//------------------------------// // Book One: Chapter Nine: Thornhaven // Story: Myths and Birthrights // by Tundara //------------------------------// Myths and Birthrights By Tundara Book One: Awakening and Arrivals Chapter Nine: Thornhaven The South-West Tower, more commonly referred to as the Sunset Tower, was a lonely and isolated section of the palace. One of the oldest portions of Canterlot Castle, it had seen many changes over the centuries. Originally, it had been a guard room and armoury for the small fort that would one day become the center of Equestria, a distant outpost for the burgeoning nation as it recovered and grew following the end of the Long Winter and Iridia’s defeat. By the time of the War of the Sun and Moon, Canterlot Castle had fallen into disrepair and disuse. While the town survived on the pilgrims journeying to Notra-Dame de la Chanson, the castle herself had entered hard times. The west facing wall had been broken, a large hole torn in its roof, and the entire structure leaned precariously. When Celestia began to reconstruct the rest of the castle to form it into her palace, the Sunset Tower had been given to Cadence, the young princess taking comfort and solitude in transforming the cracked stonework into a simple, albeit tall, edifice. A set of external stairs lead to the third floor, where ponies were greeted by a parlour filled with what books Cadence had managed to save from her old room in the Nightmare’s fortress. The parlour was a comfortable place where she could relax and entertain her aunt, when Celestia could find the time to visit. Cadence spent the majority of her first years curled up before the room’s wide hearth, transposed like her books from her mother’s fortess, and dreaming of how her life should have been. On the second floor, just below the parlour, Cadence put a combination alchemical workshop and storage area. It had been her intent at the time to delve deeper into magic, but it had sat, untended, for most of the intervening years. Only the maids truly set hoof on the second floor. Even when Cadence had left Canterlot to form the Crystal City, the room remained untouched, odd items and magical objects that should have been placed in the vaults sitting out in the open where they collected a thick layer of dust. Cadence chose to turn the ground floor into a well appointed set of quarters for her hoofmaidens. During the periods where she had no pony attending to her needs, it sat either empty, or converted to more storage space. At the top of the tower sat her bedchamber, with its adjacent closet and bathroom. It was comfortably furnished, most of the time, with a period in the thirteenth century where it had been lavishly decorated in golds and silvers, with shawls, curtains, and heavy oak furniture filling every available inch of space. Unlike the other towers in Canterlot Castle, Sunset Tower had a flat roof surrounded by crenelated walls. A perfect spot for a young alicorn to sit beneath the stars, gazing up at the image of her mother darkening the face of Selene, and wonder what things would have been like if Luna had not fallen. Or to curl up with her husbands, coltfriends, and various lovers. Despite having founded the Crystal City, with its own lavish palace, Cadence had always thought of the Sunset Tower as her home. But the tower was no place to raise a filly, even if the second floor was cleared out to make space for another bedroom. So, she and Shining had been moved to their new quarters in the palace's Royal Wing. It didn’t escape Cadence’s notice that they were right between Celestia’a chambers and Twilight’s tower, with Luna’s chambers just beyond. While not suited for raising Tyr, it was, however, an excellent guest tower. Cadence stared up at the familiar stone walls, a simple door just before her. It had only been a week since her mark had been removed, and its absence was jarring. Finding the door blank gave her pause, and an odd sense of melancholy.   She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting in front of the tower, working up her courage to speak to the pony within. It wasn’t like she had any baggage or past slights with Iridia. Cadence had heard very little of her great aunt, in truth, and she’d learned at a very young age to be highly suspicious of history books. While they didn’t exactly lie, there were a lot of facts and truths that Celestia kept removed and hidden from what was taught to her little ponies. Rapping on the door twice, Cadence settled her wings and nerves. It was only Iridia, and she was family. And family was important. The door swung open, Iridia’s playful voice calling through the gap. “Come in, my dear, come in!” Taking a deep breath, Cadence plunged into the tower like she were about to face a dragon or demon lord, wings slightly spread, jaw set, and stride containing purpose. Iridia sat on a soft blue cushion that matched her eyes, a book hovering before her and a glass of red wine sitting on a table at her side. Behind her a fire crackled happily in the hearth, holding back the lingering morning chill. Glancing up, Iridia laid the book aside, marking her place with a dark blue feather, and put on a slight smile. “Cadence, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Iridia stood to greet Cadence, her smile growing wider as she crossed the room. “No need to be so tense. I won't bite. Let me have a look at you.” “I wanted—” Iridia silenced her with a wingtip to Cadence’s lips. Cadence felt like she were being circled by a wolf, Iridia’s eyes slowly drifting as they appraised her. A slight blush crept onto Cadence’s cheeks, unused to such an unabashed look from anypony other than Shining.   “You have your mother’s nose and build,” Iridia said with unrestrained approval as she completed her circuit. “But your grandmother’s wings.” Unsure on how to respond—no pony had ever told her she had the Namegiver’s wings, after-all—Cadence gave a hesitant, “Thank you.” Turning back to her cushion, Iridia asked, “So, what can I do for you, Cadence?” Ruffling her feathers, Cadence followed Iridia, choosing a fluffy white cushion. “I wanted to meet you, obviously,” she replied around a weak laugh. “And ask about Velvet, and her curse.” “Curse? A Geaes isn’t a curse. At worst a compulsion. Besides, that will be gone,” Iridia flicked a dismissive hoof. “How was it worded? ‘You must guard her secret, and all her secrets, until there are none left to keep.’ Or something like that. It should have ended, anyways. If it hasn’t, I think I know how to break it.” Cadence nodded a few times. “I also wanted to ask if you knew anything that might help me with raising Tyr. Such as her parents, or where she is from. That sort of thing.” “Why would I know anything of her parents?” Iridia tilted her head. “I have only the vaguest of memories of the others, and, to be honest, I had assumed they were all lost and that my sister and I alone escaped the… Well, it’s not important. Tyr is the one to speak with on her previous family, not I.”     “Oh,” was all Cadence could muster, drooping on her cushion. “So, you don’t know or remember anything?” Iridia, her hooves fidgeting, shook her head. “The earliest my memories are clear… let’s see… Marelantis. Sitting atop one of the crystal towers of Marelantis eating a blueberry pie with your grandmother. Her muzzle and hooves were covered with filling. Ha-ha! Those had been happy days.” Iridia’s voice trailed off as she lapsed into thought. Breaking out of her memories, she added, “I wish I could be of more help.” Shrugging, Cadence said, “It was just a small hope, anyways.” “Well, I’m glad you sought me out,” Iridia said, conjuring a plate of biscuits and cheeses.  “I thought everypony was mad at me.” Cadence arched a brow. “I am a little mad at you, I suppose.” Iridia’s tentative smile faded a little. “How could I not be? Celestia has her flaws, yes, but one of them is not holding a grudge. In many regards, her willingness to forgive is her weakness. So, what did you do to her?” “I… It is something that Celestia should tell you. If she wishes to keep it a secret, that is her decision and I will respect it.” Iridia fidgeted some more, unable to look Cadence in the eye. “Oh.” Cadence knew how well asking Celestia to disclose information, especially personal information, would go. Best case she’d get a pleasant smile and some teasing. Worst case… about the same, actually. It wasn’t like Celestia would try to leave her in charge of Equestria while an ancient evil attempted to bring eternal night. Not again. Or for a few decades, at least. Hopefully. Clearing her throat, Cadence picked up some of the cheese. A very pungent cheese, she added as she took a sniff. “That’s gamalost.” Iridia gave a knowing nod, taking some for herself and placing it on what appeared to be a stone cracker. Cautiously, Cadence bite into the cheese and found it to be firm with a moist granular quality that was rather pleasant. “Do you like it?” Iridia leaned forward, gripping the edge of her cushion and sighing when Cadence confirmed that she enjoyed it. “I brought it and some other traditional Taigan foods for Twilight. But… I guess that was a silly idea.”   “She’ll come around,” Cadence reached over to pat Iridia’s hoof. “Twilight needs to process things in her own way. Give her time. We’ve all given her a lot to think about.” “I hope that is true.” Several minutes passed in silence, Iridia and Cadence savouring the cheese until only a few crumbs remained. “So…” Cadence began, but not knowing what to say or ask, she gave a cough and peered out the window.   “I lied to her,” Iridia mumbled, the softness of the statement almost passing Cadence. “Huh?” “Celestia. I told her a lie,” Iridia continued, reaching out with a shaking aura to summon a cup of some dark, bitter smelling drink. “It was shortly after I lost my little dream, before… before I… Well, it doesn’t really matter. She came to talk sense into me and try to bring me out of mourning. We exchanged… words... and I ‘blessed’ her.” Tilting her head, Cadence crinkled her nose at the smell given by the liquid in Iridia’s cup. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that?” Iridia brought the cup to her lips, taking extra time in sipping its contents. Narrowing her eyes, Cadence tapped an impatient hoof, waiting for an explanation. Unable to hold off any longer, Iridia couldn’t meet Cadence’s gaze as she said, “The blessing was that I’d spare her from having to suffer as I had. That I would save her from ever bearing the burden of losing a foal in the only way I could…” “Oh.” Cadence said, and then with greater force, “Oh!” Setting her cup down, Iridia added in a rush of words, “It was all a lie, please understand that. I didn’t… I was in a very bad place. I’d just lost my precious dream, Twilight’s sister, and I… I took it out on everypony else. Celestia just…” “But, surely she had to know that it was a lie? Right?” Cadence gulped. “You didn’t cast a spell or anything?” “Oh, no! I never did that,” Iridia gave her head a violent shake. “But, I don’t have to cast any spells to cut a mother off from the Font. It was a foalish, mean spirited, stupid thing to say, but Celestia had no reason to doubt me at the time.” Iridia twisted her hooves together. “And then I made one of the worst mistakes of my existence when I gave you to Luna.” Cadence sat up as if she’d been kicked. “No, wait! I didn’t mean it like that! Fie, I am making such a mess of things. What I meant is that I made a mistake believing that a foal could mend Luna’s heart.” Cadence tried to settle, but the words had stung far fiercer than she’d have thought to give them credit. Trying to push past the hitch in her stomach and the ruffling of her wings, she focused on the more peculiar portion of Iridia’s statement. “What do you mean, ‘gave you to Luna’?” “Ah… Oh… I didn’t mean it that way. Like I made a conscious decision…” Iridia’s fake smile returned in wonderful force, her tail snapping against the floor. “Fie, why am I bothering to hide it? Yes, I ‘gave’ you to Luna.” Iridia used hoof quotes followed by a self depreciating snort. “Have you ever tried to have a foal?” Blushing, Cadence looked away as she said, “I may have… a long time ago…” “Well, I tried, and tried, and tried. For thousands of years, every season, without fail.” “And?” “And what? Do you see hundreds or thousands of other alicorns running about the disc? There would be if things worked in the same manner for us as it does the mortals.” Iridia snorted, tail flicking again. “It wasn’t until some seventeen odd centuries ago that I figured out why. Laying with a stallion wasn’t enough. It was required, of course, but it was only half of the process. I had just about given up hope, but my sister was always so certain that we’d have foals. It wasn’t even the Season when it happened.” “I think I can imagine what happened.” “Well, yes, naturally. But as we laid there following the fun parts I decided to tend to some prayers. As I touched the Font I saw them. A pair of souls of our kind. They were moving so fast, much faster than those of the mortal souls that travel through the Font. I had to act, so I reached out and diverted them, bringing them to your grandmother and I. That was how Celestia and my little dream were conceived. Luna followed a little over a year later.” Blinking, Cadence sat up straighter, mulling over what she’d been told. “Wait a moment… Did you just give me ‘The Talk’?” “I suppose so, yes.” Iridia and Cadence shared a laugh, the tension that had filled the room only minutes earlier dissipating. “But I never gave it to Celestia or Luna. And when you came along, what else was she to think other than I’d cursed her?” “Oh…” Cadence blinked a few times working through what she’d been told, adding a much louder, “Wow… Wait… Why didn’t you give her Twilight?” “I tried!” Iridia snapped, old frustration clear in her voice. “I’d been looking for an opportunity to give her a foal for a long time. I almost gave you to her, but with Luna… How much surer her fall would have been had Celestia had just one more thing that she did not. I had hoped… But we both know how that turned out.” Sighing in defeat, she waved a hoof as though to move the conversation along. “It’s not like I can wave my hoof and, poof, foals for everypony. Even then, I was subsumed within the Font. For the first… Three? Four centuries? A long time, anyways, I was too busy undoing the damage I’d done. Those ten years where I closed the Font almost damaged it irreparably.” “But, you did try?” Cadence pressed, leaning forward and searching Iridia for any sign of a lie, both in her great aunt’s face, and in the flickering strands of love. Love; it grew from all ponies, binding them together and weighing them down. Some love was brilliant and pure, True Love, shining with a light that could not be stopped, and oh so rare. Cadence had only encountered True Love a mere hoofful of times, and each time it acted like a beacon for trouble. There were many kinds of love, as many as there were kinds of ponies, but they all shared certain, unalterable properties. Such as being affected by the emotional tides of individuals. Iridia’s love was a hesitant and fractured thing, many old scars and wounds evident in the strands emanating from the queen. The core was strong, but the surface very fluid, except for one strand; a strand of True Love. An unconnected strand, whomever Iridia had loved was gone. Cadence ignored it for the moment and focused on those connected to Twilight and Celestia.   “I just said I did.” It was the truth. The strands of love grew brighter for an instant, strength flowing through them. If Iridia had lied, guilt would have twisted the love. Unless Iridia felt no guilt. Cadence didn’t believe that for a moment. While far from perfect—it only worked with those that were lying or telling the truth when about loved ones—Cadence had never told any pony other than Celestia just how she could detect a lie. Telling Celestia had turned out to be a bad idea as her aunt quickly mastered the ability to lie without guilt. “I’m sure you’ve noticed her foolish notion of being ‘Mother to the Nation’ since banishing Luna.” Again with the hoof-quotes, Iridia’s voice as bitter as her drink. “Several opportunities slipped through my hooves because she refused to compromise that image. I grew desperate, so I did the next best thing and had Twilight myself and placed her close to Celestia, with one of the very few ponies I trusted.” “You need to tell her the truth!” Cadence verged on shouting, jumping to her hooves. “What good could that possibly do?” Iridia retorted, slamming her cup down and spilling the dark liquid all over the table and floor. Ignoring the mess, Iridia rose to her own hooves and began to pace. “There won't be a bunch of tears followed by hugging after such a revelation. All it can do is wound her further.” “Ponyfeathers!” Cadence flared her wings, her next words coming with a blunt force. “It can bring her peace. If you won’t tell her, I will.” Iridia stopped her pacing. “No! This has to come from me. I know that… Just… Just… Give me time.” Iridia pleaded with her eyes. “Fine.” Cadence marched to the door, stopping after yanking it open. “But, she has to learn the truth, and soon. Find a moment and tell her, because I don’t know how long I can hold a secret like this from her.”   Slamming the door shut behind her, the frame cracking from the force, Cadence marched back towards her new quarters. Alone, Iridia stared blankly at the spilled dregs of her drink. Tension poured from her muzzle until it sagged, heavy with regret. The ringing of distant bells dragged River out of her rest. She’d been having a wonderful dream where she and… someone… had travelled to the south. Along the way they’d encountered a singing tree, a crying river, and had to tell stories to get past a mountain that spoke only in rhymes. A silly, pleasant dream that she was loath to abandon. Growling, she tossed off her heavy woollen sheets, the early morning damp clinging to them where her breath had been misting. River shivered as she stepped off her bed, a chill working up her hooves and legs. She frowned as she glanced to her empty hearth, the fire that had been pleasantly crackling when she went to sleep had long since expired. Not even a hint of warmth remained. Taking a pair of logs from the bin next to the heart, River set about calling on a simple cantrip. A spark shot from her small antlers, striking the wood and setting it alight. After poking the fire a few times to make sure it was well and truly lit, River made her way into the adjacent bathroom. Like her bedchamber, the bathroom was permeated by the clammy morning, a chilly film clinging to the surface of every object. Another cantrip was required to heat her washing water. River made a mental note to scold the initiates responsible for maintaining the castle. They’d become far too lax in their duties. Thornhaven was an old castle, ancient beyond reason, in fact. She’d been built in an antiquity so long past that it was impossible to know the structure’s actual age. Two thousand years? Three? It didn’t truly matter. What did matter was that Thornhaven’s walls were strong, made from molded and spell-shaped stone, grown into the required form rather than made of hewn blocks. For all intents and purposes, this made her walls unbreakable, the magic infusing the stone repelling almost any attack, and even the ravages of time. Using this to their advantage, the ancients had designed Thornhaven to be a spectacular show-piece looming above the forest from a hilltop. A half-dozen towers stood un-evenly spaced around the central keep and gatehouse, their pointed roofs covered in blue tile. Tall windows, balconies, and dozens of galleries and suits had been incorporated into the six-story high keep. Thornhaven had an airy, otherworldly presence as a result. One befitting the throne of a goddess. It also made Thornhaven drafty and somewhat inhospitable. A shame it was the only home River could recall. Even after the Betrayal, when the halla cut themselves off from the rest of the disc and abandoned many of their cities and towns, Thornhaven had remained unchanged. The seat of Halla governance—such as it was—with the Grandmistresses and Grandmasters of the lodges presiding from a council. While most of the grandmasters lived in their lodges in the town beneath Thornhaven’s gaze, they still met once a week to discuss matters ranging from intruders in the forest to how many candles remained in the storeroom. A bunch of bickering old ninnys. Of which River was one. Dismissing the thoughts, River turned to her mirror and was greeted by a wholly unpleasant sight. She was a small hind, especially by halla standards, with a short muzzle, overly large eyes like a pair of pinecones—brown and just as prickly—and stubby antlers. Even her mane was unsightly, sticking out in midnight blue spikes with a streak of lavender that went from between her antlers. There was nothing about her that could be described as pretty. Except her coat, a white and pure as fresh snow. Grumbling—as she did every morning—River combed her mane, tying it into a simple plait and repeating the procedure on her equally long and un-halla-like tail. She then brushed her coat clean, put on her ornate auburn robes, and placed her tags along the few prongs her antlers possessed. Each of the five tags were smallish gold plates, etched with glyphs for protection and true-sight, allowing her to perform some of her duties. Made of a soft, pliant cotton, River’s robes complemented her tags, with embroidered leaf and petal designs along the cuffs and collar. The gold thread had started to fade only the previous winter. She’d have them replaced before the next gathering. Slits along the flanks showed her mark, a feline paw formed of sweeping red, black, and white lines. The last thing she took, though it wasn’t part of her official apparel, was her mother’s sword; Llallawynn. As old as Thornhaven, Llallawynn was without equal in the north. Her blade was made of solid starlight, a glistening, soft silvery-blue, that warded off the frost and held back the summer heat. Pegasi froliked across the hilt and grip, their wings forming the guard, while a great blue gem sat in the pommel. Runes flowed down the fuller, proclaiming the sword’s name in a language long since lost to the grinding roll of years. It was the only part of her mother River possessed. She didn’t even know her mother’s name, it having become taboo. All River knew of her was a title—The Sorceress—and that she’d been the one to free the queen. Because of her, River had grown up a prisoner of sorts within Thornhaven.   A knock on her door brought River out of her stupor. Quickly cinching her belt, River extinguished the lantern. “You in there, River?” asked a deep voice, the door doing little to hold back the rumbling humour it contained. “We’re going to be late… You need to be like the four winds and fly.” “I am coming!” River snapped, not trying to hide the irritation in her voice, nor the grimace on her muzzle. Not that it could be seen. But she knew he’d hear it just the same, and find her snappishness amusing. Sure enough there came a booming laugh from the other side of the door. “You need to learn the patience of stone,” she added as she yanked the door open, marching out of her chambers and passed a massive figure. There was a saying, that each halla had a twin, and an opposite. He was her opposite. Thundering Mountain was an impressive halla in every regard. Even stooped he exuded strength and power, muscles bulging along his thick legs and barrel as he shifted from one armoured hoof to the other. His dark blue eyes—an unusual colour among the halla with their normal earth tones—flashed in the flickering torchlight, his ever present good humour dancing behind a false, stern exterior. Unlike most of the warriors of Bear Lodge, Mountain wore little armour, just his greaves. River remembered watching from a window when Mountain had been trained, his masters attempting to force him to wear the traditional heavy platemail, only for him to cast it aside while proclaiming, “A true Bear goes into battle with only his courage and the strength of his own four hooves!”   Today, since it was the first day of the week, was the council meeting. As such, he wore the green and blue trimmed jacket that proclaimed him as a master, a stylised bear on the collar showing his lodge. Somehow, the jacket hung loose on his frame. Four fawns could curl up inside the jacket, and have space remaining. His sandy brown mane had been combed free of tangles and hung loose down his neck, while his mustache shone with fresh beeswax, ends curling inward. “They are going to start without you, again.” Mountain chuckled, falling in beside River as she made her way towards the council chambers. Trying, and failing, to suppress a huff, River said, “I’m only there because tradition demands all the grandmasters be present. The other’s, especially old Bramble, despise me.” “That’s not true.” Mountain clicked his tongue. “Master White has a great fondness for you.” Again, River couldn’t hold back her annoyance. “Only because I remind her so much of her old friend.” Sharply changing the subject, Mountain asked, “What did you make of the stars last eve?” “Stars?” River pressed her mouth into a thin line as she took the long spiraling stairs down to the second floor. “I don’t have time to waste stargazing like some love-struck doe.” “They were dancing,” Mountain said with a chuckle. River shrugged as she left the stairwell. “So, they twinkle and dance every night. Sometimes they shoot across the sky too, you know.” “A tongue of acid and a heart of snow only causes grief, River. No need to be so bitter.” Mountain shook his head as he gave a low, chuffing snort. “But, what I mean by dancing is that they were spinning and flying all across the heavens in wild displays of light. It was truly breathtaking.” Stopping in the middle of the passage, River gave the huge halla a suspicious look. Dancing stars. It couldn’t have been… Could it? She’d seen the stars dance—or at least come close to dancing—once before. They’d gathered and spun, but it had been more like a vortex motion than dancing. Her mouth fell into a frown as dates and numbers were added and calculated. Twenty-one years, she figured, since the night no-one talked about. Had it truly been so long? River had been young when she’d been awoken by the screams and the hushed tones of the queen’s caretakers. She remembered hiding her head beneath her pillows as the entire castle and city beyond shook, and slipping from her chambers when the noise and tremors subsided. Few knew the cause of the disturbance that night, rumours flying that the queen had been in one of her ‘moods’. Not uncommon on one hoof, especially over the previous year. They’d believed she’d been grumpy and chafing at her containment. They’d never suspected she’d been with foal. After-all, the queen never showed the most obvious sign. River had been flabberghasted when she’d managed to sneak into the queen’s chambers, the guards conspicuously absent and the members of Wolf Lodge—they having the responsibility to tend to the queen in those days—rushing about and too busy to notice a small fawn creeping in the shadows. Peeking into the queen’s bedroom, River saw her curled on a bed, coat damp and mane hanging in tangled knots, but a smile of such wretched contentment on her muzzle. Wrapped in fresh swaddling, nuzzling her mother’s side, had been a newborn pony foal, horn nub peaking through a scraggly mane. River said nothing, too shocked by what she saw. Mistress Walnut hurried around, directing her subordinates like a general on some ancient battlefield. When she saw River standing in the doorway, she’d tried to usher her away, only for the queen to call her to stop. The queen looked up and gave River a weary smile. “Come, River, see your new princess,” Iridia whispered, as if she were afraid that the words would dispel some wonderful dream. A filly herself, River had to be picked up and placed on her nanny’s back in order to get a better look at the tiny, purple foal.   Little more was said, the queen lapsing into a fatigued silence as she cleaned her daughter. And then Mountain arrived, having searched Thornhaven high and low, taking her back to her chambers. A short time later a burst of magic rolled through Thornhaven castle and out into the city. River hadn’t learned what happened to the foal, only that the acolytes and masters that tended to the queen had acted as if nothing had happened. In the years since, the events had never been mentioned again, and when River had inquired about the queen’s foal she’d only received blank stares. After a few months she’d given up asking. As River turned back to head towards the upper levels a yell rang down the passage. “Gone! Gone! The Queen is gone! Again!” The shrill howl echoed through Thornhaven, reaching from the grand hall to the master’s chambers, and filtering out of the castle and down to the town below. It was almost as if the rest of the world grew silent for the moment so the words could carry farther.   River rubbed her temples, a frustrated groan leaving her throat, before increasing her pace. Built into the upper level of Thornhaven, the Queen’s chambers were layered with hundreds of spells meant to prevent escape through means mundane and magical. They’d been inscribed by dozens of the wisest, craftiest, and most stubborn members of the halla’s magical practitioners. Every Solsday they were inspected to insure that there’d been no attempts to weaken or bypass the wards. They were, without a doubt, one of the most complex and precise set of enchantments made since the days of lost Marelantis. Since River’s mother had broken the spell that bound Iridia’s physical form in stone, the queen had made a game out of slipping through the wards underneath the muzzles of the dozen guards—six of the swiftest and six of the strongest—meant to watch her. Sometimes she escaped, stealing a few hours of freedom before returning, smug with victory and some trophy taken from distant lands. Other times she was less than successful. Mountain’s eyes twinkled as they stepped onto the hallowed and forbidden sixth floor, the entire level given over to the Queen’s chambers, and those meant to safe-guard her. A long guardroom sat at the top of the old servants stairs used to access the floor. The old royal stairwell had been sealed, along with all other access routes. The warriors and priestesses stationed on the floor had quarters of their own accessible through the wide double doors on the far side of the room. To access the way to the Queen’s chambers required two keys that together opened a small sliding door hidden between a cabinet and painting. At that moment the hidden door was already open, the initiates that were to tend to Iridia that morning standing a short way off and receiving a stern lecture from an even sterner master. River glared at the master—a member of Bear Lodge, the warrior caste—for daring to speak to her initiates. It was an tacit rule that the lodges did not interfere with each other. River was the one to speak with them. “Master…” River struggled for his name, but couldn’t place it. “What are you doing?” The master, a peevish creature with a pinched muzzle and small, black eyes beneath overly large antlers that didn’t suit his some-what lanky frame, glanced from the initiates to River and Mountain. “I was simply trying to get the full story out of these fool fawns,” he snapped, shooting the cringing initiates a threatening glare. “That,” River said in a cold hiss, her tone making the master back up a step, “is my responsibility.” “I meant no harm! I was only—” “What you meant is not my concern, only what you did.” River advanced, he retreated, an unusual circumstance for a member of Bear Lodge. “I am the Grandmistress of the Lionesses. They are my responsibility, not yours.” “Perhaps if you were more diligent in teaching your initiates, Mistress River, than others wouldn’t have to do your duties for you,” the master huffed, thumping a hoof for added measure. Glaring at him, River curled her upper lip. He returned the glare with almost casual ease, an irate, dwarfish hind causing him no concern. River’s face grew hot, jaw working from side to side. Stepping between them, Mountain broke the tension. “You have made your point, brother. Now, go, before something truly regrettable occurs.” The master seemed ready to argue with Mountain, but realised picking a fight with someone almost twice his size was a bad idea. Bowing deep and excusing himself, the master turned, head held high as he left the range of River’s withering glare.  “I could have handled him.” River frowned, her anger still high, though it was now embarrassment that made her face burn. “Ha-ha! Perhaps!” Taking a deep, calming breath that did little to settle her emotions, River turned to the initiates. “Now, you two, what is this about the queen escaping?” River put on her most reassuring smile. It was only partially effective. She’d never mastered niceties, and the initiates, acolytes, and the very few masters of Lioness Lodge knew it. The pair—Whispering Brook and Little Hoof, both from the central herds, if River’s memory served her—looked particularly unreassured. They were a sweet and gentle pair of initiates, both nearly ready to take the rites of passage to become acolytes. Trembling more than they had with the other master, the doe on the left—Whispering Brook—said, “W-We went in to bring Her Divine Majesty her breakfast, as normal and…” “She was acting funny-like,” picked up Little Hoof, the other initiate. “Saying odd things, having trouble walking, couldn’t open her wings. That sort of thing. We were confused, naturally, but thought she was just playing one of her little games… You know how the queen can be at times when she’s bored.” “Yes, I do.” River sighed, a flood of memories threatening to well up beneath the surface. A few bubbled to the top of her thoughts. Deep winter, laughing and running around Mountain, the then initiate giving her a bemused look. She fell into a snowbank and looked up, a shadow watching from the upper windows. The figure moved away and, a moment later, snow slid from the steep roof, cascading over Mountain, leaving him sputtering and snorting to clear the snow from his face and coat. Laughter, like the sound of crystal chimes, flowed through the courtyard as a last clump of wet slush splattered from the roof with extra finality. The figure reappeared, and River was certain she saw her wave. There were hundreds of such incidences over the years, enough that if the cause hadn’t been known to all within Thornhaven a ghost or poltergeist would have been suspected. River shook off the memories before they could grow overwhelming. She wasn’t usually so sentimental. River pinched her features together as her heart took a sudden hurry, twisting up into her chest. “You are certain she’s gone?” “A-Aye! You’ll s-see, Mistress River.” Dismissing the pair, telling them to head down to the kitchens and get some warm breakfast before heading back to the initiates quarters, River turned to the Queen’s chambers, joined once more by Mountain. A small part of her hoped this was all just another of Iridia’s little games. A way to spice up the dull life of Thornhaven. Not that River doubted the queen was gone. “You know something,” Mountain stated as they marched through the queen’s antechambers. “That she was going to escape again? Fie, that’s inevitable.” “True. But you know the reason this time.” River didn’t deny the accusation. It was true, after-all. She paused after a few steps, looking up at Mountain with surprise. He knew the signs as well as her, and from the playful twinkle in his blue eyes, he was playing her, prodding her towards conclusions she’d already made. “The night of dancing stars,” she replied, receiving a firm nod and hum of approval in return. The actual chambers for the queen were much as anyone would expect, ostentatious to the point of being pretentious and gaudy. River had never understood or liked the gold leaf furniture, the bowls speckled in precious gems, or anything about why a halla or pony would want to be surrounded by such overt displays of wealth. Gold and jewels had little place in halla society, having no immediate or tangible value. A cup of gold held water no better than one of wood, a crown was no protection against a beast’s claws, and lace could not ward off the cold like a thick wool cloak. Though River had never left Thornhaven, she still believed in the austere practicality of the nomadic herds. If things had been different she’d have lived among them, wandering the ancient forest, carrying all her worldly possessions on her back. Only the lodges, and those in the lodges, created permanent structures to serve as places of teaching where they passed on the ancestral knowledge of the halla. Once, long ago, the halla had built cities. Their ruins dotted the forest like ticks on an ailing dog. Only four towns remained of the hundreds that once existed. Unless one counted the Vales, the places of magic where the queen had been able to shelter her supporters from a terrible curse. One that had split the halla in half. River chose not to dwell on that horrible spring, and the repercussions. Halla had died, the queen had been awoken, and River had been left an orphan raised in the protective custody of those whom supported the old ways, while those loyal to the queen gathered and settled on sacred land, forming the first new villages in fifteen hundred years. Entering the deepest part of the queen’s chambers, River found Grandmasters Summer Bramble and White Phosphorous, of the Eagles and Ravens respectively, waiting for her. “River.” Bramble gave a slight incline of his head as she entered, no more, scanning instead the perfectly intact weave of the wards. “She’s done it again. Slipped out between our antlers.” A middle-aged halla, Bramble had been the Grandmaster of Eagle Lodge for only a few years. He was neither stout nor frail, tall nor short, and in general was perfectly plain and unassuming in every regard. Even his muddy brown eyes held little shine or lustre. As the Grandmaster of Eagle Lodge, Bramble was the head of the council, and by extension, the leader of the halla. He wielded his authority with a bluntness that would have astounded his predecessor. White was an older hind, her movements slow and pained as she walked around the room, her back stiff from a fall when she’d travelled with River’s mother. Silver stripes flowed down her once dark mane from her temples, and her muzzle had started to fade around her lips. Lines of diamond ink ran along her antlers, glistening in the light fluttering through the curtain, complemented by the fine silk robes she wore. The tatoos on her antlers glowed as she worked the spells used to examine the wards. She gave River a slight smile, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Not so unusual,” River commented, nodding to the stacks of pony fiction gleaned from the queens previous escapades. “Except she’s not back to gloat,” Bramble snorted, circling the spellwork. “She’s always back in time for the acolytes to find her, that smug, self-satisfied grin on her muzzle, a new book, or… what do the ponies call them? Newspapers? Yes, newspapers! One of those things open on her bed.” He tapped an impatient hoof, snub-like tail flicking side to side. After a few moments of silence he barked, “She’s gone to confront Celestia. I know it.” “Fie,” White and River snorted together, River nodding to Sol as the sun peaked through a window. “If that is the case, than Celestia won. Again.” “No, no, you’re right. Not Celestia… But Luna!” Bramble began to pace as he muttered and conjectured. “The stars have been so peculiar of late. Shining during the day last week, and then last night’s display. Yes… yes… She went to confront Luna! To finally exact revenge for the Betrayal.” Rolling their eyes, the two hinds began to ignore the Grand Eagle. “I honestly wonder sometimes…” White shook her head as she dispelled her magic. “Next he’ll start claiming that this is a sign of Tirek’s return.” “Tirek?” River tilted her head, unfamiliar with the name. Puffing up his cheek, face red beneath his dusky brown coat, Bramble turned and marched from the room, shouting back, “I am going to discuss matters with the others. Perhaps they will treat this with the seriousness it deserves, not snide comments.” After the door slammed shut at his hocks, White took River aside. “It is the foal, isn’t it?” she hissed through her teeth despite them being alone. “Her Majesty has gone to be with her foal at last.” “I… do not know. It’s a more likely explanation than her going off to fight Celestia or Luna.” River shrugged, taking a slow turn around the room. A pile of ash near the vanity caught her attention. “A simulacrum,” White explained as she joined River to help inspect the vanity, stepping over the ash pile. “There was a fault in its construction, though willful or unintended I am uncertain. More likely the former. It isn’t a mistake the queen is liable to make.” “She so loves rubbing others noses in her superiority,” River huffed, glancing over the boxes of jewelry, perfumes, and brushes that covered the vanity. All of Equestrian origin. River stopped when she came to an open box, one embossed with the traditional sigil of House Tuilerya; Iridia’s mark upon a white shield, a halla to the left with a raised staff, a rearing unicorn to the right, and the divine crown above, topped by the Marelantis flourish. Inside, a little faded and torn around the edges as if it had been taken out often, was a picture of a scrawny unicorn. Her colours were hidden by the black-and-white nature of the photo, though from the shading River figured she’d have a moderately dark coat, with two-stripes—pink and purple—running through a dark blue mane. She was giving a toothy smile, a book held up in her hooves. Placing the picture back in the box before snapping the lid shut, River left the vanity. “What was in the box?” “A picture of who I assume is her daughter.” River grunted as she marched towards the doors. “So… The princess has emerged from her chrysalis at last.” White chuckled and shook her head as they emerged from the queen’s chambers.  In the antechamber they found the other six grandmasters already deep into an argument. Predictably, Bramble had joined with Darting Tongue of Owl Lodge and Lichen Thread of Badger Lodge in haranguing Sharp Stone of Bear Lodge. The other masters stood off to the side, tutting and mumbling while casting disapproving glares about the room. The stocky grandmaster of the Bears worked his jaw back and forth, his nostrils flaring as he held himself silent. River caught Bramble saying, “You have been allowing the guards to become lax, Stone. If this were solely up to me… why, I’d—” “You would do what? Reform the Eternal Herd? March on Equestria and wage war under the pretension that it is saving the ponies? Thirty one years she has had to act, to enact some dark and terrible vengeance on pony kind. And do you know what she’s done? She’s read their books and watched those new moving picture things. Yes, so terrible.” River sneered, contempt for Bramble and his supporters dripping from her tongue. “We swore an oath, River! And that may mean nothing to you and the other Loyalists,” Bramble gave White and Stone a dirty look, “But it means something to us. For seventy generations we’ve guarded the disc from her, and her from the disc. And yes, if it means that the Eternal Herd must march once more… so be it.” “It takes a majority vote from a grand conclave to reform the Eternal Herd.” This came from Master Darting Tongue, his teeth clicking as he thought out-loud. “It will take some time to summon all the masters and the heads of the herds.” Bramble stamped a hoof, bearing over Tongue. “You are siding with them?” “Of course not,” Tongue retorted. “But the laws are the laws. You have the right to call a grand conclave, but it will take months to organise. Thousands of masters and herds to contact, a place for them to gather to be selected, and so on. Reforming the Eternal Herd is not done on a whim.” “Then what do you propose?” Bramble snorted, his teeth flashing in his face in an angry snarl. River had never seen a more disgraceful sight. He was supposed to be the leader of the halla, and here he was, close to an open temper tantrum like a fawn. Pathetic. River didn’t realise she’d spoken until she noticed the other grandmasters staring at her. Even White didn’t hide her shock. There was teasing in private, and then there was public shaming. Initiates and acolytes alike, scuttling around the masters as they went about their duty, had stopped, only a few pretending as if they hadn’t heard anything. “Perhaps I will go, and so will the rest of my lodge. We barely number a few dozen anyways, and our place is at Iridia’s side.” River stamped a hoof, ignoring her gaff. The few members of her lodge along the edges of the room nodded their agreement. “Your place is here,” countered Bramble. He looked for support from the other grandmasters, and when he received none, River pounced. The tags on her antlers danced as if a wind blew through the room, eyes aglow with years of pent-up anger. “So, am I a prisoner still? You kept me in these walls, punishing me because you could not my mother, all the while claiming it was for my own good, that I was the ‘White Hind’ and needed to be kept safe. When preventing me from taking the rites that all young halla must didn’t stop me from attaining my mark, you tried to control me instead. When more halla were given the mark of the lioness, you tried to keep us all contained. You even tried to prevent Her Divine Majesty from teaching us of our heritage and the last Lionesses, and failed once more.” A realization dawned on River as she spoke, one that had been with her for some years, but pushed down and denied. Standing tall and proud, River declared, “I am a White Hind, Grand Lioness, and the High Priestess, first among Iridia’s faithful, and it is my duty to guide the halla with her words and teachings.” The few members of her lodge present nodded, standing a little taller than usual, their normally bowed backs and lowered ears raised with pride rarely felt. Bramble sputtered and spat as River’s voice rose, his eye twitching until he shouted back, “You are a half-breed mongrel! You are no more halla than your cow of a mother. The legends that surround the ‘great’ so-called Sorceress, who’d raise her tail at—” A hoof flashed out, striking Bramble across the muzzle, ending his tirade with a harsh thwack. White sucked in quick, wrathful gasps through clenched teeth as she shook from muzzle to dock. River felt her own rising anger vanish, replaced by fear as White spoke. “Mind your tongue. I have killed for less of an insult. Had The Sorceress been here to listen to your prattle she’d have visited such torments on you that even I can hardly imagine, and I was there when she woke the queen and opened the doors between realms with but a word. Do not speak of things you know nothing about.” White laced her words with power, an old wizards trick that could shatter the bravery of even the stoutest hearts. Against Bramble, the effect was devastating, shattering his blustering exterior like a stone through glass to reveal the rotten structure beneath. Incoherent words tripped over each other to escape his throat in a pained whimper, the Grand Eagle backing up against the wall. “White!” Master Leaf of the Foxes, normally quiet and reserved during the meetings, contained rare anger in his voice, enough to snap White out of her casting. “This bickering is getting us nowhere. Iridia is gone. We must decide what to do about it. All those in favour of the Grand Conclave?” Only Stone, White, and River were silent. “Then it is settled. The Grand Conclave shall be called.” “Good. Good!” Bramble exclaimed, pushing himself away from the wall and past White. “Too long we’ve let Iridia run rampant and loose, sneaking in and out as she pleased. This time she’s gone too far. Our forebears swore to protect the disc from her, and her from the disc, and we’ve all grown too lax and weak.” Bramble gave Stone, White, and River a dismissive snort, turning away from the trio with a flick of his head. “We will do as we were meant to do: bring her home and ensure every beings safety. The drums will be sounded, the conclave will be formed, and on the Summer Solstice the Eternal Herd will march again.” “No,” River said, just above a whisper. With far greater conviction, she repeated the simple denial. “Call the conclave all you wish. I and the other Lionesses will not be there.” River stamped a hoof twice for emphasis. “You are right, Bramble, the Halla have become weak. Our ancestors didn’t rely on mountains to keep them safe. They traded with the buffalo. Warred with the deer. They lived, laughed, and were free. We have not been free for generations, imprisoned by an oath sworn when the forest was young. No more!”   She took a deep breath, settling herself for what she was about to do. River glanced around the antechamber, to the few initiates and acolytes of her lodge, staring at the eight Grandmasters. A few of the older hinds seemed to read her thoughts, bowing their heads in silent approval. River drew the strength she needed from them. “I invoke Skilja.” River stood proud as the other grandmasters all took a step back, even Stone and White shocked. A few of the onlookers gasped, and some began to openly weep. His face contorted, Bramble advanced on River. “You can’t—” “I believe she can, Bramble.” Tongue shook his head sadly. To River, he said, “If you do this, all of those who follow will no longer be welcome among the Halla. You’ll be exiles, with no home, no family besides those who join you. Your names will be stricken from the scrolls. With your lodge so small it will once again fade in myth. Are you sure this is what is best?” “We have not been welcome among our kind since the lioness’ mark began to appear once more.” River sighed, years of weariness piling upon her all at once. “We can’t be prisoners to our fate anymore. We are her priestesses, and we can’t spread the lessons of her triumphs and failures from these stone walls.” “And if she returns?” With conviction born of certainty, River replied, “She won’t. If Iridia comes back to the Taiga it will be to reclaim her throne, not to sit idle in some gilded cage.” River turned to leave when Stone called her to stop. “Take Mountain and his lot with you. At least until you reach the pass. The forest is dangerous and you’ll need their protection. Whether they follow further and join you in exile… That will be up to them.” Nodding her understanding, River set off, mind racing with all the preparations that needed to be made, and how little time there was to make them. At the next dawn, River led her lodge from Thornhaven. Barely over thirty in number, even counting the Bears, they marched beneath the Queen’s banner, a streak of red among dreary browns and greens. Clouds hung low in the sky with the promise of rain on the horizon. A few played pipes or sang while a viola lay a foundation of regret, played by a solitary member of Fox lodge that had joined the Lionesses. Ahead lay the rolling hills and lakes of the Taiga. Further still the great wall of the Crystalspine Mountains, and beyond those wind-swept, jagged peaks of stone and ice, Equestria. As the gates clattered shut behind the last initiate in the herd, drums began to rumble from the top of Thornhaven’s towers, echoing through the forest and repeated until they’d be heard from one side of the Taiga to the other. A few turned to look back at their old home until the walls and blue slate roof disappeared into the trees and behind a tall hill. They picked up their pace, each knowing the same truth. The Grand Conclave was summoned and the Eternal Herd would march once more.