“Scout, can you hear me?” asked Farris, reaching to catch the fallen figure in his hands. The Simian scout pushed his weight against Farris, who gently let him down to the ground. His armour was stained deeply with blood, pouring out from a wound beneath his armpit.
“Too late for me,” coughed the scout, his dark, bloodied lips all that was visible beneath his helm. “Still time to help, the others….”
“What happened?” asked Farris, ignoring the crowd of prisoners and Churchguards that had surrounded him. “What news from the other gates?”
“Commander Plackart sounded the retreat at the Gold Gate,” he rasped. “There’s still hope for them, but….”
He coughed again, its sound more like a wheeze than before.
“But the Salt Gate,” he continued. “They won’t last. Trolls. Mountain trolls from the Glenn are on the way to break through the walls. Like siege engines.”
An audible gasp rose up, but Farris didn’t respond.
“How are the defences there?” he asked. “Is there any chance of fighting them off?”
“R-Reapers,” said the scout. “Most of the Reapers are still there. Some other scouts, too.”
Garth. He could very well be there….
“Nicole!” said Farris, abruptly. “Is Nicole there?”
The scout hesitated for a moment. “The engineer? She is, aye. They must be warned. They—”
The scout trailed off with another salvo of sputtering coughs, then went silent. Farris swore under his breath and placed the Simian gently on the ground.
“Mountain trolls?” cried one of the prisoners. “I’ve seen one tear through solid rock before. The walls will never hold. They won’t—”
“What good is this victory?” cried another. “What use is it to take back one gate, when the other two are about to fall?”
“What else can we do?” asked a Churchguard. “We stay here and guard this gate. We’ve won it back, we may as well hold it.”
“No,” said Farris. “If the other gates don’t hold, it won’t matter how well we guard this one. We’d be surrounded.”
“So what are you going to do?” asked Ned.
Farris moved towards the elk and patted it on the head. The beast responded well, nodding and taking a stance of submission before Farris.
It’s well trained, thought Farris, stepping to the beast’s side and reaching up for its saddle. The sheer size of an elk meant that only Simians could ride them, but that didn’t necessarily make it easier for Farris to climb atop of it. Rather clumsily, he threw his other leg over the saddle, facing forward to see the rest of the host. Some of the Sons of Seletoth had joined the crowd, too, craning their necks up to get a better view.
Farris nudged the elk forward slightly, holding on tightly to its reigns. It responded without hesitation, taking several steps to stand amongst the crowd.
Just like riding a horse. Farris reached down and took a huge halberd bound to the elk’s saddle into his own hands. He only had minimal practice riding horses, but he thought it best not to show his inexperience.
“I am going to ride out to the Saltgate,” he shouted, his booming voice causing the elk to stir beneath him. “There are mountain trolls headed towards our allies there, and they must be warned. If I am too late, then they must be helped. I am not asking you to follow me....”
He swallowed deeply and closed his eyes. Sins stones, what am I doing?
“Because I am not a leader,” he said. “I’m a criminal. I was arrested for theft and was held in the Basilica prison not two hours ago. I do not know how to lead, but I know how to fight. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters right now.”
He lowered his gaze and gritted his teeth.
“If anyone wishes to fight,” he continued. “You will not be following me but joining me as an equal. Churchguards, where was the Arch-Canon when the horde approached? Why is it that you left him in the Basilica to come fight the undead yourselves?”
A mutter ran through the soldiers, but Farris pressed on.
“Because this is not his fight. This is your fight, for your city! If you come with me, you won’t be fighting for king, or country, or for the Lord, but for Mankind. For Simiankind. For life in the face of death. Our brothers and sisters, friends and relatives, are already giving their lives to save this city. Some already have. Do you want their sacrifices to be made in vain? Do you want the rest of our city’s citizens to join them?”
“No,” came a voice from the crowd. “But what hope have we got? We should stay here and guard the gate.”
“Don’t worry about the gate,” chimed in Ruairí. He gave Farris a knowing nod. “The Silverback’s plan was to spread our resources across the city as needs be. I’ll stay here with the Sons.”
Farris suppressed a smile and fought the urge to thank Ruairí there and then.
“This gate will hold now,” continued Farris. “But the Saltgate will not. Not unless we help. You are all free men now. Some once imprisoned by the Church, others bound to their posts out of necessity. But now those shackles have been cast off. We are all equals in the face of death.”
Farris raised the elk’s reigns and turned the beast to face away from the Dustgate, northwards, towards the Saltworks. Towards Garth and Nicole.
“I’m riding out to meet the horde,” Farris called behind him. He raised the halberd over his head. “Even if I must go alone, I will. You are free to join me, or free to stay. So, on your first night unbound by the Church, what will your choice be?”
Farris kicked the elk and the beast sprang into a sprint. He held the reigns tightly in one hand, lowering the halberd with the other. Careful to maintain his balance on the beast, Farris stole a quick peek under his arm. A great host of free men and Simians followed behind.
Chapter 29:
Those We Fight For
This may very well be my final entry. Although, the weight of this statement is diminished by the fact I said the very same the night the horde came to Cruachan. But here, in the Simian City of Steam, I face the same threat once more. The dead have reached the city walls, but this time I am not on the frontline. My place is beside my king. Diarmuid still doesn’t seem to have recovered from the fall of his capital, as even now he continues to babble beneath a thick haze of thainol. He offered me a glass, but I refused. Even the scent of the Simian drink brings back too many memories of that fateful night. The fires. The screams. Aideen….
I may have failed the ones I fought for back in Cruachan, but not tonight. Even if the dead storm the House of the Triad, I will stand my ground defending the king. Even if it means ultimately joining the horde myself.
- Diary of Padraig Tuathil, Captain of the Cruachan City Guard. AC404.
***
Fionn rolled as he hit the ground, the fires of his soul raging as bright as the flames that surrounded him. He jumped to his feet quickly, ignoring the dull ache that gripped his knees.
He stood with his back to the Steamgate and pulled the flames in toward his hands. A sea of black bodies waited before him, though none seemed to pay the young mage much mind. Some soldiers of the Triad still fought on in the depths of the horde, but with many of the wights now bearing the crests and armour of Penance’s army, it was difficult to distinguish the living from the dead.
Fionn focused on the rising slopes of the valley beyond the horde. If the gods were good, Aislinn and the other survivors would still be making their last stand there, even if Fionn couldn’t see them from where he stood.
Two skeletal soldiers broke away from the fighting to charge towards him, shields and swords grasped in hands of rotting bone. Fionn raised a burning fist before him, and with a tiny flare of his soul, the flames shot forward to consume the wights.
You can’t take all of them, lad! roared Sir Bearach. You’ll burn yourself out. They’ll swarm over and swallow you up. You can’t—
Ignoring the voice of the dead knight, Fionn clicked his flint-rings together, creating another spark. From this, Fionn conjured two streams of fire, and sent them out against the bulk of the horde.
The last battlemage, he thought, fanning the power of his soul to extend the flames out across the horde. I’m the only hope they have.
More wights broke away from their ranks, as if only realising now that this young lad was a threat. A living Simian soldier dropped his weapon in shock as the wight he had been locked in combat with turned away to fight the lone mage.
