Chương 125: The Iron March

Interlude 16 On board the Isabella, Miriam had her rifle pulled taut to her shoulder.

"Not yet," the Captain told his gunners.

"We may be the best shots in the Andol sea but neither man nor god has ever made a rifle that could hit an elephant at this distance." Next to her Namiah was breathing heavily. A dark red stain on the back of his shirt told her his wound had reopened. She felt a momentary pang at guilt-tripping him into action, but if they didn't win the day a torn suture would be the last of his worries.

"You all good, rich boy?" she teased. Namiah grinned weakly.

"Not how I thought my next ocean voyage would go, but it beats where I would have been if you hadn't saved my life!" Miriam smiled back. He might have been spoiled and rich, but for the most part he had proven to be a solid companion. She supposed it didn't matter what power you wielded - when you were facing death a rich man and a poor man looked into the same abyss. Still, she had to give him credit. Many rich men never saw it that way. A cannonball thudded into the starboard side, but it was a glancing strike.

Two more splashed into the water. Miriam was beginning to shake. She had been in dangerous situations before - her escape from the carriage with Namiah was no less frightening. But now there was only anticipation, waiting for the dark sails against the purple horizon growing closer and closer. Her adrenaline was wearing thin. Finally the Captain had waited long enough.

"Fire! Cannons on her mainmast, gunners on the ropes!" Miriam squinted. The light was low, but that meant for the pirate crew scrambling around on their deck to put every sheet to the wind they relied on the oil lamps affixed to the railings to get their bearings. That painted every man working the low ropes as a juicy target and Miriam began to take her pick. The Isabella's cannons roared to life, thudding into the deck and fouling the rigging with broken yardarms.

The pirates might have gotten them with the element of surprise and a blaze of uncautious speed, but the sailors of House Staurnel were far better trained, better disciplined, and more experienced. In moments the Captain had turned the ship on the head of a pin and now they were the attackers, charging towards their assailants with gusto.

"Well?" The Captain asked Miriam with a grin.

"Do we let them run? Or bury them in the silt at the bottom of the sea?" Miriam reloaded her rifle as she answered.

"Bury them, Captain. As far down as they can sink." He shook his head.

"Never knew you were so bloodthirsty! But no. A prolonged fight only costs us more, and gains us nothing. We will let them break away. If only -" A cannonball caromed deep into the deck of the pirate ship. It must have ignited the powder magazine, or the bombs they had strapped to those poor dolphins. However it happened, the result was catastrophic. The pirate ship exploded and the Isabella was knocked onto its side. Miriam didn't manage to get a breath before being plunged deep into the icy sea.

✧✧✧ Are you there? Solas perked up. He had heard Ultán accusing him of burying his head in the sand, and he wasn't wrong. The realization that he wasn't really Solas has struck something true in his spirit - if he even had such a thing. He had been examining himself in seclusion and what he found had been devastating. His very being was nothing but a hollow shell. Solas's quirky way of speaking, the callous disregard for moral norms - even the plans to reach further and further into the center of the Tír…

none of those were real.

"I am here," he said despondently to the foreign voice. He knew it well, but he was surprised to hear it again. I need your help.

"My help? Aren't we meant to be competitors?" Solas replied dully.

"Though it's a tasteless game. A contest between a ghost, an automaton and a puppet." Something awful is on its way here. Something we thought we buried, but has followed us out of the bowels of the Tír. Our game doesn't matter. If we don't stop it, none of us can win.

"What do I care?" Solas grunted.

"I am a caricature. A poor drawing from a poor memory of a poor fool. In what world would I get to win anyway?" Just because you lose doesn't mean no one should win.

"Heh! That's where Solas would disagree with you," Solas said bitterly.

"The only world anyone can ever really know is themselves. If you can't win, anyone else winning is pointless." But you're not Solas, are you? Solas snorted.

"No, I guess not." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ✧✧✧ Miriam was jolted awake by a rough hand shaking her. Instantly she had a Reborn Sword in her hand even before fully regaining consciousness.

"Hold it there!" whomever was driving Sol at that moment said.

"Sorry to wake you up like that. But something is very wrong."

"Ultán?" Miriam croaked, dismissing her sword and sitting up.

"What is going on?"

"Uh, no. Not Ultán. It's… well, the piece of gemcraft the Eternal King tricked into believing he was Solas." Solas looked extremely nervous, unwilling to meet her gaze.

"Uh huh," Miriam said, her hands itching to summon a sword once more.

"What trick are you pulling this time?"

"Nothing," Solas said.

"Um. Look, I've… acted… poorly. I've, well… acted like Solas would. But I'm not him. And I don't have to be." Miriam frowned.

"That sounds very difficult to believe."

"I don't care if you believe it!" he snapped, then looked immediately contrite.

"Sorry. I... don't really know how to not be Solas. But last night… Sol reached out to me."

"Sol?" Miriam sat up straight.

"He's in there?"

"Yes," Solas said, wringing his hands. His posture was stooped, as if he were trying to make himself small. Perhaps that was just what Solas knew and the remains of the Reel were just trying to copy him again.

"I don't know what he's been doing, but he was finally able to break through last night. He's… well, he was very badly damaged in Teilgcheárta. All this time he's been using his functions to try to repair himself little by little. But that's the problem - he's not done. And there's something coming that we really need him to be here for."

"Ok," Miriam said, standing off of her bed.

"We're going to get Eoin." Thirty minutes later Solas, Miriam and Eoin stood at the edge of the path out of the Fetchwoods. Eoin was scowling at Solas, clearly of the same mind as Miriam - nothing Solas said could be trusted.

"Ok, Wisp. Well us what Sol told you, and we'll decide whether or not to believe it." Solas wrung his hands nervously.

"This is all so odd," he said.

"I'm fighting every urge in my body not to find some way to screw you all over for my own advantage."

"That would be unwise," Eoin said threateningly.

"Well, it doesn't matter in this case. If we don't figure this out, we're all screwed." Solas pointed down the path.

"Onóra is on her way here. With an army."

"Not really a problem," Miriam said.

"The Fetch would feast for days if an army tried to march in here."

"Not this army," Solas said.

"We made a very poor assumption back in Teilgcheárta. Or rather, Ferris and Sol did. They thought if they destroyed the Heart of Iron, the Iron Dead would fall." Eoin's face fell and his jaw slacked open.

"Gods," he breathed.

"The Iron Dead?" Solas nodded.

"I do not know how he knows, but Sol says they do not really have control over them. Even Onóra's gemcraft isn't working now. They're just herding them somehow. And in less than a day they will be tearing through the Fetchwoods."

"Eldest? Eldest!" Miriam jogged a little towards the trees.

"Are you here?"

"Yes," the Fetch said, appearing just inside the treeline.

"What the fake Wisp says would explain a lot of what the trees are whispering. A mighty vibration, as if a great beast marched its way to the Fetchwoods."

"I have told you of the Iron Dead," Miriam said.

"Could your Fetch handle such creatures?" The Eldest shook its head.

"It is as we discussed only recently. Our power is of the Mind. Mindless creatures are safe from us."

"Gods," Miriam said, turning back to Eoin.

"What do we do?" Eoin's eyes were locked onto the Fetch, his face spasming as he tried to maintain composure.

"I… don't know. If we leave, Onóra will find us. This is one of the only places I could think of in the Second Ring where you would be protected from her and Séarlait. If we simply ran, we would never be able to train you enough to get through the Third Ring. All we could do would be to keep running."

"While the Iron Dead ravage Shorinu," Miriam agreed.

"Caolán Séarlait's plan continues without pause. But… can we fight?"

"Miriam…" Eoin looked at her helplessly.

"Between us we are very powerful - you getting more so by the day. But there were tens of thousands of Crockern in Teilgcheárta when it fell to the rupture in the Heart of Iron. Even if Onóra were not a factor, there would be no way."

"Sol has a plan," Solas said.

"But he needs your help, Mr. Daith… Eoin. Some very important connections inside his part of the gem have been severed. He does not have the knowledge to repair them on his own. But you will. He needs you to fix him."

"Why?" Eoin asked.

"Moreover… I have analyzed Sol. His strength is no better than a Fourth after absorbing the Heart. How can he stop this?"

"I don't know," Solas said, shrugging.

"He wasn't able to tell me before our connection broke."

"And you trust him? Just like that?" Eoin shook his head.

"No. No, I can't buy it."

"Let me talk to Ultán," Miriam insisted. Solas looked at her apprehensively.

"Ultán?"

"Yes." Solas nodded, then closed his eyes. His posture straightened, then settled into a familiar, confident lean.

"The little bugger's telling the truth, as far as I can tell," Ultán said with Sol's mouth.

"But I'll be damned if I know what the hell is going on. Sol didn't talk to me."

"What would you do?" Miriam asked.

"The way I see it we have two options. We can send Eoin out specifically to take on Onóra. Perhaps if he can defeat her… you can defeat her right?" Eoin shrugged.

"I think so. I only had difficulty in the Heart's Grotto because I was out of fórsa."

"If we do that, then maybe whatever she's doing to herd the Iron Dead falls apart too. The second option… trust that Sol knows what he's doing. Eoin helps to repair him." Miriam avoided saying the last part of the plan, but Eoin knew it anyway.

"And you fight Onóra." Eoin said, his face grim.

"Miriam, you're not ready." She shrugged, then turned back to Ultán.

"What would you do?" The bounty hunter sighed deeply.

"It may be that the remnants of the Heart of Iron Sol absorbed are enough to control the Iron Dead. If that's the case, then option two is the only option. You can't leave an undead horde to wander the countryside - whether you like Shorinu or not. And… I trust Sol." Miriam was taken aback.

"You do?"

"Don't make a big thing of it… but… yeah. I've lived in his head since Cianán's Walk. He's a good man. Maybe the smartest man I've met, if I'm being honest. If taking a bet on Sol means risking my life well… I think it's a pretty good bet." Ultán looked away, as if embarrassed to be saying anything nice about anyone.

"Gods damn it!" Eoin shouted. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing.

"Fine. Gods… fine. Fetch?"

"Me?" The Eldest said, surprised to be included in the conversation.

"Yes, you." Eoin glared at it.

"Don't think I have forgotten you. You didn't think I could tell that we were talking to one of my torturers? It's been five centuries, but that sort of thing is hard to forget." The Fetch blinked.

"Honestly, no, I didn't."

"I have your word that you will do no more damage to me than you have to?" Eoin growled.

"Eoin?" Miriam shook her head.

"I don't want -""Miriam ensures our compliance," the Eldest said.

"What is it you want me to do?" Eoin sighed, a sound that seemed to come from the bottom of his shoes to travel all the way up.

"We need to take a shortcut."