Though a quick scan of the settlement’s skyline told Farris that it was indeed uninhabited, as with the temperature being what it was, surely there would be a fire burning somewhere nearby if not.

They dismounted their horses in front of the main building, which held the letters Hunter’s Den above the door. It was unusual, for an inn to claim the title of an entire settlement. True enough to what Padraig had said earlier, this place was certainly built with hunters in mind, as stables with ample space were available to house their mounts.

Evening was starting to set in. It had crept up on the party over these past few hours. Without being able to follow the path of the sun behind the blanket of thick, grey clouds overhead, Farris found it hard to keep track of the passage of time.

“Does anyone want a drink?” said Farris, approaching the front door of the inn. “I doubt the horde would have taken the ale here with them.”

He pushed open the double doors of the inn, revealing the most splendid of sights. He stood before a huge, circular chamber. Long, wooden tables curved with the shape of the room, with cushioned chairs on the inside, and cushioned stools on the outside. In the centre, several taller tables stood, high stools reaching up to meet them.

But one thing caught Farris’s attention more than all this. Against the far wall was a bar of black slate. Behind it, shelves held ceramic and glass bottles of various shapes and sizes, each with paper labels.

“They’ve thainol!” called Farris, as the others came in. “I didn’t think we’d find any this far from Penance or Cruachan.”

The others walked through the tavern with wonder. Hunting trophies of stags, boars and beadhbhs hung on the wall, some stuffed and mounted, others bearing only their bones.

“I could do with a drink,” said Padraig. “Given all that’s happened.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said Aislinn. “We have many miles to travel in the morning.”

“And we’ll travel them all the same,” he replied. “If anything, it’ll help us sleep through this blasted cold.” He looked to Fionn, then towards an empty fireplace against another wall of the tavern. “Firemaster, your talents are required.”

Fionn smiled, and quickly went to work. Well, it wasn’t what one could exactly call ‘work,’ since he set the hearth ablaze in a matter of seconds. Farris perused the bottles of thainol, pulling down one that was equal parts rare and expensive. Better to enjoy it here, he reckoned, than let it go to waste.

Padraig held a cup under one of the beer taps, but nothing was produced upon turning it on. He frowned and tried again.

“The line might need tending to,” said Farris. “They often keep barrels in the basement, but I’m not well versed in how the pumps work.”

He poured a second glass of thainol and passed it to Padraig. “Maybe this will do instead.”

Padraig considered the glass for a moment. “The last time I was offered thainol, the horde was laying siege on the Grey Keep. It’s not a memory I’d like to recall.”

Farris pushed the glass closer. “Then see this as an opportunity to associate the taste with the end of the world instead.”

Padraig smiled and took the glass in his hands.

“If you say so,” he said. “But I’ll drink this one slowly.”

The rest gathered around the fire. Nicole and Aislinn had found their way into the pantry and brought out salted meats and fish to cook over the fire, which they had with roasted broccoli and turnips. Padraig had found a sack of potatoes, a bag of onions, along with cured sausages, bacon, and carrots, from which he made a strange, watery stew seasoned with parsley. It was a dish of the people of Cruachan, he claimed, though Farris found it rather tasteless. It tasted a lot better with bread, claimed Padraig, upon seeing the meagre reception his dish was getting. Which was a shame, for the bread was all they lacked, it being the only food that had spoiled in the pantry.

After they ate, Fionn offered to clean the dishes, to which Padraig asked, “And for whom are we cleaning them for?” which was met with laughter, even from Farris. Sure, Farris hated the man to his very bones, but he was happy to cast those thoughts aside, at least for the time being.

Farris opened a bottle of thainol and offered it to the rest of the party. Nicole and Padraig both accepted it, presumably since neither were a stranger to the taste. This prompted Aislinn and Fionn to try too.

“This isn’t the first time Farris offered me this stuff,” said Fionn. “Do you remember, Farris? Back in the Glenn, when you were known as Chester?”

Farris smiled. “I do. You told me about how Pyromancy works. Then I showed you a beggar’s flame.”

“Beggar’s flame?” said Aislinn. “What’s that?”

“I’ll show you,” said Farris. He drank from his glass, downing most of its contents, then tossed the rest into the fire. Sure enough, the crackling red flames abruptly turned a bright blue, burning silently in the hearth.

“Blue fire,” said Aislinn. “Just like… the Reapers.”

“That’s right,” said Farris. “In fact, it was my conversation with Fionn that inspired that aspect of the Reapers’ design.”

“What?” said Nicole. “Didn’t you show me how to make those flames back in the hanger?”

Farris’s heart pounded. It was the first time she had spoken to him since they had left.

“True,” said Farris. “But I never would have thought to show you that if it wasn’t for you telling me about what mages can and cannot manipulate. I never would have realised beggar’s flames fall into the latter, if Fionn hadn’t tried to manipulate them back in the Glenn.”

A silence hung over the party as Farris said this. Eventually, Fionn spoke.

“Nicole, did your Reapers play a big role in fighting back the horde?”

Nicole nodded. “The Saltgate eventually fell to undead trolls, but they were held off for time by the brave pilots of the Reapers.” She went to speak more, but her voice cracked. Farris knew why, so broke in.

“The horde was defeated because Argyll killed Diarmuid,” he said. “And this gave Morrígan what she had come for. But more, indeed, many more, may have been killed by the horde if not for Nicole’s Reapers. From what we know about Morrígan, she would have killed everyone in Penance to get to Diarmuid.”

A lull fell over the group. The fire within the hearth turned from blue back to its natural colour, crackling away upon its coals. From both Nicole and Fionn’s expression, Farris reckoned both were having the same realisation: things would be much worse if not for them.

If not for us. He took a deep drink, then poured another glass. Padraig held out his own empty one too, which Farris happily filled.

“What do you mean?” asked Padraig, taking a short sip. “When you say, ‘from what you know about Morrígan?’ to what do you refer?”

Farris threw his gaze to the floor, and a quick wave of fear passed over him. Something from the tone of Padraig’s question shook Farris, as if he was abruptly caught out in a lie. After a few bated breaths, his panic passed, for there was no lie he was caught in, no secret exposed.

“I can answer that,” cut in Fionn, before Farris could fully collect himself. “Though it is a long story.”

Padraig leaned forward. Nicole cocked her head, glancing at Farris. From these reactions alone, it seemed Fionn had little choice to tell the tale, lengthy may it be.

“Over a year ago now,” he began. “I travelled aboard a ship named The Glory of Penance, from Cruachan to Penance. The ship crashed into the Glenn, and Farris, myself, and some other survivors were set upon by hungry beadhbhs. We escaped them, and—”

“My brother!” cut in Aislinn. “He was aboard that ship! Sir Bearach Carríga of Rosca Umhír. Did you see him?”

Fionn had started with the air of an eager storyteller, but this interjection had the most peculiar effect on him. He did not respond to Aislinn, but murmured unheard words through quivering lips. His head shook slightly back and forward, and he shuffled as he sat.

Caught out on a lie? wondered Farris. It didn’t seem so. This seemed somehow… worse. Fionn placed a hand on the side of his neck, rubbing and squeezing at his skin. This was often an attempt to comfort oneself: a common response to stress. Farris watched on as he did this, his oversized hand almost large enough to cover his entire neck.

Of course, realised Farris. That is the arm of the knight we travelled with. He announced as much to the Council of the Triad. He glanced at Aislinn. And she was not there. She does not know.

Farris closed his eyes to try and recollect the other details of the journey. They travelled together. Yes, those two and Slaíne the White. Did they know each other prior?

And there were the connections Farris had made back in Penance: Fionn claiming the procedure of attaching the knight’s arm to his body also gave him the power of the Bearach’s soul, empowering his own magic as a result. This magic, Necromancy, being the very same that Morrígan used to grow her strength. It was this revelation that had driven Farris to rescue King Diarmuid and Padraig from Cruachan.

Well, the latter was unintentional.

So many memories and connections surfaced at the front of Farris’s mind that for a moment he struggled to recall what had even prompted them to do so. He looked back towards Aislinn.