Today, I went against all my own self-interests and agreed to travel to Mount Selyth with Firemaster Fionn. No, King Fionn, First of His Name, and Twentieth Incarnate of Seletoth. I failed to save his father when the Silverback opened his throat. Furthermore, I betrayed him in my duties as captain of the City Guard, letting myself become seduced by corruption.
Everything I did then, I did for Aideen and our unborn child. But I never should have put my own love for her above my duty to the king. If not for my failures there, we perhaps would have had Farris in chains instead of an agent of the Crown.
But the Simian continues to surprise me. He too agreed to travel to Mount Selyth with us, despite him having little love for the memory of King Diarmuid. If he plans to betray Fionn, he’ll find his blood upon my sword.
No, it is unfair of me to make such conjecture. Farris led the charge to dig up the dead, and despite our protests at the time, we did find Fionn, alive and breathing, when all reason dictates he should have died with the rest of those who were engulfed by the earth.
Furthermore, if not for Farris Turncloak, I would have been buried there too.
Journal of Padraig Tuathil, 20th Day under the Moon of Nes, AC404
***
Hundreds of soldiers flooded the Academy Courtyard the following morning, making their final preparations for the journey home. Amidst cries of commands from their lieutenants, Humans and Simians worked in sorting the remaining arms and armour, separating those they’d leave behind from those worth taking. Others rolled barrels of provisions across the courtyard and loaded them onto wooden carriages. Even the horses and elk tied up by the ruined castle gates seemed to share the same resigned relief that lay upon the soldiers, as thick as the snow that fell upon them.
Fionn shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter across his chest. Most of his own preparations had already been made, for he had very little to bring.
You’ll need armour, said Sir Bearach. Just because you can’t die, doesn’t mean you can’t be rendered incapacity by a punctured lung.
The knight had a point, but Fionn preferred to see those more suspectable to death protected from it before he was. Across the courtyard, Padraig, Aislinn, and Farris tended to their mounts: horses for the Humans and an elk for the Simian.
“Your Grace,” said Padraig, approaching. “We are almost finished our preparations for the long journey ahead.”
“Good,” said Fionn. “But please. My blood may be blue, but I am no king. With no crown nor coronation, I deserve not titles or honours. Just call me Fionn.”
“Yes, my… Fionn.”
They prepared their mounts, and ensured their sacks and satchels were well-fastened and full. Fionn was no stranger to riding, but he had never made a journey this long. He looked to the others. Aislinn, he knew, had ran half the length of Alabach to escape the horde, but had she made a journey like this before? Padraig certainly held an air of authority in the planning and preparation of their route, but perhaps this was just a symptom of the type of leadership Farris had described back in the library.
As for Farris himself, Fionn could not figure him out. So strange, that he too was the Simian named Chester he had travelled across the Glenn with. Even then, he had seemed so comfortable with everything that was happening. Perhaps there was more Fionn could learn from him in that regard.
“Firemaster Fionn,” came a voice. He turned to see a Simian, mounted upon an elk. They came pulling a cart filled with weapons and armour, both of which were made from blue-tinted steel. The Simian also wore such armour, with thick slabs of plate and a large, cube-shaped helm over their head, with only a thin slit across the front to see through.
This she removed, revealing herself to be Nicole.
“These here are weapons and armour made from Simian steel,” she said. “The Godslayer will be unable to bend and twist this steel, but they won’t stop the ground from opening up beneath you.”
The others thanked her and dismounted to pick through the contents of the cart.
“Farris,” said Nicole, rather curtly. “There is also a full set of armour in there that should fit you well.”
“Oh, thanks,” said Farris, examining one of the firearms up close. “That is… very kind of you.”
What is with those two, said Sir Bearach. Aren’t they lovers?
Fionn ignored the words of the dead knight, waiting until the others had taken what they needed before finding himself a chest-plate that fitted well enough beneath his cloak. It was clear these were all designed with Simian bodies in mind, giving the Humans few options.
“And you,” said Padraig. “Are you not a little overdressed for your journey back to Penance?”
“No,” said Nicole. She looked to Fionn. “Firemaster, I wish to join you on your journey to Mount Selyth.”
“Oh,” said Fionn. He was on good terms with the Simian, but surely that wasn’t enough to compel her to come on this terrible journey. If she had another motive, Fionn knew nothing of it. Fionn looked at Farris, but he seemed even more confused than the rest of them.
“Your company is most welcome,” Fionn said. She donned her helm once more, and once the rest were ready, they made their way towards the Academy’s gate with the rest.
***
The army of the Triad all left together, some mounted, many on foot, marching through the icy path of the Hazelwood. All around them, the forest’s trees were heavy with sheets of snow. Together, the great host followed the path westwards, which eventually rose to a hill, and came to a fork: one path to the north, another to the south.
The bulk of the host took the path south towards Dromán, where they’d soon come to the great clearing surrounding the outpost, and the railway tunnel that lay beneath. On the other hand, Farris, Nicole, Padraig, Aislinn, and Fionn took the north road, deeper into the Hazelwood. Many of the others stopped their own march to see them off, but there was no fanfare. No celebration. Just scared faces watching the five individuals break away from the host, in silence, until their path took a sharp turn westwards, out of sight. Then they were alone.
From there, they travelled on without speaking much to one another, the only audible sound being the snow-encrusted stones that crunched beneath them. Fionn felt his lips beginning to crack and freeze, cold air passing over them with each breath.
“Hunter’s Den awaits us at the end of the day,” said Padraig, as if sensing Fionn’s discomfort. “It’s an odd settlement, starting off as an inn to house hunters of the Hazelwood. Hunting is thirsty work, so the inn built a great tavern to satiate them. But the inn and tavern were remote, deep inside a thick forest, so housing was built for the staff to live in. Since living out there required other services and commodities, it slowly grew into a town.”
“Peculiar,” said Fionn. Despite its proximity to the Academy, Fionn knew little about it and the surrounding areas. He had only travelled to Dromán’s marketplace a handful of times in his youth. The furthest he travelled was to Cruachan, where he boarded The Glory of Penance. Before everything changed.
“A shame,” cut in Aislinn, riding on the opposite side of Padraig. “Such work went into building that town, only to fall to the horde.”
“Do you think nobody survived?” said Fionn.
“No,” said Farris, riding ahead. He glanced over his shoulder. “We found Point Grey in ruins. With no survivors. With the horde only growing in size since that was taken, we can assume the same for everywhere else.”
This did make sense, though Fionn wished it weren’t true.
Snow began to fall as they ventured deeper into the Hazelwood. The great conifers swayed dramatically in the winds that beat against their branches. Fionn, Aislinn, and Padraig struggled to brace against the coming storm, raising a forearm of their heads to keep their eyes clear. Farris and Nicole rode on with little hassle, it seemed, with their thick Simian-made helms keeping the snow off their faces.
Sometime later, they rested at a river. The mounts grazed on what sparse vegetation was available to them. Unfortunately, the river’s water was frozen solid, depriving them a chance to refill their flasks. That was until Padraig had the idea to crack the ice with the flat side of his longsword. After three heavy strikes, cracks formed upon the surface, revealing flowing water underneath. With much cause for celebration, the travellers refilled their waterskins, before allowing their mounts a chance to drink from it.
With little time to give for resting, they set off again. The path continued to carry them northwards. As they went, Fionn noticed that here and there, just off the path, some smaller brushes and trees were bent and broken.
Perhaps the horde came this way, suggested Sir Bearach. They would certainly struggle to stay on this path.
Fionn nodded, caring not that the others might see this as odd. If one of Morrígan’s early goals was to take the Academy, and claim the power of all the mages within, it would make sense that she came this way.
He considered Aislinn. She had come to Penance fleeing from the horde at Rosca Umhír. If the horde left Roseán, then travelling east to take Point Grey and Ongar before heading south towards the Academy and Dromán, then when did they come across Rosca Umhír before marching on Cruachan? The only explanation was that they crossed the Godspine at one point, perhaps after taking the Academy.
She wanted to be sure, Fionn realised. She wanted her horde to be as large as possible before laying siege upon Cruachan.
And if that was her plan, this only left one possibility.
Everyone south of the Glenn is dead. His imagination strained to consider the number of lives this would entail.
Thousands upon thousands upon thousands.
A truly uncountable number, and to think that behind each increment, there was an entire life. An entire person, with their own likes and dislikes, their own hopes and fears. Their own plans for the future, for their later years, for their children, all snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
And to what end? What does she even want?
The Lady had said Morrígan would see a glimpse of the Truth, and it would drive her to madness. But what set her on this path in the first place? Surely it must have been more than just a lust for power?
What does it matter, said Sir Bearach. Can’t we just defeat her without understanding her motive.
That is true, said Fionn. But if we do, how do we prevent something like this from happening again?
The knight had no response to this. Fionn understood. To think that something as horrible as this was not only unstoppable, but repeatable even if they did… it was an unsettling thought.
***
This certainly wasn’t built for comfort, thought Farris, squinting through the thin slit of his helm. It frustrated him how he had to move his entire head to see what was to his left and to his right. But perhaps the discomfort was worth it. Between this armour, the pair of daggers held at his waist, and the short sword across the small of his back, he felt almost as invincible as he would have been had he too been born from King Diarmuid’s loins.
He threw a glance towards Nicole, still wondering why she came. Perhaps she had listened to what he had said the previous night. Or perhaps she was making some sort of strange point in coming. Either way, he felt partially responsible for her presence.
No. If she didn’t want to come, she wouldn’t have come. She’s made that much clear before.
Soon, a settlement became visible through the trees of the Hazelwood. There was one building, circular in shape, with walls of thick, timber logs and a heavily thatched roof. Snow lay in a delicate layer atop the building, like the icing of a cake.
Other structures came into view as they approached. Their architecture was similar, built in an almost-perfect circle around the first.
As they entered the settlement, Farris called out, “Hello! Is there anyone here?”
Though a quick scan of the settlement’s skyline told Farris that it was indeed uninhabited, as with the temperature being what it was, surely there would be a fire burning somewhere nearby if not.
They dismounted their horses in front of the main building, which held the letters Hunter’s Den above the door. It was unusual, for an inn to claim the title of an entire settlement. True enough to what Padraig had said earlier, this place was certainly built with hunters in mind, as stables with ample space were available to house their mounts.
Evening was starting to set in. It had crept up on the party over these past few hours. Without being able to follow the path of the sun behind the blanket of thick, grey clouds overhead, Farris found it hard to keep track of the passage of time.
“Does anyone want a drink?” said Farris, approaching the front door of the inn. “I doubt the horde would have taken the ale here with them.”
He pushed open the double doors of the inn, revealing the most splendid of sights. He stood before a huge, circular chamber. Long, wooden tables curved with the shape of the room, with cushioned chairs on the inside, and cushioned stools on the outside. In the centre, several taller tables stood, high stools reaching up to meet them.
But one thing caught Farris’s attention more than all this. Against the far wall was a bar of black slate. Behind it, shelves held ceramic and glass bottles of various shapes and sizes, each with paper labels.
“They’ve thainol!” called Farris, as the others came in. “I didn’t think we’d find any this far from Penance or Cruachan.”
The others walked through the tavern with wonder. Hunting trophies of stags, boars and beadhbhs hung on the wall, some stuffed and mounted, others bearing only their bones.
“I could do with a drink,” said Padraig. “Given all that’s happened.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said Aislinn. “We have many miles to travel in the morning.”
“And we’ll travel them all the same,” he replied. “If anything, it’ll help us sleep through this blasted cold.” He looked to Fionn, then towards an empty fireplace against another wall of the tavern. “Firemaster, your talents are required.”
Fionn smiled, and quickly went to work. Well, it wasn’t what one could exactly call ‘work,’ since he set the hearth ablaze in a matter of seconds. Farris perused the bottles of thainol, pulling down one that was equal parts rare and expensive. Better to enjoy it here, he reckoned, than let it go to waste.
Padraig held a cup under one of the beer taps, but nothing was produced upon turning it on. He frowned and tried again.
“The line might need tending to,” said Farris. “They often keep barrels in the basement, but I’m not well versed in how the pumps work.”
He poured a second glass of thainol and passed it to Padraig. “Maybe this will do instead.”
Padraig considered the glass for a moment. “The last time I was offered thainol, the horde was laying siege on the Grey Keep. It’s not a memory I’d like to recall.”
Farris pushed the glass closer. “Then see this as an opportunity to associate the taste with the end of the world instead.”
Padraig smiled and took the glass in his hands.
“If you say so,” he said. “But I’ll drink this one slowly.”
The rest gathered around the fire. Nicole and Aislinn had found their way into the pantry and brought out salted meats and fish to cook over the fire, which they had with roasted broccoli and turnips. Padraig had found a sack of potatoes, a bag of onions, along with cured sausages, bacon, and carrots, from which he made a strange, watery stew seasoned with parsley. It was a dish of the people of Cruachan, he claimed, though Farris found it rather tasteless. It tasted a lot better with bread, claimed Padraig, upon seeing the meagre reception his dish was getting. Which was a shame, for the bread was all they lacked, it being the only food that had spoiled in the pantry.
After they ate, Fionn offered to clean the dishes, to which Padraig asked, “And for whom are we cleaning them for?” which was met with laughter, even from Farris. Sure, Farris hated the man to his very bones, but he was happy to cast those thoughts aside, at least for the time being.
Farris opened a bottle of thainol and offered it to the rest of the party. Nicole and Padraig both accepted it, presumably since neither were a stranger to the taste. This prompted Aislinn and Fionn to try too.
“This isn’t the first time Farris offered me this stuff,” said Fionn. “Do you remember, Farris? Back in the Glenn, when you were known as Chester?”
Farris smiled. “I do. You told me about how Pyromancy works. Then I showed you a beggar’s flame.”
“Beggar’s flame?” said Aislinn. “What’s that?”
“I’ll show you,” said Farris. He drank from his glass, downing most of its contents, then tossed the rest into the fire. Sure enough, the crackling red flames abruptly turned a bright blue, burning silently in the hearth.
“Blue fire,” said Aislinn. “Just like… the Reapers.”
“That’s right,” said Farris. “In fact, it was my conversation with Fionn that inspired that aspect of the Reapers’ design.”
“What?” said Nicole. “Didn’t you show me how to make those flames back in the hanger?”
Farris’s heart pounded. It was the first time she had spoken to him since they had left.
“True,” said Farris. “But I never would have thought to show you that if it wasn’t for you telling me about what mages can and cannot manipulate. I never would have realised beggar’s flames fall into the latter, if Fionn hadn’t tried to manipulate them back in the Glenn.”
A silence hung over the party as Farris said this. Eventually, Fionn spoke.
“Nicole, did your Reapers play a big role in fighting back the horde?”
Nicole nodded. “The Saltgate eventually fell to undead trolls, but they were held off for time by the brave pilots of the Reapers.” She went to speak more, but her voice cracked. Farris knew why, so broke in.
“The horde was defeated because Argyll killed Diarmuid,” he said. “And this gave Morrígan what she had come for. But more, indeed, many more, may have been killed by the horde if not for Nicole’s Reapers. From what we know about Morrígan, she would have killed everyone in Penance to get to Diarmuid.”
A lull fell over the group. The fire within the hearth turned from blue back to its natural colour, crackling away upon its coals. From both Nicole and Fionn’s expression, Farris reckoned both were having the same realisation: things would be much worse if not for them.
If not for us. He took a deep drink, then poured another glass. Padraig held out his own empty one too, which Farris happily filled.
“What do you mean?” asked Padraig, taking a short sip. “When you say, ‘from what you know about Morrígan?’ to what do you refer?”
Farris threw his gaze to the floor, and a quick wave of fear passed over him. Something from the tone of Padraig’s question shook Farris, as if he was abruptly caught out in a lie. After a few bated breaths, his panic passed, for there was no lie he was caught in, no secret exposed.
“I can answer that,” cut in Fionn, before Farris could fully collect himself. “Though it is a long story.”
Padraig leaned forward. Nicole cocked her head, glancing at Farris. From these reactions alone, it seemed Fionn had little choice to tell the tale, lengthy may it be.
“Over a year ago now,” he began. “I travelled aboard a ship named The Glory of Penance, from Cruachan to Penance. The ship crashed into the Glenn, and Farris, myself, and some other survivors were set upon by hungry beadhbhs. We escaped them, and—”
“My brother!” cut in Aislinn. “He was aboard that ship! Sir Bearach Carríga of Rosca Umhír. Did you see him?”
Fionn had started with the air of an eager storyteller, but this interjection had the most peculiar effect on him. He did not respond to Aislinn, but murmured unheard words through quivering lips. His head shook slightly back and forward, and he shuffled as he sat.
Caught out on a lie? wondered Farris. It didn’t seem so. This seemed somehow… worse. Fionn placed a hand on the side of his neck, rubbing and squeezing at his skin. This was often an attempt to comfort oneself: a common response to stress. Farris watched on as he did this, his oversized hand almost large enough to cover his entire neck.
Of course, realised Farris. That is the arm of the knight we travelled with. He announced as much to the Council of the Triad. He glanced at Aislinn. And she was not there. She does not know.
Farris closed his eyes to try and recollect the other details of the journey. They travelled together. Yes, those two and Slaíne the White. Did they know each other prior?
And there were the connections Farris had made back in Penance: Fionn claiming the procedure of attaching the knight’s arm to his body also gave him the power of the Bearach’s soul, empowering his own magic as a result. This magic, Necromancy, being the very same that Morrígan used to grow her strength. It was this revelation that had driven Farris to rescue King Diarmuid and Padraig from Cruachan.
Well, the latter was unintentional.
So many memories and connections surfaced at the front of Farris’s mind that for a moment he struggled to recall what had even prompted them to do so. He looked back towards Aislinn.
Yes, he thought. She had asked a simple question of Fionn.
If Fionn’s delayed response was caused by a storm similar to what presently raged in Farris’s mind, perhaps the lad just needed some help in the telling.
“He was, my lady,” said Farris, keeping his tone formal. “But Sir Bearach died a hero’s death. On our journey from the Glenn, our party was ambushed by a mountain troll. We fled for our lives, towards a village at first, but Sir Bearach steered us away, into the fields of the Clifflands. The beast caught up and knocked me aside. Our path had unfortunately crossed with that of a family of villagers, tending to their crops, even before the sun had risen. But Sir Bearach was a knight true to vows and put the lives of the innocent and the weak before his own. He died, along with many others of our party, but he saved the lives of myself, Fionn, and a young girl from the village.”
A silence hung after he finished. Aislinn’s eyes were closed.
“You are wrong about one thing,” said Fionn, his gaze locked on the floor. “The young girl neither weak nor innocent. For she was Morrígan.”
Padraig swore under his breath upon hearing this, then drank deeply from his glass. Aislinn bowed her head, and Nicole’s expression gave away no emotion nor reaction.
“I met her,” said Fionn. “Briefly, before I left Roseán. The girl had just lost her mother, and questioned me endlessly on the purpose of our journey. I have no doubt she blamed me for her death. And the next time I saw her, she was marching on Penance, leading an undead horde.”
“And now she’s a god,” said Farris. “She’s killed two of the Trinity already, what hope do we have to stop her from taking the power of the third?”
“I don’t know,” said Fionn. “It is said that the Wraiths of Seletoth serve Him directly. Perhaps they too are aware of the threat Morrígan poses to Him.”
Farris scoffed. “You’re not seriously saying we’re going all this way to help the Wraiths, after everything they’ve done?”
Fionn sighed deeply. “I don’t know. We need all the help we can get, but I didn’t want to risk the lives of more soldiers in getting it. If these Wraiths have already given their lives to serve the Lord, why not allow them to continue doing so, for an even greater good?”
“Let’s hope the Lord Himself has a better answer than that,” said Padraig with a yawn. “Otherwise, we’ll just end up repeating what happened out in Dromán.”
This brought a deep lull to the group, which continued for a time as the fire died down.
“It is time we rested,” said Aislinn, getting to her feet. “We may as well make use of the inn-quality bedding on this journey while we can.”
Fionn yawned too, as if in agreement. He bade the others good night, and made his way to the stairway, behind Aislinn. Nicole then stood but left without saying a word.
Farris stretched, then stood to follow, but Padraig stopped him.
“Farris,” he said solemnly. “I just wanted to… thank you, for all you have done. You stopping the charge of my battalion at Dromán marked the third time you saved my life. Even after you rescued me from Cruachan, I still wished you dead. A feeling I had assumed was mutual, but when the horde came to Penance, and then when Morrígan came to Dromán, you proved otherwise.”
Farris nodded. In truth, he had only sought to keep Diarmuid alive those first two times. But the third….
“You are welcome,” said Farris. “I had no intention of going on this journey. With the Lady dead, I saw my role in all this come to an end. To follow Fionn into death, when he himself cannot die, seemed redundant. Illogical, even. But when you pledged your sword to Fionn, despite all that had happened, it made me reconsider. Perhaps me saving you in Dromán was illogical. But I can’t claim to have had a logical mind that day. Skies above, when the army was swallowed by the ground, I went down to kill Meadhbh myself.”
Padraig guffawed. “You what?”
Farris laughed meekly. “I was just angry. Angry at everything. I picked up a dagger and went down to kill her.”
Padraig raised both of his hands and roared with laughter that echoed through the inn. “Farris, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking at all. To tell you the truth, we Simians have always held logic to a higher esteem than any other influence on a decision. But when I saw you and Aislinn bend your knees to Fionn, I thought, perhaps logic does not need to guide us so much. And now that I consider it further, I cannot claim logic guided me exclusively throughout my life.”
Padraig nodded. “Sometimes we need to know there’s a purpose greater than our own to live by. A life lived under the Will of Seletoth, guided by the Light of the Lady, and so on and so forth, can be fulfilling in ways the non-religious can never understand.”
“Perhaps,” said Farris, taking to his feet. “And maybe I’m only beginning to understand now.” He bowed his head to Padraig before turning to leave, following the same stairs the others had taken upstairs.
But unfortunately, there’s not many gods left these days.