It had been to Duronaht’s great satisfaction that so many thousands of people had undertaken the journey to Zarmand after his act of rebellion. Every soul entering is lands was a vote of confidence in his decision. Still, they presented their own problems. With so many streaming into his lands, his ability to house and feed them became strained. Omonrel led the other angels Duronaht had allowed into his lands in providing for their needs. He hadn’t ordered them to do so, but he knew it was a necessity. Their entire argument for their continued presence in the mortal world would amount to nothing otherwise.
With the fear of war a constant presence in the capital, he felt the need to make a powerful display of force for his people. He stood atop a dais just outside the city gates surrounded by his marshals, including Vildrious, who had returned from the northern reaches of the kingdom. Before them, division after division of his soldiers paraded before the city with countless thousands of his citizens cheering them on. It was a joyless exercise for himself, however. His thoughts centered entirely on Queen Torhess.
That morning he had watched her tumble as she tried to stand out of bed. She hit her knee harshly on the stone floor. Tears welled in her eyes even as she protested that it wasn’t bad. His own tears followed. He recalled that wrenching feeling in his innards every few minutes while he stood over his parading armies. Even amidst the drums and blasts of horns, he closed his eyes to try to calm his mind. Every issue felt as though it was flying off into chaos.
“Your Majesty, the divisions from the Northern Army will be coming up next,” Vildrious announced.
Deep blasts from the Northern Army’s horns shook Duronaht’s teeth before he could respond. He waved approvingly at the representatives from those victorious legions, the vanquishers of the Bohruumite threat. However, his approval was hollow. He knew they would have been utterly destroyed if not for Myrvaness’s intervention. The entire spectacle was a ruse. He could only wonder if it was more effective on the populace than it was on him.
That night he resided in his study, staring at a map of the Methrangian Empire, especially the western provinces. When his father had consigned him to the ancestral eastern lands, Duronaht had known he likely faced far more difficulties than his older brother. His father seemed content to sit back in Methrangia and gloat about his younger son’s trials. Duronaht’s anger rose until he felt compelled the crumple the map and toss it to the other side of the room.
He was in no hurry to return to his bedchambers as Torhess labored under an unusually severe bout of her pains and had apothecaries tending to her to try to lessen the torment. Even thinking about it rendered his legs too weak to stand. On nights like this one, he had difficulty feeling that being king was anything other than a lonely post. All of his difficulties were matters he had to attend to personally. His subjects could rely on the crown to aid them. Who could he lean upon? Torhess provided both comfort and strain as her condition steadily worsened. Though he had strong relations with the rebellious angels, he had his apprehensions about trusting them fully.
His thoughts wandering, he decided to suppress them with a hearty dose of dry southern wine and lay back in his chair with his eyes closed. It was the first peace he had all day. It didn’t last long.
Several knocks fell upon the door.
“Yes?” he answered wearily.
The door swung open with a detachment of castle guards behind it.
“Your Majesty,” the guards’ captain said, bowing, “There is a new angel in the courtyard wishing to see you.”
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“A new… who?” Duronaht asked, his eyes bleary from his short rest. “Who is it?”
A short silence followed.
“Nethron, Your Majesty,” came the terse reply.
Nethron? What possible reason could he have for coming here at this hour?
“And what does he want?”
Another brief silence from the captain.
“Only your presence, Your Majesty.”
Duronaht apprehensively clenched his teeth as he stood.
“Very well, take me to him. Clear the courtyard once I’m down there. I want to speak with this angel alone.”
Standing amidst the courtyard’s smooth stone pillars, a tall figure draped in a silvery robe milled about with a circle of Solnahtern keeping their distance. Once Duronaht stepped closer, the guards withdrew. The figure shifted his attention to the King of Zarmand, revealing his bright green eyes that immediately phased to an amber color. Duronaht had never seen Nethron before, but this presentation matched all descriptions other angels had spoken of.
“Your Majesty,” the Aura Keeper said, bowing. “I do hope my arrival avoided disturbing you.”
“I wasn’t occupied at the moment,” Duronaht grumbled. “To what do I owe the honor? Surely you’ve come for a reason?”
“Honor… Reason… I suppose so, Your Majesty, but I do not understand that reason. My brethren seem to think that I might mediate your present disputes,” Nethron said with overwhelming disinterest.
“How do you intend to do that?” Duronaht queried, squinting his eyes warily.
Nethron’s eyes flashed to a light blue and the angel shrugged.
“I have no intentions. This duty fell to me because I think almost nothing of this entire affair,” the Aura Keeper dismissed the question. “My only interest at this stage is a swift resolution so that I might return to my domain in peace.”
Belittling the importance of the angels’ presence annoyed Duronaht, but he saw no profit in worsening his initial contact with Nethron if indeed the Aura Keeper was to be the conduit for peace. Instead, the king smiled.
“Ah. I understand your thinking on that. I’ll try to be reasonable for your sake,” he chuckled.
“I am flattered that you care,” Nethron responded with perfunctory courtesy.
An uneasy pause imposed itself on their conversation as the King fumbled around his mind for the next effort to ingratiate himself to the Aura Keeper.
“You said that you don’t think much about the rebellion I started and that’s supported by angels like you,” Duronaht said at last.
“Not much… no. Were it left to me, I would ignore the matter entirely,” the Aura Keeper said. “The opposing factions are of equal merit in my eyes.”
“But how can we both be equal?” Duronaht laughed in exasperation. “What we want is so radically different.”
“Ah, Your Majesty, I said in my own eyes. As the whole matter does not interest me, both arguments are equally valid as they are each worth nothing to me,” the Aura Keeper said, his eyes phasing to a bright yellow.
Ambivalence was better than Duronaht had supposed the position a messenger on behalf of Forynda would take. He thus took Nethron’s dismissive tone as a providential opportunity.
“I understand completely,” Duronaht said smiling and bowing. “If I might be so bold as to say so, you only know the High Angel’s position most clearly, do you not?”
“Omonrel and the others have made their views quite clear, Your Majesty,” Nethron replied curtly.
“Indeed, I’m sure. The problem is that I’m not sure they could possibly explain why it is that I and so many other mortals insist on this.”
“My role is to be an honest conduit between my brethren supporting you and the High Angel. Doing anything else would be… inappropriate, so if you are hoping to convince me of your views I should think that would be a wasted effort.”
As cold as the Aura Keeper’s words seemed, Duronaht sensed that his heart wasn’t in them. In fact, Duronaht wondered if perhaps Nethron was stating his supposed position aloud to convince himself of its truth. In any case, the King sensed an opening he desperately needed.
“Will you at least allow me to show you something? To be an honest conduit, as you called it, I feel that you have to at least understand my position,” Duronaht beseeched Nethron.
Nethron’s eyes shifted to a steely blue as he stared back at the king.
“As you wish,” the words slipped out, almost crushed by their reluctance.
It was the answer Duronaht was hoping for. The next question, however, was whether he could find anything compelling enough to convince the Aura Keeper of his position. A single case, one he could be passionate enough about to perhaps sway Nethron, presented itself.