Armed guards ran past in the opposite direction, towards the main door. There, the other guards pressed their bodies against it, fighting back the force that thundered against its wood.
“This way,” said Nicole, leading them away from the hall and down a dark corridor. Empty studies rushed past them as they went, along with portraits and busts of those who had served on the Triad in the past. Eventually they came to a door with a small window in its frame.
“It’s clear,” said Nicole, peering out through the window. She pulled across the various bolts and locks that held it shut. Once unlocked, Nicole swung the door open, revealing the great Tower of Sin, piercing an empty sky over vacant streets.
“Come on,” urged Nicole, leading them out. Farris hastily glanced up and down the road as they went, half expecting the horde to turn the corner at any minute.
When they reached the tower, yet another locked door greeted them. Before Farris could try to consider what action they should take to get through it, Padraig Tuathil stepped forward.
“Your king demands entry!” he boomed, though Diarmuid didn’t look like he was in a state to demand anything. “To deny him is to commit treason!”
The door immediately swung open, and the Simian guard behind it bowed aside to let them pass.
Like the House of the Triad, the hundreds of civilians from the city sought refuge in Sin. Except this time, they all looked on expectantly as King Diarmuid crossed the floor.
“Long live the king!” cried a single voice from amongst the crowd. “He walks in the Light of the Lady!”
“Glory to the Crown!” called another. “Blessed be His holy name!”
A buzz of excitement ran through them, though it seemed to dissipate slightly once they reached the stairs. Farris kept his gaze away from the crowd.
They must know. They must know he’s here to leave them.
The hushed whispers of the townsfolk died as Farris and the others ascended the winding stairway of the broken tower. Eventually they came to the top, where more than a dozen airships hung silently along the tower’s edge. Amongst them was Skirmisher, just as slight and elegant as ever.
“I’ll get her ready,” Nicole called, running ahead. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but she’ll be strong enough to hold us all.”
The Silverback walked to the edge of the tower. The Shadow of Sin district remained empty, but the cries of battle from the north echoed through the night.
“We were lucky to escape,” Farris said, hoping to fill the silence that hung over them. “Maybe we walk in the Light of the Lady after all.”
“No,” said King Diarmuid. “The Light has forsaken us, for we have strayed far from the path She set out before us.”
“What do you mean?” Farris asked. Even Diarmuid’s ramblings would be helpful in taking his attention away from the fighting. From all the people they would leave behind.
“No, I cannot say. I cannot!” said the king. “My actions have already caused enough damage. I must not speak of it any further!”
Argyll turned around, abruptly. “What actions do you speak of?”
The king threw the Silverback a terrible glance, with something between sorrow and regret in his eyes.
“I blamed you. I… I’m just as responsible for this as the Godslayer herself. For I thought She was speaking about you….”
Argyll adapted a stance more defiant than ever. “You better start making sense, or we’ll leave you to the undead. Is this about Santos’s death?”
Nicole appeared by Argyll’s side, the engine of Skirmisher rattling loudly behind her. “My father’s death? What are you talking about?”
Padraig placed a hand on his sheathed sword. “His Grace’s mind has been fragile ever since the horde came to Cruachan. It will do no good to interrogate him in this state.”
“No,” said Argyll. “He’ll speak now. His actions almost threw the kingdom into civil war. He owes it to us to tell the truth.”
“P-please,” stammered the king. “I can’t, I…” He closed his eyes. “I saw it!” he shouted. “We were inspecting the railway tunnel, and Lady Meadhbh appeared before us. She murdered Santos and my men. Then She showed me the horde, and I saw how they would march across the kingdom, consuming all they come upon.”
Unmoved, Argyll asked, “What does this have to do with me?”
King Diarmuid shook his head. “She said they would be led by one named ‘the Godslayer.’ I thought… I thought it was you. So, I blamed Santos’s death on the Simian dissidents, in order to prevent the future She showed me. But it was those very actions that brought this upon us. It was my own hubris, my own conviction that I could turn the tides of fate that thrust my kingdom into turmoil.”
Something brushed past from behind Farris. He instinctively brought a hand to the two short swords held at the small of his back, but his fingers only found one.
The other was held by Argyll, who grabbed Diarmuid, pressing the steel against his neck.
Padraig was the first to respond. He unsheathed his sword, but stopped once he saw the position Argyll held his king in.
“Drop your weapon!” commanded Padraig. “In the name of the King, I command you to stand down!”
“Do it,” whispered Diarmuid. “None of this was supposed to happen. I was supposed to die in Cruachan. We are too far from the Lady’s Light. A quick death would be a mercy compared to life in this doomed world.”
“Argyll, stop!” pleaded Nicole. “This is madness!”
“You heard him,” rasped Argyll. “He lied about your father’s death. He used it as a political gambit against the Movement. He deserves far more than death!”
A terrible cry cut through the tension, and a harrowing fear came over Farris once more. Leaving the others, he ran to the edge of the tower to see the undead horde, in all its might, pressing against Sin’s walls.
“The undead,” he cried. “They’re here! We must leave, now!”
Argyll turned to Farris. “You claimed the king was invincible. You said he cannot be killed.”
With that, he pulled the blade across Diarmuid’s neck, and a crimson stream of blood followed it. Argyll let his grip loosen, and the king fell to the ground, grasping and spluttering at his neck.
