The others only watched on as the king’s body writhed on the floor for a moment, then went and as still as the stone that surrounded them all.
“See,” whispered Argyll, the bloodied sword still in his hand. “Death comes to us all.”
***
Fionn closed his eyes and braced himself as Morrígan’s dagger came down upon him, but there was no impact. Cautiously, he opened an eye to see she was no longer paying the mage any mind. Instead, faced away from the battle, her focus now directed towards the centre of the city.
“He’s dead,” she whispered, rising to her feet. “The king is dead. The soul of Móráin is….”
She trailed off and closed her eyes. Slowly, she raised both of her hands.
“I can feel his power,” she cried. “I can feel the strength of Móráin. Of Seletoth and Meadhbh, locked in the blood of the fool king. Their strength shall be my own.”
All around her, the wights began collapsing, one by one.
“What’s happening?” said Fionn, struggling to find his feet. The undead now littered the battlefield, unmoving as the dead that accompanied them.
“How?” said Fionn, turning to face Morrígan. “Why—”
But she was gone.
***
“No!”
Padraig Tuathil charged toward Argyll, leaping over the dead king on his way. But before he could reach the Simian, a blinding light burst out from before them.
Farris rubbed his eyes, and blinking frantically, refocused his gaze on the king’s body. However, now there stood a dark figure over the corpse. Padraig stopped, dropping his sword in shock. But Argyll seemed unmoved.
Morrígan stood over Diarmuid’s body. A black cloak of feathers covered her body, each twisted and bent out of shape.
“You!” cried Argyll. With the bloody short sword in his hand, he broke into a sprint towards the girl. “I’ll gut you where you stand! I’ll—”
He slid to a halt as Morrígan turned towards him. With a harrowing laugh, she let the cloak fall from her body. From her back emerged two great wings, black feathers spanning twice the length of her own body.
The power of Móráin. Farris recalled the images of King Móráin’s ascent to godhood before the Simians during the Final Conquest. She’s claimed it for herself.
Padraig had fallen to his knees before the terrible sight, and Nicole took a step closer to Farris.
The Silverback, however, was unmoved.
“Your power does not scare us!” he cried, raising the blade before him. “We Simians are a stronger people than you can imagine! I’ve already killed one god. You don’t know what I’m capable of!”
He leapt forward, but Morrígan did not flinch. She raised a hand and made a dismissive gesture. This knocked Argyll aside with great force. He hit the ground with a crash, his momentum carrying him over the side of the tower into the horde below.
“Argyll!” cried Nicole. She went to run, but Farris grabbed her arm.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, watching Morrígan intently.
Slowly, Morrígan began to rise from the ground, her great wings folding and expanding as she did. With each beat, she soared above them, until she was high enough for the entire city to see her. With one last manic laugh, she took flight, disappearing into the distant darkness.
None responded at first, but Padraig slowly rose to his feet. Silently, he walked past Nicole and Farris, and peered over the edge of the tower, where Argyll had fallen.
“The horde,” he said. “The undead. They’re… dead. Unraised. How?”
Farris stepped forward to look, too. Hundreds upon hundreds of corpses still filled the streets, but none were moving.
“The horde was just a means to an end,” said Farris. “All so she could claim the king’s power for herself. What use is an army, compared to the power of a god?”
Beneath them, ecstatic cries echoed around the city. With each cheer, they grew louder and more elated. Here and there, pieces of song broke out, filling the night with joyful music.
Nicole appeared beside him. “What’s going on?” she said. “Why are they singing? Why are they cheering?”
“Because they think it’s over,” said Farris. “Because they think we’ve won.”
Chapter 31:
The Seeds of Chaos
Farris followed the others through the dark railroad tunnel. The air was warmer than he had anticipated, but every now and then he still shivered, unable to shake the feeling that they never should have come here.
Three days had passed since the Battle of Penance, but the memories of that night still replayed over and over in his mind, as if it had only occurred hours earlier. The image of Diarmuid’s dying expression was still fresh, as was Argyll’s body being thrown from the tower. The Silverback was in the care of the white mages of the Triad, now, but he barely clung to life.
Then there was Garth. Although Farris hadn’t seen him die, leaving his own brother to the mercy of the horde hurt more than the rest of the images combined.
He gently patted the elk on the back. The great beast had managed to survive that terrible night unscathed and seemed almost happy to be reunited with Farris. It hadn’t been difficult to find mounts for the others to take on this journey. There were more than a handful of horses left abandoned in the city after the horde fell.
Nicole rode by Farris’s side. She seemed to be coping with the aftermath better than the others, though it was impossible to tell how she really felt. With a narrowed brow, her focus remained locked forward into the darkness of the tunnel that took them deep beneath the kingdom of Alabach.
