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

by Colin Taber

  I reached out to take her hand, moved by an impulse. “And then, after you return with the survivors, we will both ride forth and clear the bandits, all of them. When you go out and pass them by, count their heads, horses, even their tents and shacks. If you come back and tell me there are fifty of them, we will go out with five hundred. I will not have such vermin in our vale. Do you understand me?”

  Something passed between us, a sensation of power transferring from my hand to her own. I realised then that I again had a huge store boiling away inside me, energy sourced from the hundreds of souls I’d so recently fed upon.

  Baruna also felt the blessing and knew she now held a weapon to both protect herself, but also smite. With her jaw set, her indignation at learning of this bandit camp, and the realisation of the threat it posed to Kurt should he live, was enough to make her focus her determination into a weapon as fierce as what I had just gifted her.

  Sounds from the doorway attracted our attention, and both of us turned to see Grenda and the Prince arrive.

  Baruna gave my hand a squeeze and then let go. “I’ll see to the riding force.” She got up and made to leave.

  As she broke her comforting touch, a feeling rose in me, sudden and intense. The sensation was of despair and abandonment.

  But not of me.

  Trouble was out there – fires and fighting raging in the Cassaro Valley. I could feel it, and any of our own who had survived the battle were at risk. With an insistent whisper, I said, “Do it now and leave as soon as you can. This very evening!”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Yes, it is important. There are survivors out there. Go as soon as you can and I will work to speed you on your way.”

  With a nod, she hurried out.

  Within me, for the first time since I had regained coherence, I felt my hunger stir. My dark appetite had been roused partially by my sensing of danger, but also by the thought of bandits.

  Dead bandits.

  -

  Grenda watched Baruna leave, the two exchanging a glance as she passed her by. The Prince ignored them both; he just entered the room and stood watching me. I couldn’t help but gaze at his spectral hands, the same giant hands that had stilled my feeding, but they were bare of moonroot now where he held them clasped in front of him.

  Seeing the blue glow of his form also roused other thoughts, not all of them comforting. The hue reminded me of the sight of great rolling balls of blue flame rushing out from the Fishing Wharves from where Silva should have been, to one by one hit the ships of the Black Fleet and engulf them in fiery ruin. The memory didn’t just make me think of magic or the celestial, but my grandmother, a ghost woven of such spectral flames.

  She’d hungered for revenge and had only one target – the Inquisition.

  “Juvela?” Grenda’s voice grabbed my attention.

  I looked up to see that the Prince had moved closer, yet he still stood rigid, almost apologetic, while Grenda had come to stoop over the bed. I moved over a little as I said to her, “Please, sit.”

  She looked pale, not just old and tired, but uncomfortable. Perhaps even frightened.

  Frightened of me?

  She hesitated but then turned to glance at the Prince. He didn’t meet her gaze, but I saw her shudder, something that forced her body to make the decision for her, as she quickly sunk down. At the same time as she settled in, she brought a bony hand to my own and gave it a squeeze. Her frail hands were warm, her grip tight. She started to turn back to the Prince, but stopped herself, instead forcing a smile as she met my gaze.

  It wasn’t me she was frightened of, but him.

  What was happening here?

  An awkward silence settled, but I felt I no longer had time to deal with it, so I spoke, “Where shall we start – of what happened in Ossard, or of what has happened here since I left?”

  The Prince stirred but never broke his pose. “We know what happened on the ridge overlooking the city.”

  “Yes, I suppose you do.” I put my spare hand over Grenda’s. “You were there.”

  “Grae Ru.”

  Silence.

  Grenda’s other hand joined our others. I’d always felt I could trust her, but now I also felt close to her, bound to her, a sense of deep sisterhood.

  The first of slow tears escaped her eyes to roll down her wrinkled cheeks. The pressure of her grip only tightened, as did our bond.

  Grenda would do anything for me. She wasn’t just offering me her support or love, but whatever I needed.

  The renewed silence stretched on.

  In contrast, only a stark cold radiated from the Prince, a response stronger than his usual chill. Finally, he broke the quiet, only to mutter in a voice no longer firm, but pained, “Yes, I was there. Damn all the gods!”

  And the room filled with the rising blue of his fellows, them standing shoulder to shoulder as they materialised and mournfully intoned their affirmation, “Grae ru.”

  He took several steps forward and then dropped to a knee.

  Grenda began to lean back from him, until she caught herself.

  “Ossard has fallen, just as other cities, nations and gods have in recent times. More will fall. A great doom is coming. Yet there is also a spark of hope that has flared and is poised, should we take great care of it and keep it fed.”

  “Grae ru,” his people chorused.

  I braced myself for the truth, as I asked, “I’m that spark, yet now I’ve again fed...”

  He interrupted me, leaning forward, earnest, and perhaps even desperate. “Yes, to see your spark flare. You are a symbol, one that before was small, alone and weak, but now you are becoming a force mighty to behold. One day soon you will be a beacon that all our scattered peoples around the world will see.”

  “A beacon, but one corrupted by the divine addiction!” I challenged.

  He considered his response before he nodded and said, “But one that has returned the rosetrees to us and can be trusted to act in the cause of Life!”

  “Grae ru.”

  He rose and came closer, again dropping to a knee. Then he lifted a hand, one of his giant hands that had only a day ago cupped powdered moonroot and used it to sedate me. Now, he lifted that hand and put its glowing chill over mine and Grenda’s, his cool spreading against the warmth of our own grip. The feeling was oddly refreshing. “Juvela, great things are in motion. You know this, and in time they will climax. You have been given your place and duties by Life. Soon enough your part in this will end. I have seen it. You just need to follow it through.”

  “Grae ru.”

  Grenda stirred beside me, shedding some of her fear. “If Schoperde willed this path, if she planned and built it, then we can only follow it through. I have faith that Juvela will do it, just as I will, as will you and your own people, Prince.”

  He nodded.

  She went on, “For now though, let us not burden ourselves with what will happen next season or the season after that. Juvela is recovering after a trial that nearly killed her. Let us talk of what has happened, and save the talk of tomorrow for another day, if but a day soon.”

  Some of the chill left the air as the Prince lifted his hand and straightened up. “Let us talk then.”

  And so we did.

  I told them of our arrival on the ridge and how I had sent Kurt ahead into the valley via Goldston, trying to get my warning to Pedro and his force. I spoke of the chaos that unfolded as the cultists of Ossard enacted their own trap to ensnare our own, and of the deaths of the Inquisition’s leadership far to the south as they were impaled on the spires of their Holy City of Baimiopia. I also told of Pedro’s plea for aid as he took an arrow in his side as his volunteers began to be overwhelmed, and then, finally, I spoke of my attempt to use the celestial.

  With that direct contact, the protections the Prince had woven over me to soothe my hunger had fallen apart. The dark appetite of my divine addiction had bucked and lashed out, overwhelming me and taking control. And then, unhinder
ed, I had begun to feed.

  The Prince spoke up, telling me he had feared I would be tempted, and so, in an attempt to reach me in Ossard, had drawn upon his peoples’ power to project himself far away from their haunting’s base. He had found me as I was overwhelmed, as the cultist slaughter below of Loyalists and Pedro’s volunteers approached its climax, and as great balls of blue flame had rushed out across the sound’s waters to engulf the ships of the Black Fleet.

  He’d used the moonroot to befuddle me and stifle my sensitivity to the celestial and thus make me safe. Once my mind was stilled, he’d then begun to reweave his former protections, though, of course, my hunger was now all the more powerful, if temporarily sated.

  He looked to me. “You may have already heard; that is when Felmaradis found you, though I had a hand in gaining his attention for you.”

  “He was already in the area, observing the battle?”

  “Yes, and at its climax, he’d come closer to see what he may before he returned to Quor.”

  “He’s gone now?”

  “Yes, he delivered you here yesterday at noon.”

  “How?”

  “You were brought to us by airship.”

  “What?”

  “A ship that flies through the sky as if it was merely another sea; a vessel powered by elemental magic. No one witnessed it, as his cabalists flooded the sound with a thick fog.”

  I thought about it, remembering looking up at him when he had found me, as his physician treated me. Above him I’d seen billowing sails and seen glimpses of the ground and the sea far below. At the time I’d thought myself lost to delusion.

  The Prince took back my attention as he continued, “More happened in Ossard that you should know about.”

  I was afraid to ask, but this was the time for it. “Yes?”

  “Those balls of blue flame hitting the Black Fleet – we know who was casting them.”

  “Who?” I asked, but I already knew.

  “Your grandmother. She was in the Fishing Wharves and taking her vengeance on the Inquisition, drawing as much blood as she could.”

  The more I thought of it, the more certain I was that he was right. “You sensed her there, in the city, when you came looking for me?”

  “Yes, she was there, and hadn’t just got her revenge by attacking the Black Fleet: I think she also told Kurgar of the Inquisition’s plans.”

  It was true. How else could they have known we were coming? Only one person with all that knowledge had gone into the city early, to be in the Fishing Wharves in time for the start of the attack. “It was Silva; that’s where she was hiding?”

  The Prince nodded. “Grae ru. She took his body when you first revived him, but now at least we are free of her.”

  Chapter 3

  -

  A Mournful Land

  -

  Beyond the Flet Frontier, Kalraith.

  Sef looked upon the distant mountain wall that loomed from behind the foothills that still lay ahead. The rugged barrier was an impressive thing. Yet what stood to be even more remarkable was the obvious line of lone towers, each standing over a low pass – the Sentinels of the Pandike. Isolated, but strung out in a line, the towers blocked every natural climbing path one would use to cross the range. The grand work spread far, so much so that the vastness of the defense was difficult to comprehend.

  And that was only what they could see of it.

  The Sentinels were watchtowers, and not so grand in themselves, but still stark enough to stand out, even at a distance against the chaos of the jagged mountain wall.

  Sef stood taking the sight in with Anton and Matraia beside him.

  But they were still a long way away.

  Before the mountains spread the foothills the three of them had yet to cross. It was those foothills, also a scorched and barren place, that they were about to reach, what inevitably brought them closer to the sheer walls and steep climbs of the Varm Carga.

  For the first time the big Flet wondered to himself if the crossing was going to be possible.

  Regardless of the Sentinels, there seemed no easy path over the mountains, whether through rocky passes or up relentless and sheer slopes.

  Sef resisted the urge to turn and look at Matraia.

  She was already struggling on foot across the blasted plain. The foothills themselves would only challenge her more, and the only real obstacle they presented different from the plain was the uphill climb. So, if the foothills were a trial, then the mountains would be a true test.

  Or kill her – and by association, perhaps Anton and himself.

  “It’s going to be a hard climb,” he muttered.

  Anton was still taking in the sight of the string of towers dotted along the horizon. They were so far away that their details weren’t clear, but it seemed as though the pass-guarding towers were often matched to other lone towers that stood higher up the mountains. “See those higher towers?”

  Sef gave a worried nod.

  “They’re not for guarding passes or trails, but for other purposes, perhaps for extra watches and signalling.”

  “Signalling?”

  “Yes, to carry messages along the Pandike, probably with flags, smoke or fires.”

  Matraia stayed quiet, also taking in the sight. She knew she was slowing them down and the most likely to inadvertently give them all away.

  Anton said, “Well, it’s a climb just waiting to be done. It’s that simple. What’s the phrase they have down in the Kramer, where some are so rich that they look for silly challenges because they are not acquainted with the fear of not knowing where their next meal might come from? Oh, yes, that’s it; a mountain – they climb it because it’s there.”

  Sef gave a grunt of amusement. “Silly, indeed. I’ll only be doing this climbing because I have to, not because I’ll be finding any pleasure in it. I’ll certainly not be doing it because I want to.” He took in the view again as he spoke, measuring the true scale of the challenge. “Look, there is snow down low on the flanks, almost to the nearest pass. We have some extra blankets and another set of clothes, so can make do, but we’re not dressed to go high. If we have to, it could be the cold that kills us, not the gargoyles.”

  Matraia stepped forward. “The climb is hard, harder for me than I imagined, though I do not want to complain.”

  Sef turned to her, glad that she’d admitted the truth. “You’re just not used to walking. Your legs aren’t built for it. Your stamina is in your shoulders, wings and chest.”

  “I don’t think I could make it over the mountains, not after having spent the last few days struggling over what is much gentler ground.”

  Anton glanced at Sef and then back to her. “What are you saying, Matraia?”

  “If you feel it best, you can go on without me, but if you also have concerns with those heights and being on such exposed slopes, I know there is supposed to be another way.”

  “Another way?” Sef asked.

  “Yes, there is a path under the mountain wall.”

  “Ahh,” Anton gave a nod. “There is, isn’t there. There are supposed to be tunnels that lead to the heart of the old Dominion of Kalraith.”

  She agreed. “There are meant to be several of them. They were a part of the roads the citizenry used.”

  Sef spoke up, “Do they exist or are they just legends?”

  Anton shrugged.

  She gave a nod. “That is a good question, and one I can answer: They do exist, yet none of the Dagruan have passed through them or even attempted to explore them to any depth. My people don’t deal well in such enclosed spaces.”

  Sef looked to Anton.

  The former Inquisitor offered, “It would be worth checking them, should we come close to one. I wonder though, are we as ill-prepared for such a journey under the mountains as we are over them?”

  “From my understanding, the tunnels were not that long, well, not to the Lae Velsanans of the Dominion that built them. We’re not talking about underground
cities or mines, but shortcuts that were designed to be just that.”

  Sef asked, “And what exactly does not long mean? After all, we’re talking of a dominion of wonders that was supposed to have carriages that moved without beasts of burden or horses.”

  She gave a quick nod. “Another good point, and yes, their tunnels are supposed to be a lot longer than what we would consider short. On foot, I think we should be able to get through them in a couple of days.”

  Anton’s eyes widened, while Sef exclaimed, “A couple of days!”

  “From what I know of it, that’s what the stories would indicate.”

  “Days in the dark in a narrow tunnel that might be blocked or flooded or even some beast’s lair?”

  “It’s true to say that the roof may have collapsed, or even that flooding is possible, too, and there could be beasts. One thing I do know is that the tunnels are not too narrow and they were paired together. They say they could take two carriages side by side, with another tunnel dug beside it, separated by walls, and within that wall was yet another tunnel. All along their lengths they were supposed to be peppered with shafts that let in light and fresh air.”

  Sef and Anton were still apprehensive, maybe even more so for hearing what she’d said. It was Anton who answered her. “We’ll see. If we come across one, we can investigate the entrance and make a decision then. In truth, if going over the mountain seems so difficult and likely to cause our discovery, we may very well have to take one of your under-mountain roads.”

  Sef looked to both of them, let out a breath he’d been holding without even realising it, before saying, “That may be true.”

  Anton patted Sef on the shoulder. “None of us want to take such a road, but it may be an option that we might have to use.”

  The big Flet looked at Matraia as a wry smile settled on his face. “It’s true and I know it. It’s just I’m about as fond of dark tunnels as I am of sea crossings. This is not good news.”