“That would be Santos’s handiwork,” said Plackart, approaching Farris’s side. “The timber needed to build his tunnel under the ground came from here, so I’m told. The Dromán outpost lies in the centre of the cavity.”

Farris didn’t respond. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to even speak to Plackart since they left Point Grey.

“Far simpler, things would have been,” continued Plackart, “if the tunnel had been finished before all this began. We could have made the journey in half the time with twice the cargo if the trains were ready.”

“And with fewer dead,” said Farris. It was only when he spoke that he realised how dry his throat was. The words came out with a sting.

“It had to be done, Farris. We fought in self-defence. The lad would have buried his blade in my back if you had not reacted so quickly.”

But maybe we would have deserved as much, Farris wanted to say, but thought it better to keep his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Plackart pushed the point anyway.

“We are at war, Farris, and sacrifice is as much a part of it as combat is. We gave those villagers the option to leave, and they chose to fight instead. It was their inability to sacrifice their homes, that we—”

“Don’t,” spat Farris. “Don’t spin the fault to their side.”

Plackart raised his hands. “I do not wish to. But know that they left us with no choice.”

“Would you have understood, had you been in their shoes?”

“Of course. As a soldier of the Triad, I know that—”

“You’re missing the point.” interrupted Farris. “In their shoes, you are not a soldier. If not for your training and your military service, would you have understood?”

Plackart responded only with a scowl, his lips pursed as tight as the faded scar that crossed his left cheek.

Farris saw this as a chance to press on. “Oh, has the Triad has made you forget what it means to defend something closer to your heart than the chain of command? Have you forgotten that there’s nothing worth defending more than one’s home? Or perhaps you prefer the taste of King Diarmuid’s boots to your—”

“Know your place, Farris Silvertongue!” roared Plackart. This caused a few eavesdroppers to jump in fright. “You will not speak to me in that manner while in uniform.”

“Fine,” said Farris. He promptly removed his chain-mail gauntlets, then grabbed his blue and gold tabard and pulled it off. He tossed both aside. “Now, where was I?”

Plackart scowled at the discarded uniform. “You were never a soldier. Just a thug who got lucky.”

Part of Farris wanted to strike Plackart there and then, but he stayed his hand. He had caused enough of a scene already and maiming the General-Commander wouldn’t help with the fight against Morrígan.

And deep down, he knew it wouldn’t quell the fires of guilt that burned inside him.

***

Sometime later, the Triad’s fortification at the Dromán outpost came into view. A makeshift moat with jagged palisades encircled a meagre-looking stone structure. Farris had seen one of these stone structures before. Several days after the Battle of Penance, Nicole had snuck himself, Cormac, Fionn, Aislinn and Padraig out from Penance via a stolen ship named Gallant. Without the go-ahead from the Church, the ship only had enough blue focus-crystals to take them to Ongar and back. The rest of the way they made on elk and horseback, through the railway tunnel, which they had entered via a similar outpost near Ongar.

This structure, however, was heavily fortified with a half-built trench encircling it. Many soldiers ran to and fro through the encampment, some carrying supplies, others setting up tents and pavilions. On the far side of the camp, three great airships stood harboured to a temporary air-dock made of steel. The Majestic joined these, between Horizon and The Kingsmill. A group of Simians tended to the craft as it landed, taking ropes and chains from the ship and fastening them to mechanisms across the dock, which tightened and pulled the ship into position.

Aboard the ship, the passengers shuffled and fussed, waiting for the gangway to be set up and the doors to open. This brought an air of excitement, but it did nothing to lighten Farris’s spirits.

When the doors opened, Farris followed the flow of soldiers that spilled out into the camp. Lieutenants roared commands as those disembarking sprang straight to work.

I better find something to make myself useful, he thought, noticing Fionn and Aislinn walking out into the camp just behind him.

“Farris!” a voice cried out from up ahead. From up ahead Nicole running towards him, her shirt stained black with soot and grime.

As he saw her, Farris was overcome with a bizarre feeling. It was as if only now had the burdens and tolls of the past few days suddenly surfaced, threatening to boil over. The familiar sense of panic began to form, and Farris found his heartbeat quicken and his breathing growing short. But rather than succumb to the feeling, as he had so many times before, he ran to Nicole to embrace her. The waves of anxiety suddenly retreated, and the weight from his shoulders vanished.

“Well, I’m glad to see you too,” said Nicole, laughing as she hugged him back. As he felt her warmth, Farris found that he could not bear the thought of being away from her again. In fact, it made him question how he ever managed at all with her. But this wasn’t the same drive of attraction or passion he had felt with other female Simians in the past, but something new. Something that made him question all he had ever learned before, all he had ever believed, for how he could have claimed to have lived a fulfilling life before without this incredible force by his side?

Only now did he notice that he was crying, with wet eyes buried in Nicole’s fur. Fortunately, none alighting from the ship paid much mind as they passed, for to a casual onlooker, they likely looked like a couple reunited.

Eventually, they pulled away from one another, but the feeling still lingered.

“So much has happened,” said Farris, wiping his eyes. “I have so much to tell you.”

“It will have to wait,” said Nicole. “She wants to see you.”

“Who?” But something in the way Nicole had emphasised the word ‘She’ told him the answer already.

“Meadhbh. But She didn’t say why. Oh, Fionn!” she called out for the Pyromaster, passing through the dock. “I’ve got something for you.”

She reached into a pocket and revealed two rings. Farris recognised these as flint-rings, used by Pyromancers to create sparks.

“Oh, thanks,” said Fionn. “I really appreciate—wait!” He paused as she handed the rings to him. He held one up to his eye to examine them. “Are these made from your steel?”

Nicole smiled. “Yes, I heard about what happened to your fingers in Penance. This way, Morrígan won’t be able to grasp them with Geomancy like she did before.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Fionn, beaming as he slipped the rings onto his oversized hand. “Again, thank you.”

Nicole nodded, then turned back towards Farris. “We better hurry. It’s rude to leave a Lady waiting, after all.”

The two walked through the busy camp. Evening was setting in, and many soldiers set to work building fires all around them. Overhead, the rest of the ships that left Penance were arriving, descending towards the others at the dock. They passed two of Nicole’s reapers—huge steel bodies with Simian pilots inside. They were running drills, making slow, repetitive movements as another Simian shouted orders at them.

Nicole paused as they reached the wooden door of the stone building in the centre of the camp. She pulled a long metal key from a trouser pocket and worked it inside a large brass keyhole. Sure enough, the door clicked open, revealing nothing more than a round, empty room inside.

In the centre of the room, however, was a single trap door. Nicole opened this carefully to reveal a set of steel stairs, winding downwards into darkness.

“Watch your step,” said Nicole, walking across the room to take a torch from the wall. “It’s a long way down.”

Farris followed her into the darkness. Every step let out a metallic clang as they went, which rang out rhythmically as both descended. Round and round they went, until Nicole’s footsteps were silenced by solid ground. When Farris emerged, he found himself in the familiar surroundings of the Dromán Outpost.

They stood in a wide cavern, lined with meagre shacks and structures along the walls. The railway itself dissected the outpost, two straight lines of steel linking a tunnel to the north with one to the south. On the opposite side, several soldiers stood guard, their backs facing a crooked hole in the wall.

Nicole brought Farris across the clearing, paying the guards little mind. They certainly noticed her, though, stepping aside to let her reach the hole.

Just like before, the hole led them to another set of stairs, though these stood in stark contrast to those before, made from dark stone slabs of different shapes and sizes. The set of crooked steps led them down towards a faint blue light, bringing them past dozens of strange columns bent out of shape. Where the walls met the ceiling, the angles were off, as if it were something no sane engineer would consider structurally sound.

Farris stumbled at the last step, which was far smaller than the rest. Now, the two Simians stood before the source of the blue hue: a wide altar, as odd in design as the rest of the temple.

“You have returned!” came a terrible voice. The from the light emerged a woman. Every inch of her body was beauty manifested, with smooth blue skin glowing and pulsating along with the blue light. A face so lovely it could have been carved from marble stared down at them, but the voice that escaped Her alluring lips brought nothing but terror to Farris’s ears. “Those that should be dead stand before me once more.”

Nicole immediately dropped to her knees, much to Farris’s surprise.