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

by Colin Taber

  Softly, I laughed, wiping the soil off my hands. I turned to Grenda and the Prince. “The rosetree lives, as does its heartwood!”

  They stared in joyous disbelief.

  I turned to face my people and called out, “The mother of the rosetrees is here. Life comes to grace us!”

  And they answered with a cheer.

  Chapter 12

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  The Darkness is my Friend

  -

  “Sef, are you ready?” Anton’s voice came out of a darkness so complete that it should have been frightening, instead it came to soothe.

  “Ready enough.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Scared, my friend – but willing.”

  “Good, you should be scared. We both should be.”

  “We’ve got to try.”

  Anton whispered, “Yes, but perhaps I should go first.”

  “No, we’ve already discussed it: It’s more likely to kill you, you’re already partly drained! While Juvela can heal the physical wounds, she can’t replace what we spend of our souls.”

  “Damn this!”

  Sef hissed, “Come now, as you’ve previously said, we don’t have a choice, even if we’re not sure it’ll work. Let’s just get on with it.”

  After a moment, Anton sighed, “I’m sorry. Just remember to limit what you do. You should get away with one short casting fairly easily, perhaps even two. Our hope lies in the fact that your god hasn’t abandoned you. Hopefully you’ll draw on Juvela’s power of healing as well as your own lifeblood – that should keep you safe by balancing out some of the blood-cost.”

  “Anton, if you need to do it, be careful.”

  “I will. Just remember what I told you; channel your very life into it, accessing the power in much the same way you open yourself to the celestial when seeking a blessing from a god.”

  “Yes, opening the link to my soul, so its essence can flow through.”

  “We’ll know if it’s working if we see red.”

  “Yes, if we see red.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  And with that, they embraced briefly in the dark.

  Sef whispered a quick prayer to Juvela before taking the blade that he’d found, sharpened and cleaned, and then drove the point of it into his wrist until he felt blood well up to run warm and free. The move saw him grunt, but he didn’t cry out. He then gave the blade to Anton, whispering, “It’s done.”

  And it was, for blood leaked from his wrist to run down his forearm, only to leave the point of his elbow and drip to the floor. Aside from the hiss of their voices, its wet pitter-patter on the flagstones was the only sound to haunt their dark world.

  “Quick, while you’ve strength!”

  Sef reached for two of their cell’s bars, grabbing them tightly and putting pressure on them to pull them apart. His efforts increased the blood that leaked from his wound, seeing it flow faster.

  He hissed, “Sweet Juvela, aid me with your healing!”

  The air chilled as sparks began to play about, them fighting back the dark. They started flaring in blues and greens – but also, occasionally, with the red of blood.

  Anton whispered, “It’s working!”

  Sef couldn’t reply, his mind swimming as he strained.

  Red flashed more and more amidst the sparks as the power being unleashed came increasingly from his running wound. The light reflected on the slick bloody lines marking his forearm, but also the iron bars where his life wept away. With each moment, the green and blue sparks faded, until the red wasn’t just numerous, but dominant.

  For all Sef’s efforts, though, the bars refused to bend.

  Anton hissed, “Hurry, you’re running out of time!”

  Sef struggled on, his muscles straining.

  The bars finally groaned, bending a little, but it wasn’t enough.

  The sparks, red, blue and green, all began to fade.

  Anton hissed again, urgently, “Sef, quickly! Think of lifeblood and power! Of iron, blood and rust! Think of your service given to Juvela and Maria, think of the blood you’d shed to defend them!”

  The blues and greens continued to fade, while the red sparks renewed themselves, growing bright. Amidst them, circling Sef’s wound, small chunks of ice came into being. The air cooled again with their arrival, chilling starkly.

  The bars now began to shift, suddenly dusted with frost, as red sparks spread along their lengths. The metal groaned, breaking the silence, and then the bars buckled about Sef’s bloodied fists. In a moment, they came loose from mortar and stonework, falling with an almighty clang into the corridor.

  Sef fell through the gap with them to land on his hands and knees.

  Anton rushed through after him.

  With the ending of the blood magic, the light died. Both of them were so used to the dark that they barely noticed.

  Anton begged, “Hold up your wrist so I can bind it.”

  As quick as he could, Sef did.

  Anton found it in the dark, wrapping strips he’d ripped off of his own clothes ready for such a task.

  Sef gasped. “Too much noise.”

  “Yes, but what’s done is done, and we’re out now in any case.”

  “Help me up.”

  Anton helped him after tying off the bandage. “Quiet your panting for a moment, let’s listen to see if there’s any sound from the guards.”

  They stood in silence.

  Time stretched on, and as it did they became conscious of every little sound; of the irregular drip of water a few cells down, to the skittering of small clawed feet nearby, probably rats in the neighbouring cell where their feeding had been disturbed.

  Sef took a deep breath. “Nothing.”

  “We’ve been lucky, but I would’ve preferred that we’d been luckier in the amount of blood you gave up. You bled a river.”

  “I used what I needed. I’ve never been strong with the celestial.”

  “I should have done it.”

  “You’ve no god to gift you power, it would’ve just used your lifeblood. In your weakened state it might’ve killed you. You’re celestially strong, we both know it, and Juvela may’ve aided you, but we can’t be sure how much. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

  Anton grumbled, “There may come a time where I’ve no choice but to do such a thing. We all know blood magic is dangerous, but so is staying here.”

  A sound echoed in the dark, the bang of a door a few rooms away.

  “The guards!” whispered Sef, “Let’s search this place while we can.”

  They reached out for the bars that lined both sides of the corridor, and then felt their way along. Together, they headed away from the door that led to the guardroom, as they took the chance to explore their surroundings.

  Cells lined both sides all with locked barred doors. After a dozen paces the passage turned, opening onto another avenue of closed cells. They reached the last cell, it missing its door, leaving it open and empty.

  Anton spoke, “It seems that no one else is here.”

  “Just the mystery sleepers in my old cell, if they’re still alive.”

  “There’s not been a sound from them in a good while. I’m guessing they’ve either been taken out while we were recovering from our last beating or that they’re dead.”

  “Wouldn’t we smell it?”

  “Maybe not. I think we’re too used to rank odours – that of the cesspit and our own, for starters – to notice much else, even something as strong as the stench of the dead. This place is home to a lot of unpleasant stinks, so the gradual rise of such a thing would be easy to miss.”

  Then they heard the clunk of a lock turning.

  Sef hissed, “By all the gods!”

  “Be quiet and stay here. Hopefully it’ll be a lone guard checking on us, if it is, maybe he’ll come further in seeking us out. We might be able to jump him.”

  “The knife; do you have the blade?”

  “Yes,” said Anton.
/>
  “I’ve an idea, give it to me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Go out and lie on the floor: I’m already covered in so much blood that he’ll think me dead or near enough to it to not be a threat. When you see his lamplight stop on me, give him a moment to see I’m unconscious, and then make a sound to draw him on. I’ll follow up from behind and between the two of us we’ll get him.”

  In the distance, the door groaned as it was pushed open.

  Anton gave over the blade. “Not the best idea, but with no blood magic; we might survive this yet.”

  A lone set of footsteps sounded.

  Sef took the blade and moved down the way, heading back towards their old cell, only slowing as he approached the passage’s turn.

  The light of a lamp lit the corner ahead, spilling from the cell they’d just escaped. To Sef’s light-starved eyes it seemed painfully bright.

  He lay down at the corner, hiding the blade under folds in his shirt, but within easy reach. He placed his booted feet at the edge of the lit way, with the rest of him sprawled around the bend in shadow. With care, he removed the bandage from his wrist and moved to be half on his stomach and side. The pose showed off a lot of blood, scarlet coating one of his hands and arms, and a good deal of his ragged clothing.

  Sef listened as a curse sounded from their old cell, as the guard examined its emptiness and the two loose bars on the bloodied corridor’s stones. The light then shifted as the lantern was held aloft to illuminate the adjacent cells.

  The guard gasped when he saw a pair of booted feet down where the corridor turned. He came on with cautious steps, holding his lamp high to reveal a body that he only took his eyes off as he checked that each cell he passed was still locked and empty.

  Sef lay there listening to the man, picturing his actions from every sound that he made. The guard wasn’t stupid; not one to let an enemy creep up behind him from the dark, yet neither smart enough to call for help before beginning his search for the missing prisoners.

  No, this one had let his curiosity get the better of him – or fear that he’d be blamed for their escape!

  Step after step, the guard’s breathing became clearer and more laboured as he tensed, those sounds joined by the unsheathing of a blade.

  That gave Sef something very real to worry about.

  But it was all then drowned out by a rough voice hissing, “What’s this?”

  Sef didn’t answer or even stir, he wanted to play dead for now. The dead or heavily bled wouldn’t seem a threat, certainly not to a lone guard who had the light and a weapon.

  The guard had to feel in control and secure...

  The guard mumbled, “Some kind of tiff, perhaps the Inquisitor’s found his fire again, but where is he?”

  The sound of boots neared Sef, coming to a stop an arm’s length away. The lamp was bright, but Sef shielded his eyes with a forearm across his face, placed there to protect his vision, but also to expose the wound. Blood leaked from the puncture, the flow slow and clotted. Sef just hoped the guard would assume he also had other wounds.

  The guard knelt as he took a closer look. “He got you, didn’t he? How’s that make you feel, bled by that bastard?”

  Sef let out a soft moan, letting his forearm fall away from his face to uncover his eyes. He stared at the man in a dazed and lost way, but in truth sized him up, assessing his arms and likely strength and skills.

  A moment later, a sound came from around the corner, nothing loud and sudden, but the soft shifting of a boot on stone.

  Anton.

  The guard, a middle aged Heletian man, turned to face the dark passage from where the sound had come. In a moment, he rose with a short sword in one hand and the lantern in the other. “Who’s there?”

  No answer came.

  The guard stepped past Sef and held the lantern aloft.

  Sef let out another soft moan and scuffed one of his own worn boots to watch the guard’s reaction.

  For a moment, the man glanced down, but seeing Sef still on the floor, he paid no more attention. Instead, he looked forward and called out, “Inquisitor, I’ve something for you. Your friend might be near his end, but I’ve got something to stick you with!”

  Anton made another sound, one of a step and a loose stone disturbed. It saw the guard take a deep breath and then step forward.

  Sef scuffed his boot again and moaned, something the guard chose to ignore, only half turning before deciding to focus on his quarry ahead.

  Seeing that, Sef grabbed the blade and sprang up to close the distance between them.

  The guard heard enough to start to turn.

  Too late!

  Sef reached him, getting an arm around, pinning the guard’s sword hand and weapon against his chest. As hard as he could, Sef then used his other hand to swing around and drive his blade deep into the guard’s neck.

  Blood sprayed across the flagstones.

  The guard struggled, but his efforts grew weaker with each passing moment.

  The lamp fell free, looking like it was going to crash on the stones and make a right noise.

  So be it.

  Sef locked his arms around the guard, as his victim’s life flooded hot and quick from the deep wound at his throat. At the same time, he saw Anton dive into the chaotic light and catch the falling lamp.

  Finally, the guard’s struggles died.

  Sef lowered the body to the floor.

  The big Flet looked up to see Anton standing with the lamp, blinking against its glow. The Inquisitor gave a relieved chuckle. “Well done, my friend.”

  “And you. I’ve never seen such a catch; you must’ve been blinded?”

  “And still am,” he answered, still blinking.

  Sef left the body, using the man’s shirt to clean off some of the blood that coated him. “Well, now we’ve got a blade, a lamp and a sword. We’re making progress, don’t you think?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Where to now?”

  “The room outside, and then up the stairs to the cellars.”

  “I’m ready, and with blood magic if need be.”

  Anton pursed his lips. “Only as a last resort, I’ve never heard of anyone surviving its use twice in a row.”

  “True, but I’ve also never heard of anyone cutting a man’s throat with a blade handled by a broken arm and shattered fingers.”

  Anton raised an eyebrow. “Yes, it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “About our limits?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a question Juvela once asked herself.”

  “Really, well, I suppose she has them.” Anton shook his head. “Maybe she’s found hers by now or at least begun to fathom at where they lay.” With a sigh, he looked at the body of the guard, squinting in the lantern’s light. “Anyhow, I’ve had enough of this place. Let’s get out of here and find a burnt out ruin to hide and recover in.”

  They moved on, Sef with sword and scabbard, Anton with blade. They’d found little else on the guard, just a few coins and a set of keys.

  With light, they could also see that the other cells were empty of prisoners, but instead being used for storage as they were filled with crates and chests. Eager to get away, they left them unchecked – until they came to Sef’s old cell.

  Anton held the lantern high to let the light shine in. The cell was empty, its mysterious occupants gone, but there did remain a hint as to who they might have been: A soiled robe lay on the floor with archaic runes embroidered upon it, them visible between blood stains.

  “Mages of the Cabal?” asked Sef.

  “Fallen out with Kurgar and imprisoned, probably drugged with a strong dose of moonroot to keep them knocked out.”

  “They were out for days?”

  “Even longer, perhaps. Who knows? A strong dose can do that, but also kill or cripple the mind.”

  With that, and as much quiet as they could muster, they turned from the cell and approached the
door ajar at the corridor’s end. Light shone through from the room beyond. After a quick look to each other, they pushed the door open and rushed in.

  The room was all but empty, holding a table with a lamp and two stools. In the far corner, a stone stairway climbed, one without a balustrade that finished at a small landing before a closed door.

  Anton whispered, “A lone guard, lucky us!”

  Sef smiled. “Nothing here to take, but the door to the cellars. From there we’ll have to make some decisions; like whether to keep ascending to the Malnobla’s ground floor, or to perhaps stay and hide while we wait for nightfall and a better chance at escape.”

  “Nightfall? How do you know it’s not dark now?”

  “I don’t, but we’ll know soon enough; the cellars have barred windows near the loading gates.”

  They climbed the stairs, Sef leading the way. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Sef opened the door, listening as it gave out a grinding wheeze. The sound was enough to set them both on edge. The cellar was revealed before them, dark and silent. “Bring our lamp,” he whispered.

  They quickly looked over the place: The cellars hadn’t been used for much more than storage, holding the Liberigo’s old furnishings and a fair collection of barrelled wine and ale. The two of them could also see it was night outside, for set high along one of the walls was a line of small barred windows, facing out onto the Malnobla’s stableyard just above gutter height. Out there it was dark and quiet, so they figured it late.

  A sudden noise came from the far end of the cellar, one of boots on steps. Someone was coming down to get something, or worse still, to check on the guard or his prisoners.

  Anton doused the lamp, as Sef pulled him behind a row of barrels half way down the room’s length. There they stood, their eyes adjusting, for they’d spent so much of their time in gloom that it came almost naturally to them. Just as their eyes laboured, their other senses also worked doubly hard to discover what they could.

  Their ears studied the sounds; of leather-soled slippers on stone stairs, with an uneven rhythm, indicating that the trespasser was limping or lame. Along with their ears, their noses worked too; detecting the stirring aroma of broth or soup.