“I’m sorry,” whispered Fionn. “Maybe I can undo it. I’ll find a way.”

Would you kill yourself to save me? said Sir Bearach. The only way I’m going to Tierna Meall now is if we go together. Would you be willing to make that sacrifice?

“No!” cried Fionn. “I won’t.”

“Halt! State your business, in the name of the King!”

Fionn turned to face a dozen soldiers. He had barely heard them approach. They stood before him, clad in grey, weathered armour, with spears raised to the sky. The one who spoke stepped forward. His armour was identical to that of the others, but a spotless white cloak draped over his shoulders set him apart.

“As captain of the Point Grey City Watch, I suggest you find your tongue, boy.”

Go on¸ taunted Sir Bearach. Tell them that you’re a Necromancer now. Tell them that you’ve stolen a soul from the shores of paradise.

“My name is Fionn the Red. I come travelling from Cruachan to Penance.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve strayed far from your route, then. What brings you to this part of the Clifflands?”

Ha! roared Sir Bearach. Tell them about how you burned the airship from the sky, killing most of its crew and stranding the rest in the Glenn. That’ll make for a fine tale.

“I… I…,” stuttered Fionn. He quickly considered his options. Was it wise to tell the truth, about the ship? Or perhaps there was another way.

The captain raised a gauntleted fist, and with a clatter of chains and armour, the rest of the guards lowered their spears, points dangerously close to Fionn’s face.

Gods, prayed Fionn. What am I supposed to say?

Tell them you’re running an errand for the Church, whispered Sir Bearach. He spoke with more urgency than before, the sarcasm absent from his voice. Mention High-Cardinal Maeleachlainn Ó’Brían of Ard Sidh and say no more. They won’t question you further.

Fionn took a breath. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He chose his words carefully.

“My business is of a precious nature,” he began, speaking slowly. “The Church has advised me to keep the details to myself. If you must know more, feel free to contact His Holiness Ó’Brían of Ard Sidh.”

The captain’s expression changed. For a second, Fionn was sure he saw a flash of fear in the man’s eyes. The captain gestured to his men again, and a dozen spears were raised back safely over shoulders.

“My apologies,” said the captain. “We have had a report of bandits in this area. Have you seen anything of note on the road so far?”

Fionn scanned his memory. He couldn’t remember much after leaving Roseán. After all, he was far too distracted to notice anything other than the voices.

“No,” he said. “I saw nothing.” The mage considered his position with the guards. “Is there anything I should know?”

“We found three bandits dead on the road some weeks ago, two more wounded,” said the captain, an ounce of pride in his voice. “In-fighting, we believe. These outlaws would gut their own mothers if they thought it profitable. We found a camp, not too far from here, and raided it, taking many prisoners. There may be some stragglers left in the area, though. That is, if they haven’t fled south.” The captain spoke as if he was delivering a report to a superior.

“Good work,” said Fionn, adapting an air of authority.

“We’ll let you be on your way,” said the captain, bowing slightly. “May the road rise to your feet.”

“And may the stars follow yours,” replied Fionn. The guards left, leaving Fionn and Sir Bearach alone on the road.

“Who was that?” asked the mage. “The High-Cardinal you had me mention?”

A person no sane man would want to cross, replied the knight. And there’s no need to speak out loud for me to hear. You don’t want people thinking you’re talking to yourself.

Sir Bearach didn’t speak much more after that. A few hours of walking took Fionn to the gates of Point Grey, where a score of caravans and horse-drawn carts stood waiting by the walls, their owners lingering nearby. Fionn glimpsed into one of the carts as he passed. It was full of leafy greens and freshly picked vegetables. An array of earthly aromas hit him all at once, with the scent of tomato vines strongest amongst them.

“Have you come with any cargo?” asked a guard as Fionn approached the gate. The mage shook his head.

“No,” said Fionn. “I’m travelling to Penance. Is the ferry still running?”

“Aye, but it’ll be you who’ll have to do the running. It’s preparing to leave now.”

Fionn immediately sprang into a sprint, straight through the gates into the city. He wasn’t sure which direction to take, but he followed the path through the cobblestone square, northwards. The scent of salt was in the air, and Fionn followed it, assuming it would lead to the port.

He used his arms to gain momentum, throwing them up and down with each stride, his hands flat and tense, chopping through the air. His cloak fluttered out behind him, leaving both arms exposed. Some people gasped as he passed, but Fionn just assumed they were shocked at the speed at which he was running; the Pyromancer certainly didn’t look like the athletic type.

Fool, whispered Sir Bearach. You think they never saw a lad run before? It’s the arm they’re looking at.

With a pang of realisation, Fionn slowed to a stop.

“Syl!” slurred a burly looking fellow. “Come look at this young lad. He’s got an arm like a leg!”

The Simian named Syl wasn’t the only one to come look. A dozen Simians and Humans all came to the window of the tavern, their faces pressed against the glass.

“Would you look at that!” called a voice. “It’s almost as big as he is!”

“Ha! That’s what me ma’ said would happen if I spent too much time riggin’ me mast. I guess she was right after all!”

There was a roar of laughter at that, and Fionn turned away from the crowd.

“Ah, he looks like a mage,” said another patron. “I wouldn’t upset him if I were you.”

“A mage?” said the first. “Aren’t they celibate? I suppose that explains it!”

Another wave of laughter, larger than the first, rose out from the tavern as Fionn turned a corner away from the street.

Imbeciles, he thought, picking up his pace again. A fool with half a brain would know mages can’t be celibate. How else could the Gift be passed on to another?

They have a point though, said Sir Bearach. If you even think of using my arm for that, I swear I’ll—

“You swear you’ll what?” snapped Fionn. This outburst caused a few heads along the street to turn, but he ignored them. “What could you possibly threaten me with?”

The dead knight had no response for once.

When he reached the waterfront, Fionn was relieved to see that the ferry had yet to leave. The ship was almost full, with just a few passengers waiting to board. The mage jogged up to join them, his breath running short.

As he waited in line, he began fumbling through his pockets. It had been a while since he last needed to produce his purse.

They’ll let you on for free if you show them your flint-rings, said Sir Bearach. Just don’t burn the ship down in the process.

The rings were on my right hand, replied Fionn. They were lost with the arm.