Solnaht Citadel’s grand crystal-roofed reception hall was as fine a place as any for the clash with Omonrel. Vorlan felt the great unease of the lords and ladies gather on all sides of the two angels, who stood close to one another before Emperor Covifaht and his two sons, Duronaht to his left and Rohmhelt to his right. Of the members of the Imperial Family, Vorlan observed that Rohmhelt appeared annoyed, Duronaht apprehensive, and Covifaht conceited. The lords and ladies, assembled in their hundreds in their most ostentatious garbs. It was a rare lord who lacked a gold or platinum chain and a rarer lady whose dress did not glimmer in the late afternoon light.

In a way, Vorlan felt at the disadvantage to Omonrel. Solnaht Citadel had largely been Omonrel’s creation. It was, by the standards of some mortals, a home to which Omonrel was entitled. The Sculptor must have felt that himself. Vorlan detected a protective, even angered, aura emanating from the one he at one time had considered his most faithful disciple.

Now, they stood in silence together waiting for the Methrangian Emperor to call his hall to order. Covifaht snickered as he sat atop his throne.

“My friends, we all know why we’re here. I won’t belabor the point in the presence of our Angelic Lords,” he stood and declared. “The decision we make today will be binding. The High Angel will enforce our will upon her kind either way. I’ve made my mind clear on this. Now, my Angelic Lords, I humbly ask that you present your stances to my dear lords and ladies.”

Vorlan motioned politely to his former acolyte to proceed first. Mere politeness was not his motivation, but rather a desire to respond as opposed to initiating the discussion. The risk, he feared, was that Omonrel might prove so convincing that the Earth Angel would find no open minds available to him.

The Sculptor stood before Covifaht and bowed before spinning to face the noble assembly. His crystal blue eyes brightened looking out upon the breathless nobles.

“Look above you,” he commanded. Almost all followed his directive. “This great artifice of crystal was a beauteous thing so far beyond the limited abilities the angels gifted to you that you could only dream of it. Being compassionate, we sought to give you that dream, and so many others. These are more than gifts, however. They are payment, payment for the singular pleasure of living alongside you. You provide a richness of purpose, a vibrancy, that I and my brethren had never known before. For that, my brethren and I are ever thankful.”

Scanning the nobles, Vorlan noted a strong current of adoration directed at Omonrel. He has some skill at this, I will concede that.

“The question put before you today is whether mortals and angels must be separated for all time. Truly I tell you that the very notion is foolish. We each offer what the other lacks. We have abilities that can greatly enhance the lives of your kind. You, in turn, give us a life far more fulfilling than the serene and stagnant one in our own realm. Without us, you struggle more than you should. Without you, our empty years would pass by the thousands with nothing to mark them,” Omonrel intoned in an emotive voice. Vorlan could feel how effective it was. He could hear the nobles’ hearts stir. “We have been constrained thus far in what we can offer you. Should you stand here today and deliver a powerful message that you wish for a union of the angels of Ceuna and the mortal world, we can secure a future you can only presently dream of. Expel us, and those dreams die.”

After speaking, Omonrel bowed toward Vorlan to acknowledge that he was finished. The Earth Angel was surprised that Omonrel had not taken more time to present his argument. Yet, the Sculptor had presented the essentials of his plea in as condensed a form as possible. Having attempted to discuss weighty matters with noble lords before, Vorlan knew why. Their capacity for listening was meager at best. That was a lesson he took to heart as he exchanged places with Omonrel.

From the amazed stares of so many of the nobles, he determined they were still in awe at the presence of the Angelic Lords, a fact which would allow him to maintain at least some measure of attention. Before speaking, he glanced skyward through the crystal to see a great Northern Coji, a bird with wings as broad as twenty men and feathers colored in hues beyond counting, fly overhead. Seeing that majestic sight and considering his next words filled him with a profound sadness.

“What my dear Omonrel says of Ceuna is true. As I worked to craft the foundations of this world, time passed in what I now would recognize as millennia upon millennia,” Vorlan started wistfully. “In total, that great work consumed an amount of time that you would all consider incomprehensible. This very fact is worthy of note. It is true that our kind possesses great power, but we are not all powerful. Only one being is, the one we all call the Progenitor, and it is a being as much beyond our comprehension as it is above yours. Our limits mean that, in any given moment, we can only be in one place laboring on one task.”

He paused to gauge whether his audience was grasping his subtle argument. Hearing confused whispering, better than the whisperers themselves did, he decided to be more direct.

“Because of that, the dream my friend Omonrel asks you to entertain is pure fantasy. You picture yourselves all living in vast manors, as splendid for a peripheral baron as heretofore only kings have enjoyed. This is a cruel delusion,” Vorlan said in an ever more emphatic voice. “It would be merely as it is now. Some enjoy splendid treasures such as here at Solnaht, but this is not the norm. It would not be possible for it to be the norm. Those receiving these gifts would receive them arbitrarily. Arbitrarily, some of you would become far stronger than others. Envy would build against those who benefited from those who were ignored. We are not immune to attachment. Our kind would have their preferred choices for these bounties Omonrel speaks of.

“We need only consider the intervention against the Kingdom of Bohruum by Myrvaness. Some of you doubtlessly cheered that, but you did so foolishly. That victory for your empire could just as easily have been a defeat at the hands of an angel sympathizing with Bohruum,” Vorlan said, turning toward Duronaht, who visibly fumed. “Gorondos strained the bonds of a marriage with his seduction and then slew the wedded pair when he was denied what he sought. Even my dear Omonrel has propped up his adopted family and used that power to encroach on the lands of some of those gathered here. Should you turn these forces loose entirely, this creeping arbitrary oppression will affect more and more of you. Consider my words carefully.”

To his surprise, his argument appeared to win a good number of converts. He could sense the warmth toward him among those who seemed malleable and had previously been swooning for Omonrel. He knew Omonrel could sense it as well. Murmurs broke out among the nobles, reaching a point of furious intensity before Covifaht intervened.

“Quiet down! Quiet down!” he bellowed. “Now, each of our Angelic Lords will have an opportunity to respond to the other. After that, we will have our vote straight away.”

Omonrel stepped forward as Vorlan relinquished the place before the Emperor. One glimpse of Omonrel’s crystal blue eyes, tense and fraught with apprehension, told the Earth Angel that he needed to brace for an onslaught.

“It would seem that we are at once too impotent to help the mortal world but so powerful that we can irrevocably oppress it,” Omonrel said spitefully. A large portion of the nobles gathered laughed, but this did not bother Vorlan. He expected such a rejoinder. Indeed he had prepared for it, but he would remain silent as Omonrel continued. “This is the absurdity being presented before you, my lords and ladies. You have seen how we can help you and that is but a small taste of the bounty we can unleash. Where Vorlan argued we would become oppressors I assert that we would be emancipators and peacemakers. He argued that a few transgressions over millennia should not only eliminate all of the treasures our kind has given you but also all that we will give you if you allow us to remain in your midst. Against that stance there can only be one answer: No! No! No!”

Omonrel’s angered voice carried forcefully throughout the hall and each “No!” was met with enthusiastic cheering from his most ardent supporters. No one has spent more time in their midst than Omonrel and no one has learned the art of oratory better, Vorlan mused to himself as he took his place to speak the final words of the debate. He waited until all were settled and a full silence fell upon the hall.

“My dear Omonrel mocked the combination of impotence and power with which I described our kind,” Vorlan began in a joking tone. “However, I presented such a paradox intentionally, for it is not a paradox. Kings and emperors are very powerful, but they cannot give their subjects all they desire. They can, and often have been, horribly oppressive, even murderous and cruel in their worst incarnations. Thus, they cannot give one everything they desire, but they can take everything away, even one’s life. Impotent in one regard, very powerful in another.”

He bowed in deference toward Emperor Covifaht, eliciting laughter from the noble lords and a chuckle from the Emperor himself. Omonrel merely appeared perplexed as he waited in the flanks.

“Our kind is not immune to envy, rage, lust, or adulation. As we have seen, the closer our brethren come to living regularly among the mortals, the more they succumb to their vices and enmesh themselves in their affairs, altering the course of your world’s history in the process. Fond though I am of the Methrangian Empire and its people, we unwittingly made your dominance possible in a way it would not have been without our assistance. But what you enjoy today could easily become the domain of other realms as our prejudices drift with the sands of time,” Vorlan paused for several moments and looked up again at the resplendent crystal ceiling while considering his next words.

“To think that we will not favor some over others is absurd and is to deny the current reality. Those we favor will rule over those we ignore. In truth, however, we will rule. And whereas with a tyrannical king you can overthrow them or simply wait for the crawl of mortality to end their reign, this will be a permanent despotism. I say to you that it would be oppression you cannot outlast and tyranny you cannot defeat!” Vorlan declared passionately. “Think back to what I said about Gorondos. It was when he was rejected that he lashed out violently and burned that couple to ashes. Should you come to allow our kind to be as pervasively involved in your affairs as my dear Omonrel suggests, do you think we would be capable of leaving peacefully if you requested it? Far more likely that wrathful flames would consume you all.

“My final words to you are that the High Angel Forynda wishes you all to be free of any yoke we may put upon you. Mortals were meant to seek out their own self-determination, not be kept as the treasured pets of immortal lords. Choose your own future, not the one we would make for you,” the Earth Angel concluded, folding his hands calmly in front of his chest and bowing before the nobles.

At first, there was only silence. Then a cascade of applause and cheers fell across the Western lords and ladies and down through most of those from the central lands belonging to Covifaht. Duronaht’s Eastern lords, as well as some from his father’s central region, stood by icily. Vorlan tried bowing in their direction, but he felt nothing aside from hostility. However, the cheers from a plain majority of the nobles continued for some minutes before Covifaht rose to quiet the crowd.

“Quiet! The lot of you! Silence!” he bellowed in his sonorous voice. His nobles complied swiftly. “We shall now vote on the matter. Those supporting the Emperor’s position, stand to my left. Those opposing the Emperor’s position, stand to my right.”

The division allowed most of the Western and Eastern lords to remain where they had been standing. As those central lords, the most numerous and powerful bloc, began to shift, Vorlan immediately counted that a large majority were shifting left, supporting the Emperor. The Earth Angel noted Duronaht appearing suddenly furious while Covifaht and Rohmhelt smiled warmly at one another. Once the lords had finished allocating, there were three nobles supporting the Emperor for every two that opposed him.

Silence, truly crushing silence, laid over the hall. Vorlan looked up again at the ceiling while the quiet prevailed to see another three Cojis sail peacefully above. The great birds glanced down into the hall, clearly curious at the momentous moment. My beloved beasts, please forgive me if this comes to hurt you.

“There,” Covifaht barked with glee. “I think we can all agree that the count is clear without having to add it all up. Isn’t it?”

Wearily Duronaht nodded at his father. Omonrel, too, conceded his defeat through a morose demeanor. The nobles on the Emperor’s side erupted in cheers, but he swiftly silenced them by raising his hands skyward.

“Please, silence!” he commanded. “Now, the formality. I, Covifaht Trundrov, Emperor of Methrangia and Protector of Karmand and Zarmand, declare on this day that it is the will of the noble assembly that the presence of all angels of Ceuna within the boundaries of the Methrangian Empire is now prohibited until such time as their presence is specifically requested. This edict shall be in force on the morrow.”

Omonrel immediately prostrated himself before the Emperor, a sight that Vorlan almost found pitiable. Gasps cascaded through the nobles at the sight of an angelic lord bowing before the Methrangian Emperor in such a submissive pose.

“My Emperor, if I may,” Omonrel asked in overwhelming panic. Covifaht wearily waved the angel on to proceed. “It will take some manner of time to fully withdraw our presences from your empire. We never have considered what might happen if we were no longer welcome. For my own family I…”

“Very well, two months. Will that be sufficient for you?” the Emperor interrupted with palpable contempt.

“That should be enough time for us to determine our plans. Thank you, My Emperor,” Omonrel mumbled.

In the Sculptor’s words, Vorlan heard a tone that concerned him greatly. Try as he might to be sanguine that the matter had been firmly settled at Solnaht Citadel, he could not convince himself of that.

~~~

Only one of the four gathered at the dinner table had any appetite, and that was Duronaht’s father. The Emperor gleefully gorged himself on Red Splitfins by the dozen. The small one-eyed fish were each only the size of a finger and their tough texture combined with an oddly sweet taste when cooked made them a favorite of Covifaht’s. Duronaht sat across from his brother, who sat uncomfortably in his ceremonial garb. As usual his ribbons and medals were askew. You fucking wastrel. You could at least look presentable on a day where you got your way. They were joined by Court Minister Bolgrelt, whose face ran white as he sat utterly motionlessly.

“Come on, all of you,” Covifaht blurted with pieces of his fish splattering elsewhere. “We got past that. Eat! Eat! We’re going to have to all learn how to live with each other now.”

“As you say, father,” Rohmhelt murmured as he cut into an Iploth tenderloin drenched in a spicy green sauce.

Duronaht and Bolgrelt mournfully glanced at each other. Both wanted to lament what had happened in the throne room earlier that day, but Duronaht lacked the energy and Bolgrelt clearly lacked the courage. Instead, the King of Zarmand glanced at the marvelous fresco on the ceiling depicting the angels gathered in harmony in the immaculate silver halls of Ceuna. Seeing Vorlan and Omonrel standing next to one another with Forynda just before them, all in complete serenity, made him feel as though fate mocked him. Father knew what he was doing having us dine here. He could’ve chosen any other dining hall, but he had to choose this one.

“Boy,” Covifaht barked, almost choking on his food, “be a good lad. The cooks worked hard on this. Try to enjoy it.”

“We need to reconsider what we did today,” Duronaht grumbled.

“What’s that?” Covifaht shrugged, wiping his mouth clumsily with a napkin.

Rohmhelt scowled across the table at his brother, but Duronaht quickly averted his gaze and looked to his father.

“Expelling the angels for all time,” Duronaht angrily replied. “Do you even understand the gravity of what you did?”

“Ah! Perfectly well,” Covifaht guffawed mockingly. “And it’s not for all time. If a future emperor wants to invite them back in, that’s their business. With all that’s been happening lately, I’d be useless if I didn’t do something about it. Now I have. It’s done.”

The condescension, more than anything, made Duronaht boil. Containing his rage was beyond him. It felt as though a dam burst in his mind.

“And how many will have to suffer because you didn’t want to deal with this in your own lifetime?” Duronaht screamed. He felt his vocal cords strip he yelled so loud.

“You seem to think you will,” Covifaht calmly quipped, eating another Splitfin. “I can’t…”

“I’m the least of it! Admit it, you did this to take the angels away from me! You were worried that they’ve rejected your vision for the empire! You never wanted me to…”

“Damn it all!” Covifaht bellowed, drowning out Duronaht. “The decision is final and now you’re whining about it! Be a man for the first time in your whole fucking miserable life and own the consequences of your decisions!”

In the face of his father’s rage, Duronaht couldn’t stand firm. Instead, he pushed his chair out and stormed clear out of the room. He heard the clumsy gait of Bolgrelt following behind him, but he did not turn until he was several halls down.

“Your Majesty, I…” Bolgrelt simpered.

“This won’t stand,” Duronaht vowed, fighting back tears. He swallowed his pride and let them pour. “I won’t let it. I’ll summon the angels who still support us. We still have fight in us.”

Bolgrelt smiled, his jowls lifting high on his face.

“Is there anything I can do to help you, my King?” he asked in a pleasant chirp.

“You know which lords in the court stand behind me. Send them to Zarmand. All of them.”