Fealty

The ride was far longer than Sevrus imagined, though it might only have been because he was fully geared for war.  Ilon had talked him out of taking anything beyond his armor and sword, but even that was enough to make a long ride feel like an eternity.  Every now and again, his thoughts would turn along illicit paths and make it just that bit more uncomfortable; too much more and he feared it would be utterly unbearable.  So he tried and tried hard to keep his thoughts on the task at hand, reconciling what was told to his sister with what he would now be required to do.

Ilon rode ahead, a veritable ghost for as silently as his horse moved.  It was effortless enough, or so it seemed; while Sevrus’s war mount struggled with the broken stone, Ilon’s steed was practically prancing along.  The mountain path was a narrow, treacherous thing, one that threatened to twist an ankle or worse to those who weren’t wary.  It helped to keep his mind focused on anything but the anxious throbbing low in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn’t much longer before realization sank in.  As he studied the mountains he could see it, though it took a keen eye to catch it; some mountains were carved with slits, openings for archers, while others had been hewn to bear the shapes of towers on their faces.  A castle formed of living rock soon sprawled before him, claiming no one mountain as its base but all of them.

“Where are we going?” Sevrus hissed the question, hoping it would cut through the constant, low yowl of wind.

“Don’t you know?”  Ilon glanced over his shoulder but for a moment.  “I suppose you wouldn’t.  Few ever have a need to visit this place.”

“This is not the House of Frost.” 

“Keen-eyed, are we?”  Ilon laughed, bright and brittle.  “Though the King of the House of Frost will be pleased when the terror has been neutralized, our Emperor will be even more thrilled.”

They rounded a corner and it was there that Ilon pulled up short, with a gloved hand gesturing at the carved sigul of their most Imperial Lord – a proud wyrm twined around an eight-pointed star to symbolize the eight Houses.  Of course Sevrus understood; any destruction the beast wrought on any of the other Houses was equally visited upon the Imperial lands.  And yet-

“Why hasn’t His Imperiousness sent out a call across the Houses to slay the beast, rather than leave it to us?  He could send his armies or-”

Ilon shook his head without another word and then ventured down a particularly narrow fork, one that cut surreptitiously through the stone.  The passage was deftly hidden, nearly perfectly blended into the surrounding rock courtesy of an optical illusion. Once within the passage, all light bled away and Sevrus was forced to follow the pale figure ahead of him with narrowed eyes and a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Though Ilon’s voice was low, it carried well in narrow tunnel.

“Tell me what you know of the eight Houses, Sevrus.”

“What?”  The dark prince bristled with confusion.

“Humor me.”  The messenger’s unnerving smile was palpable and Sevrus’s skin crawled.

“They all serve their purpose, like the spokes of a wheel – and all eight spokes are bound to a hub.”  He spoke slowly, picking his way through the potentially treacherous territory.

“Go on.”

Sevrus’s features twisted into an unseen snarl.  “You know the Litany of Houses as well as I do.”

“I know all nine of the Litanies.” The chill in Ilon’s voice sent a frozen razor up Sevrus’s spine.  “I’m asking you to tell me one of them.”

He heaved a sigh and tipped his head back while he recalled it.  Each House had their own variation on the Litany, starting with their own and working down; it was a teaching tool for children, but one that was eternally emblazoned in the memories of adults.  Still, it took him a little while to wade through the tangle of emotions in his head to properly pluck the threads free.

“Embers burn and raze the wicked,

While Frost reflects all deeds.

Leaves restore the broken flesh,

While Bones destroy the unliving.

The Tides give birth to the riches of the sea

And Roots bring forth the treasures of the earth.

Thunder shapes the steel and stone;

But the Echoes-“

He hesitated.

“But the Echoes?” Ilon prompted.

“But the Echoes serve as the voice of all.”

“Mm.”

They rode in silence for some time after that, while the acoustics around them shifted and slid to suggest the passage of distance.  Questions clung to the dark prince’s psyche all the while, growing heavier and heavier still – even his steed slowed down, while the pale messenger’s beast practically pranced ahead.

Sevrus finally cracked under the pressure.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I want to know.”

Ilon was silent for a long moment until, finally, he replied, “Didn’t you stop to wonder – at all – why it was not an Echo that spoke for Frost?”

“I-”  The word was scarcely a sound.  It hadn’t crossed his mind at all – and it rightfully should have.  Just as it should have crossed his father’s, as well.  His brow furrowed and he reined in his horse to come to a stop in the midst of the darkened tunnel.  “What manner of conspiracy is this, messenger?”

“The necessary kind, dark prince.”  The creak of leather and murmur of cloth betrayed Ilon’s movement; he twisted in the saddle to look back at his armored companion.  “I’ll explain shortly.  Just follow me a while longer.”  He lifted a hand and gestured airily.  “Or don’t.  Best of luck trying to find your way back, if that’s your choice.”

He rode on.

Sevrus lingered, while his horse anxiously pawed at the ground.  Could he make his way back home? No.  The thought was clear and resolute.  He gritted his teeth and urged his mount ahead, closing the distance left by his indecision in a matter of seconds.

“You would do well to tell me now, deceiver.”

“Or else what?  You’ll remove my head on Imperial grounds?  Will you pummel me into submission?  There is nothing you can do here, Sevrus.  Nothing at all except follow and listen.”

And much as he hated it, Sevrus knew he was right.