The Ever Lord: Jhod and Lippothalus

It was said that across the Five Worlds of the Empire of Ever and Always, that there were over a Thousand Houses, each given their own sigil and dictum by the Ever Lord Himself. They each had their own ways, their own codes, and their own customs. Some ate large meals of meat and wine when the sun hung overhead. Others sat down at dusk to eat large stews of nuts and vegetable. Some devoured raw fish, others charred roots.

All who resided in the Ever Palace ate at the same time. It didn’t matter which House they belonged to or what customs they practiced, the largest meal of the day was always served at Eve’nBell. There was not a soul allowed out of doors while the evening meal was eaten, nor after, until the dawn broke the next day.

Lippothalus, personal Hand-servant to the Archduchen Belah Tharghem, knew better.

The law of the Ever Lord was universal, yes, but too did it need to be selective. While the curfew was strictly enforced, it was impossible for the nobility of the Empire to remain still and silent. Messages were slid under doors, meetings were held under cover of darkness, all with the security of honor and title.

The perfect irony of the Ever Lord’s curfew: those who had more reason to defy it had the least to fear from its enforcement. Night was not when the Empire slept, simply when it closed its eyes.

And what happened with eyes tightly shut, well…

Of course, it was not nobles who slipped through the night to fulfill their master’s demands. It was not Dukes or Counts who struggled to keep their footfalls silent lest the Doorsmin express their displeasure. It was not the titled gentry who found themselves detained to await the Ever Lord’s displeasure.

It was servants like Lippothalus, who now tapped gently at his liege’s door. “Your Most Honorable Grace, it is I, your humble servant.”

Over the years, Lippothalus had learned his master’s moods, and knew from the rustling sound behind the door that the Archduchen was in a thoughtful state of mind. He therefore felt no fear at pushing open the door without permission. As far as the Archduchen was concerned, permission had been given with his summons.

His Most Honorable Grace was sitting in his thick plush chair by the burning fire, his bones warmed as he stared into the bright flickering light. He spoke no words, but instead reached out to the small side-table and lifted a folded letter in his fingertips.

Lippothalus knew his liege’s silent commands as well as his moods. Lippothalus bowed low as he accepted the letter from his Archduke. “You honor me with —”

He froze, staring at the wax seal on the letter.

“My liege…” he finally stammared out, “a letter from the Ever Lord himself?”

Archduchen Tharghem didn’t speak. He barely moved, save to raise his glass to his lips.

“And his hand?” Lippothalus asked as he slowly unfolded the letter to read the words within. “Were these words written in —” He stopped again. Fool. At his age, you’d think he had better learned to mind his tongue.

The Archduke leveled a steely gaze at Lippothalus. “I am poorly. I do not wish to leave tonight. Take my seal and be my proxy.”

Lippothalus bowed low once more, and backed out of the room.

When the door was shut, Lippothalus hurredly read the letter, scouring the written words for clues to the purpose behind the Ever Lord’s missive.

There were none; the purpose was as blunt as the letter itself. A secret meeting at the Immaculate Hall, with no one but the Archduchen to attend. No servants, no enterage, and no mention of the meeting to anyone else on pain of punishment.

Lippothalus felt his blood chill.

I am poorly. He had heard the phrase from his liege’s lips often enough. He knew what they meant. The Archduchen thought there was something amiss with the entire situation, and would not follow the letter’s command.

A letter from the Ever Lord.

No, Lippothalus read again, not the Ever Lord, but in the Ever Lord’s name. The letter had been written by one of his servants, most likly. Still, the Archduchen was willing to risk His displeasure?

It was not Lippothalus’s place to dissent, of course. He could do nothing but obey his Archduchen’s command and go as his proxy. Folding the letter and slipping it away, he ran to the chamber where the Archduchen’s honors were kept.

There, locked away with a key that only the Head-servant possessed, was the medal of proxy; a medallion which bore the sigil of House Tharghem and marked its wearer as possessing the honors and duties of the Archduchen himself. There was supposed to be a ceremony that formally — and above all publicly — bestowed Lippothalus with his honors, but circumstances took precedence.

Thoughts of the curfew were quickly cast aside from Lippothalus’s mind. If it was in the Ever Lord’s name he was summoned, surely that was more important than the ringing of Eve’nbell.

Lippothalus dressed quickly in his finest robe and softest shoes. Secret or not, no servant of House Tharghem would dare be seen about the Ever Palace without dressing with respect. The resplendent gown and jewelry was left alone, as Lippothalus could not imagine such ostentatiousness fitting for a secret meeting.

When he was ready, and the appointed hour was near, Lippothalus crept down to the servant’s entrance to the Villa of House Tharghem, and peeked out into the darkness. He couldn’t see any patrols, nor hear the clank of arms or armor. His breathing shaky, he carefully stepped out into the night.

Lippothalus was neither lithe nor young. As Head-servant of the Archduchen, he had never found value nor virtue in hiding ones self from view. He was as much a symbol of the Archduchen’s glory and honor as his Most Honorable Grace. Counts, Grafs, and Marqs from across the Empire treated him with respect. He never hid himself; he had never had reason to.

Now he had reason. If he was caught by the Night Guard, if word got out that the headservant of Archduke Tharghem had been caught flagrantly breaking the Ever Lord’s own laws…

Lippothalus’s life was consumed with scandal; both stories about, and advoidance of. Even the simplest of tasks given to him by his liege were layered with potential pitfalls. Being caught would be a scandal enough, but to do so while in possession of a letter from the Ever Lord Himself, commanding secrecy…Great Houses had collapsed over less.

The fear blew through him like the night wind, sending chills up and down his arms. The distant sound of boots on stone was enough to set his heart quivering like a cornered mouse. His steps were alternately slow and sudden, vacillating between stealth and speed in panicked uncertainty. The longer he was out in the dark, the more opportunities the Doorsmin had to spot him. But if he ran, his soft-soled shoes slapping against the marble stone…

In his panic, he crossed the Ever Palace faster than he had planned, only to freeze upon reaching the corner before the Immaculate Hall.

There were no Doorsmin.

The holy guards were ubiquitous in the Ever Palace. Where they waited, the Empire itself took its pause, passing their gaze only when ordained and allowed by the Ever Lord himself. Of course, their majesty was elevated in story, compared to their actual duties, but they were still chosen; selected among thousands by the Empire. For them to be absent from their duties was…ominous.

Lippothalus stepped forward, fueled by the strength of his proxy-honors. To be seen to doubt would speak ill of his Lord’s courage. Gripping the handles of the doors, he pulled as hard as he could, slowly urging the doors to open.

Lippothalus entered the Immaculate Hall, for the first and possibly only time of his life. It was an honor reserved for few of the nobility, let alone the servant class. The giant room was built for small groups of Nobles or the Ever Lord’s personal servants to meet away from the public gaze of the Court or the piercing scrutiny of the Plaza. Secret meetings and quiet promises were made in this room. Punishments no one would ever see. Rewards no one would ever hear of.

In the middle of the room was the great stone table, large enough for fifty souls to sit or stand as was their wont. It was said that stonemasons from every corner of the Empire had a hand in its crafting. Like everything in the Ever Palace, it was a piece of art capable of transporting even the most stoic and unromantic viewer to a hollowed and spiritual place.

At the far end of the table was one of the many thrones of the Ever Lord.

Empty.

By the door, with a look of nervous concern on his face, stood Jhod, the first and foremost of the Ever Lord’s own Trusted, the servants who never left his side save to carry out his orders.

Lippothalus bowed. Technically, as head-servants of their respective Lords, they were of equal standing, and neither needed to bow to the other, but Jhod’s liege was the Ever Lord himself. There were few in the Empire who did not bow to Jhod.

When he found his breath, Lippothalus spoke quietly, holding out the sigil and letter. “This miserable shell stands in place of Lord Baleh Tharghem, Archduke of House Tharghem. By his command, I have come as his proxy at the request of the Ever Lord.”

Jhod gave a slow nod, his eyes staring hard at the sigil of proxy. Lippothalus stood still as a statue, waiting for the great servant to give him leave to move.

In the air, the smell of sweetdust was strong. Jhod had been partaking…perhaps more than was prudent? There had been rumors…

“What is your name, Honored Archduchen, and why are you come in your liege’s stead?”

Lippothalus’s eyes snapped back to Jhod’s. “This most unworthy person is called Lippothalus of House Tharghem. I am unjustly honored to be hand-servant to the Archduchen Baleh Tharghem, and was given full standing by my liege, as his Most Honorable Grace is beset with an illness which prevents him from traveling. Please, I beg your forgiveness for my unworthiness.”

Jhod had begun to move before Lippothalus had finished speaking. “My…forgiveness is unnecessary, but freely given,” he said as he walked closer, holding a thin letter in his hand. When he reached Lippothalus’s side, he held it out to his eyes. “Do you recognize this as the seal of our Ever Lord?”

Lippothalus stared at the sigil, a match to the one that adorned his own letter. “There is no soul among the Five Worlds who do not recognize the seal of our one true Lord.” On impulse, he laid his hand over his heart. “It is a hallowed thing, honorable Jhod.”

Jhod gave a sharp nod. “Then you will take the Anointed Oath and entwine yourself to the Ever Lord’s will, to undertake the duty he places upon you.”

“It is an unsurpassed honor for this unworthy worm,” Lippothalus gasped.

“I’m sure it is,” Jhod put the letter down on the table and pulled a small candle and seal from his pockets. “Kneel,” he commanded. Lippothalus knelt as quickly as his old knees would alow, as Jhod lit the candle and brandished both it and the seal over Lippothalus’s upraised head. “Do you swear to execute the will of our Ever Lord in the duty He has chosen for you?”

“By my blood, I so swear.” Lippothalus’s voice was raw. He scarcely heard the commands of the oath, nor his acceptance of his duty. His mind was spinning as he felt the five drops of hot liquid land on his forehead, sealing his oath in holy wax.

Finally, Jhod pressed the Ever Lord’s holy seal into the wax before pealing it from Lippothalus’s brow. “You have sworn the oath,” he said, “and I have made the seal. Break the oath, and you shall break the seal.” Blowing out the candle and replacing both in his pockets, he picked up the letter and held it out.

Lippothalus bowed and held out his hand. “This worthless husk will see to it that it is delivered safely to my Archduchen’s hand. The will of the Ever Lord —”

“Hold.”

Lippothalus looked up again into the eyes of Jhod. Before he would have said the man was nervous. Now, he could only call the look haunted. Jhod blinked the slow and unsteady blink of a man benumbed by the fumes of sweetdust, licking his lips before he spoke again. “It is not for the Archduchen that this letter was written.”

The Archduchen Tharghem was drawn to strong drink, and so Lippothalus had much experience in dealing with unsteady superiors. “No?” Lippothalus bowed apologetically. “Please, forgive my foolishness. To whom, most honorable one, must I deliver the message?”

“I have delivered the letter,” Jhod said as he slapped the letter into Lippothalus’s hand. “You have sworn the oath. It is meant for you and you alone.”

Lippothalus prided himself on being adaptable. As head-servant, surprise was not a luxury he could allow himself, but of all the possibilities that had filled his head since taking the letter from his Archduchen’s hand, he had not expected this.

“Me?” He stared at the seal. “I am but a proxy his Most Honorable Grace, the Archduchen Tharghem. I am not worthy to —”

Jhod cut him off with a wave of his hand. “The Ever Lord has writ his will in ink on paper. A will you now hold in your hand. It was to your hand I was commanded to deliver it, and so my duty is finished. Your duty now begins. Will you defy the Ever Lord’s command?”

The dungeons of the Ever Palace were filled with those who had. “No! Never, my gracious Lord, would I dream of standing opposed to the will of our Ever Lord. I accept his command most willingly!”

Jhod gave a sharp nod as he began to ushur Lippothalus back to the door. “Speak to no one of this, then. Perform your duties well, and leave none the wiser for your passing. This is your holy duty.”

Lippothalus heard himself babbling as Jhod pushed him out the doors. “This humble servant shall not fail the Ever Empire. Peace and honor, great lord. May the blessings of the Ever Lord —”

He fell silent as the doors closed. For a moment he didn’t move. Then, a wave of nausea surged from his stomach. Moving quickly, he ran to the nearest plot of flowers and plants around the corner, sticking his head over the dirt in the hopes of keeping his shame from the clean marble.

He gagged repeatedly until at last his stomach was calm. He breathed deeply, forcing the cool night air through his body.

He had been chosen.

He looked at the letter in his hand. In the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that it was purely chance that resulted in this holy duty. Jhod had been surprised at seeing a proxy in place of the Archduke, and yet he had fulfilled his duty as any true head-servant would.

So now it was Lippothalus’s duty. A holy duty that he had no choice but to obey.

He was about to straighten, when the faint footfalls of a steady pace met his ears. He would have thought it an approaching night-patrol, had such a thing existed in the Ever Palace.

Lippothalus was no fool. Age and experienced had tempered his instincts into something like wisdom. As silent a rat, Lippothalus ducked down and peeked out from his inadvertent hiding place, waiting to see who else walked the streets of the Palace after curfew.

The man who passed by was tall and starkly dressed. Lippothalus recognized the honors of a Bulquis, a Marq who had been given honorable command of a portion of the Imperial Honor. His livery was simple, but unmistakable as that of Great House Torvis.

Lippothalus watched as the man strode past, heading for the Immaculate Hall. He paused outside the doors for only a moment before gripping the door-handles and hauling them open.

There was another? Lippothalus’s mind spun as Bulquis Torvis strode through the doors and shut them behind him.

Had the Bulquis been summoned as well by the Ever Lord? Was he too a proxy to the Archduchess Torvis? Torvis and Tharghem were two of the Twenty Great Houses of the Empire, but Torvis was weak, a house in decline. What worthiness did they have to be given a command by the Ever Lord Himself? Or was there more to this than was evident?

Lippothalus prided himself on being a good Head-servant to his liege, and being a good servant meant preparation. His mentor had impressed upon him the need for anticipating even the strangest or obscure commands from his liege, and Lippothalus had taken the lesson to heart. He prided himself on his ability to think of the unthinkable and plan for the impossible. Even now, the darker recesses of his mind were spinning, churning with thoughts that most others would find heretical.

Looked at one way, the evening had been perfectly natural. The Ever Lord had a holy charge for the Archduchen of House Tharghem, and summoned him in secret to ensure no one else knew. For all Lippothalus knew, such secret meetings were commonplace. Archduchen Tharghem had, as was his right, sent a proxy in his place, and so the singular and secret duty of the Ever Lord had passed to Lippothalus. Now, another Lord sat in the Immaculate Hall, likely taking the Anointed Oath and receiving a different letter all his own.

Looked at another way, Jhod First Among Trusted had met with a representative of a Great House after curfew in defiance of Holy Law. Instead of giving the Ever Lord’s letter to the Archduchen, as clearly had been intended, he gave it to a lowly servant. There had been no Doorsmin, no other nobles, and now a second noble from a failing House had arrived; a fact Lippothalus would not have known had he not stopped to clear his stomach.

Jhod was proxy to the Ever Lord as Lippothalus now was to his liege…but Lippothalus knew that not every servant was as dedicated or loyal as he. Could Jhod be working towards his own ends? Was there a conspiracy to use the Ever Lord’s name to…to do what?

Lippothalus looked at the letter in his hand. There was danger in this letter. Danger in the meeting itself. As proxy, he had a duty to inform the Archduke of everything that occurred that night. As head-servant, he had a duty to protect his liege from…from what? Something terrible was coming, and Lippothalus knew not what it was.

Terrible or not, he had his duty. With trembling hands, Lippothalus snapped open the letter’s seal, and began to read.

The words were unusual. The command was bizarre. Had the paper not borne the seal of the Ever Lord…but that was the trick of it. For all Lippothalus knew, Jhod might have burned the seal into the paper himself.

Lippothalus lowered the paper. If he returned to his chambers, his liege would demand answers that Lippothalus could not give. He would need information Lippothalus did not have.

Not yet.

Squaring his jaw, he stuck the letter into his pocket and crept back through the Palace towards the appointed Villa of House Tharghem. He was still proxy-Archduchen, and he would need a small retinue of soldiers. He would need a Velvet-ship. He would need supplies, and above all, he would need to be quick.

Whatever happened, the Ever Lord would protect him.