Farris cursed under his breath. In his three years working in Cruachan, he had learned a great deal about the mysterious hooded figures known as the Wraiths of Seletoth. Rumoured to be risen spirits, Farris knew they were merely men who answered directly to Seletoth Himself, often tasked to carry out the more unsavoury actions of the Church’s.
“Just men in robes,” said Farris. “They’ll fall like any other.”
“Aye,” said Garth. “But we’d struggle to convince the rest of the city that.”
Eventually, they approached the Shadow of Sin: the district in the immediate surroundings of the great tower. There stood one of the most prominent buildings of the city: The Triad. Great marble steps led to a huge triangular portico, held up by a dozen thick columns. A large crowd of people had gathered at the foot of the steps, Humans and Simians, men and women, all calling out to the soldiers of the City Guard keeping them away from the entrance. A thickset Simian guard raised his arms overhead—perhaps a feeble attempt to calm the crowd, but it did nothing to quell the cries of the citizens.
Garth led Farris through the crowd, pushing his way past the rabble. As he went, Farris caught the occasional racial slur directed towards the guards. He couldn’t help but draw his gaze downwards, inspecting the exposed purses and wallets of the distracted protesters.
When they emerged from the crowd, Garth saluted the Simian guards at the door. With a curt nod they opened the door, and the two Simians went inside. The shouts and cries from outside where silenced with the slammed shut of the door.
A brilliantly clear, clean room now presented itself to Farris and Garth. White marble floors stretched out before them, with huge paintings and portraits lining the walls.
“We got news about Santos two days ago,” Garth said, leading Farris down a hallway flanked with clay busts of old Simian leaders. “As Chief Engineer of Penance, his death is a significant loss. Not to mention how many of our preparations were undone in an instant.”
“What happened to ‘just doing some favours’ for Argyll? Now they’re our preparations?”
Garth waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. You can lecture me later, but we’ve more pressing matters to deal with first. We were scrambling to react to Santos’s sudden death, when we got a crystal wave in from Cruachan. King Diarmuid is accusing us of having a hand in it, while also claiming that we attacked him, too. Argyll has alibis to prove otherwise, but the Triad panicked and closed the ports. Now the Crown sees that as an admission of guilt.”
“I see,” said Farris. “So, Argyll had absolutely no role in the ambush down in the railway?”
Garth paused as they approached a huge white door. He pressed a dark, hairy hand against it. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
The door swung open, revealing a small, quaint meeting room adorned with a large oaken table and a marble hearth with a great fire crackling inside. The room had two occupants. The first, a Human, wore a loose-fitting shirt draped over a slim frame. His top three buttons were undone, revealing a bare chest and an extravagant pendant for the world to see. The pendant bore a symbol similar to that of the Holy Trinity, but with warped, crooked shapes replacing the perfect circles usually associated with the Church. Farris recognised it immediately as a mark of the Sons of Seletoth.
The second occupant was a Simian, and his presence alone roared louder than the blazing fire. With broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms, someone unfamiliar with his people’s anatomy might mistake him for a youth, but the colour of his coat told a different story. Every inch of his body was covered in dark, grey hair that usually only comes with frail old age. This Simian was anything but frail, however. His followers called him the Silverback, although his fur was not silver, and it covered more than his back.
“Welcome, Farris,” he said. “I’m sure only dire need would take you away from your post.” His voice remained calm through every word he spoke, and his expression showed not a fragment of surprise, despite his thinking Farris was on the other side of the kingdom.
“Thank you, Argyll,” said Farris, trying to keep his voice from quivering. Something about the way the Silverback spoke made Farris feel like a child again. “I bring news from the capital. News that I believe you should hear from my own lips, and not from a letter or a wave.”
“Then speak it,” said Argyll.
Farris paused, throwing a quick glance to the human standing next to the fire, then back to the Silverback.
“This is Ruairí Ó Críodáin,” he said, as if reading Farris’s thoughts. “He’s a representative of the Sons.”
“I thought as much,” said Farris, struggling to keep the contempt from his voice. “But this is a highly sensitive matter, it concerns—”
Garth placed a hand on Farris’s shoulder. “You can trust him. He’s as much one of us as you are. Things have changed around here quite a lot since you left.”
“Indeed, he’s right,” said Ruairí, holding a hand to Farris. “It’s a shame we didn’t meet under more peaceful circumstances.”
Farris ignored the human and turned his attention back to Argyll. “If you are certain, I’ll continue. While working in the Crown’s intelligence network, I learned that there was an attack on the king, leaving him wounded and Santos dead. Diarmuid seemed convinced that you had a role in this.”
“This is not news to us,” said Argyll. He stared at Farris with pale, cold eyes that could have seen his soul if Simians had been born with one.
“True,” continued Farris, “but it was what he told me next that should concern all of us. He sent me and four other spies on a mission to Penance in order to carry out a pre-emptive strike on the skyfleet. We were placed on an airship named The Glory of Penance and ordered to rendezvous with a preacher at Sin.”
Argyll’s stone-like face appeared suddenly animated in response. It was Ruairí, however, who broke the silence first.
“The Glory of Penance? It was supposed to arrive two days ago, but it never turned up. The skyfleet has since dispatched a search party, but they haven’t found anything yet.”
“The wreckage is in the Glenn,” said Farris. “I was left with no choice but to ensure the ship never reached its destination. I was one of the only survivors of the crash.”
“And you came here on foot?” asked Garth with amazement. “Through the Glenn?”
“Aye, brother. I used some of what you taught me to find my way home.”
“Well, I’m surprised you listened.”
“Enough,” said the Silverback. He barely had to raise his voice to silence the Simians. “What can you tell us about this rendezvous?”
Farris grinned openly. “He’s dressed as a druid. Giving a sermon in Sin, of all places. He shouldn’t be too difficult to find. The Crown would have had better luck hiding a beadhbh in a brothel.”
The others didn’t seem to find the humour in this. Garth averted his gaze while Argyll looked on in silence. Ruairí chuckled softly, then cleared his throat to speak.
“It seems as if your brother had it right,” he said. “Things are not the same here as you had left them. Those in the city who follow the teachings of the One True God are more numerous than they were three years ago. The Tower of Sin hosts scores of preachers now, spreading the Good Word of the Lord.”
Shocked, Farris glanced at Argyll. He nodded ever so slightly.
“So, it’s the Sons who preach there?” asked Farris. “We were told to meet with a druid spreading the word of the Trinity. We were given a passcode, to ask about the king’s health, which should produce the response, ‘The Lord and Lady protect him.’ Surely someone like this would stand out amongst the… Sons, correct?”
Ruairí nodded. “This is true. I’ll go ask about the tower. If your druid was a regular preacher, there still may be a chance to track him down.”
“Do what you must,” said Argyll. “If that’s all, Farris, I have an embargo to break.”
“That’s the full of it,” said Farris. “I was left in the dark concerning the king’s plan, and only this druid knows the rest.”
