The door swung open, revealing racks upon racks of armour, chainmail and plates. Rows of heavy boots were arranged neatly on the floor, with all sorts of weapons hanging overhead, from polearms to daggers.
“Arm yourselves,” said the guard, stepping aside to let the prisoners through. He said some more words after this, but the sound of his voice was drowned out by the clamour of excitement that came with a dozen convicts looting the Basilica armoury.
Farris began assessing the armour. He took down a vest of chainmail that seemed large enough to be worn by a Simian and pulled it over his head. He shivered as the cold steel links grazed past his bare torso. It was a little tight around the chest, and the hood wasn’t quite large enough to pull over his head, but it was well-suited otherwise.
Adjacent to the armour, Farris found a pair of short-swords, and a belt with two sheaths crossed over the back. Farris tried the belt on and found it fit perfectly around his waist. The two short swords slotted neatly into the sheaths, but Farris found it strange to wear a weapon on his back, of all places. He pulled on a pair of chainmail leggings, too, but decided against wearing boots. The soles of his feet were well conditioned against the stone roads of Penance, and ill-fitting boots would only slow him down.
“Sin’s Stones! What’s going on here?”
A rough voice cut through the excitement, and all those present immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to face the door. There stood three more Churchguards, all Simians, with three gold-tipped spears pointing forward.
“They’re with me,” said the guard from the cells. He pushed through the prisoners to face his brothers. “We’re not going to sit here while the city falls. We’re going out to fight.”
“Ned! Have you lost your damn mind?” said one of the others. “This is treason. The Arch-Canon will have you hanged as a deserter!”
“The Arch-Canon can fuck himself,” said Ned. “If we survive this night, I’ll gladly present my neck to the hangman in the morning.”
“You’re serious…” said one of the guards. “Gods, you’re really going through with this.”
“Gods?” he spat. “We’ve all made oaths to the Trinity for the sake of this job, but don’t go pretending you really believe them.”
He took a step back and gestured to the others. “We’re going out to fight, and you’re perfectly free to stop us. Help us fight for our home, rather than for the cardinals who’ve come in and built this monstrosity on our doorstep. They’ve never bothered themselves before with the well-being of our people, and as sure as Sin they’ll happily lock themselves up while the dead overrun Penance. If you want to go join them, I won’t stop you.”
Ned turned without waiting for a response and marched on through the armoury. The other prisoners took this as their cue to leave and followed the Simian across the room. Some had taken more than their fair share of equipment, but Farris paid them little mind. A deficit in inventory would be the least of the Church’s worries after this night.
By the time Ned had the door on the far end of the armoury open, Farris noticed that the three other guards had vanished.
“You think they’d really go to the Arch-Canon about this?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if they did,” said Ned. He opened the door to a spiral staircase twisting upwards. “As long as the gates are open, we’ll be out before they can raise the alarm.”
Gates, thought Farris, swearing under his breath. All of this could be for nothing if we can’t leave….
They made their way up the thin staircase, with Ned and Farris both taking two at a time. The other prisoners were talking amongst themselves as they went, though Farris couldn’t quite gauge what they were saying.
Eventually, the stairway ended with another locked door. Opening this revealed a wide courtyard, with the faint blur of red flames against the dark city skyline beyond.
Farris stepped out into the open air and took a deep breath. The scent of charred wood was clearer now, as was the faint stench of something Farris couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Burning flesh,” said one of the prisoners. “I’d recognise that smell anywhere.”
“Let’s go!” cried Ned. He strode out across the open courtyard, towards the massive Basilica walls beyond. To Farris’s horror, the gates were indeed closed. He jogged on ahead to catch up with Ned.
“Will this be a problem?”
Ned sighed. “There’s a mechanism to open them in one of the adjacent watch-towers.” He pointed. “If they’re heavily guarded, we’ll be in trouble.”
They carried onwards, past a great golden fountain in the centre of the courtyard. Water trickled from three statues, built in the likeness of the Trinity, and splashed gently into a wide pool below. As its centrepiece, Lord Seletoth looked out into the city, his stern face half-hidden beneath a thick stone beard. The great domed House of the Basilica loomed overhead on the far side of the courtyard.
“I grew up right outside these gates,” said Farris, keeping close to Ned. “But I never once saw what was contained within them.”
“Do they meet your expectations?”
Farris smiled. “I was told the whole courtyard was paved with silver, with the statues of the fountain made from solid diamonds, spilling forth molten gold into its basin.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.”
As they reached the gate, a voice called out into the night. Farris turned, assuming it was one of the prisoners, but what he saw caused the last of his courage to abandon him.
A crowd of Churchguards marched across the courtyard, five dozen in their ranks. At the front, Farris recognised the three other guards from earlier.
“A fight?” roared one of the prisoners. He batted two hand-axes together. “I can handle that!”
“There’s too many,” said another. “This was a mistake; I knew this was a mistake!”
“They’re not charging,” said Ned. “If they wanted a fight, they’d be charging.”
Farris pulled the two short-swords from his belt. “Well, we’ll be prepared either way.”
Once they approached, the column of Churchguards paused. A Simian guard stepped out from the ranks. Gold medals and emblems lined his collar, and his robes were even more extravagant than the others.
“Spearman Edward,” he said. “Your brothers have brought it to my attention that you plan on abandoning your post to join the Triad in their fight against the undead. Is this true?”
“It is true,” said Barrett. “Have you come to arrest me and present me to the Arch-Canon?”
“No. We have come to join you, Arch-Canon be damned.” He raised a hand to his mouth and roared “Gates!” up to the watchtower.
The prisoners cheered as the great Basilica portcullis creaked open. The Churchguards raised their weapons and joined the cacophony. For a moment, Farris felt that they actually stood a chance against the horde. That they may see the night through to the dawn.
But then the gates opened. Buildings burned with fires of red and blue all around, and scattered soldiers ran back and forth across the blood-stained cobblestones. A terrified cry rang somewhere nearby, cut short by a sickening crack.
With roar, the prisoners and the Churchguards charged into that Holy Hell. And Farris followed.
Chapter 28:
Those Who Fight
It’s been past an hour now since the soldiers ordered us all to sit and wait in the House of the Triad. Some of the Humans have taken to praying, but all I can do is write, and hope my words eventually find you. Those who are in charge are telling us little about what’s going on outside, but I can tell from their demeanour that things are not going well. I’ve heard a few cries and shouts, but the fighting still seems to be kept away from the Shadow of Sin. As much as I hate to admit, I’m tempted to join the Humans in their prayers that the dead stay away for a little longer.
Unfinished letter found in the House of the Triad, Penance, AC404.
***
Volleys of arrows shot through the air, filling the night’s sky with their burning tips. The roared commands of captains and lieutenants rang out all across the Gold Gate, and the archers continued to notch and loose without hesitation. But none of these seemed to slow the approaching horde, charging through the valley.
Fionn flicked his wrist, pulling a ball of fire from the spark his rings produced. He idly moulded the fire between his fingertips, keeping his eyes locked on the coming army.
How can we stop them? He turned back to gauge the number of soldiers stationed behind him. We’re running out of time.
