Garth cleared his throat. “We hypothesise that Morrígan killed her uncle on hearing that he would not be continuing his research and finished the work herself. This would put her at the head of the horde, while leaving Yarlaith’s corpse in the caves.”
The Silverback turned to Fionn. “As a master or arcane knowledge,” he said, “what do you suppose he meant by ‘the true Nature of Necromancy’?”
Fionn’s gaze fell to the floor. “I suppose nothing. I know for sure what he meant.”
He stood from the seat, holding out his oversized arm to the others. “This is the arm of the late Sir Bearach Carríga of Ard Sidh. Last year, after traversing through the Glenn, we were pursued and attacked by a troll. I lost my arm in the struggle, but Sir Bearach lost his life. Yarlaith of Roseán was able to remove this arm from Bearach’s corpse and attach it to my body.”
This was met with audible gasps scattered across the room. Farris shuddered at the thought.
Of course.The troll tore his arm off. Even the sound of the tearing flesh was fresh in Farris’s ears.
“But there is more,” continued Fionn. “Ever since that day, my magic has been stronger than it has ever been before. For the soul of one dead man has been bound to my own, and the soul is the fuel for magic. I have since learned that the Church has outlawed all practise of magic on corpses for this very reason. If one mage discovered how to harness the soul of another, for their own power, the outcome would be devastating.”
A torrent of whispers ripped through the room. Farris recalled his experiences with Sir Bearach. Sure, he had been a typical high-born Human, condescending to the point of arrogance, but when the time called for it, he fought with courage and put the well-being of others before himself. To imagine his soul being used now as fuel for a mage was… unsettling.
“I believe your tale,” came a voice from across the room. It belonged to a Simian, leaner than most who accompanied him. His cheeks were gaunt, and his complexion pale beneath lightly coloured hair. When he spoke, his voice quivered through the words, but he did not seem afraid. From the stern stare of his eyes to the blank expression on his face, it seemed like nothing could rattle this scout.
“I believe you,” he repeated. “As I have seen her power first-hand.” He turned to the Silverback. “But I must report that Dromán has fallen.”
“No!”
Cries of fear and outrage met this revelation, but none seemed as disturbed by the news as Fionn was. The young mage collapsed back into his chair and buried his face in his hands.
The Academy of Dromán was his home….
“This news was not expected,” said the Silverback, showing no remorse as usual. “How could so many mages fail to fight the dead?”
“It is true,” said the Simian scout. “I saw the battle from afar with my own eyes. The horde poured through the woods, rolling towards the city gates like an unstoppable tide. The Pyromancers on the walls lit up the sky with their fire, and for a moment I believed this alone would be enough to throw the dead back into their graves, but it was not. As the flames fell, something else seemed to take hold of them. The next thing I knew, they were directed back at the city walls, and the Pyromancers burned to their own fire.”
“So, there were red mages amongst the horde?” asked Garth.
“No,” said the scout. “The flames of a hundred Pyromancers were being manipulated by one individual at the head of the horde. This girl. Morrígan.”
Gasps rippled through the room in response. Argyll turned towards Fionn. “One mage fighting back the flames against a hundred Pyromancers. Is this possible?”
Fionn nodded slowly. “If she wields the souls of each corpse in the horde as if they were her own, then yes.”
Silence fell on the hall.
“That is not all,” continued the scout. “The walls of Dromán were torn from their foundations before the horde arrived. I watched the Academy building itself crumble before a single invader was inside the city. It seems she has full command over more than one School of Magic.”
“And she’s even more powerful now,” muttered Fionn through his fingers. “If Dromán has truly fallen, then over a thousand mages have joined the horde too. Their souls have joined hers.”
Nicole sat with her hand over her mouth. She didn’t seem to have moved at all throughout the meeting. Ruairí’s head nodded left and right, as if he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t happening. His lips were moving, too, perhaps in silent prayer.
Pray to your god. But I doubt it’ll help. How could a god compete with power like this?
“Have you any more news, scout?” asked the Silverback. “If there are more ill tidings, don’t leave us in the dark.”
“No more than this,” said the scout. “The horde is heading south towards the capital. It should have reached the king’s walls by now.”
“Well, let them be King Diarmuid’s problem then,” said Garth. “The further south they march, the safer we are up here.”
“Aye, aye,” called a few scattered voices.
“Wait,” said Fionn. “If she already commands the power of every mage in Dromán, what could she possibly hope to gain by laying siege to Cruachan?”
None answered straight away. Farris could have bet that it was because none there cared why. Still, it was a question worth considering.
What power lies in Cruachan that could not be found in Dromán….
“No!”
Everyone turned to face Farris for the first time during this meeting.
“Is something the matter?” asked the Silverback.
“I know what she wants in Cruachan,” said Farris. “The king’s soul. He’s one of the Trinity, after all. And that, along with Divine Penetrance means—”
“By Sin’s stones, Farris,” swore the Silverback. “Do you still wish to belabour this point, after all this time?”
“You don’t believe me?” asked Farris. He tried hard to keep his voice from raising. “Skies above, Argyll, I’ve spent three years living by King Diarmuid’s side. I’ve collected enough proof that Divine Penetrance exists to convince even the most hardened sceptics.”
“Divine Penetrance is a myth,” said Ruairí. “Even the Church says that the king does not possess immortality, and neither did those that came before him. Even the notion that the power of Seletoth can be passed on is—”
“Leave your faith out of this,” spat Farris, pointing a trembling finger toward the Human. “Of the nineteen kings that came before Diarmuid, none died before birthing a son. I never did believe in the gods, or Seletoth, or any of that shit, but there’s so much evidence! The capital’s archives are full of accounts of young princes being mortally injured, only to recover miraculously afterwards. If Divine Penetrance manifests in the soul of King Diarmuid, and Morrígan plans to take hold if it, then—”
“Then it will still not be our problem!” The Silverback stood now, trembling with rage. “If the capital falls, it falls. We will tend to our own needs as they arise. And that’s all that will be spoken on the matter. Now, if there is nothing more to be said about the horde itself, you may leave.”
