Either we starve our civilians or starve our soldiers….
No, he couldn’t ask a thousand men to march without food. The cause that brought them south was more important than anything else.
The difference between what’s right, and what must be done, echoed the words of Arch-Canon Cathbad. Farris shook his head.
No. I will not let anyone starve. There must be another way. There must be.
“For those of us flying to Dromán,” said Fionn. “Could we rely on the land there for food? Hunting and foraging at the like?”
“That would be a risk in itself,” said Plackart. “We have no idea what state the Godslayer left the Hazelwood in. And besides, we’ve two hundred horses and elk to feed too. Grazing will only get them so far.”
Fionn had a response to this, but Farris’s attention waned, and he did not hear it. For a growing fear began burning in his chest.
The people will have to starve. We’ll have to leave them in the cold to freeze and to starve.
He closed his eyes.
There must be another solution. Why go through all this effort to save the people of Penance one day to just leave them to die the next?
“No army can march without a supply-line,” said Plackart. He didn’t add to that or provide any solution, much to Fionn’s visible frustration.
“The undead horde did,” said Aislinn, smiling weakly. “Morrígan didn’t have to worry about logistics like this.”
Farris widened his eyes as an idea formed.
“That’s it,” he said, standing up. All eyes turned to him. “The army of the Triad will march south, and Penance’s granaries will remain untouched, as they are.”
“Are you mad?” said Placket. “Did you not hear what I said?”
“I did not,” said Farris, “I was listening to Aislinn.” He cleared his throat, letting the silence of the room hang for a moment, just to ensure everyone was listening. “Throughout the history of Alabach, armies have pillaged settlements they set upon for the purpose of replenishing their supplies. Food stores, weapons caches, gold… but the undead horde were different. As they marched across the land and razed cities, all they sought were corpses. Corpses to add to their numbers. They had no need for food or fresh water.
“Taking this into account, we can therefore assume that, although the settlements of the Seachtú lie in ruin, they should still have ample supplies to accommodate our needs.”
He turned to Plackart. “Heading towards Dromán, the first major settlement is Point Grey. We can send scouts in there to assess the situation and bring our empty supply caravans in if it’s both safe and beneficial to do so.”
Plackart nodded. That was all Farris needed.
“But what about these looters?” said Wheaton. “Can’t anything be done to stop them?”
“If we see that Penance’s remaining supplies are fairly distributed,” said Ruairí, “the need to commit crime will be deterred. At least temporarily. I can stay and see that it’s done.”
None had any immediate objection to this, so Farris spoke before any could think of one. “Then it’s settled. We’ll prepare the army to fly to Dromán tomorrow and send a contingent of scouts ahead to Point Grey to see what the horde left behind.”
Those on the council nodded, while the businessmen of Penance looked up at the Simian in awe. Farris smiled.
Cathbad was wrong. Why figure out the difference between what’s right and what must be done, when a little ingenuity can accomplish both?
Chapter 4:
What Must Be Done
We spent the day travelling from Penance to Dromán aboard a small airship named Sovereign. An ironic name, given the age-old desire for Simians to rule themselves rather than to acknowledge our divine, supreme ruler. Alas, that ruler is no more, and the Lady Meadhbh is the closest thing we have for a leader, a true leader, in this war against the Godslayer.
We arrived at the Dromán camp just as dusk was setting in. Those who had come before had already set up a decent fortification around the railway outpost. Chief Engineer Nicole saw to that task well, with deep trenches and wooden palisades surrounding the entrance into the underground tomb.
Now, we’re awaiting the rest of ships from Penance. Our soldiers need rest, but there is so much work ahead of us.
Journal of Padraig Tuathil, 13th Day under the Moon of Nes, AC404
***
In the hours before dawn broke the following morning, four ships sailed softly through the Rustlake in the waxing light. Farris rode in one, accompanied by Plackart and five other Triad scouts. Each wore a gold and blue tabard across chainmail armour, marking them soldiers of the Triad. The tabard was one layer too much for Farris, however. He was already beginning to sweat under his armour. He and the other Simians sat in silence on the deck as their vessel approach Aldrich Canal. Towards the back of the ship, seven elk mounts waited impatiently, grunting and snorting with their faces concealed in nosebags.
The other ships contained no passengers, only a small crew to make the round trip to Point Grey. Those ships were crammed with carts and wagons, bound together as to not rattle over whatever conditions Móráin Sea had in store. The captain of Cornucopia, a sturdy cargo ship, had declared the day to come would be a cold but calm one.
Despite this, Farris was not at ease. So conflicted the Council of the Triad had been in relation to the allocation of Penance’s final stores, they latched on quite quickly to Farris’s plan. Too quickly for Farris’s liking, as this meant their situation would be all the more worse off should they fail. And to ensure the day-long round trip to Point Grey would not represent a long delay to the full army’s departure from Penance, they had taken a crystallographer with them, who’d relay the message back to Penance once the supplies were secured. The mage, a middle-aged man in a green robe, paced impatiently back and forth across the deck.
The ships emerged from Aldrich Canal out into Heretic’s Bay. From there, they turned south towards Moray Head, but Farris kept his gaze locked on the eastern horizon. The sun was low above it now, blocked by thick, grey clouds. He imagined what kind of lands there were out there, possibly battling a storm beneath that same sky. Although Humans came from the lands beyond the sea some four hundred years ago, none had ever dared go back. Partially out of fear of the Grey Plague—the mysterious force that drove them here in the first place, but mainly out of devotion to their faith. Alabach was a promised land, apparently. Though why would a god promise a land already occupied? And why take even further steps to keep everyone trapped there? Argyll the Silverback had often said the Simian people should leave Alabach and let the Humans have it if they were so bloody caught up in the idea of staying
“I heard you’re the one who escaped the Basilica,” said Plackart, clearing his throat and approaching Farris from behind. “How did you manage that?”
Farris smiled. “It didn’t take too much convincing. The guards there were just as eager to leave as the prisoners. The approaching horde should take most of the credit.”
But Plackart did not laugh. “Sometimes we must give ourselves credit when warranted. Few will do it for you. Many others would have died in your position, along with the other guards and prisoners of the Church.”
Farris found himself lost for words. This was a rare occurrence.
“You are resourceful, Farris Silvertongue,” Plackart continued. “More so than most others. You saw how the council listened to you. We were caught between a boulder and a cliff’s edge this morning, forced to choose between letting the people of Penance starve or letting this Godslayer destroy the rest of the world. But you found an option that lets us address both. That is highly commendable.”
