The mastery that Simian has over subterfuge knows no end.
But Farris was likely dead now, along with the rest of those who tried to defend the Lady.
“This may be true,” said Argyll, turning back to Ned. “But this prisoner would not have gone far without your co-operation.”
Ned snorted. “I did what I did to protect my family. Because of that prisoner, they are still alive. As am I.”
“And still in the job, if my information is correct.”
“True. The Church chose not to dismiss those who abandoned their posts that night, considering it an extraordinary circumstance.”
“And the others…” said Argyll, leaning in towards Ned. He lowered his voice. “How have they received our message?”
“They received it well. Their faith in the Church has been shattered given all that has happened. Rumours have spread that an evacuation of this land is planned, should she who brought the horde choose to return.”
“Correct, and only with your help, Ned the Liberator, can this be achieved. We have three long distance ships ready, but the Church still holds the means for us to fly.”
“Blue focus-crystals. This much I am aware of. The vaults of the Church are filled with many treasures and secrets, along with many crystals storing Human magics. Even with snow filling the sky, and with the Eternal Sea itself frozen, the Church hoards crystals capable of supplying us with heat to see us through this strange winter.”
Argyll nodded. “Speak with your fellow Simian Churchguards, and you will be free to plunder all the riches of the Basilica.”
“That will be trivial,” said Ned, frowning. “But what about the Humans?”
“They will not come to our side easily. I understand Simians in the Churchguard outnumber Humans two to one.”
Ned folded his arms. “You’re saying there’ll be violence?”
“Violence in our favour. After the riot at the Basilica last year, the battlemages in the Church’s ranks were sent to Dromán, so you’ll face no magic.”
Behind them, Ruairí shook his head. Argyll’s plans often involved a very high rate of success, with little room for error or variance. Even with the Simians of the Churchguard on his side, there was still a chance things could go awry.
Perhaps there is something I can do to help….
“Either way,” said Argyll. “We appreciate you coming to meet us tonight. Dead drops and secret messages can only communicate so much.”
Ned looked puzzled. “Is that all?”
Argyll nodded, as did Ruairí.
The Simian Churchguard slowly stood, then left without saying any more. Ruairí slipped into seat where Ned had sat, now facing Argyll. When the back door opened and slammed shut, he spoke.
“He seems confident. We were concerned that the goals and the needs of the Simian Churchguards wouldn’t align with our own. But are you concerned about fighting off the Humans in their ranks?”
“No,” said Argyll, with a slight pause. “Between the Simians in their ranks, and the Sons within ours, the odds favour us strongly. How many Sons are still in the city?”
“Some four hundred,” said Ruairí. “Though the fervour of our faith has grown significantly since Diarmuid died, so that number is ever-increasing.”
“And why would that be?”
Ruairí paused. This was a rather strange question for the Simian to ask. Likely one that he already had the answer to. Ruairí took a breath, then answered, slowly, choosing his words carefully.
“Because the king’s death shows that the power of the Trinity is not as the Church claims. If Diarmuid is not a god, then how did you kill him?”
Argyll learned forward. Something akin to a sneer laced his lips. “Because… he has an heir.”
No! Ruairí’s mind reeled. He cursed himself. So many times, he had felt he was one step ahead of Argyll, holding on to one piece of knowledge outside of the reaches of the Silverback’s network, but so many times, without fail, the upper hand was quickly lost.
“A… what?” was all Ruairí could manage. To stall for time. To hope Argyll would elaborate.
“An heir,” repeated the Simian. “Farris, in his work with in Cruachan, proved to me that Divine Penetrance is true. If the king was to bear a son, the power of immortality would pass on to him.”
Ruairí shook his head. But Argyll had denied this for so long, dismissing Farris’s work as sloppy and biased. Could that alone have convinced him? Does he know about the boy?
“No,” said Ruairí, trying not to let his own trail of thought be shown. “The Church has denied this power for generations.”
“The Church denies many things. When Morrígan claimed the soul of Diarmuid, she became a god. If he was a mere man, this would not have happened.”
Blasphemy! thought Ruairí; a thought almost reflexive. There is only one God. And Seletoth is His Holy Name.
Argyll pressed on. “But Diarmuid died when I slew him. With a simple dagger, no more. Therefore, there must have been some power within him for Morrígan to take, even if he did not possess Divine Penetrance.”
Ruairí leaned forward. “What are you saying?”
“Firemaster Fionn,” said Argyll. He leaned back in his chair. “The illegitimate son of our late king. It has been a very well-kept secret for his whole life, and I made sure to keep him close at hand, in case the need every arose. If we were to challenge the authority of the Crown, and if they did not capitulate as we planned, then I was to present Fionn and his Divine Penetrance to the world and hold the kingdom ransom until the needs of Old Simia were met.”
Ruairí wanted to cry out loud, to violently display his disdain for the things that lad’s mere existence drove him to do.
I tried to kill him, muttered a voice from deep within. Ruairí quickly began to pray, to drown that voice out, but it spoke truths far greater than those within the verses and passages of his faith. I laced his glass with poison, so see if what the Earthmaster claimed was true.
