“Your Grace?” said Padraig, moving towards the king. Such a strange thing to say…. Was that some sort of poem? A lyric from a song? Most of what the king had said tonight didn’t sound like his own words. Padraig sat down beside him.
“Do… do you know who brought this upon us?”
“I once believed I did.” The king drank deeply, staring blankly out to the west through another window by the mantel. “I cannot see the cathedral from here, Padraig. What of the smallfolk?”
“They were gathered there once the horns sounded,” said Padraig, trying his best to cast away the mental image that descended upon him. “But we were not able to protect them from the horde. I put my best men there, but….”
I should have protected her myself.
“… but they have joined those storming the moat.”
The king bowed his head. “You were not the only one with family there, Padraig. Many more will be forced to fight their loved ones tonight.” He poured himself a glass of thainol. “Here, drink with me.”
The clear liquid acquired a fiery glow as it filled the glass, reflecting the inferno outside. Diarmuid handed the drink to Padraig, holding it between two extravagantly ringed fingers and a chubby thumb. The captain knew better than to refuse anything offered by the king, especially alcohol.
One drink for courage, and I’ll join my brothers at the gate.
“Long live the Triad,” said Diarmuid, raising a glass.
“And blessed be the Trinity,” whispered Padraig.
King Diarmuid didn’t flinch as the alcohol trickled down his freshly shaved chin. He lowered the glass and looked expectantly at Padraig with those brilliant blue eyes said to have been inherited from Lord Seletoth Himself.
Padraig forgot his manners, and promptly drained his own glass. The inside of his throat shrieked as the thainol passed, bringing water to his eyes and searing his chest. Once the burning subsided, his body fitfully exhaled the pungent fumes, forcing a second taste upon him.
And to think the Simians prefer this over our fine wines. He immediately felt quite drunk. At least it works.
“Ha!” laughed the king, leaving Padraig unsettled by the sudden change in mood. “Farris swears it’s distilled from potatoes and grains, but all this time I’m sure he’s been bottling his own piss!”
Diarmuid picked up the bottle. “He gave me this one a year ago, right before he left. He said it’s from one of Penance’s finest reserves, worth a small fortune, apparently. I was going to keep it for a special occasion, but it seems the fall of my realm will occur long before any royal wedding.”
The king chuckled softly as he took another drink.
He’s back to his old self, at least. Padraig dried his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Has there been any word of Farris since he left?”
It seemed like the right question to ask, although the city would likely fall within the hour.
Diarmuid stood and made his way back to the window. “I swear I saw the speck of an airship sailing through the northern sky earlier, but it couldn’t—”
Padraig started, knocking his chair over.
“An airship?” he echoed. “Has Penance sent its fleet to save us?”
He saw nothing but smoke in the sky, though. The king sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands, weeping.
“Farris is dead. She showed me the signs. She gave me a chance to prevent this, and I tried. Oh, how I tried! But no matter what I did, like water running through my fingers, everything just slipped away. Fate is a cruel mistress, for only now I understand.”
He looked at the ceiling, tears running down his cheeks.
“It was me! My actions caused this! I thought the Silverback was the one she spoke of. I thought I could change the tides of fate, and I have paid dearly for it.”
King Diarmuid stared up at Padraig, his voice growing hoarse.
“But was I supposed to ignore her? Should I have sat by and waited for everything to crumble?”
Padraig squatted beside his king, resting on raised ankles.
Gods help him, he’s lost his mind.
“Nobody could have predicted this, Your Grace. There was nothing we could have done.”
Diarmuid grabbed Padraig by the scruff of his neck and pulled his face close. Every ounce of thainol was thick in his breath.
“I saw it,” he wheezed. “I had a chance but—”
Screaming women and children interrupted the king. Padraig’s heart plummeted.
They’ve breached the keep!
King and captain both turned towards the oaken door, now the only thing separating them from the massacre. Children cried for their mothers, mothers cried for their Gods, but the Trinity remained silent. The few guards stationed in the hall cursed and yelled as they fought, though it was difficult to distinguish the sounds of the living from the dead.
Without hesitation, Padraig grabbed his sword and bounded for the door.
I cannot die hiding with a drunken sot.
“Don’t leave!” King Diarmuid, still on hands and knees, crawled towards the captain. “Don’t leave me here alone!”
