On his carriage ride back to Methrangia, Duronaht largely sat alone, contemplating what awaited him when he returned to the capital. Just before he had departed, he received another letter from Torhess. In it, she said that he shouldn't deeply worry about her returned ailment since it would be some time until it truly debilitated her again. He kept reading that portion of the letter as he sat in the carriage. Tears welled in his eyes and he struggled to wipe them all away.

I refuse to believe that Nethron was the only one who could figure out how to cure this, Duronaht fumed as he cried, his face aching. My love, this won't be the end of it. I'll find another way.

Four days into his journey along the Keldras River, his carriage and its escort suddenly stopped just before crossing a minor tributary. The captain of the Solnahtern, wearing his light blue and white ornamental winter armor, approached the carriage's window atop a brown horse. Gritting his teeth in frustration at the delay, Duronaht grabbed the polished wooden handle and swung the window open.

"Yes, captain?" the Emperor seethed.

"Your Imperial Majesty," the captain bowed, his deep voice scarcely audible as it echoed in his own helmet. "There's been an attack by enemy forces about a mile up the road. Commander Lengrov believes we should wait until we receive reinforcements from the 13th Division."

Duronaht stuck his head outside his window, observing the few hundred cavalry bracketing his carriage on all sides. He leaned out further, putting his face almost directly in front of the captain's.

"Tell me, how many of these traitors do we think there are?" Duronaht asked.

The captain swallowed, straightening his posture.

"Scouts say about a dozen were seen, but..."

"And how many men do we have with us here?" Duronaht interjected, squinting his eyes at the captain.

"One regiment," the captain squeaked.

"So, five hundred men?"

"Y...Yes, Your Imperi..."

"I'm not terribly worried about a dozen traitors trying to attack so many of us. Unless of course you're saying that you're worried that each one of them is worth forty of you," he taunted the captain.

"N... No, Your Imperial Majesty. It's just that they might hit the carriage or that there are more of them than we think. We might've simply run into their vanguard or..."

Duronaht slapped his hands on the carriage's side to silence the captain.

"ENOUGH!" the Emperor screamed. "Fate's grasp isn't coming for my throat today. We head onward. That's final."

He closed the window shut and lowered its blinds, not wanting to offer even the slightest opportunity for more complaints from the captain on behalf of Commander Lengrov. Even if he had to endure the dark interior of the carriage alone, to prove his point, it was worth it. He smiled as he heard the sounds of the captain's horse galloping up the stone road, presumably toward Lengrov's position at the front of the column. Once he was assured they were truly underway, he raised the blinds so that he could see the crossing over the icy waters of the tributary.

Sharp pains hit different parts of his body where he sustained his injuries during the attack on his family in Methrangia. Sweat dripped down his face, despite the chill in the air. He glanced around and braced his hands against the the seat and wall of the carriage and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply several times. The carriages' wheels made a different noise over the bridge than they did on the road. It was a harsher, yet hollow, sound. Luckily, it was soon gone and he was on land again.

He relaxed at once. They're just trying to run me ragged, he raged. I can't let them.

The following day, just before nightfall, he heard muffled blares of trumpets and screams up the road some distance ahead of him. His cavalry from behind the carriage circled around it and he came to a complete halt on the road. Horses' hooves beat against the stone as they formed a perimeter.

He reached to open the window, his hand shaking as he did.

"What's happening out here?" he shouted once he stuck his head out.

"Emperor, please go back inside!" one of the cavalrymen answered, his face obscured by his helmet. "There's a battle up the road!"

Huffing, Duronaht fell back and shut the window again. The trumpets kept sounding far into the distance. He clenched his jaw and rubbed his hands together. Each additional shriek of the trumpets or scream in the night air caused his heart to flutter.

It's just a random raid. It can't be anything else. That's all it is.

Excruciating minutes passed one after the other. Idle chatter among the men around his carriage began to turn to speculation. He couldn't hear most of what they said, but comments began to turn toward defeatism. Concerns that perhaps they were actually outnumbered, that those loyal to Rohmhelt had raided deep enough into their territory to pull off a large attack.

No. Not here, wherever here is.

His skin prickled and he began to lose feeling in his hands as his muscles tightened so much that they pinched every nerve in his body. Instinctively, he almost returned to his youthful training to offer a prayer to the High Angel. He caught himself laughing at the idea. That's a fucking joke, he chuckled. Imagine her helping me at this point.

At last, the sounds of the distant battle faded. What that meant was unknown. He grabbed for a dagger he kept under the bench he sat upon. While light and ceremonial, it was sharp enough for himself. At least his brother would be denied that victory.

"Your Imperial Majesty!" the Solnahtern captain's muffled voice called out. "Your Imperial Majesty!"

Sighing and feeling his muscles relax and he placed the dagger back under the carriage bench.

"Yes?" he asked, while opening the window. He saw the captain, blood splattered over his white enameled armor. "I'll assume you won?"

"In-Indeed," the captain stammered out. "It was a bloody battle, Your Imperial Majesty. There were perhaps eighty or a hundred men who attacked us, a few mages among them. We killed them all, but at great cost. 13th Division sent us some reinforcements and..."

"Good. We'll head on to Methrangia, then. We have to prove that they can't intimidate us. Never forget that they're losing this war," Duronaht declared loud enough for the other men to hear. "That's why they're doing this, my friends. Thank you for all that you do. This'll be over soon."

He again shut the window and the carriage resumed its path toward Methrangia. Soon. It'll all be done soon.

Methrangia normally avoided deep snows with its warmer climate, but horrid icy rains often took the place of snow in the winter. Such a deluge hit the city as Duronaht's carriage entered the capital city, depriving him of a string of tens of thousands of onlookers while he approached his new citadel. That gold and platinum tower of Omonrel's design still caused him to wistfully remember the old strange Solnaht Citadel with its nested domes and colorful towers. There was something emptier or at least more sterile about the new structure. It was beautiful in its own right, but something was missing.

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Leaning his head out the window to stare toward the citadel, he incurred the wrath of the icy rain. As he wiped it out of his eyes, his father's mutilated face floated in the blackness before him. His abyssal eye sockets, wreathed in blood, pulsed a deep dull purple. A smirk formed across his bloodied lips and he slowly shook his head. Duronaht jolted, his eyes springing back open, and fell back into the carriage. His heart pounded and his stomach clenched.

I'll never be rid of that, he lamented. It had to be done. It was necessary.

Scarcely another thought crossed his mind until he arrived within the walls of the citadel. Knocks on the carriage door returned him to the present moment. When he stepped on the ground, his leather boots had difficulty gaining traction on the courtyard's ice-covered stones. Avoiding slipping was a miserable task, but his mood improved when he was at last at the citadel's entrance, shielded from the rains, and in the presence of his Empress.

"It's been far too long," Torhess said. She wore a beautiful white and silver dress, making her look like something out of a winter painting. Her blue eyes, flanked by her glossy black hair, were always a soothing sight. She grasped his hands, her own slightly trembling. "Far too long."

He smiled and leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers.

"Well, I'm here now and will be until the winter's over," he cheerfully answered. "Right now, I'm ashamed to admit that I need rest. Didn't sleep well on the ride here."

"First, dinner," she insisted, squeezing his hands. "When I heard your carriage was coming, I ordered the chefs to prepare something."

Even the thought of eating caused him to yawn, but he wasn't about to reject the offer. Days of nothing but glorified army rations left him eager for anything that had even a modicum of flavor.

"That'll be splendid," he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. "It'll be the best I've eaten in months."

Indeed, it was the best he ate in months. In the splendorous garnet and gold dining hall, he and Torhess ate by themselves, only momentarily interrupted by the servants bringing in each course of the meal on exquisite golden platters. It was an array of various marinated fishes from the Keldras River along with rich desserts and breads, all favorites of the Empress. Duronaht ate slowly and listened politely as Torhess provided him with her observations of daily life in Methrangia while he was gone and also what decisions she made in his absence. Periodically, though, his mind would drift off to mistakes he felt were made at Eynond or the attack on his column just days before.

"You seem distracted, my love," she interrupted her own litany to call attention to his idle expression. "Did I say something that bothered you?"

"No, no," he muttered and took a sip of the tart red wine from the goblet to his right. "This is the same vintage you sent along with the campaign, right?"

"Close enough," she smiled, her right cheek twinging slightly. She briefly massaged it with her hand and moved on as though it hadn't happened. "Oh, don't worry about that. I told you it's still very early in it coming back."

"Right," he nodded, biting his bottom lip. "During the campaign this year, I saw so many innovations by the angels and our own mages, for that matter. I've got to believe someone out there will be able to do what Nethron did before for you."

"I have no doubts on that," Torhess replied, her eyes brightening at the thought. "And we have time. It's starting out like it did years before. Just little inconveniences here and there. It took a long time to become a big problem and that's probably what we're looking at now."

He reached out and patted her left hand.

"You have no idea how happy I am right now to hear that," he said, choking up. "The main thing I was so worried about was that you'd despair facing it again."

"And here I was so worried about you," she chuckled and smirked. "I wanted to make sure I was the one to tell you and that you didn't have some damned rumors reach you from Bolgrelt or someone else like that."

"Heh. Yes, he loves his gossip," Duronaht grimaced thinking of Bolgrelt's inveterate tendency toward spilling every secret in the realm. "The other thing, and I hadn't said anything to you about it yet, was that my escorts were attacked on my way back here, deep in our own lines."

"I heard something about that," Torhess mumbled.

"How?"

"Commander Ivaous told me."

"Ah. Good man," the Emperor said, taking another sip of wine. "We need to consolidate what we've gained. It's all too messy. There are so many who still hold allegiance to my brother. It's so frustrating that we can beat him in battle and push him out, but this happens."

The Empress slowly nodded and clenched her jaw.

"You don't have to tell that to me. I'll never forgive those who attacked us and took Ardnaht's arm from him," she seethed. "What Gorondos did here to those men shut up these resistance forces for the past several months. They respond to shows of force. We can't be shy about it."

"I agree," he replied with a belch as his wine and dinner digested. "That'll be a good use of our time this winter. Act on everything Ivaous has learned and give him more resources. Hunt these bastards down and make a show of it. That'll give us a sound foundation for marching on Karmand and ending the war come spring."

"And I think you'd be wise to also offer, with your other hand, amnesty to some of your brother's supporters. Especially in his army. Give them an incentive to surrender," she implored him. He blinked blankly back at her and she shook her head. "Listen to me on this. They must be looking for a way out after so many defeats and retreats. Give them one and this can all be over very soon. No one can stand just constantly pulling back in retreat. It's got to be grinding them down."

Duronaht considered her words against what he had seen at Eynond and the horrendous casualties Rohmhelt's army inflicted upon his. If their fighting spirit was near broken, he saw no evidence of it. Still, after all they had suffered and all of their energies, they had to give up Eynond and most of the ground up to the Cersomin River. A long winter to reflect upon it might cause the wounds to fester.

"You're right. And for those who don't take my generous offer," he smacked his open right hand down upon the long dark wood dining table, loosing a clap that echoed in the cavernous hall. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

For the following two weeks, Duronaht focused almost all of his energies on the suppression of those elements resisting his rule in the lands around Methrangia up through the now ruined city of Eynond and all of the various settlements between the two along the Keldras River. He granted to Commander Ivaous virtually every resource his spymaster requested.

While his campaign to subdue the newly conquered regions seemed to bear fruit before long, word of his weakening hold on portions of the eastern regions of the empire caused yet another set of problems. This became especially acute when Ivaous delivered news that the Kingdom of Bohruum intended to commence a new war in the new year, possibly even before spring. However, the adversity of this new threat convinced him he finally had a strong enough argument to present to the former Guardian of Ceuna, the angel Elaous.

Atop the citadel, Elaous floated, looking westward. His strange white metallic skin and similarly odd, enameled armor sparkled in the dim winter sun.

"You have come to speak with me?" the angel rumbled in his deep voice.

"Indeed," Duronaht answered, approaching from behind and coming up alongside the hulking Guardian. "I've had a successful campaign even without your assistance and..."

"You know that I will only intervene against Forynda. Should she return, I will confront her," Elaous interjected.

"Yes, you've mentioned that," the Emperor chuckled. "However, you do know that a large number of mortals still cling to her and fight sworn to her, intending to kill, pillage, and on in her name. You're content to just sit by while she presses them into her service to do her dirty work for her."

Elaous glanced at Duronaht, his harsh face slightly contorting.

"It is not my concern," the angel answered.

"Come now. You really want to risk being alone in a world controlled by those zealously loyal to her? I can't imagine you do," Duronaht prodded him. The stony silence from Elaous convinced him that he might have found an opening. "I appreciate that you're protecting Methrangia from befalling the same fate as Zarmand, but that's not the only threat we face. Forynda is using her loyalists in Bohruum, Osilintis, Varanan, and even Nitandra, as I understand it, to press us from all sides. Your presence could keep them in check and make them think twice about what they're doing. The world hasn't actually seen you in battle yet. I imagine that's quite the sight."

Elaous scoffed.

"Flattery is a dull weapon against me," the angel scowled at Duronaht. "You would have me journey across the world, keeping your enemies subdued?"

"Ah, keeping Forynda's allies subdued," the Emperor offered an impish correction. "There's no bigger blow to strike against Forynda than to deprive her of her blind fanatics who still, even after what she did to Nethron, even after what she did to Zarmand and its countless innocents, swear their loyalty to her. You could do it. You have the credibility. You can make Forynda's fight hopeless and that'll bring about the end of her reign."

Silence fell between them while a stiff winter wind blew across the citadel's roof. Duronaht could scarcely feel his fingers as he stood waiting for a response from Elaous. None came, even after waiting for a few minutes.

"Well, think about it," Duronaht chuckled as he turned to go down the stairs back into the citadel's warmer, if still drafty, interior.

For the rest of the day, he despaired that Elaous had proven to be so implacable. It wasn't entirely unexpected, given the Guardian's prior statements to Duronaht, but it was still an unwelcome development. The Emperor therefore considered contingencies for his other angelic allies and how they might serve the role he planned for Elaous. However, as he paced around the rear courtyard that night considering the alternatives, he realized how desperately thin that would stretch him for his push against his brother.

Just as he sighed contemplating his predicament, he heard a whir behind him. He spun to see Elaous floating there, towering over him with his resplendent armor that sparkled in the moonlight. Duronaht offered no greeting except a silent stare and placed his hands on his hips.

"I will do as you ask," Elaous rumbled. "There is no other choice."

"I'm so glad," Duronaht sighed in relief. "You'll do so much good for this world."