“No,” said Fionn out loud. He sprang up to examine the walls of the chamber.

“What’s the matter, Firemaster?” said Padraig, yawning. “It looks like your magic has saved us yet again. And the storm seems to have passed.”

“I don’t care,” snapped Fionn, pressing is hands against the stone. It was still warm to touch.

“It must have burned all night,” he whispered. “Bearach.…”

“What did you say?” asked Aislinn, gathering her things from the floor.

“Nothing,” muttered Fionn. “Just… just a dream.”

The others went to work repacking their belongings. Farris went off to fetch the mounts. All five had made it through the night in good health.

But Fionn’s thoughts remained on the knight.

Was it too much for him? To keep the fire going so long? Did it… burn him out?

Usually, if a mage was to overspend themselves, they would just require ample rest to restore their energy. For this reason, in marching armies, it was important for the battlemages to have better conditions to sleep in than the rest of the soldiers.

Perhaps that was where his mind was, thought Fionn. Thinking my rest was more important than his.

He cursed himself. Sir Bearach had already given his life to protect a family from a mountain troll. And now he had given his soul just so Fionn could get a good night’s sleep.

In a daze, Fionn ate with the others. They broke their fast with food pilfered from Hunter’s Den, though Fionn couldn’t taste anything.

They set off, back over the path Padraig had led them, and then beyond, deeper into the mountains. Although snow covered the trail, they progressed with ease, and a much faster pace than before.

After some hours, when the sun stood high in a clear, frigid sky, the path took a sharp turn south, sloping downwards aggressively. Upon seeing this, the party broke out into a fast trot, which they maintained for an excited half hour, until the trees westwards grew thin, and the wide, flat Midlands came into view.

After all the narrow roads and tight passages they had come through, this was truly a welcome sight. To the west lay the city of Rosca Umhír, with the fortress of Keep Carríga roaring over its walls. To the south, a tiny fishing village hugged the southern coast. And far to the north lay the city of Ardh Sidhe, with many tall towers and spires blurred in the distant mist.

Though these sights all paled in comparison to what lay further west, beyond Rosca Umhír: a mighty mountain that dwarfed all that surrounded it. It stood alone, in the middle of the flatlands, like a wart upon smooth skin.

The company all paused as this came into view. Padraig whooped in delight.

“I told you!” he said. “I told you we were on the right track!”

“I believe you are still mistaken,” said Nicole. She pointed northwards. “We’re far from our destination, now closer to the River Tine than Ardh Sidhe. Your path, Captain Tuathil, has taken us far further south than you had intended.”

The smile faded from Padraig’s face. “Perhaps we took the wrong path through the mountains. It would certainly explain the delay.”

“You’re admitting your wrongdoing?” asked Farris. “Well done, Captain Tuathil. That takes significant strength.”

“I’ll heed your words, Farris, and ignore your tone,” said Padraig. “Our final destination is due west ahead of us, though too far to make in one day’s travel. This road looks like it’ll take us to Rosca Umhír, though it’ll be past nightfall when we reach there. Does anyone object to walking in the dark?”

“We’re not likely to run into any trouble,” said Nicole. “Unless any highway men survived the horde.”

“Though unlikely,” said Padraig. “Any who managed to would certainly be a force to be reckoned with.”

The others laughed at this, but Fionn didn’t join in. He couldn’t help but recall his dream. What had the Lady said, that Farris had indirectly saved Fionn from this fate?

He threw Farris a quick glance. Unlike the others, the Simian was not laughing.

***

So easy for them to laugh, thought Farris, urging his mount to move. But others have survived the horde.

He put a hand to the halberd attached beside his saddle. If it came to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to defend himself, or the party. Perhaps striking down an attacker would be easier to do than stealing food from an impoverished family.

I cannot blame myself, he thought, keeping his eyes focused Rosca Umhír, far ahead. I must not blame myself.

Onwards they went, down into the hills of the Godspine. The path took them through a snow-laden forest, which was every bit as still and silent as the Hazelwood. Then it brought them into the wide prairies of the Midlands, taking them through its gentle slopes. Late in the afternoon, they took a quick break, feeding themselves and their mounts for a hard ride into the night.

By the time night came, they were riding with great speed towards Rosca Umhír. Farris couldn’t help but glance behind him every now and then, ensuring they were not being followed, but the road behind them was every bit as desolate as it had been when it was the road ahead of them.

Soon, they came towards the gates of Rosca Umhír. Although Farris had expected them to be unguarded, he did not expect to them to be in the state he found them.

The gatehouse lay in ruin, nothing more than a mass of red rubble piled up before a huge gap in the city walls. Beyond that, many buildings were destroyed: burned frames of blackened wood either side a cobblestone path littered with debris.

“The horde attacked in full force,” said Aislinn, her voice cracking into a whisper.

Of course, thought Farris. She was here when it came. She rode out to meet him, when her lord father was content with locking himself away in his keep. He couldn’t help but admire her bravery. However foolish it was.

But does bravery even come in other forms?

They walked slowly though the ruined city. The place was certainly in a worse state than Point Grey. Considering this, Farris wondered how Cruachan was faring. Though he didn’t consider it for much longer.

“We should find a place to stay,” said Fionn. “Perhaps the keep is in a better condition than the buildings here.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Aislinn. “And with a heavy heart, I can only hope the horde found a way in and left a way for us to follow.”

“If not, I’m sure Farris here can break and enter for us!”

Farris, however, wasn’t paying them any notice. His attention was fixated on a cobblestone path extending eastwards near a row of hedges, away from the main road on which they stood. A path they likely would have passed with little mind, Farris noticed now that some stones here were cracked. Cracked in a manner far more intentional than the rest of the ruined city. Elsewhere, cobblestones were broken and upturned and scattered, but here, they were in place and fractured only slightly. These cracked stones formed the shape of two circles: one within the other. Farris squinted down the path, and indeed, his initial suspicion was proven correct when he saw that beneath these concentric circles were more cracked stones made a sharp V shape.

“Cant,” said Farris. He stopped and dismounted.

“You… can’t?” asked Padraig.

“Thieves’ cant,” replied Farris, before rushing towards the shape on the ground. The two lines forming a V pointed towards a stone building, with walls that still stood, but it bore no roof, having likely been once thatched before the horde’s fires burned it away.

Above its door frame was the same symbol, scratched into its surface and barely visible.

Without hesitation, Farris pushed through the remnants of a small wooden gate upon a low stone wall and bolted into the building.

The interior was a mess, blackened with burns and void of anything of use. Farris ran through the rooms, searching every wall for more markings, but found none. Behind him, Nicole stepped into the building.

“Farris, what’s going on?”