Lady Carr

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ga

During my time here in the capital, I have acquired a significant body of proof indicating that Divine Penetrance is indeed a true phenomenon. Amongst the many things I learned about the Crown and its intelligence network, this is the most disconcerting of them all. As much as I’d like to believe that King Diarmuid is a mortal man, the evidence here strongly suggests otherwise. I’ve enclosed a number of documents stolen from the Royal Archive that back up this outstanding claim. Amongst them, are the following:

Genealogy of the Móráin Line: Note the dates of deaths and births here; not a single king has died before bearing a son.

Healer’s account of King Lionál IV’s final days: When Good King Lionál was on his deathbed, he lived for far longer than those who treated his condition had predicted. According to Barra the White, Lionál died the very moment his wife gave birth to his son.

A letter from King Donal I describing how his son, then Prince Brian, survived after almost drowning. Here, the king himself notes that the child survived being under water for a full hour.

A translated crystal-wave sent from High Cardinal Conchobar to Arch-Canon Cathbhadh. Here, the High Cardinal alludes to something he calls ‘The Divine Gift.’ In the writings on the Apotheosis of the Trinity, Saint Mhórthos refers to Divine Penetrance in the very same manner.

I expect that this information will be sufficient to formulate a plan for moving forward. In the meantime, I’ll continue to work close to King Diarmuid, and relay all pertinent information back to you in due course.

Coded letter sent from Farris Silvertongue to Argyll the Silverback in the year AC403.

***

Dawn had arrived by the time the Tower of Sin was visible from Skirmisher, but none on board gave any indication that they had reached their destination. Indeed, since leaving the capital, very little was said at all, bar the odd whisper and mumble from King Diarmuid to himself.

Barely a thanks, thought Farris. Sure, they managed to escape the horde, but Farris felt nothing but dread as the tiny aircraft glided towards the city of Penance.

Farris sat in the same seat he had taken on the outward journey to the capital, with Nicole in front of him, piloting the ship. Behind Farris sat King Diarmuid, whose incoherent rambling had only somewhat lessened since leaving the Grey Keep behind. Padraig Tuathil sat on the floor next to his king, his feet flat on the ground with his knees cradled between two gauntleted forearms. Farris considered how uncomfortable Padraig must have been down there, but the captain had barely said a word since boarding the ship.

I can thank the gods for that. The broken tower drifted past his view. Well, if they’re there to be thanked. Just one short year ago, Farris wouldn’t have hesitated to dismiss the religion of the Trinity as nothing more than a collection of myths and superstitions created by Man. But in these tumultuous times, it seemed as if nothing was certain anymore.

“We’ll be docking in the Steamworks,” called Nicole over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the controls. Farris nodded, and the other two seemed to have no objections to this.

Skies above. This is perhaps the king’s first time in Penance. He probably couldn’t tell the Dustworks from the Shadow of Sin.

Skirmisher glided through the smoke and smog of Penance’s industrial district. Nicole’s hangar stood out from the rest of the buildings. It was situated separately from the other factories, with a large clearing adjacent to it. Farris supposed it was for the taking off and landing of airships just like this one, but as they got closer to the ground, he noticed a group of Simians standing in its vicinity.

“Looks like someone’s expecting us,” said Nicole, letting only an ounce of worry enter her voice.

The ship descended horizontally, staying perfectly level as it went. Once they were close enough to the ground to step out, the figures waiting for them became clear.

“Argyll!” rasped Nicole, fussing with the controls as the ship’s engines came to a halt. “What brings you here?”

The Silverback stepped forward. He was accompanied by six Humans dressed in scarlet robes over silver armour. Farris recognised them immediately as the Churchguard of the Basilica. What wasn’t so clear, however, was why in Sin’s name they’d be guarding Argyll.

“The capital has fallen,” said Nicole, not waiting for a response. “The horde overwhelmed the Grey Keep. We barely managed to save the king, but he’s with us now, as safe as ever.”

Farris unbuckled the leather straps of his seat and moved to exit the ship. As soon as his feet felt solid ground once more, Argyll spoke.

“Farris Silvertongue of the Dustworks of Penance,” he said, in a manner far more formal than normal. “Before witnesses representing the Church of Alabach, I hereby declare you under arrest.”

“Arrest?” cried Farris. “Under what charge?”

“Theft,” said the Silverback, gesturing to Skirmisher. “This prototype is owned by the Triad in conjunction with the Church. You are to be held in the Basilica until an appropriate sentence is decided.”

“Elkshit!” spat Nicole. “This was my father’s aircraft. He left it to me when he died.”

“All airships are the property of the Church,” said Argyll, sternly. “Your father, more than anyone, would have been well aware of this.”

“Then why aren’t I under arrest, too?” She stood by Farris’s side. “It was my idea just as much as it was his.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Argyll. “You may pursue the formal appeal process if necessary.” The Silverback looked up at King Diarmuid, who seemed to be having a difficult time exiting the ship.

“Your Highness,” said Argyll, falling to one knee. “The gods are just to keep you in good health after all that has happened. I humbly welcome you to our fair city.”

The sight of Argyll the Silverback kneeling before the king was enough to send Farris’s mind reeling. What manner of trickery is this? Has he really forgotten all that has happened? All that we’ve stood for?

Farris’s gaze fell on the tall poleaxes of the Churchguards. All care for why Argyll was acting so strangely vanished, for Farris had more pressing matters.

One of the guards stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm.

“You are to come with us,” he said, the words barely comprehensible through his gruff voice. “Any action other than this may impact your sentencing.”

Farris swore under his breath. It would have been easy to make a scene, between the dagger up his sleeve and the blades in his boots, but he decided against it.

I’d have a better chance figuring out what’s going on without killing anyone. He let his arm go limp in the Churchguard’s grip.

“Farris, no!” cried Nicole. She made a move as if about to step forward but seemed to reconsider it. “I’ll fix this!”

“Don’t worry about me,” Farris called back as he went. “Just keep the king safe.” Diarmuid had stepped out from the ship now and was frantically taking in his new surroundings. Immediately behind him, Captain Tuathil was stretching his limbs, having spent the majority of the trip folded over himself.

“But don’t concern yourself too much with Padraig,” added Farris. “That fool can look after himself.”

***

Fionn shook his Simian inkpen and tried writing again, but no letters fell onto the page. He gritted his teeth and began shaking it once more. In the back of his mind, Sir Bearach was chuckling softly.

Isn’t this Simian invention supposed to be an improvement on our inkwells and quills? Sir Bearach asked. The young mage ignored him and began scribbling away at the corner of the page once more. At last, the ink trickled forth, and the pen began writing smoothly.

Fionn paused to consider his words for the report. He had fastidiously studied Yarlaith’s notes on Necromancy and compared them to some choice historical texts on the nature of magic, but whatever answer the Silverback seemed to believe he’d find was far out of reach.

Does he think this is like a bard’s tale? thought Fionn. That there’s some long-lost secret to stopping the horde, and all it takes is some reading to uncover it?

Well, said Sir Bearach. You’ve made some progress, at least.

Fionn considered the pages he had written already. It was true. One of the Triad’s scouts who had witnessed the horde first-hand reported that the dead bodies began rising back up to join the others even when the girl, Morrígan, was nowhere to be seen. This observation, when cross-referenced to the account of Callaghan the Black—one of the first Necromancers to be tried and executed in Alabach—alluded to Necromancy having a significant range. It stood to reason, then, that if anyone in the vicinity of a Necromancer was to fall dead, even from natural causes, their soul could still be harvested.

That explains the graves, Fionn recalled, frantically writing as the memory from the day he returned to Roseán resurfaced. She took the dead from their graves, even when buried under the ground long before.

But what of their souls? asked Sir Bearach. Surely the souls of the long dead would already have travelled to the Plains of Tierna Meall.