Duronaht had hoped to celebrate the construction of the new citadel, a beautiful shimmering gold and platinum tower of Omonrel's unrestrained design, with news of further victories against his brother's retreating armies. Instead, he sat in the cavernous throne room in the second level listening, with almost no audience, to the report that his two finest cavalry divisions had been entirely destroyed in a battle against the rear guard of his brother's army.
"Grand Marshal Vildrious will return to the capital soon to..." the messenger, a haggard bearded man, started, but Duronaht cut him off.
"No. Tell him that I order him to go back around with the full army," Duronaht bellowed, his voice swelling to fill the vast vaults of his throne room in its sleek dark marble and resplendent ornamentation. "I will join him soon enough. It's time to destroy my brother's armies in full."
"Should I tell the Grand Marshal that Your Imperial Majesty wishes..."
"Yes, tell him exactly that," Duronaht commanded.
Court Minister Bolgrelt, lurking behind the throne, gave off an uneasy air at the Emperor's commands, but it was unclear what exactly he found objectionable. Duronaht's patience with Bolgrelt diminished with each passing day as he came to realize that the old man had few uses other than shining the boots of noble families with his tongue. It seemed useful enough in earlier times, but those were a distant memory.
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. I will inform the Grand Marshal to prepare a full offensive at Your Imperial Majesty's instructions," the messenger said. "I also wish to extend my congratulations to Your Imperial Majesty and the Empress on the birth of your son, Crown Prince Ardnaht."
Duronaht smiled at the reminder. For so many years he had doubted that he and Torhess would have the gift of children and he stayed with her regardless. Even seeing his son enter the world, healthy and vibrant, just two days before had not yet fully dispelled those prior anxieties. It kept feeling to him as though it were a dream, the best he ever had.
"Thank you. I assure you, and Grand Marshal Vildrious, that my mood would be far worse after this disaster if not for the fact that Torhess and I have ensured the proper rule of Methrangia for another generation," Duronaht declared. "Now it's a simple question of crushing my brother and those angels who sided with him. We still have the clear advantage, this defeat notwithstanding, and this war will be over soon."
"Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty. I will return to the Grand Marshal at once and provide him with your instructions," the messenger bowed and quickly stepped out of the throne room, his boots clacking against the dark marble floor on his way out.
"Bolgrelt," Duronaht called out. "Come around and talk to me."
The old man emerged from his place behind Duronaht and awkwardly knelt on his weak knees, which strained both from his age and his ever-swelling waist.
"I don't know that any are closer to Parlon than you are," Duronaht began calmly, but his anger at last erupted to the surface. "Why does he think that he has the right to take command of my troops and lead them into fucking disasters like this?!"
Bolgrelt winced and nervously ran his right hand through his thick white hair.
"Your Imperial Majesty, I believe that he is doing this purely out of respect for you, that he wants to deliver you and your family a great victory," Bolgrelt whimpered while forming a slight forced smile. "Everything he has done has been for you."
Hearing Bolgrelt say those words triggered a strange queasiness inside the Emperor. When he blinked, his father's mutilated visage stared back at him, those deep bloody eye sockets piercing into his soul while the blood from Emperor Covifaht's slit throat poured freely. His father's dying scream, that anguished shriek of pain and betrayal, echoed as a thunderous roar in Duronaht's mind. All the while, he saw Parlon dancing and singing.
"That's something you could only say knowing as little as you do," Duronaht grumbled at Bolgrelt. Judging by Bolgrelt's shock that he said such a thing, he thought better of it. That was a sentiment best not expressed to any of the angels siding with him, besides perhaps Elaous. "Forget I said that. I'm just babbling now."
"Of course, Your Imperial Majesty," Bolgrelt whimpered and politely left the Emperor alone in his throne room with a small detachment of Solnahtern.
And to think that he was one of the least useless people father appointed, Duronaht chuckled to himself.
Duronaht's next obligation was to visit the northern part of the city of Methrangia to celebrate the construction of a new dam that Omonrel was all too happy to complete for the people there. Evidently, Rohmhelt had refused the help of the angels allied with him for such a banal task, leaving it to Duronaht to give such a simple order to Omonrel. The Sculptor Angel had taken to the task right away, from what Duronaht had heard, did so with customary extravagance.
To observe that extravagance, he was to meet with the Empress in the main courtyard before heading to the dam together and, sure enough, there she was, punctual as ever. It was a quality he wished he could impart onto any number of his courtiers and attendants.
Empress Torhess wore a dark orange and black dress, fitting for the autumnal themes in Methrangia at that time of year, and carried Ardnaht in her arms while two attendants followed close behind. Torhess's face drooped slightly from fatigue as Ardnaht was an exceptionally restless baby.
"My love, thank you for being patient," he said happily as he approached.
"I'm surprised you didn't call this off," she chuckled as she rocked the napping prince back and forth in her arms.
"I thought about it, but Omonrel is very insistent on this one," Duronaht wearily mumbled, but then looked happily at Ardnaht, stroking his child's smooth head with his hand. "Looks like you're the only one in my empire doing their job."
"What do you mean by that?" Torhess asked, chuckling and rocking their child back and forth.
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"Putting him to sleep is harder than beating my brother's armies these days," Duronaht joked, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Maybe I should put you in command in the field."
"Maybe," she winked as he pulled away. "But I don't think Vildrious or any of those others would be much good at keeping our son under control."
Duronaht shook his head.
"This division of labor will have to do for now, I suppose," he laughed. "At least we'll be able to ride together in peace on our way up to the dam."
"I'm afraid not, Your Imperial Majesty," the voice of Commander Ivaous, a blue-skinned Caylanchan man who served as chief of intelligence for Duronaht's forces, interjected from about a dozen feet away. He had originally been posted to the northern frontier of Duronaht's lands and his services had proved so useful that the Emperor summoned him to serve with the main army. He was tall and thin, almost skeletal, and had short sand-colored hair, which was typical of his people along with their distinct bright yellow eyes. "There is an urgent matter I need to discuss with you."
Duronaht wanted to object, but as he turned to face Ivaous it was clear that his spymaster was deeply serious about the issue. Standing rigidly with his pristine black and green uniform and his lacquered boots, he radiated an intense aura.
"Urgent enough that you need to disrupt the Emperor's few moments of peace?" Torhess queried with plain irritation.
"Quite so," Ivaous said curtly, his strangely high and fluid voice forming a note of disappointment. "Were it not this serious, I wouldn't interrupt."
"Fine," Duronaht sighed. "My dear, take the lead carriage with your retinue. I'll be right behind you with the good commander here. It would be too tight to have him in there with us and I don't want him disrupting the Crown Prince's quiet right now. Hopefully, we can ride back together."
"That should be entirely possible, Your Imperial Majesty," Ivaous offered with a stiff nod.
The secondary carriage that Duronaht used was cramped, but that was fine enough for a personal conference with Ivaous. Its windows were small and only let in enough light so that each man could see an outline of the other.
"Well, Commander Ivaous, this had better be good. I'm in a fucking terrible mood," the Emperor grumbled.
"I'm aware of what happened to the cavalry divisions and I'm sorry to hear it," Ivaous said in a curt clip. As the carriage set off, Ivaous must have realized his voice would be partly drowned out by the sound of the carriage's wheels bouncing along the stone road and began speaking louder. "As Your Imperial Majesty is aware, I have been concerned about enemy activity in the capital since its liberation from your brother. We have identified and detained certain portions of these resistance elements, but I fear that they are currently planning drastic action."
"I assume you have something more specific?" Duronaht groaned and folded his arms.
"As a point of fact, I do," Ivaous answered with a hint of pride. "A group of three men were arrested four days ago in the northern part of the city, Gateway District to be precise. They carried with them instructions written in code, a code matching a set that we were previously aware of that comes from a commander loyal to your brother. A man named Dastov."
"Dastov? Name sounds vaguely familiar," Duronaht strained trying to recall the name.
"He served your father in various capacities and we now believe him to be involved in furthering the studies of the Auras on behalf of your brother's armies," Ivaous intoned. "The instructions I mentioned directed a group of those skilled in wielding the Auras to attempt to assassinate high-ranking military and civil officials in Your Imperial Majesty's government."
That suggestion surprised Duronaht. He knew that there would be a considerable element in Methrangia who would still be loyal to Rohmhelt and to the High Angel Forynda, but mages being involved in assassination plots genuinely astonished him. He knew his brother's armies were desperately short on mages compared to his own as Rohmhelt had been slower to embrace Nethron's gifts to the world. That he, or any of his commanders, would send any to Methrangia instead of keeping them on the battlefield was a true shock.
"I take from your warning that you don't think you've captured all of them?" Duronaht queried, trying to avoid seeming disturbed.
"They all appear to be operating under false identities and those we didn't capture scattered to the wind after our initial apprehensions," Ivaous conceded. "We are attempting to hunt them down as we speak, but..."
"I understand," Duronaht interrupted, sighing. "And what do you want from me?"
Ivaous straightened his posture and gestured with an upturned palm.
"I need more resources to secure the capital," he said plainly. "If we don't crush these elements here immediately, it may not be safe for officials, Your Imperial Majesty and your family included, to reside here."
"How many men and how much money?"
"Another three hundred personnel. Funds aren't an issue at the moment," Ivaous asserted. "We have plenty to pay informants."
"I'll give you another million Nimors in any case," Duronaht replied. "I don't want us taking chances with this. There's too much at stake."
Ivaous nodded and folded his hands politely in appreciation.
"There are several other matters that aren't quite as..." Ivaous began, but Duronaht raised a hand to cut him off.
"Do you get the sense that this is something my brother is commanding or is this Dastov by himself?" the Emperor asked.
"I have no idea at this stage based on what we know. I assume Your Imperial Majesty doesn't think that your brother would be up to something like this?"
Duronaht shook his head back and forth several times and looked out the window at the throngs of Methrangia's residents lining the road northward.
"It's not like him. I doubt it would ever occur to him on his own."
"I should say that I know Dastov personally," Ivaous murmured. "He is a ruthless man and there's nothing I would put past him."
"I thought that was true of all of, well, you spy types," Duronaht chuckled. "Your ilk has a reputation."
Ivaous scowled at the inference.
"There are honorable ways to conduct those acts most view dishonorable," he riposted.
"I'm sure," Duronaht mumbled as he looked away from the window.
He then heard shouting from the crowd. He and Ivaous shot their eyes toward the small windows on the carriage's left side. There they saw a group of men dressed in verdant robes thrust their hands toward the ground, with two men pointed toward each of the carriages. The Solnahtern riding alongside the carriages spurred their horses toward the men. Before they could, the earth and stone before them heaved with a horrid rumble.
"Emperor, brace yourself!" Ivaous shouted as he grasped for steady surfaces.
Duronaht's heart leapt into his throat as an earthen pillar surged out of the ground and came for the carriage door. He simultaneously grabbed one of the door handles and the seat beneath him in an awkward pose. Just before the pillar struck his carriage, crashing sounded in front from Torhess's carriage, accompanied by screams. He didn't have any time to think about it before the pillar struck under the carriage and sent it hurtling into the air.
A strange warm sensation trickled down his left arm. While the carriage tumbled end over end in the air, he looked at his arm, seeing that a huge splinter of wood had punctured his elbow clean through. Ivaous had similar splinters piercing through both his feet and screamed in pain while continuing to brace.
Duronaht's mind ran blank. Not a single discernible thought came to him in those brief moments before the carriage struck the ground.
A terrible wrenching impact washed over him and yet another wooden splinter drove through him, this time through his right side. He saw his blood painting the jagged tip of the splinter. Then, his vision went black.