt and Evinda obliged, but baby Vingraht screamed, drawing the attention of the entire hall.

“My grandson, and eventual heir seems to disagree. Perhaps I’ll have him locked away,” Covifaht chuckled. Rohmhelt forgave the clumsy joke, but he could sense that Evinda did not. “To secure a better world for him, however, I have come to an uncomfortable conclusion. We have lived for centuries with the angels assisting our development, even building this storied fortress, but a series of events has led us to the inescapable conclusion that we must be a people removed from the angels. We must rule our lands ourselves.”

Gasps cascaded down the table. Bolgrelt’s jaw seemed to collapse in shock. Covifaht swelled from the surprise he had inflicted. Ordinarily his announcements would confirm existing rumors. This time, he controlled the court’s full attention.

“The High Angel once told us that should the day come that the mortal realms no longer desired to live alongside the angels, she would honor that decision,” the Emperor declared, forcing total silence in the hall. Even the Solnahtern stared at Covifaht through their thick helms waiting for his next statement. “That hour is now. I, Covifaht, Emperor of Methrangia and protector of Karmand and Zarmand, declare this day that the presence of any of the angels in our realms will no longer be welcome.”

Rohmhelt observed a number of the lords’ and ladies’ faces turn ashen, especially Court Minister Bolgrelt’s. Covifaht then raised a finger skyward to command their continued attention.

“But, knowing how important the angels have been to many of you, I have decided that I will summon the entirety of the empire’s noble houses to the capital two months from this date to vote upon whether you agree with your emperor. Should the will of our esteemed lords and ladies prove me wrong, I will rescind my order of expulsion.”

At that, a cascade of whispers swept down the table. Covifaht nodded and motioned toward the ample platters of seasoned meats and delightful summer fruits.

“Please, back to gorging yourselves. That’s all.”

Rohmhelt glanced back at Evinda as she rocked Vingraht back and forth, lulling his son to sleep. Her smile told him all he needed to know on whether she agreed with the emperor’s action.

Well, at least that’s one ally in all of this, he grumbled to himself.

Later that night, after Evinda and his son had collapsed, both exhausted by the day’s events, Rohmhelt took a walk in the courtyard gardens, which were pleasantly illuminated by unobstructed moonlight. Some of the plants glistened in the soft blueish glow. Luminous slowly flying bugs swarmed about, chirping and clicking. It was something he had missed since he had lived in Karmand. Karmand’s plant and animal life were far less varied than the wondrous bounties around Methrangia. He welcomed the serenity that came from the gardens again.

A presence began manifesting in front of him, ruining his placidity. Simel’s enigmatic metallic eyes were the first to form, staring vacantly at the King of Karmand. Once Simel fully revealed himself, he bowed his head graciously at Rohmhelt.

“Your Majesty,” he said in his both sweet and haunting voice.

“I suppose this has something to do with my father’s announcement,” Rohmhelt sighed.

“I was there and I heard.”

“You were?” Rohmhelt asked in confusion. “I never saw you.”

“I elected to remain hidden so that your father might speak freely. It was not my place to interfere,” Simel murmured.

“You’re here to try to get me to change father’s mind? That’s a dry well there. He never changes his mind on anything. Besides, this time I agree with him and…”

“That is not my purpose,” Simel interrupted.

After all of his encounters with Simel over the prior two years, the tendency of Simel to say nothing until he was prompted never ceased to annoy Rohmhelt. It always felt as though he was trying to grasp invisible wisps that never stayed still.

“What’s your purpose, then?” Rohmhelt asked after a pause.

“I am only here to prepare you, as I have been since the moment we first met,” Simel replied in a voice tinged by palpable sorrow. “I know what it is you saw again because it tortured my own mind.”

When he blinked, he saw his father’s mutilated face again. He briefly whimpered before attempting to steel himself.

“Is there something you can tell me at this hour of night that will be helpful?” Rohmhelt asked with annoyance.

“Only this. That grave hour is quite near now. We may well have had our last peaceful year,” Simel said mournfully. “I will visit you again soon. Now, Forynda summons all my brethren. Be ready for the tumult to come.”

~~~

Sensing the turbulence in the Auras, Cyrona elected to visit Nethron’s sanctum unannounced and uninvited. She wanted to ensure that Forynda would be able to rely on a strong phalanx of support for the full assembly of angels. Cyrona lamented that Forynda would never attempt to win the affirmation of others except by pressure. On the matter now before them, it was far too delicate to rely on that alone.

Piercing into the Aura Keeper’s sanctum, she saw Nethron floating between the iridescent shards in his dark and silvery lair. She felt the most peculiar sensation, as though something tugged at her. It was constant and nearly imperceptible. Deciding to cautiously ignore that feeling, she proceeded into the sanctum’s center without drawing Nethron’s attention. He remained transfixed on the behavior of the aura nexuses spinning about him.

Cyrona wondered if perhaps Nethron was meditating on just having sealed away Myrvaness below Mount Hetras, joining Gorondos. The Aura Keeper, if he was bothered at having to enforce another harsh sentence, betrayed no sense of it.

“Nethron,” she announced at last, “I have come to speak with you about Forynda’s summons.”

He said nothing for several moments. Finally, he glanced down at Cyrona, and then back to his shards.

“As time goes on, I wonder if Simel is right,” he said in a trailing voice.

“What do you mean? His fate nonsense?”

“Fate… Destiny… Whatever one decides to call it. It may not be a design as it were, but it may be inescapable regardless,” Nethron replied as he descended to the floor. “The mortals, as I understand it, like to conjure up a world where everything proceeds according to a design… a plan. That may or may not be right, but it looks ever more likely to me that the future is as set as the past and the present.”

“Impossible! Is that what you have been doing when Forynda asked you to study the Auras? You conjure this sort of nonsense?!” Cyrona scoffed.

Her committed view that Simel could only rarely be right about anything informed her dismissal of Nethron’s musings. That Simel had ever been one of Forynda’s more zealous allies never ceased to baffle Cyrona. A mind that drifted into absurdities as frequently as Simel’s would be far more comfortable under Vorlan’s thinking.

“Perhaps, but the Auras are trying to tell me something, something very important to us all. Those visions Simel sees, I see them as well,” Nethron said.

“So you have said,” Cyrona scoffed. “More to the point of the matter, have you given thought as to Forynda’s summons?”

Nethron’s eyes flickered from violet to gold.

“Ah… The summons... Yes, I have. I am inclined to wait for the mortals to make their own judgment about our presence. If there is a firm consensus that we should leave, then indeed we should.”

“You are not convinced of the merits just by what has happened?” she asked with incredulity. “Forynda has warned about this for centuries. It was only the pleadings of those living among the mortals that restrained her. That will not be the case any longer.”

“And yet she decided to defer to us,” Nethron retorted.

Cyrona’s irritation was only tempered by the fact that she had anticipated such obstinacy. That Nethron had supported her earlier call for Gorondos’s punishment did not delude her into thinking he would be a reliable ally.

“She did so under the notion that we would see reason,” Cyrona scolded Nethron. His eyes flickered to a bright purple hue as she spoke. “She cannot be the only one in this realm that has some sense.”

“Some sense…” Nethron pondered aloud. “No, there are others, but if they come to differing conclusions, what then?”

“A simple question for you. Were the matter reduced only to whether our kind may live in the mortal realm or not, where would your vote fall?”

The Aura Keeper’s eyes phased between virtually every color imaginable as he stared back at her in silence. She braced for another annoying rejoinder.

“As of this moment, I find separation unavoidable,” he said gloomily. “Our kinds are simply too different.”

With some trepidation, Cyrona decided to accept his words as spoken. Any further discussion and she feared he would veer toward another conclusion. Just as she was ready to depart, however, she noted the presence of two auras she had never felt before and she looked toward the shards representing them. One shone in brilliant silver and the other a deep purple. Afraid of what asking about them would drag her into, she avoided any inquiries.

“I trust you will join us at the summons momentarily,” she said.

“But of course.”

As she began departing his sanctum, she felt compelled to issue a warning.

“With our present crises, please do not create any more, Nethron,” she implored. “I am choosing to remain ignorant as to what it is you are doing.”

“You need not worry,” Nethron replied in a trailing voice.

Nothing he ever says gives me the slightest comfort.