“What is that there?” one of the Solnahtern outside Emperor Duronaht’s tent shouted. “There in the sky!”
Duronaht had decided to travel with four divisions of loyal men to try to put down small numbers of Nethron’s loyalists in the string of small cities about forty miles northeast of Fort Idrivahn. Fort Idrivahn was an uncomfortable temporary capital for his greatly reduced empire, but it was as good a choice as any after Feradnor had stolen Zarmand out from behind him. Seizing back the four cities of Higruv, Dacond, Bepovas, and Qend, collectively referred to colloquially as “the Strand” along the Begrit River, would at least make his new position more secure. The campaign, however, did mean he slept in a miserable sack on the ground most nights as he marched with the army.
“Is this urgent?” he called out, rubbing his eyes. That afternoon he had suffered a horrid headache and decided to rest for an hour before resuming the probing attacks on Higruv.
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!” the Solnahtern yelled in panic.
Shaking his head, Duronaht roused himself and stumbled out of the tent, almost tripping on his black-lacquered riding boots at the tent’s entrance.
“This had better be…” the Emperor started as he looked up at the sky. Then he was struck dumb. A swift golden bolt moved from west to east across the blue expanse. Bright and terrible, he had never once seen anything like it. It looked like a star out of place. The whole of his camp stood with their mouths agape and their eyes fixed on the spectacle.
Omonrel, however, appeared far less interested in it than the mortals. As he approached Duronaht, floating slightly above the ground with his hands behind his back, he gave it only a few quick glances with his striking blue crystalline eyes. His face, otherwise, was unmoved.
“For a moment I was worried that she had come for me,” the Sculptor said with a note of amusement.
A jolt went through Duronaht.
“That’s Forynda?!” he gasped.
“Oh yes. Of that I have no doubt,” Omonrel answered. “She is making as much of a show as she possibly can. As with what she did to Nethron, this is raw intimidation. Forynda wants us scared.”
Scanning his head to follow her golden light as it sped across the open sky, Duronaht felt incomparable dread. Such power radiated from Forynda, even at that great distance, as to make him feel utterly enfeebled.
“It damn well works if that’s what she wants!” Duronaht blurted. As he watched her trajectory, a realization hit him. “She’s headed for Zarmand.”
“I imagine she is,” Omonrel sighed gloomily. “It would be a fine display of her power to lay the entire city low if they do not yield to her.”
Shocked by Omonrel’s languid attitude to the menace, Duronaht glared into the angel’s eyes.
“She wouldn’t! She…” the Emperor screeched in panic.
“She would and will,” Omonrel interrupted and then pointed toward the golden bolt moving toward the southeast horizon. “This is about pure and unrestrained power, demonstrating to the mortal world how foolish you have been to stand against her.”
Duronaht had a response so obvious to what Omonrel said that he knew he didn’t even need to utter it to the angel. Omonrel’s rejoinder to the Emperor’s simmering misgivings was a gentle smirk.
“I am quite sure that what she does this day will be more of a help than a hinderance,” the Sculptor said, laying a heavy hand on Duronaht’s shoulder. “We will be stronger at this day’s end than we were at its dawn.”
~~~
Cyrona’s warnings had left Lord Feradnor with a conflicted mind on how to address Forynda’s likely approach. He considered a variety of possible avenues. His first impulse was to try to invite the High Angel to discuss the matter rationally in the city’s main palace. His second inclination was to display the powers of the Aura wielders within the city to try to convince Forynda that any assault on the city would fail. He decided against that, however, because he had been told in the past that Forynda indeed had the power to swat them aside.
This all led to his third option and his ultimate choice. The whole of the city would turn out into the streets and beg the High Angel to release Nethron from the void into which she cast him. Surely the sight of hundreds of thousands of mortals pleading with her would convince Forynda to relent.
From the castle’s fifth level, he looked out upon what had once been the city of Zarmand, now named Nethromand, and took in its glory in the afternoon light. The Vigrahn River, which branched into the city proper and hugged the castle grounds with its fast current, shimmered in the sun’s warm autumnal glow while the red tile roofs of most of the city’s buildings were lovingly accentuated.
What would have been a lovely and peaceful afternoon was interrupted by the ringing of bells and blaring of horns to call the city to attention. Per Feradnor’s orders, all citizens were to pour into the city streets to ready themselves for the High Angel. It would be a show of solidarity to demonstrate to Forynda that she no longer held dominion over the common people’s affections. Most importantly, Feradnor hoped that the impassioned pleas of so many would indeed convince the High Angel to reverse her error and return Nethron to his followers.
“They’re ready for you, my lord,” a tall bearded guard announced.
Feradnor turned to face the guard and straightened his attire, ensuring that every medal and ribbon with which he had adorned himself was positioned immaculately. He took one quick glance at the mirror and verified that the wings of hair on his bald head were sufficiently slicked back. Indeed, they were. With one last glance, he winked at himself in the mirror.
"Alright," he sighed. "Shall we?"
As he descended to the castle’s main hall, he gathered his allies, who were mostly other lords as well as some powerful merchants. Many of them had been his friends or associates for years while others were the new and ardent adherents to Nethron who had streamed in from the countryside and even from places as far away as Eynond and Gulnholn. Adherents from places deep in Rohmhelt's territory were most welcome, even when their stations were low. They showed a breadth of appeal that Feradnor hoped to demonstrate to Forynda.
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"I hope I'm not late. I hear this is an important meeting," Feradnor forced an awkward joke as he looked back at his friends. It was met with tense and muted laughter.
Judging by the anxious looks of the group following behind him, he decided not to try another jape. Instead, he silently walked forward at the front of the procession amidst the muffled bells and horns bashing against the castle. When he emerged outside, he saw throngs of thousands gathered in the castle courtyard, their eyes staring toward the northwest where there was a strange golden glow off in the distance.
"I suppose that's her," Feradnor said with a grimace.
"I've got no idea, my lord," the guard to his left nervously whimpered. "Maybe. I've never seen anything else like it."
Feradnor looked back to those gathered behind him in front of the castle's doors.
"Come on. Let's get down into the plaza," he said, motioning for them to follow down into the crowds below.
His guards helped him push almost all the way to the bridge over the Vigrahn River, which was a wide and ornate white stone span capable of holding hundreds of people at once. Making headway amidst the awestruck multitudes around him was difficult as few could shake their gaze at the rapidly approaching golden light. Feradnor decided that standing just before the bridge was the best he could do for a vantage point of the High Angel's approach.
Just before the blaze of golden light crossed the city walls, the bells and horns stopped. The crowds were so quiet that Feradnor could hear river’s swift current trickling a handful of paces to his left. Then, there was a horrible ringing. The golden light slowed in its advance and a silhouette became visible against it, the shadow of a tall womanly figure grasping a rapier and shield. The silhouette and its glow gradually descended from high in the sky to be just some fifty feet above the castle courtyard.
The strange otherworldly ringing pierced through Feradnor's ears and rattled in his brain. He saw others gathered jab their fingers in their ears and shake their heads to try to stop it.
Then there was total silence.
A bright light burst from the figure. The glow dissipated and there floated the High Angel Forynda. Even with the tens of thousands gathered, none made a sound.
"Nethron, the one you worship, is destroyed. I cast him into oblivion for all time for his transgressions against the natural order," Forynda boomed in a terrifying, echoing voice that rattled the glass of nearby buildings and caused the waters of the Vigrahn River to ripple. "Yet you stay loyal to him. I will only offer this one chance at redemption. Abandon Nethron as he is powerless to aid you now. Admit that what he offered you was false hope and be done with your errors. Do this now or accept his fate!"
Feradnor had never expected the High Angel's display to be so thoroughly frightening. He tried to assure himself that this was merely an effort at intimidation. While he anxiously pondered her sincerity, others in the crowd began to jeer the High Angel.
"Bring him back! Bring him back!" they shouted, their numbers growing with each chant.
"I will not. Not now and not ever!" Forynda replied with a surging voice.
"Bring him back! Bring him back!" more joined those who had started the chants.
Feradnor, however, was not among them. He felt a terrible chill run through his body. His skin was cold and prickly. He sensed the building rage from the High Angel. From the looks of some of the others gathered, he could see their trepidations as well.
Some of the more zealous men and women in the crowd, however, began to summon various incarnations of the Auras in defiance. Some even shot up bolts of flame and ice toward the High Angel, but she easily deflected them with the faintest of swipes of her hand.
An especially fervent follower of Nethron's, wearing shimmering silver robes, tried launching an argent blast that Feradnor recognized as being from the Silver Aura. Forynda's prior serenity broke. She wrathfully swiped her rapier through the silvery mass that approached her and dissipated it. The High Angel then emanated a bone-shaking ringing pulse. Feradnor, sensing doom at hand, pushed his way to the bridge's railing and contemplated jumping into the river to evade what he feared would come next. His heart pounded with such force that his eyes shook.
"I have exercised far more patience than any of you deserved," Forynda blasted her voice with a strength and tone that caused the throngs to shudder and cower.
"YOU WILL BURN IN THE RIGHTEOUS LIGHT!"
Accompanied by horrible deep whirring noises, a series of innumerable golden strings shot outward from the High Angel and flew toward the city's gates. Loosening deafening blasts, they exploded into spheres of white and golden flame that expanded swiftly outward. With sounds of shattering and burning melded together, the spheres surged onward deeper into the city, hurling stone, steel, glass, bone, and flesh skyward as it all vaporized.
The multitudes screamed in frenzied panic. Feradnor moved to jump into the river, but was knocked over the railing first by people clumsily scurrying around him. Just then, Forynda shot another golden bolt toward the castle. It struck with force beyond comprehension, causing its stones to shatter into pebbles and then blasted the pebbles into nothingness. A terrible quaking power shook the city while the white and golden waves of undoing cut through the crowds effortlessly.
Feradnor managed to tumble across the stones and into the river just as others tried to do the same with the obliterating blinding light surging over the water. Feradnor fell into the cold river with multitudes joining him, including an older woman who fell face first above him. Amidst the screams and sounds of the conflagration, Feradnor closed his eyes and braced for the impact of this woman who was about to crash upon him, pushing him down to the riverbed below.
But that was not what happened. As silence again took hold of the city, he felt some pressure on him as he bobbed about in the water, but far less than he expected. He opened his eyes to see the woman's face right upon his. She had almost no weight. She felt like naught but a large sheet of paper. Her eyes, open, lifeless, and hollow, stared back at him.
Startled, he moved to shake her off. He did so easily, only to see why she had been such a light burden. All but the frontmost inch of her body had been burned away. The rest was gone entirely and nowhere to be seen. There were others, too, whose remains were similarly reduced to naught but charred sheets of flesh. Some had fallen backward and had all but the skins of their backs blasted away into oblivion. Others had seen all but a limb, hand, or foot lost. The river’s waters were littered with some dozens of grisly remains in all directions.
As he tried to move through these awful sights, he only then came to notice what had happened to his own left hand, which had stuck out of the water as the blast washed over him. All of his fingers had been burned down to the knuckle. Only his thumb remained intact. He blinked several times at this sight as he treaded water between the seared pieces of people around him. It was something out of horrid nightmare. This couldn’t be real.
His panic deepening as he considered his situation, he paddled with his right hand toward a patch of shoreline that had once been a vibrant city park. It was now blasted ruin with not a structure or tree left standing. It had been burned down to nothing. Even though it was a barren cinder, he was glad to be out of the river where he could at last catch his breath.
When he looked in all directions, there was nothing at all left of the ancient city, not even the walls and gates on its periphery. Where the blasts had stopped, there were farms, trees, and grass contrasting violently with the utter nothingness that surrounded Feradnor. As he attempted to comprehend the calamity, he felt a powerful presence descend upon him. Scurrying, he looked up and saw the High Angel, rapier drawn, floating just above him.
“I did not intend for your survival,” she boomed. “Why should I spare you now?”
Speechless, he sobbed.
“I’m so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known…”
“You were warned and did not listen,” Forynda seethed in anger. “You were a leader here. You led these people to their deaths.”
He nodded and cried more.
“It’s true,” he conceded, his voice cracking. “But, if you spare me, I swear I will do all I can to make amends.”
Forynda’s eyes flashed. Feradnor waited for the High Angel to deliver her final blow upon him, but it did not come.
“Prove yourself and we shall speak again,” she said and disappeared in a burst of light.
Her departure left Feradnor alone, sitting upon the burnt remnant of what had just moments before been the world’s oldest great city. When he glanced at what little remained of his left hand, he burst out in laughter and sobs.