“Calm down, Conleth,” said Fionn, raising both arms in a stance of submission. “It’s going to be all right. I’ll find someone to—”
The old mage gasped suddenly and pointed a finger at Fionn.
“You should not be here!” he roared. “You were never supposed to make it! A fate worse than death was meant for you, for you, for you….”
His voice trailed off, and a shiver ran through his body.
“The disorder…” he whispered. “The disorder is worse than He could have known. Worse than He can stand. Worse than….”
He cocked his head to the side, as if he suddenly heard something nearby.
“No…” he said. “This one is not like the others. This one… this one….”
“Conleth, please,” said Fionn. “You need help. Come with me, we’ll make you better, I’ll find you a healer.”
“No!” roared Conleth. He raised his hand and clicked his flint-rings together with a flourish. A ball of fire filled his hands. “This one cannot live untouched by fate! He is far too important to be free!”
A dozen streams of fire shot towards Fionn. He held up his own hands in defence, igniting the fire in his heart, summoning his own power. Rionach’s Theorems, the Laws of Thermal Equilibrium, every equation, every figure, every number faded from Fionn’s mind as the heat intensified around him.
Hold it back! roared Sir Bearach. Push it, lad, push it!
Fionn flared the power in his heart, taking a step back to bring both hands over his head. The tongues of the fire tumbled inwards, spitting forth embers. Fionn narrowly avoided them, stepping to the side as he forced Conleth’s fires away. Wood crackled and burned behind him, but Fionn did not turn to see what work had been destroyed.
Conleth stood up right now, taller than he had ever been before. His hands ignited once more.
“Oh, His eyes! His eyes! They bored through my being, melting my soul until there was nothing left but pain!”
The fires roared again, tearing towards Fionn like lightning bolts. He braced himself once more, calling upon the power of his soul to hold them back, but that was already starting to wane. When the fires collided with Fionn’s power, the young mage was almost knocked from his feet.
You can’t fight his fire with your own! said Sir Bearach. You must flee. It’s our only chance.
Perhaps…. He quickly shifted his weight to the side, sending the fire soaring towards a stack of papers against the kitchen wall.
Fionn’s whole body convulsed with exhaustion, each breath a strain. Beads of sweat poured down his face, rolling into his eyes and blurring his vision. But Conleth seemed unburdened, though there was no longer fire in his hands.
“He has shown me too much!” he cried, covering his eyes. “His voice, Lord! I can’t comprehend His words, but they hurt. Oh, they hurt!”
There was no need for flint-rings, for the wood and papers of the kitchen burned all around the two Pyromancers. Fionn ignited the power of his soul, barely an ember left.
I need rest, he thought, furiously trying to flare it further. I can’t hold him off any longer.
Fortunately, Conleth seemed unconcerned with the fires now. He walked slowly toward Fionn, his naked body glistening under the heat.
“This city… this city of Penance is a cancer upon the Tapestry of Fate. Every day it sows seeds of chaos, and they threaten to unravel the threads that hold this world together.”
Fionn reached within once more, but the fire inside was too weak to even grasp at a flame. He shut his eyes tight, groping through his soul, searching for something he had found before, something he had failed to understand….
And there! The second spark. The power in his heart that had never been touched. He reached for it, kindling it with his soul.
What are you doing? asked Sir Bearach. That feels... strange.
You can feel that?Do you know what this is?
The answer immediately came to Fionn before the knight could respond, but there was little time to explain. The old mage raised his hands above his head, and the heat around them intensified. He looked right at Fionn, with those eyes, wide open with fright.
“You have no idea, do you?” asked Conleth, saliva foaming at the corner of his mouth. “You have no idea what you are….”
The Firemaster threw his hands down, and the flames of the room surrounded Fionn. At the same instant, Fionn flared the spark of Sir Bearach’s soul, and blended that power with his own.
The Firemaster’s flames bore down upon him, but Fionn pushed back, with the weight of two souls behind him. The flames went still, for barely a moment, then moved away from Fionn. With another push, they erupted out, consuming Conleth where he stood.
The Firemaster did not scream as he burned to death.
***
“And what has the Crown’s response been to these events?”
“Silence,” said Argyll, hands clasped together and resting upon the oaken table. Lips pursed, he stared coolly at Borris Blackhands. “King Diarmuid has not retracted the accusations linking me to the death of Santos, nor has he denied involvement with the attempted attack on Sin.”
Borris wiped sweat from his brow. The Simian representative of the Triad seemed to have aged dramatically over the past few months. Even though Farris would have put his age at six and sixty when they first met, Borris always carried his age well. But now, he seemed as close to death as Cathal Carríga himself.
What if both pass away together? What if Diarmuid is the only person left on the Triad?
Indeed, this was a legitimate worry, for Argyll had demanded this meeting with the remaining representatives of the Triad in order to discuss King Diarmuid’s position with Penance.
“I agree that His Grace no longer holds the citizens of this city in high priority,” said Borris, struggling with the words. “But he cannot be removed from the Triad unless we have irrefutable evidence.”
The Silverback didn’t react immediately, for this was presumably the response he had expected. Ruairí sat next to him, his eyes avoiding those of everyone else at the table. He seemed to be avoiding Farris the most, as neither had spoken about what happened at The White Rose that night.
