Cries and shouts rose up from the men behind Fionn, some calling for supplies, others calling for help. A few had even begun singing war songs, as if victory were already at hand. But Fionn didn’t turn.

The valley floor before him was littered charred bones and burnt carcasses of birds, but something else stirred the corner of Fionn’s vision. There, in the distance, another cloud was rising from down the valley. But this one came from the ground, like dust kicked up by a thousand marching soldiers.

“They’re coming,” Fionn stammered, taking an involuntary step backwards. “The rest of them are coming.”

Chapter 27:

The Basilica

““As long as I am alive and breathing, as long as I am willing to fight, as long as my choices are mine and mine alone, there will always be hope.”

King Diarmuid, Third of his Name, Nineteenth Incarnate, AC403.

***

Farris balled his hand into a fist, gritting his teeth as nails dug into skin. Hundreds of pounds of pressure seemed to be building up in his skull. He narrowed his eyes and swore under his breath. As useless as he felt before, working by the side of the Silverback, now, imprisoned in the bowels of the Penance Basilica, his worthlessness was even clearer.

He leaned his head against the cold stone wall behind him. This is where I belong. I’m a criminal, not a politician.

The cell was large enough to accommodate two prisoners, but Farris was fortunate that he was alone. He sat on a bench of rotted wood, which doubled as a bed, although he hadn’t slept since being arrested the previous day.

Or was it two days ago? Farris thought. With no windows or natural light, it was difficult to tell.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, coming closer with each step. Farris stood to attention, like he always had whenever the guard approached on his regular patrol.

I won’t let them see me defeated. I won’t let them know they’ve gotten to me.

A Simian of the Churchguard eventually came into view, his brilliant red robes a startling contrast against the dank darkness of the prison cells. He didn’t turn to look at the other prisoners as he passed, and when he was gone, Farris found his gaze land on the cell opposite his. It held a massive Human prisoner. As large as a Simian, a rigid scowl adorned his face, and faded tattoos encircled his eyes.

“What are you looking at, rat?” he growled, leaning forward against the bars, as if to give Farris a full view of his muscular forearms. “You’re lucky these bars are solid steel, otherwise I’d come over and break your spine.”

“Trust me,” said Farris. “I’d consider myself far luckier if there was any way out.”

The other prisoner looked like was about to respond but was cut short when the guard’s footsteps came again. As he went by, Farris returned to his previous stance: tall and proud, as if he wasn’t questioning his motives for even getting involved with the Silverback in the first place.

Did something change? he thought, recalling the way Argyll had spoken to him when the arrest was made. Or was he always like this?

When the guard vanished from sight once more, Farris returned to his seat on the cold, wooden bench.

It was possible, of course, that the Silverback had been hiding his true intentions all this time… but what in Sin’s name could they be? First, he wanted to kill the king, then he agreed with Farris’s assessment that the king could not in fact be killed. That was when they all agreed that poisoning the king and leaving him as the last of the Móráin line would be the next best thing. It would be far better, Argyll had argued, to have one fool of a ruler to manipulate, rather than a dozen lords and reagents acting on behalf of a child king. No, King Diarmuid was the Silverback’s best bet in achieving his goals, and that was the last time he and Farris saw eye to eye.

Farris ignored the burning gaze of the human prisoner across the way. Then what changed since then? Could it have been the Sons of Seletoth?

It was plausible, of course, that Argyll’s involvement with the cult had made him change his mind on the matter of Divine Penetrance. With the Sons believing that King Diarmuid held no real power, and that Seletoth was the One True God, it would make sense that Divine Penetrance would clash with their ideals. And if Argyll had subscribed to those ideals, too, then….

Why do I bother? Farris pulled himself from that trail of thought. I’m no philosopher, nor a politician. I’m in no way equipped to be considering matters like these.

He sighed deeply. It was true, of course, that he had no place in politics. That was a realm far better suited to his brother. Garth was always better at fitting in than Farris was.

Why can’t things be the way they were?When all I had to worry about was the latest Guild job, or escaping the authorities….

He glanced around the cell, at the grubby walls and the rusted bars, and despite everything that had happened, a smile touched his lips.

“What’s so funny?” called the prisoner across the way. “What are you laughing at?”

“Irony,” sighed Farris. He leaned his head against the back wall again.

The old Farris would never had ended up in a cell….

A cry broke out somewhere overhead, causing Farris to jump out from his seat. It was followed by another, then another. Roars and shouts muffled by a hundred feet of solid stone. Farris pressed his ear against the wall. He heard them again, clearer than before, but he couldn’t make out the words.

One thing was evident. These weren’t cries for help, but cries of valour. Of men charging on their enemy. Of battle.

“What’s that?” called the other prisoner. He stammered slightly through the words. “Did… did you hear it?”

“A street fight,” said Farris, though he didn’t believe his own words. “We’re right in the middle of the Dustworks. You know how those gangs can be….”

More sounds of battle echoed through the ceiling, but Farris could do nothing but listen. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what this was. But his logical sense knew it was impossible.

It couldn’t be. The horde was at Cruachan not one day ago… or was it two?

The familiar footsteps of the Churchguard resounded through the corridor, though they seemed to be moving slightly faster than before.

“Hey! You!” called the other prisoner once the guard arrived. “What’s going on up there?”

The Simian guard did not hesitate for a second. “The undead horde,” he said, so calmly that Farris wondered if he even knew what those words meant. “The Triad is fighting them at the gates. They won’t harm us down here.”

“Oh, fuck that!” called Farris. For the first time since he had been put into the cell, the guard turned to look at him. “Do you honestly believe that? All the other Seachtú fell to the horde. What makes Penance any different?”

“It is not my place to question the Triad’s authority,” said the guard, turning again to leave. “And it is certainly not your place to question mine.”

“No!” roared the other prisoner. “You listen to me. I’m not gonna sit on my arse and wait for the dead to come. Open up this damn cage or you’ll regret it!”

The guard simply continued down the hall, as if he didn’t hear the prisoner’s request. But that didn’t stop the Human from shouting obscenities as he walked away.

They’ll never let us out. The dead will come down on top of us, and we’ll be trapped. We don’t stand a chance.

The cacophony of battle overhead grew louder, just as the anxiety ripping through Farris’s body became more intense. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

This can’t be happening. Not now. Not yet. Not when I can’t even fight.

He leapt forward and grabbed the steel bars with both hands. He gripped them and pulled until his knuckles whitened, crying aloud as he did. He knew it was futile, he knew there was no point, but he had to try. Skies above and below, he had to at least try.

But even with all his strength and all his determination, the bars did not budge.

Breathless, and with aching muscles, Farris stepped away from the bars. This is it. There’s nothing left to do….

The Churchguard appeared again, patrolling slowly back down the corridor. Something was different about his expression this time. As if he were no longer the cold-hearted soldier he was a moment ago. As if his mind was no longer in the prison with the others.