“No, my lady,” said the healer. Although her hands were trembling, there was strength in her voice. “He still breathes, and there is life in him yet. We are trying all we can to kill off the tumours, but every day they grow as he weakens.”
“So, there is a chance he may never recover?”
“There is no chance, my lady. I am certain of that. The Simians are treating them with their own chemistry, rather than my alchemy, and it is keeping him alive. Though only barely.”
“He was a warrior,” said Aislinn. “He deserves a death on the battlefield, with pride and glory. Not to waste away in bed like this.”
“I understand. But I took an oath to help the sick and wounded through whatever ailment may take them.”
“I know of this oath,” interjected Fionn. “It was written long before the Fall of Sin. If this kind of medical intervention existed back then, I doubt the oath would have taken the same form it does today.”
“End his suffering,” pleaded Aislinn. “Surely you can see that it’s the right thing to do. What kind of life is this?”
“I understand,” said the healer. “I will not stop caring for him, but perhaps the Simians can be convinced to forgo his treatment.”
“Then who should I speak to?”
“Argyll the Silverback,” whispered the healer, as if she was afraid the Simian himself would hear. “But he is not one to be easily swayed.”
“I’ll meet this Silverback, then.” Aislinn straightened the chainmail beneath her armour. “As sure as the horde still marches, I’ll convince him.”
Chapter 25:
When the Time Comes
Farris,
I have reviewed the documents you claim support the concept of Divine Penetrance, and I am convinced by your arguments. Instead of attempting to assassinate the unkillable king, we have devised another method for controlling the Crown. Enclosed with this package is a bottle of thainol, fresh from Penance’s finest distillery. Present this as a gift to Diarmuid. His people will taste and test it for poison, of which they will find none. Continue to present gifts like this during your stay in the capital, until you gain the king’s trust. Our chemists here in Penance have devised a compound to cause infertility in any man who ingests it. When the time is right, we will send a ‘special reserve’ of thainol to be given to the king. If King Diarmuid cannot be removed from his post, we can at least ensure that Alabach sees no monarch more capable than this drunken fool.
Coded message sent from Argyll the Silverback to Farris Silvertongue in AC403.
***
Fionn tentatively pushed open the door to the Triad meeting room. Its massive wooden body swung silently on its iron hinges—something he was all the more glad for, considering the Silverback and his men seemed to be deep in discussion. Fionn stepped into the room, followed closely by Aislinn Carríga. The woman seemed far more lady-like now, dressed in flowing skirts instead of battered armour. A yellow ribbon held up her dark hair, which seemed to be especially clean and smooth after having spent half a week buried beneath a half-helm. Although the inns and taverns of the city were overflowing with refugees from the south, Fionn had managed to arrange temporary living quarters for Aislinn in the House of the Triad. For this she had been very grateful but insisted that they visit the Silverback at the break of dawn.
The sun’s morning rays filled the meeting room as Fionn and Aislinn made their way across the carpeted floors. The Silverback barely turned his head when they arrived, but the others seemed a little more anxious when the young mage approached the oaken table.
“Don’t mind him,” said the Silverback, his eyes glued to the map of Penance spread out on the table. “We may make use of his powers when the time comes.”
“If it comes,” corrected Garth. The Simian stood with his arms folded, eyeing Fionn with a narrowed gaze. “We have no reason to believe the horde will ever come this far north.”
“Yet you never objected to arranging this plan,” said Nicole. “There must be some fear in that barely beating heart of yours.”
Garth snorted and leaned forward toward the map, placing both hands flat on the table. “So, dividing our forces in three should be enough?”
“Yes,” said Ruairí, the only other Human present, bar Fionn and Aislinn. As always, he stood separate from the Simians. The pendant around Ruairí’s neck marked him as one of the Sons of Seletoth, but why someone as staunchly atheistic as the Silverback would associate with someone from that cult, Fionn never knew.
“My men will take up arms at the Dust Gate,” continued Ruairí. “Our numbers alone will be enough to hold up against a force of any size. Nicole will take seven of the Reapers to the Salt Gate.” The Human threw Garth a quick glance. “I assume you’ll be accompanying her there?”
Reapers? thought Fionn, watching as Garth nodded silently. What in Meadhbh’s name is a Reaper?
“That leaves the Gold Gate,” said the Silverback. “The remaining Reapers will accompany the bulk of the Triad’s army there. The geography of the Northern Reach will filter any forces to any one of these three sites, and we must be able to shift accordingly. Our mounted scouts will keep up constant surveillance over the outskirts of the city, giving us room to adjust.”
Satisfied, the Silverback looked to Fionn for the first time. “Fionn, will you be willing to join the Triad’s soldiers at the Gold Gate?”
Fionn almost stepped back in response to the question. Me? Fighting the dead? On the front line?
You have nothing to worry about, whispered Sir Bearach. You duelled a Firemaster and lived to tell the tale. A handful of corpses is nothing for you to fear.
But I’m no Battlemage. I’ve never learned to fight before.
True, said Sir Bearach. But you may very well be the last mage in Alabach. What a shame it would be for the most powerful man in Penance to not be able to help us!
“I…” Fionn stammered aloud. The most powerful man in Penance? “I’ll do it. I’ll fight when the time comes.”
“If,” corrected Garth again, one hand pressed against the map. “The horde is still ravaging the capital, last we heard.”
“Thank you, Fionn,” said the Silverback, making it clear he was ignoring Garth’s interjection. “If we survive this, the kingdom will thank you.”
“I’ll fight, too,” said Aislinn, stepping forward. She raised her chin, revealing cuts and scars across the bottom of her jaw. She seemed to open her shoulders even wider, amplifying the presence her massive frame already granted her. Her voice boomed with pride. “I have faced the horde before, and I will not baulk when the time comes again.”
The Silverback raised a single eyebrow. “My lady,” he said, bowing ever so slightly. “We have not yet been introduced.”
“My name is Aislinn Carríga,” she said. “And I have been trained by the best swordsmen of Rosca Umhír. I escaped and fought the dead myself when Keep Carríga was overwhelmed. Although I am a stranger to this city, I will gladly give my life to help defend its citizens against this enemy.”
“Its citizens shall live to thank you,” said the Silverback. Across the table, Garth stared with an open mouth and wide eyes, as if he had never seen a woman before.
He’s never seen one quite like Ash, that’s for sure, said Sir Bearach.
“I ask but one thing in return,” said Aislinn, bowing her head before the Silverback. “My brother, Cathal Carríga, was once a ruler of this city, yet today he lies wasting away slowly to an illness he shall never recover from. All I ask is to give him the gift of mercy. A man as strong as my brother does not deserve to waste away into nothingness, without dignity.”
The Silverback did not respond straight away, but Fionn knew that beneath that strong brow and that stoic stare, the Simian was deep in thought, quickly and rationally considering the implications of this request.
“I will speak to the healers,” he said. “It is not up to them to deliver death where there is life, but as Cathal’s next of kin, they may make an exception for you.”
“Thank you,” said Aislinn. “House Carríga will not forget this.”
House Carríga is dead, moaned Sir Bearach at the back of Fionn’s mind. How does she not realise this?
I’m sure she does, replied Fionn. Perhaps it gives her courage to believe the house still stands. Perhaps her name is all she has left to fight for.
The doors to the meeting room burst open, and two Humans entered. The first strode in with his head held high. Middle-aged, the man wore a broad chest-plate, yet it shimmered like one that had never seen battle. Insignias decorated his breast, but Fionn could not decipher their meaning.
City Guard of Cruachan, Sir Bearach noted. This one is a captain.
But what of the other? replied Fionn.
The second man did not walk with the same strength as the first. In tattered clothes that may have once been considered finery, he limped across the room, dragging his feet behind him. Dreary, bloodshot eyes stared blankly from a chubby unshaven face, pale with sickly skin. Whereas some men appeared ill when lacking sleep, this one looked like he had never known rest his entire life.
