Until a young woman named Meadhbh said that Lord Seletoth had spoken to her of a land to the west. A land the Grey Plague could not touch. None believed her, until she bore a son without ever laying with a man. The father, she said, was Seletoth Himself.
And the son, of course, was me.
The Truth, by King Móráin I, AC55
***
The first meeting of the Triad since the Battle of Penance was far busier than those Farris was used to. Dozens of Simians and a handful of Humans filled the room, many standing, some leaning against the white marbled walls. Every seat was occupied, bar the three at the top of the room. Those were reserved for the Triad itself.
The nervous chatter of the crowd continued past the scheduled start time, with no leader, no real leader, to initiate the discussion.
But we have so much to discuss, thought Farris, eyeing the attendees. Like the meeting held before when the refugees of the Seachtú came to Penance, many businesses and landowners of the city stood in wait today. Without the Silverback’s presence, it was General-Commander Plackart who spoke first.
“Let us begin,” he growled, looking to the others as if they were his subjects. He added no more volume than usual to his voice, but still, this silenced the room. The old Simian hesitated before speaking, his scarred lips pursed in concentration.
“A victory was won in this city not seven days ago,” he began. He folded his arms, heavy vambraces upon both clinking together. “But our work is not yet complete. In fact, the city’s problems are now threefold. First, the walls of the Stoneworks must be repaired in case this enemy should return. Second, our remaining food provisions are waning, and redistribution of our resources must be carefully considered if we are to survive the winter. Finally, law and order has broken down across the residential districts, with looters and thieves thriving in the chaos the horde left behind.”
“One of my stores was raided last night!” said one Simian merchant. Farris recognised him as Edwin the Grey. “Bandits stole away half a years’ worth of stock.”
Farris cut in before Plackart could respond. “Can you please elaborate for the council, what specifically you mean by ‘stock?’”
“G-grain and dried foods,” stammered Edwin. “Income that was fairly earned and—”
“It seems, Commander Plackart,” interrupted Farris, “that of our city’s three problems, the second is being resolved by the third.”
“Nonsense!” cried another finely dressed Simian. “These are anarchists that have no respect for authority! They must be put down brutally before the city descends into ruin.”
“These are just desperate people who need to eat,” said Farris. “Surely—”
Plackart raised a hand. As another merchant spoke up, Plackart leaned in towards Farris. “Not now, lad,” he whispered. “We need to find a solution that keeps us all happy, and that won’t happen if you keep goading them.”
“If I may,” said Ruairí of the Sons of Seletoth. “Based on the current accounts of the Triad, our granaries have just half the capacity needed to see us through the winter. We will rely on the commerce of private merchants to make up the rest of that shortfall.”
Farris narrowed his eyes. Ruairí seemed to have his finger on the pulses of many different arms of the Triad. Wasn’t he just a priest or a leader of the Sons of Seletoth? He was close to Argyll, sure, but how did that land him the responsibilities of treasurer of the Triad?
“So that settles it,” said Edwin. “If you want us to fortify the Triad’s winter stores, you must send soldiers through the city streets clean up those who don’t respect the law.”
“The Triad’s soldiers will not be available for this task,” said Plackart. He adopted a blank stare and a level voice as he said this, not engaging with the other Simians directly.
This seemed to puzzle Edwin, but landowner Wheaton the Wise seemed to understand.
“Ah yes,” he said. “The repairs needed for the wall. Of course, we must prioritise the safety of—”
“The Triad’s army will not be utilised to rebuild,” said Plackart. This caused a ripple to go through the room.
“Then what purpose will they serve?” said one voice for the crowd.
“What are our taxes going towards, if not to protect the city?”
“Skies above! Not even an answer!”
Plackart looked to Farris as the stirring in the crowd turned to shouting.
“If the Churchguard are joining us on the march south,” whispered Plackart. “Then they’ll need the Triad’s supplies too.” He glanced to Ruairí. “We’ll have to empty those granaries before we leave.”
Farris looked to the rest of the council. Although made up of stewards and lawmen, diplomats and treasurers, they dealt with the minutia of the running of Penance. They themselves made no decisions, no difficult decisions. That responsibility fell to those who would have occupied the three empty seats of the Triad that loomed overhead.
But in their absence, who has the right to make any decision?
Only the few who had spoken with the Lady Meadhbh truly knew the stakes they were dealing with. Of those, Padraig and Nicole were already in Dromán. Before she left, Nicole had suggested Farris negotiate with Cathbad, something he thought absurd. Then against all odds Cathbad agreed to Farris’ terms. Farris never would have thought it possible, but somehow Nicole did.
Maybe she’d know what to do if she was here.
For all their talk of law and order, now the hall was in chaos. Merchants and landowners squared off against one another, while others hurled abuse at those on the council’s tables. One steward quickly gathered his notes together as if hoping that would prompt the others to end the meeting.
Aislinn and Fionn sat to the opposite side of Farris. Apart from him, they were only others who here who had met Meadhbh.
“What do you suggest we do,” said Farris to them. “Use what we have to repair the city and feed the people, or send everything south?”
“Maybe we can split our forces,” said Aislinn. “Send some to Dromán, have the rest stay here, and keep everyone happy.”
Fionn frowned. “That certainly would be the most optimal approach, but if there’s a chance our full forces are not enough to fight Morrígan, what hope do we have with half?”
Farris swore, glancing over to the Silverback’s empty chair, then over to Ruairí. “What would Argyll have chosen?”
Ruairí smiled, idly running a hand through his long, wavy hair. “Why, I’m sure you know him more than I do. And surely you knew the answer to that before you asked.”
Farris swore under his breath. The Silverback would have done whatever was necessary, caring not for the qualms of others. But Farris still considered the businessmen of Penance. Sure, they were motivated entirely by greed, but they were right about one thing: taking all the food from Penance would be sure to leave its people to stave.
