As dawn’s light illuminated the field, Rohmhelt looked out from his command post atop a hill west of the central bridge. He had never seen anything remotely on the scale of what was arrayed before him. Even during his ride from Karmand, he had only seen a fraction of the men marching along with him. Now, as all columns converged just to the east of Methrangia, he could view the full splendor of his loyal forces.

Around the center, he had the three Karmandian armies that were directly under Marshal Agrehn’s control. Wearing traditional Karmandian Black Iron armor, Karmandian pikemen cut an imposing figure, contrasting sharply with bright sunlight that day. When his eyes scanned quickly over the tens of thousands of them, it appeared as a single black blur. Coming up behind the pikemen were swordsmen, also from Karmand, who would try to take advantage of any breaks in the lines created by the pikes. Dressed in ornate armor, the swordsmen had a ceremonial appearance that Agrehn assured Rohmhelt was misleading. The Karmandian contingents came with a modest cavalry force consisting of, at most eight thousand horses.

To the south, Agrehn had located the Gadisian contingent and two armies from what had been his father’s central Methrangian forces. Chancellor Kivren’s Gadisians stood out as they had modified their Karmandian armor and weapons with ostentatious plumage of various loud colors. Obnoxious though that was, the Gadisians had proven true to their word. They had provided just over one hundred thousand men, as promised. Most importantly, the Gadisian forces included some twenty-thousand light cavalry and a near equal amount of heavy cavalry.

His northern lines consisted of other western armies, including a largely Kyosok force from the empire’s northern reaches, and one half-strength central Methrangian army. The Kyosok forces were perhaps the most striking of the lot in their white-enameled armor that contrasted with their bright red skin. They also bore heavy weapons, including maces, large half-moon axes, warhammers, and so on. Evinda had previously explained the Kyosok fascination with excessive physical prowess. Now, at last, he had a tangible appreciation of it.

Staring across the river, he could see virtually the entirety of what his traitorous brother had to offer. Marshal Agrehn had assured him that Duronaht’s army had fewer men, but it was difficult to discern that as they formed rank after rank of thousands of heavily-equipped soldiers, armored in crimson plate and chainmail. Such were their numbers that the Emperor could not even hazard a guess as to how many there were. Rohmhelt also observed a notably larger cavalry contingent accompanying his brother’s legions, which made him apprehensive.

“You won’t find finer heavy cavalry in the entire world than what Zarmand produces,” Agrehn lamented to him earlier. “Our best course is to let them attack us and see if we have the opportunity to cut them off and destroy them.”

Less obvious how they would be dealt with were the seemingly countless archers who formed a skirmish line across the length of Duronaht’s position. Rohmhelt knew that eastern archers were famed for their accuracy at range as this was a necessity against foes such as Bohruum. Marshal Agrehn all too often reminded him that the West’s placidity had come at some costs. Skilled long-range archery was among those.

Rohmhelt’s own archers, numbering in the tens of thousands, formed up in skirmishing positions in front of his main lines along with a number of siege engines that Agrehn felt would be useful enough for ranged attacks against enemy infantry.

Amidst the cacophony of barked orders, clanking armor, and countless footsteps, Rohmhelt found the day a calmer affair than expected. At least so far.

“How will it start?” he nervously asked Agrehn. The Marshal continued observing his forces moving into place and subsequently marking those locations on a map of the region. He appeared to not hear his emperor’s question. Annoyed, Rohmhelt asked again. “The battle, Marshal Agrehn. How will it start?”

“Apologies, Your Imperial Majesty,” Agrehn mumbled, still marking down positions. His steely eyes moved up from the map to meet Rohmhelt’s inquiring gaze. “Customarily, at some point one of us will give the order for our archers and other ranged forces to open fire. Grand Marshal Ventov appears to be very customary. Every position he’s taken is something I thought he’d do.”

“So you know how to beat him, then?”

“Not quite. If Your Majesty will recall, I’ve said a number of times that their men are of a superior…”

“Quality, yes,” Rohmhelt finished the line for his marshal. Agrehn nodded as if pleased that Rohmhelt had finally taken the guidance.

“That being the case, we can’t be assured of any outcome between our men and theirs.”

Sighing, Rohmhelt looked back toward his brother’s lines, noting a frenzied pace of commanders riding their horses from one position to the next.

“Are we still going to wait for them to come to us?” he asked.

“Quite so,” Agrehn replied dryly. “Your brother needs us to make a mistake. You occupy the capital and have the appropriate claim to the Imperial throne. If he can’t embarrass you, his armies will probably melt away. The simple truth is that most men don’t want to fight in wars. Armies break and run routinely, especially if their cause appears hopeless.”

“Will it appear hopeless if his loyal angels savage our troops?”

Stolen novel; please report.

“They haven’t made a show of it, but I’ve received word that the angels Tathyk, Simel, and Vorlan have all taken up amidst our lines,” Agrehn said with barely concealed satisfaction.

This shocked Rohmhelt. He hadn’t heard so much as a word about that.

“Why was I not told of this?!” he angrily inquired.

Agrehn placed his hands behind his back and took a wider stance, as though he were under an inquisition for misconduct.

“With respect, Your Imperial Majesty, the angels do as they will,” he sternly replied. “I only just learned of their presences myself and I had not yet had a good opportunity to brief you on the matter.”

There were times where Agrehn’s lack of sensitivity to anything beyond military necessity irked Rohmhelt, but the Emperor grudgingly accepted the explanation. In truth, he had no desire to speak with Simel or Vorlan and he had never even given Tathyk a meaningful thought.

“Very well, Marshal Agrehn. Carry on,” Rohmhelt conceded.

At least an hour passed as the sun’s heat intensified to augment the discomfort coming from the two armies glaring at each other. The Emperor became convinced that both he and his brother were too afraid to make a mistake and, as such, they had resolved to do nothing. The greatest meeting of armies in the world’s history, almost two million men gathered, and this is all that happens, Rohmhelt scoffed to himself.

Scarcely before he concluded his thoughts, a swelling screech sounded out from Duronaht’s lines, overwhelming all other noises on the battlefield. Rohmhelt felt his body deflate as all breath left him. Even Agrehn shook at the sound. The air grew tense. His legions of thousands all readied their weapons in an instant. Jarring and horrifying, the screech filled the air again. As alien as it was, it also felt familiar in some peculiar sense.

That familiarity became all too clear when an amethyst streak shot into the sky and a frenzied, yet melodic, song radiated from Duronaht’s lines in a voice far too powerful to be that of any man. Parlon, Rohmhelt thought with an air of dread settling in about him. Though it was at a great distance, Parlon’s radiant glow was obvious, along with four other figures who were undoubtedly Omonrel, Jagreth, Gorondos, and Myrvaness.

“I pray that our angelic allies will indeed protect us,” Agrehn murmured. “If not, this will be a short battle.”

From Rohmhelt’s own lines, he saw verdant glowing auras rise surrounding two figures, likely Tathyk and Vorlan, as well as a shimmering pearl aura surrounding Simel. They floated forward, toward the Nehal River, their paths converging with those of their wayward brethren. The already tense air of the battlefield became unbearable. Rohmhelt struggled to breathe and his legs wobbled. His ears came under Parlon’s assault with the angel’s music becoming louder, more frenetic, dissonant, and violent. Parlon’s songs never needed to include any words that a mortal would recognize. His tones and rhythms were quite sufficient to communicate his intent. Pure unrestrained malice guided his notes that day.

Just as the angels all converged within close range of one another, the Nehal River suddenly roiled and shot skyward, creating a blue-green wall of water and river vegetation separating the two lines. This spectacle stretched for miles up and down the river, its awesome power not diminishing for several seconds until it subsided to reveal the angel Cryona floating atop a pillar of water over her angelic brethren.

Agrehn and Rohmhelt looked at each other in silence, as did a number of other commanders gathered in the central command post. Not one could find the words to comment on what they had just seen.

~~~

Floating atop her watery column, Cyrona glanced down at both her allied brethren and those traitorous fiends who dared to defy Forynda. Had she not been commanded by the High Angel herself to prevent a battle between the angels, she would have unleashed her fury upon Parlon and the others. Forynda’s instructions had been clear, however. Cyrona was only to deliver an ultimatum. With Elaous strangely absent, likely searching for Nethron, Cyrona was the only one Forynda would trust fully to execute the High Angel’s commands.

Cyrona lowered her pillar to be nearly on the same level as the other angels, who floated just off the ground on either side of the broad river. Parlon rushed forward in a rage, still singing, as his notes became marred by shrieking dissonance. She noted that his skin had phased to a sickly hue since she had last seen him and his previously elegant hair now flowed wildly.

“Calm yourself, Parlon,” she commanded with a raised hand, an action that provoked him further. She raised her voice for her next announcement. “Forynda commands that all children of Ceuna are to avoid violence upon each other or upon the mortal beings of any faction. Breach her command and she will descend with the full force of the Golden Aura.”

She saw Omonrel’s face turn worried, his crystalline blue eyes reflecting terrible fear. Myrvaness, Gorondos, and Jagreth all radiated much the same concerns. Parlon, however, did not.

“And what could she truly do?” Parlon sneered. “If she were capable of drastic action surely she would have done so already.”

“Your time with the mortals appears to have dulled your wits, Parlon,” Cyrona lashed out. “She told me to warn you that, should any of us defy her command, she will consign the offenders to oblivion, doomed for all eternity to reside in abyssal nothingness.”

“This is nonsense,” Parlon spat. “We…”

“Hear me!” Cyrona pleaded. “These words are final and will not be uttered again! Defy Forynda here and face an everlasting doom!”

With a dismissive gesture, Parlon began gathering the Auras’ power to him and Cyrona braced for an assault. However, Omonrel stepped to Parlon’s side and placed a hand on his comrade. Parlon immediately dropped his hands in deference. The Sculptor moved forward toward Cyrona with a contrite demeanor.

“I do not doubt what you have said,” Omonrel said, his words smoothly blending together. “We will not participate in this battle. It shall be the mortals’ conflict alone this day.”

“Outrageous! We…” Parlon began, dripping with venom, but Omonrel swiftly cut him off.

“Unless we invite our own doom,” Omonrel scolded his compatriot.

Cyrona felt great relief from Vorlan and Tathyk, who she always suspected would fall for any peaceful gesture. From Simel, however, she sensed something else. It was as though he found the entire display tiring and, perhaps, even tragic. You have seen this before, have you not? she pondered.

Cyrona wished to deliver her own stinging condemnation of Omonrel and his traitorous brethren, but they robbed her of that glory by departing before she could utter even a word of it. Not wishing to linger, she swiftly left along with the loyal three to observe the battle from far away. She knew Forynda would also be monitoring every blow to come.