But his god shall always come first, Argyll reminded himself. If the situation arose, he’d choose his faith over my life.

Ruairí threw on an overcoat and left the clinic with a curt nod.

Argyll sighed as the door closed. Then he rested his eyes.

Once he was alone, and he was sure he was alone, Argyll the Silverback wept.

Chapter 10:

The Blood of God

If there was any light left in this world, today it has gone out. For the Lady Meadhbh is dead. Slain by the Godslayer Morrígan.

Gods, ink upon paper shall never do justice to the devastation she wrought today, wielding the elements as if they served only her. The earth, I fear, is no longer our own as long as she walks upon it.

I would have joined the dead, crushed by the darkness of the pit, had it not been for Farris.

Farris Silvertongue. The traitor and turncloak, prevented me from riding out to join the cavalry charge. He saw the trap for what it was, and for that, the thrice-damned bastard saved me.

Once the chaos died down, we started the unsurmountable task of counting the dead. Though Morrígan had seen so many of them already buried, there were few bodies left for us to give back to the land.

She destroyed all of our ships, killing some forty-odd members of their crews: those that stayed aboard to prepare for a return journey that would never come.

Most of our camp is destroyed, though it’ll do for tonight, given we have so few left to shelter. Tomorrow, we march to the Academy in Dromán, where we’ll take refuge as we consider our next steps.

But what those could be, I can only guess.

Farris claimed to have been there when the Lady died at the hand of the Godslayer. He said Her last words were that Firemaster Fionn was alive, despite being among those who fell to their deaths deep in the earth.

I had tried to make him see reason, but he refused. He took a handful of fools, Chief Engineer Nicole and Lady Carríga, among them, and raided the sapper’s tent for shovels and entrenching tools. They wish to dig the young Pyromancer out from the mass grave.

I should not make light of it. The minds of men are broken easily in war. And this has been no normal war. I curse the others though, for enabling the Simian’s delusion.

Though as I write this, deep into the night, they have yet to return.

Could it be that Farris is right? He saw Morrígan’s trap for what it was before anyone else did. And he did save my life.

It is growing cold. Colder than I ever could have imagined it be. My body craves rest, but I don’t think I can sleep knowing they’re out there in the dark, digging for a man surely dead.

Dearest Journal, what should I do?

Journal of Padraig Tuathil, 15^th Day under the Moon of Nes, AC404

***

Nessa wiped sleep from her eyes as she straightened her stance. Although she had been pulled from bed mere minutes ago, she was now wide awake with excitement rising in her chest. However, the same couldn’t be said for the other four girls, standing on either side of her, each of whom seemed to be struggling against sleep.

Don’t they know who it is this time? thought Nessa, suppressing a smile as Madam Mac Cába marched up and down the line, fixing and fussing over each of the girls’ appearance in turn.

The tiny brothel nested in the corner of Barrow’s Way had always been more glamorous than its competing businesses—something that certainly wouldn’t be inferred by its exterior. The hallway where Nessa stood was circular, with silk curtains draping over every inch of stone wall. Heavily scented perfumes covered the typical stench of Barrow’s Way, though Nessa had grown used to both odours over the past two years. The secluded and elusive nature of Madam Mac Cába’s establishment attracted all sorts of wealthy lords and merchants visiting the capital, though none quite as noble or high-born as tonight’s patron.

“Now, remember your manners,” said Madam Mac Cába as she fidgeted with Etain Ní Mháille’s hair. Not that it ever needed tending to. Etain’s hair was always beautifully straight; something Nessa could never quite figure out.

No matter, she thought, fixing her skirts. She won’t be smiling so much when he picks me.

“And don’t speak until he speaks to you,” continued Madam Mac Cába. “Some ladies of the court spend half their childhood learning how to act in front of a—”

The brothel’s front door swung open, and a chilling breeze ran into the chamber. From outside strode three figures, two Simians in thick armour, and a young man with his hood up. Nessa’s heartbeat accelerated wildly as the man stepped inside, for even before he lowered his hood, she knew exactly who it was.

King Diarmuid, Third of His Name, Nineteenth Incarnate, stood before the line of women. Unlike most men Nessa had serviced here, Diarmuid’s face was perfectly clean-shaven. Once his radiant blue eyes met Nessa’s and his slender lips formed a wry smile, it was clear the other girls didn’t stand a chance.

“Your Grace,” said Madam Mac Cába, curtsying deeply. “You honour us with your presence. It is said that your coronation was a sight unlike anything the kingdom has seen before. We pray that the same shall be said of your reign.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” said the young king, his gaze not leaving Nessa’s. For that moment, she could have sworn the two were alone in that crowded room. “I hope all of our prayers are answered.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” said Madam Mac Cába. She gestured to the other women. “These are my most experienced girls. Though it is customary for our clients to pick just one, given the circumstance we can—”

“That won’t be necessary,” cut in Diarmuid. He strode towards Nessa, promptly taking one of her hands in his. Her hands would have been trembling, Nessa was sure, if the king’s grasp wasn’t so strong.

She looked up at those blue eyes, framed by radiant golden locks. What felt like a thousand eternities passed before the king spoke again.

“What is your name?” he said, another smile escaping his lips.

Nessa struggled to find the answer but smiled back instead. Either the king knew her name already or no longer cared to hear it, for the next thing Nessa knew, he was leading her away from the other girls.

He picked me, Nessa realised as they crossed the hall. Of all the women in Cruachan, he picked me!

***

Fionn gasped for breath when he returned to consciousness. Enveloped in darkness, the only thing he could make out from his surroundings was the fact he was surrounded by others. Many others. His body lay in a crooked position, with his legs bent painfully backwards. All around, low groans came from amidst a mass of twisting limbs.

What happened? Fionn asked, but Sir Bearach did not respond. The mage shut his eyes and tried to recall what had transpired earlier.

Morrígan, and the army. We fought and—

Terror struck his body.

The earth. The earth opened and devoured us all.

Before panic could set in, however, some more memories came back to Fionn. A woman named Nessa held hands with a much younger King Diarmuid. Fionn strained to recall what else happened.

Just another dream, Fionn thought, turning his attention back to the problem at hand. But before he opened his eyes, a blue light blurred his vision. The same blue light he had seen back in Meadhbh’s temple.

Then everything went dark once more

***

“Well?” said the girl. “Do you know what it’ll be?”