Yes, he thought. She had asked a simple question of Fionn.

If Fionn’s delayed response was caused by a storm similar to what presently raged in Farris’s mind, perhaps the lad just needed some help in the telling.

“He was, my lady,” said Farris, keeping his tone formal. “But Sir Bearach died a hero’s death. On our journey from the Glenn, our party was ambushed by a mountain troll. We fled for our lives, towards a village at first, but Sir Bearach steered us away, into the fields of the Clifflands. The beast caught up and knocked me aside. Our path had unfortunately crossed with that of a family of villagers, tending to their crops, even before the sun had risen. But Sir Bearach was a knight true to vows and put the lives of the innocent and the weak before his own. He died, along with many others of our party, but he saved the lives of myself, Fionn, and a young girl from the village.”

A silence hung after he finished. Aislinn’s eyes were closed.

“You are wrong about one thing,” said Fionn, his gaze locked on the floor. “The young girl neither weak nor innocent. For she was Morrígan.”

Padraig swore under his breath upon hearing this, then drank deeply from his glass. Aislinn bowed her head, and Nicole’s expression gave away no emotion nor reaction.

“I met her,” said Fionn. “Briefly, before I left Roseán. The girl had just lost her mother, and questioned me endlessly on the purpose of our journey. I have no doubt she blamed me for her death. And the next time I saw her, she was marching on Penance, leading an undead horde.”

“And now she’s a god,” said Farris. “She’s killed two of the Trinity already, what hope do we have to stop her from taking the power of the third?”

“I don’t know,” said Fionn. “It is said that the Wraiths of Seletoth serve Him directly. Perhaps they too are aware of the threat Morrígan poses to Him.”

Farris scoffed. “You’re not seriously saying we’re going all this way to help the Wraiths, after everything they’ve done?”

Fionn sighed deeply. “I don’t know. We need all the help we can get, but I didn’t want to risk the lives of more soldiers in getting it. If these Wraiths have already given their lives to serve the Lord, why not allow them to continue doing so, for an even greater good?”

“Let’s hope the Lord Himself has a better answer than that,” said Padraig with a yawn. “Otherwise, we’ll just end up repeating what happened out in Dromán.”

This brought a deep lull to the group, which continued for a time as the fire died down.

“It is time we rested,” said Aislinn, getting to her feet. “We may as well make use of the inn-quality bedding on this journey while we can.”

Fionn yawned too, as if in agreement. He bade the others good night, and made his way to the stairway, behind Aislinn. Nicole then stood but left without saying a word.

Farris stretched, then stood to follow, but Padraig stopped him.

“Farris,” he said solemnly. “I just wanted to… thank you, for all you have done. You stopping the charge of my battalion at Dromán marked the third time you saved my life. Even after you rescued me from Cruachan, I still wished you dead. A feeling I had assumed was mutual, but when the horde came to Penance, and then when Morrígan came to Dromán, you proved otherwise.”

Farris nodded. In truth, he had only sought to keep Diarmuid alive those first two times. But the third….

“You are welcome,” said Farris. “I had no intention of going on this journey. With the Lady dead, I saw my role in all this come to an end. To follow Fionn into death, when he himself cannot die, seemed redundant. Illogical, even. But when you pledged your sword to Fionn, despite all that had happened, it made me reconsider. Perhaps me saving you in Dromán was illogical. But I can’t claim to have had a logical mind that day. Skies above, when the army was swallowed by the ground, I went down to kill Meadhbh myself.”

Padraig guffawed. “You what?”

Farris laughed meekly. “I was just angry. Angry at everything. I picked up a dagger and went down to kill her.”

Padraig raised both of his hands and roared with laughter that echoed through the inn. “Farris, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking at all. To tell you the truth, we Simians have always held logic to a higher esteem than any other influence on a decision. But when I saw you and Aislinn bend your knees to Fionn, I thought, perhaps logic does not need to guide us so much. And now that I consider it further, I cannot claim logic guided me exclusively throughout my life.”

Padraig nodded. “Sometimes we need to know there’s a purpose greater than our own to live by. A life lived under the Will of Seletoth, guided by the Light of the Lady, and so on and so forth, can be fulfilling in ways the non-religious can never understand.”

“Perhaps,” said Farris, taking to his feet. “And maybe I’m only beginning to understand now.” He bowed his head to Padraig before turning to leave, following the same stairs the others had taken upstairs.

But unfortunately, there’s not many gods left these days.

Chapter 13:

The White Rose

Ten years after we landed, our settlements across the south grew in populace and size. Unfortunately, any attempt to press our borders northwards were met with hard resistance from the natives. At the time, if we had engaged in open-field combat against them, we would have won an easy victory, with their primitive weapons no match for our magic. But it seemed that they were always aware of this, only choosing only to fight us when the advantage was on their side, through ambushes and short skirmishes.

But ten years in, some progress was made. Some natives had learned our language, very quickly, I might add, and began to treat with us. These ones seemed to know it was only a matter of time before the land was ours, and provided valuable information regarding the movements of those plotting against us.

So once more, we set out northwards, with some natives on our side, and our own numbers stronger than before. This time, we knew, we would find Seletoth.

The Truth, by King Móráin I, AC55

***

Argyll’s chair rattled with each cobblestone they went. Ruairí cursed the lack of paved basalt roads in the Dustworks of Penance. Seemingly, Argyll had ordered a new chair—a design of his own of some sort, though it would likely still need Ruairí to push him around.

We’ll get what we need soon, he reminded himself. The Simians will get their freedom, and we will get our knowledge, and all shall see the face of God.

The night was growing late, with the streets occupied only by revellers on their way home, and those with more sinister motives that still lingered in the streets.

And there’s no motives more sinister than our own, thought Ruairí, taking a turn from the main road into a darkened alley. This had even more cobblestones, from which came even more rattling. It was illuminated by several dimmed oil lamps, attached to the stone walls that stood tall either side.

“You’re sure he’ll be here?” asked Ruairí.

“Yes,” said Argyll, stern and still facing ahead. “He risked far more than this the night the horde came.”

It was a strange thing, to speak to someone before you, without expecting them to turn around to speak back. Ruairí found he had to strain his ears to listen to Argyll more than before, for the Simian’s strong voice was difficult to hear when projected in the wrong direction.

They passed a group of youths, loitering beneath the window of a tavern. They stopped what they were doing, abruptly turning to look at Ruairí and Argyll as they passed. Argyll turned to stare back at them; something the Simian often did to fill the hearts of others with fear. Despite his condition, it had the same effect now as it always had.

Just bored children, thought Ruairí, shaking his head. Nothing to be concerned about.

Eventually, they came to their destination: the back door into The White Rose, a regular meeting place for Argyll, and those who served him. The front of the tavern was closed, of course, given the time of night, but as Ruairí knocked on the back door, it opened slightly at first, then fully when the proprietor saw who was there.

“He’s here alright,” the landlady said, ushering both in. She was a robust Simian, toughened by dealing both with the clients of her establishment and the associates of the Silverback. Bruna the Beauty, she had been called once, but never to her face. As Argyll had once put it, she had been loyal to all of his causes, from the days of the Guild of Thieves to the more recent plans to dismantle the Church and the Crown.

“Madame Bruna,” said Ruairí with a nod. “I hope business is going well."

“It would be going better if I didn’t have to close early!” she snapped. “Your man is inside. Far side of the bar.”

Ruairí nodded and pushed Argyll through the empty tavern. It had a low ceiling, held up with thick stone columns draped in red curtains. The floor was made from concrete, and smooth to move over, much to Ruairí’s relief. Wooden tables with low, iron cushioned stools lined the left-hand wall, with a long bar of marbled stone to the right.

There, sitting on a table adjacent to the bolted-shut front door, was a lone Simian, cradling a glass of thainol.

“Edward of Engine Alley,” said Argyll. “Or Ned the Liberator, as you are more recently known.”

“I am called both,” said the Simian. “You require no introduction.”