The Ossard Series (Books 1-3): The Fall of Ossard, Ossard's Hope, and Ossard's Shadow.

by Colin Taber

  “They’re mad!”

  “That’s the problem; it’s what the hunger’s done to them.”

  “Yet you served them?”

  “I did.”

  Sef growled, “Curse you!”

  “I’m sorry. I lived in ignorance for all but the last few years. I now know too much of their truths to deny them, my realisation gained over decades of study and research. The Black Fleet has an ancient library, one that holds many of the old order’s dark secrets.”

  “Curse it all!”

  “I’m so sorry, Sef.”

  Sef’s voice broke, his emotions rising, “So all is doomed?”

  “Already some other worlds have passed over to become barren, holding nothing but cold stone under the fading light of dead skies. I’ve seen it, it’s been shown to me in faith-fuelled visions; of worlds drowned under poisoned seas where nothing grows, and others where not even water flows, but is eternally frozen white and solid.”

  Sef was sickened, but knew he had to question Anton further, to dig for anything that might be of use.

  But where to start?

  In essence his thoughts were lost, mired in the misery caused by the knowledge of this approaching calamity. But it was Anton who eased Sef’s glum duty, for he began to share without invitation. “Sef, even the moon above, a whole world so it’s said, is soon to fall. It’s further gone than our own, with Schoperde’s followers there – whatever they call themselves and her – all but lost.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They tell of a coming day, only bare years away, where that world will blink red at its final death. Such a thing has been linked to prophecies on our own world.”

  “Like?”

  “The Lae Velsanans believe it marks the beginning of a great fall, of the opening of an era of blood.”

  Sef cursed again, incredulous. “Is that not what we already live in?”

  “Well, if the prophets think this is not a time of war, my friend, then what horrors will unfold if the moon does blink red?”

  “How is any of this a help? Juvela needs real advice and guidance!”

  “I’m sorry, perhaps there’s no help for me to give.” Anton’s voice grew hoarse, as he sniffed, making Sef realise that the Inquisitor was crying. “I’m without hope, and without such, I’m helpless.”

  It was then that the click of the heavy lock sounded: It was time for one of them to be questioned – or executed.

  -

  Sef was dragged up to the roof, he knew not why, beyond knowing that the journey would end in pain. The worst of it, he realised, wasn’t that knowledge, but being parted from his friend and cell-mate. Now, despite the glory of the sun and the breeze as it played over him, and regardless of the guards about him, he was alone.

  Alone, but not forsaken.

  Sef could see Seig, high priest of Kave, standing distant and in a hard mood. His dark manner raised the question as to what might have triggered such a thing; was it merely the chores, struggles and stresses of rebuilding a city – or perhaps something of Juvela’s doing?

  By all the gods, Sef hoped so!

  If Sef was to be tried now or simply judged and executed for forsaking his vows to Kave – something he’d long ago accepted as his fate – he’d ride such a bloody doom with a smile if he knew Juvela was pissing off the cultists.

  By Schoperde, he hoped Juvela was really shitting them!

  Once on the roof, he was kept waiting with four guards, while Seig talked with a couple of other senior cultists a good twenty paces away. Kurgar was there, and also looked to be frustrated, though he worked harder to hide it.

  Taking in that knot, Sef noted that Maurico the Heletian cabalist was missing. Instead, a man in a dark robe stood as part of the trio, one that gave off deep shadows and the deeper stink of death.

  Sef knew something of mages, and while he didn’t know this man by sight, he could tell that he was no member of the Cabal, but renegade. With such a strong aura of doom and death about him, he’d either be a necromancer or blood drinker.

  That was an interesting discovery: If Kurgar and Seig were willing to openly talk to such a man, then the alliance with the Cabal that had delivered the city must be either failing or already dead.

  Even now, in the honeymoon of their victory, their leadership shifted!

  It was important, something that showed weakness.

  As he waited, Sef took the opportunity to take in the feel of the wind and the winter sun, though it came with little heat. The light, in truth, came rich in discomfort, for his watering eyes were unused to such glare, seeing him squint against it.

  About him, he could see that the fingers of winter had already taken to the city and Northcountry. While the sun shone, it was only for now. Above, cloud stalked the heavens, and most of it was grey.

  Sef turned to gaze east.

  It was hard to tell under that bright light, but from what he could see, as threatened, the distant ridgeside of the valley no longer wore any particular hue to mark it as host to the returned rosetree.

  As promised, the bastards had destroyed them!

  The fields and pastures outside the city walls in the valley-proper had been harvested or were shedding their seeds. Many of them wore late season colours of browns, yellows and dull oranges, their greens long since bled out as they prepared to die back and seek winter’s sleep. As they faded away, a few hardy plants sprang into life to take their place. Such greenery was readying itself for the harsh cold of winter, but also taking advantage of the space abandoned by their newly slumbering neighbours.

  Sef noted that the city itself seemed calm, if the streets a little quiet. In some places rebuilding was happening, a focus in those districts, but in others nothing moved amidst the ruin. Whole streets lay blackened and abandoned, while greying rubble pockmarked all areas.

  Where once the smoke of cooking fires had risen like streamers on days of little wind, now great banners of cloth and silk fluttered weakly as they proclaimed the city’s new rule. Of those banners, Sef recognised few. Many of the unknowns held symbols that still made their meanings clear; of swords, fire, skulls or lightning emblazoned shields. They were the standards of the New Saints, their allied cults, and their leaders.

  The silks of Death.

  Sef could also sense something else in the city, something not quite visible to the eye. There were times it flickered into view over the Port District, though more so, it was something he noticed when viewed indirectly.

  The divine focus rose as a great twisting column of blue, purple and black sparks, climbing over where the ash of the torched ritual warehouse had been. Barely visible, occasionally sparkling to shine, even in the sunlight, it continued to turn and strengthen as it pulled in more celestial energy.

  The sight of it sent a chill through Sef. He knew with a simple certainty that what he looked upon wasn’t natural, the focus something that didn’t belong. The swirling vortex was the very foundation of a way between realms, something that’s existence threatened not just his physical being, as it warped the world about it, but everything.

  He turned away from the uncomfortable sight. The move saw him bring his attention to something much closer; Market Square. People were down there, some in a small market, many others working on clearing debris or preparing the foundations for new buildings.

  And then Sef’s inspection of the city came to an abrupt end, as Seig bellowed, “Damn them to the Pits!

  Kurgar raised his hands to try and calm the enraged Kavist.

  Sef knew this wouldn’t go well for him.

  Seig swore again, his voice hard as his fury gathered heat.

  Kurgar shook his head before cursing, not at their shared misfortune, but instead at the red anger building in Seig.

  Seig kicked at the gravel that covered the roof before lifting his gaze to stare at Sef. The priest’s face was flushed, his eyes wide, and the tendons and veins about his neck strained.

  Without a word, Kave’
s priest charged for Sef with clenched fists.

  Sef took a blow on the jaw and one on his chest, but he had his arms and legs free, so was able to turn and divert some of Seig’s momentum. While he knew he’d been lucky to avoid the full force of those punches, he also knew it was less likely that he’d manage it again.

  Seig turned about to face him, flexing his arms and reclenching his fists. The two began to circle each other. The guards spread out about them.

  From behind, he heard Kurgar call, “Seig, don’t take your fury out on Sef, that’s another issue and one for a trial divine! Don’t blame his unfaithful arse for the treachery of the mages of the Cabal. Their failings aren’t his. His justice must be sourced from a higher power!”

  Seig cursed and spat at Sef’s feet. He then pulled his sword from his scabbard and looked to the nearest guard. “Give him your blade!”

  The guard drew his own weapon and threw it at Sef’s feet.

  In an instant, the big Flet grabbed up the blade and then began to swing it as he tested its balance. It wasn’t great, but would suffice. Sef asked, “So, what’s this; my divine trial, judged by the sword and done to the death?”

  Seig growled, “That’s exactly it; time for you to be judged by Kave!”

  “And not by your anger?”

  Seig glared at him. “Get ready!”

  “Treachery is no place to start with the drawing of blades.”

  Seig hissed, “You know nothing of it!”

  “I know that fighting with fury saps your wisdom.”

  In answer, Seig drew back his blade and swung hard.

  Sef parried the blow, and then stepped back to take his foe’s measure. He knew Seig was not only a senior priest of Kave, and thus of good standing in his battle skills, but that he’d also spent twenty years fighting across Fletland’s frontiers. Both of them were more than competent, though Seig’s slight youth – combined with any blessings Kave might bestow – would see the priest heavily favoured.

  The priest called out, “Kave, glorious battle master, give me the strength to bring your wrath down upon this fool!” He swung again, a feint that saw him move from an attack on Sef’s left side, to come from the other, and at a higher angle.

  Sef moved and stepped back, his blade switching to take the hit and turn Seig’s steel. He grunted with the effort, something he found surprisingly taxing, but his body had grown weak from the lack of use and food. He also reminded himself; I’m still healing, just days ago I had broken bones, something Seig and Kurgar are bound to notice.

  As he considered this, Seig came forward to strike him again, the first blow just the lead of three. Each one pushed Sef back and put him well and truly on the defensive. The exchange left him breathless.

  “For someone beaten so near to death and left to rot in the dark, you seem quite able,” Seig growled.

  Sef didn’t answer, instead he tried to clear his thoughts as to why.

  “Too able.” Seig kept watching his foe, adjusting his posture and stance with any move Sef made. At the same time, he focussed on something else, something not of this world – he was searching the celestial.

  Sef tried to distract him, lifting his sword. “Some skills you never forget.”

  The Kavist offered a smirk. “Of course, that may be true, but others are seemingly blessed...”

  And Sef then knew that his secret was out.

  “It’s there, I can see it! You bear her mark! It feeds you a constant trickle of power!”

  “I’m her servant and she bestows on me what she will.”

  Seig laughed. “So you say, but what I wonder is; if in fighting you, I’m actually fighting Schoperde’s Whore – and draining her power?”

  Sef stilled for a moment.

  Could they hurt Juvela by using the mark’s connection through him?

  Seig laughed and lunged forward.

  But the link didn’t work that way – or did it?

  Seig’s blade darted straight for Sef’s heart, something knocked aside, if but awkwardly.

  “Lucky!” the priest called, mirth written across his face. “Or was that Ossard’s Rose working her blessed magic to spare you?”

  Sef grimaced.

  The Kavist growled, “No, I didn’t think so either.”

  Sef didn’t reply, refusing to be stirred by such taunts. He needed to retain his calm as best he could while he looked for an opportunity to strike. When that opening came, he had to hit with all the power he could muster, as he’d only get the one chance; for if Seig felt threatened, there was no reason for him to continue with a fair fight. Despite the melee being labelled divine justice, it was up to Seig as Kave’s senior priest to conduct it in whatever manner he saw fit.

  Only Kave himself could overrule and intervene.

  Seig mocked, “What’s wrong, Schoperde got your tongue?”

  Sef moved about, lifting his own blade. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m here to be judged.”

  Seig swung in from the side, feinted, only to bring his sword around and down with greater force.

  Sef moved to deflect the blow, but was slow in meeting blades. In a moment, Sef took a wound to the shoulder of his favoured sword arm. The cut came as a sharp and burning pain as the blade sliced into muscle before being knocked away.

  Blood ran freely from the wound, but that was the least of Sef’s concerns. The really bad news was that Sef had failed to make the parry because he was already too drained.

  And he was yet to launch an attack!

  Sef stumbled backwards, but managed to keep his feet.

  Seig lunged forward, but didn’t strike, instead he kicked up gravel in Sef’s face. “Stay up, coward!”

  Knowing that his own body was beginning to fail him, not just with exhaustion, but also with its aches and now freshly bleeding wound, Sef knew he had to finish this. He wouldn’t be able to do it by himself: He needed Juvela, he needed her divine favour.

  Sef took a deep breath and swapped his blade to his other hand, the one not weakened and slick with his shoulder’s blood. He hissed, “Juvela, aid me to end this. Show Kave why I deny him!”

  “You’ll deny neither Kave nor me!”

  Sef stood tall, feeling energised as his wound tingled and his other hurts began to fade. He swung his blade in front of him, as he gathered his calm and said, “Neither of you’ll be rewarded for your treachery!”

  “Treachery? It was you who abandoned Kave. You’re a coward!”

  “After he failed to deliver on our deal!”

  “You forget yourself; gods don’t deal with mortals, it’s beneath them.”

  “I offered my soul in payment for something, a deal he took and made his own. If he won’t deliver on his side, I’ll withhold on mine. Now, I’m a guardian of hope.”

  “Yes, Ossard’s Rose.” Seig sneered. “You just watch her pure white petals, they’ll do nothing but tear, wilt and rot!”

  Sef took a step forward, holding his sword ready to strike. “Juvela’s hope doesn’t come in white despite what people may think. She knows the truth of the world and will deliver what’s needed, even if that paints her bloom scarlet. She’s not afraid to do what she must.”

  “We’ll crush her as we’ve crushed the others!”

  “You lie, Dorloth lives!”

  “She can’t help you!”

  “You can’t know!”

  “I can and do, of defences that keep her contained. Kalraith isn’t her realm, but her prison. She can’t help Juvela, she’s too busy fighting for her own survival!”

  Sef dropped his sword, but stepped forward. His anger building, not just stirring, but rising into something terrible and hot. “I’m sick of the world you wish, its hopelessness, its limits, and the way your masters have stolen all the power. There’s another way, one free of betrayal and the death you bring.”

  Seig lifted his sword, bringing its tip to sit at the centre of Sef’s chest. “You can deny death if you want, but it’s a truth I can deliver.”

&nb
sp; “A death free of the filth that you and your gods have brought to this world is what I’m happy to take. I don’t fear it.”

  “Liar, everyone fears death!”

  Sef leaned forward to let the tip of the blade break his battle-scarred skin where it showed through the stained ruin of his shirt. Blood began to leak from the wound, the slow red trail running free. “I don’t fear you or your god.”

  Seig hissed, “You know nothing!”

  “Of treachery?”

  “Of anything!”

  “I know Kave betrayed me. You’ve no justice to offer, divine or otherwise.”

  “You’ll take it anyway, but first let’s see if Schoperde’s Whore can heal this!” And then Seig pulled back the tip of his blade before swinging it around.

  Sef closed his eyes, letting the bloodied steel bite into his side.

  Chapter 7

  -

  A Joyless Day

  -

  “Are you alright?” Pedro asked, as he did now almost every day.

  I’d always smile, as if watching from afar, and then murmur a lie as our relationship began to strain.

  It was a lie to say I felt better, but I didn’t know what else to do. I tried to keep myself distracted from my deep hunger; which meant throwing myself into what ever I could during the day – or at Pedro in the dark of night, often after downing a goblet of wine or two.

  Our loving became much less warm, and for him a chore sometimes edged with disgust. He never said anything, but I could see that he thought my manner wanton, perhaps closer to that of a portside whore. So, as the season chilled, so too did our marriage.

  Outside in the valley, snow fell on occasion and could be seen haunting the nearby heights. And, as the winter closed in, so too did the ruin’s ghosts.

  The ghosts were often sighted, sometimes by themselves, but also in groups. Such incidents, while so far harmless, added an eerie air to Marco’s Ruin, yet I ignored the unease it stirred.

  I was too lost in my own troubles.

  Truly, I don’t know what Baruna, Angela or Pedro said to our people, I just knew that more and more I was left to myself. Some days I couldn’t rise from bed because of the deep aches, cramps and fevers that wracked my body.