“Your Grace,” said Padraig, approaching. “We are almost finished our preparations for the long journey ahead.”
“Good,” said Fionn. “But please. My blood may be blue, but I am no king. With no crown nor coronation, I deserve not titles or honours. Just call me Fionn.”
“Yes, my… Fionn.”
They prepared their mounts, and ensured their sacks and satchels were well-fastened and full. Fionn was no stranger to riding, but he had never made a journey this long. He looked to the others. Aislinn, he knew, had ran half the length of Alabach to escape the horde, but had she made a journey like this before? Padraig certainly held an air of authority in the planning and preparation of their route, but perhaps this was just a symptom of the type of leadership Farris had described back in the library.
As for Farris himself, Fionn could not figure him out. So strange, that he too was the Simian named Chester he had travelled across the Glenn with. Even then, he had seemed so comfortable with everything that was happening. Perhaps there was more Fionn could learn from him in that regard.
“Firemaster Fionn,” came a voice. He turned to see a Simian, mounted upon an elk. They came pulling a cart filled with weapons and armour, both of which were made from blue-tinted steel. The Simian also wore such armour, with thick slabs of plate and a large, cube-shaped helm over their head, with only a thin slit across the front to see through.
This she removed, revealing herself to be Nicole.
“These here are weapons and armour made from Simian steel,” she said. “The Godslayer will be unable to bend and twist this steel, but they won’t stop the ground from opening up beneath you.”
The others thanked her and dismounted to pick through the contents of the cart.
“Farris,” said Nicole, rather curtly. “There is also a full set of armour in there that should fit you well.”
“Oh, thanks,” said Farris, examining one of the firearms up close. “That is… very kind of you.”
What is with those two, said Sir Bearach. Aren’t they lovers?
Fionn ignored the words of the dead knight, waiting until the others had taken what they needed before finding himself a chest-plate that fitted well enough beneath his cloak. It was clear these were all designed with Simian bodies in mind, giving the Humans few options.
“And you,” said Padraig. “Are you not a little overdressed for your journey back to Penance?”
“No,” said Nicole. She looked to Fionn. “Firemaster, I wish to join you on your journey to Mount Selyth.”
“Oh,” said Fionn. He was on good terms with the Simian, but surely that wasn’t enough to compel her to come on this terrible journey. If she had another motive, Fionn knew nothing of it. Fionn looked at Farris, but he seemed even more confused than the rest of them.
“Your company is most welcome,” Fionn said. She donned her helm once more, and once the rest were ready, they made their way towards the Academy’s gate with the rest.
***
The army of the Triad all left together, some mounted, many on foot, marching through the icy path of the Hazelwood. All around them, the forest’s trees were heavy with sheets of snow. Together, the great host followed the path westwards, which eventually rose to a hill, and came to a fork: one path to the north, another to the south.
The bulk of the host took the path south towards Dromán, where they’d soon come to the great clearing surrounding the outpost, and the railway tunnel that lay beneath. On the other hand, Farris, Nicole, Padraig, Aislinn, and Fionn took the north road, deeper into the Hazelwood. Many of the others stopped their own march to see them off, but there was no fanfare. No celebration. Just scared faces watching the five individuals break away from the host, in silence, until their path took a sharp turn westwards, out of sight. Then they were alone.
From there, they travelled on without speaking much to one another, the only audible sound being the snow-encrusted stones that crunched beneath them. Fionn felt his lips beginning to crack and freeze, cold air passing over them with each breath.
“Hunter’s Den awaits us at the end of the day,” said Padraig, as if sensing Fionn’s discomfort. “It’s an odd settlement, starting off as an inn to house hunters of the Hazelwood. Hunting is thirsty work, so the inn built a great tavern to satiate them. But the inn and tavern were remote, deep inside a thick forest, so housing was built for the staff to live in. Since living out there required other services and commodities, it slowly grew into a town.”
“Peculiar,” said Fionn. Despite its proximity to the Academy, Fionn knew little about it and the surrounding areas. He had only travelled to Dromán’s marketplace a handful of times in his youth. The furthest he travelled was to Cruachan, where he boarded The Glory of Penance. Before everything changed.
“A shame,” cut in Aislinn, riding on the opposite side of Padraig. “Such work went into building that town, only to fall to the horde.”
“Do you think nobody survived?” said Fionn.
“No,” said Farris, riding ahead. He glanced over his shoulder. “We found Point Grey in ruins. With no survivors. With the horde only growing in size since that was taken, we can assume the same for everywhere else.”
This did make sense, though Fionn wished it weren’t true.
Snow began to fall as they ventured deeper into the Hazelwood. The great conifers swayed dramatically in the winds that beat against their branches. Fionn, Aislinn, and Padraig struggled to brace against the coming storm, raising a forearm of their heads to keep their eyes clear. Farris and Nicole rode on with little hassle, it seemed, with their thick Simian-made helms keeping the snow off their faces.
Sometime later, they rested at a river. The mounts grazed on what sparse vegetation was available to them. Unfortunately, the river’s water was frozen solid, depriving them a chance to refill their flasks. That was until Padraig had the idea to crack the ice with the flat side of his longsword. After three heavy strikes, cracks formed upon the surface, revealing flowing water underneath. With much cause for celebration, the travellers refilled their waterskins, before allowing their mounts a chance to drink from it.
With little time to give for resting, they set off again. The path continued to carry them northwards. As they went, Fionn noticed that here and there, just off the path, some smaller brushes and trees were bent and broken.
Perhaps the horde came this way, suggested Sir Bearach. They would certainly struggle to stay on this path.
Fionn nodded, caring not that the others might see this as odd. If one of Morrígan’s early goals was to take the Academy, and claim the power of all the mages within, it would make sense that she came this way.
He considered Aislinn. She had come to Penance fleeing from the horde at Rosca Umhír. If the horde left Roseán, then travelling east to take Point Grey and Ongar before heading south towards the Academy and Dromán, then when did they come across Rosca Umhír before marching on Cruachan? The only explanation was that they crossed the Godspine at one point, perhaps after taking the Academy.
She wanted to be sure, Fionn realised. She wanted her horde to be as large as possible before laying siege upon Cruachan.
And if that was her plan, this only left one possibility.
Everyone south of the Glenn is dead. His imagination strained to consider the number of lives this would entail.
Thousands upon thousands upon thousands.
A truly uncountable number, and to think that behind each increment, there was an entire life. An entire person, with their own likes and dislikes, their own hopes and fears. Their own plans for the future, for their later years, for their children, all snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
And to what end?What does she even want?
The Lady had said Morrígan would see a glimpse of the Truth, and it would drive her to madness. But what set her on this path in the first place? Surely it must have been more than just a lust for power?
