Before them was a golden throne, its back rising high, with an elaborate design representing leafy branches of a gilded tree. And there sat Arch-Canon Cathbad, dressed in the extravagant red and golden robes of his station, with an elaborately pointed headpiece resting upon a wrinkled forehead.
On the far end of the hall, Argyll the Silverback came, accompanied by a handful of the Sons of Seletoth. Ruairí pushed Argyll, the wheels of his new lightweight chair gliding silently along the carpet. As per Argyll’s design, this had larger wheels angled outwards, leaving the seat closer to the ground. On either side of Argyll, the tops of the wheels rose over the chair, concealed beneath thin steel sheets. Argyll rested an arm on one of them.
As they moved through the hallway, the rows of priests and druids either side seemed to regard the visitors with contempt, with many avoiding looking directly at Argyll. Through a gap between two standing priests, Argyll briefly caught the eyes of Ned. But this momentary glance was enough to tell him everything he needed to know.
Everything is in place. We are ready.
As they approached the altar, Arch-Canon Cathbad rose and stepped towards Argyll. His immaculate red robes shimmered as he moved. He raised a hand outwards. His middle finger bore a ring bearing a thick, white stone. Argyll leant forward to kiss it.
“Your Holiness,” he said. “We are honoured to be in your presence.”
“As you should be,” said Cathbad. “You seem to have chosen an inopportune time to request this audience. Tell me, why are there so many Simians gathering at Sin?”
“Because we wish to leave this land, Your Holiness. Morrígan the Godslayer has defeated the Triad’s army at Dromán. We have no choice now but to flee before she returns.”
“There are no lands spared by the Grey Plague,” said Cathbad. “You are fleeing one danger to another far worse.”
“The Grey Plague has reached this land too,” said Argyll. “By your own reasoning, if those lands claimed by it are uninhabitable, why would this land by any different?”
“Because this is the land promised by our Lord!”
“Promised as it may have been, we do not share the same love for it than you do. Many Simians of Penance have agreed to leave, but we have struggled to convince those that hold the Church dearly to them to do the same. Of course, they are free to stay if they wish, but after what this city has already witnessed, surely you can admit that leaving is the best option.”
“And where is it you wish to flee to?”
“There are lands beyond the Eternal Sea,” said Argyll.
This answer was met with murmurs that frantically ran through the room.
“Heresy!” cried the Arch-Canon, bringing the room back to a tense silence.
Argyll leaned forward in his chair and bowed his head. “All we ask is for your blessing to leave,” he said. “With so many of your followers reluctant to join us, we believe your words may encourage them to come.”
“Spare me this nonsense,” said Cathbad. “We all know your long-distance ships are grounded without our focus-crystals. Have you not come here to grovel before me, and ask for them?”
“No,” said Argyll. “We have come to take them.”
With this, the Sons of Seletoth removed their hands from under their robes, revealing firearms clenched in each of their fists. Firearms they all pointed directly at the Arch-Canon.
“Guards!” cried Cathbad. “Apprehend these heretics!”
The Churchguards, Humans and Simian among them, immediately responded, stepping forward and lowering their spears. But these, they pointed at the Arch-Canon.
“Traitors!” cried Cathbad. “I’ll have you all killed for this! You’ll burn in the Holy Hell!”
Ruairí strode forward, pointing his weapon squarely at Cathbad’s forehead.
“Beg me for your life,” said Ruairí. “Get on your knees and beg this heretic to spare you.”
For a moment, Cathbad gazed at Ruairí with defiance. Then his eyes lost their fire, and they acquired a glassy look. Slowly, Cathbad went to his knees. And at the mercy of the Sons of Seletoth, the Churchguard of the Basilica, and Argyll the Silverback, the rest of the druids and the cardinals and the high-cardinals of the Church did the same.
With the firearm still pointed at Cathbad’s head, Ruairí reached for his headpiece, and removed it. Trembling, Cathbad now seemed more of a weakened old man, with a pale, bald head bearing whisps of grey hair and blackened liver spots.
“Please,” muttered Cathbad. “Spare me.”
“I’ve waited so long for this,” said Ruairí. “Let me relish your fear. Your pathetic grovelling. Your—”
“Stop,” commanded Argyll. Abruptly, Ruairí turned around.
“Do you not want to see him dead?” he asked. “All of our preparations, was it not for this end? The end where his blood is spilled on his gilded halls?”
“I did,” said Argyll. “And it was. But his life may serve a better purpose.” Argyll beckoned Ruairí over, who wheeled him towards Cathbad. Argyll leaned inwards, so his face was level with the kneeling pontiff.
“Listen carefully,” said Argyll. “Your Humans wish not to leave this land, due to some sort of misplaced belief that the soil here is more special than that of anywhere else. I want you to you convince them otherwise.”
Argyll reached down and picked up the Arch-Canon’s headpiece. “I need you to wear this, and all of your regalia and your pomp. I want you and your holy men to walk to Sin, and in front of the crowds there, ask for passage to cross the sea. There will be no gods and no kings in our new world, and you will be treated as an equal among the rest of your fellow men. You will board a ship, as an equal, and those reluctant to join before shall see that leaving Alabach is indeed their best option.”
Cathbad paused for a moment, then nodded. Argyll gentle placed the headpiece back on his head, and ushered Ruairí to wheel him away.
“Now,” Argyll called out to the rest of the room. “Plunder the vaults of this place but take only the focus-crystals we need for the ships. The material wealth the Church has accumulated here shall remain in this doomed land.”
With this, the Sons quickly ran past them, towards a doorway to the right of the altar. The Churchguard escorted the holy men from the hall. Cathbad stood to his feet, but Argyll raised a hand.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he said. “I’ll need your ring.”
Reluctantly, Cathbad handed it over, and Argyll clutched it in his fist. As Cathbad left, Argyll looked over his shoulder, up to Ruairí who looked back through narrowed eyes.
“I thought you’d be happier,” said Argyll. “Come, let’s see about this book.”
