“I saw it,” she whispered. “I haven’t spoken to anyone—any Human—since I left. It… it was horrendous.”
Fionn swallowed deeply. Surely Sir Bearach wanted to know more about how his House had fallen, but too direct a question may raise suspicion.
“I used to live in Rosca Umhír,” Fionn lied, not quite sure if this was the correct route of questioning to take. “I believe I recognise you from the court. Lady… Carríga, am I correct?”
She lowered her head, but in a bow or in shame, Fionn couldn’t tell. “Aislinn,” she said, eventually. “Just Aislinn Carríga. I’m no lady. Nor a warrior either.”
“But you are dressed as one,” said Fionn, ignoring the feeling that he was overstepping. “And it seems like your amour has seen a fight or two.”
“I fled,” she said, raising her voice and letting the words echo through the hall. “My father wished to close the gates of the keep when the horde arrived. To keep us safe, he said. But I called him a coward. Gods, from the throne room, I could hear the civilians of the city being butchered. What good is surviving a little longer, I asked, only to die in the end as a coward?”
Fionn had no answer to this. Before he could reply, Aislinn continued. “I donned the armour of my late brother.” She beat a fist against her chest-plate. “And I rode out into the horde. I fought some of the dead off, but they just kept on pouring into the city. I would have fought if I could—the Lady Herself can be my witness on that—but I was overwhelmed. I managed to escape the city, but I was pursued by a group of undead that had broken off from the rest. I ran and I ran, but the dead ones did not give up their chase. By the time I lost them, I had already travelled reached the Clifflands. So, I continued on to Penance. To see my last living relative.”
Fionn remained silent after she finished her tale, then shook himself from the stupor it left him in. From Rosca Umhír to Penance. That’s almost two hundred miles.
“Lady Carríga,” called a voice. The Simian from before had emerged from the clinic, although Fionn hadn’t even heard the door open. “You may see your brother now.”
“Will you join me?” said Aislinn, fumbling her hands as she spoke. “I never got your name.”
“Fionn,” said the mage. “I’ll join if my lady wishes it so.”
As they stepped into the clinic, Fionn’s attention was immediately drawn to the resting body of Cathal Carríga, the Human representative of the Triad. Since Fionn had last visited, Cathal’s state had deteriorated significantly. The thin tubes were still bound to his veins, but the man’s complexion now resembled yellowed parchment. His cheekbones were protruding so much, it seemed as if they threatened to cut his skin. Indeed, the entirety of Cathal’s skin was only barely bound to his face. Despite his decrepit state, the young man was still breathing. An aged female healer stood to the side with her arms folded, clearly unhappy with the unexpected visitors.
“Cathal,” whispered Aislinn. She went beside the bed and fell to one knee. “Cathal, it’s me. It’s Ash. Can you hear me?”
The man gave no reply. Two hollow eyes stared up at the ceiling, unblinking, but they did not turn to look at his sister as she spoke.
“Bearach is dead,” she said, trembling now. “Father and Mother too. The horde has taken Rosca Umhír, and they say the rest of the kingdom will fall soon. We’re all that’s left.”
She took one of Cathal’s hands in hers and placed a small kiss upon it. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, sobbing softly to herself.
Bearach, said Fionn. Are you sure you don’t want me to tell her?
No, whispered the knight. But even from that single word, Fionn heard Sir Bearach’s voice crack with grief.
Aislinn stood slowly, towering over Fionn and the old healer. She turned to the woman and gazed down at her like a judgemental father, or Lord Seletoth Himself.
“I was told he was alive,” said Aislinn. “Have you forgotten your trade?”
“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.”
