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

by Colin Taber

Quietly, and with their own stiff motions because of their still healing injuries, they moved out from behind the barrels as their visitor put his lamp down while he opened the door to below. He then stepped through, leaving the lamp for his return.

  The brief glimpse Sef and Anton got showed him to be a slim young man or perhaps just an older boy. He was dressed in simple clothes and running errands; in this case, delivering the guard’s supper.

  Sef and Anton closed on the door, both aware of the grim choice before them: Could they afford to let this young man live? When he discovered the dead guard below, he’d also discover the truth of their escape. They couldn’t let him raise the alarm, nor even risk it.

  Sef whispered, “By all the gods, what a damned choice!”

  “And over a crippled boy. Why couldn’t it have been Kurgar?”

  They moved closer to the door.

  Sef doused the lamp, bringing the cellar back to darkness.

  Below, in the guardroom, the boy set a bowl on the table by the burning lamp, not noticing the dying of the light from the cellar above. He looked for the guard, limping across on a stiff leg, heading towards the open door that led to the cells. He called, “Stomboli?”

  No answer came.

  Sef whispered, “If he goes in he’ll take the lamp. If so, I’ll go down and take care of him.”

  Anton nodded.

  The boy called again into the dark, waited, and then sighed and turned from the door. He limped back to the table, picked up the lamp, and then returned to go through.

  The guardroom fell into gloom, but Sef was quick as he made his way down the stairs.

  Anton waited, surprised Sef had been so quick to volunteer to take care of this problem, one neither of them wanted to deal with.

  The light in the doorway faded as the boy made his way further down the corridor between the cells. Then, in a moment, it died as the door slammed shut, followed by the jangling of keys as Sef locked it.

  Anton began to laugh, listening to the sound of Sef returning up the steps. When his friend neared the top, the former inquisitor said, “I hadn’t thought of that, just locking him away. I bet you he’s wetting himself!”

  Sef chuckled. “Poor boy, he’ll probably get beaten for his trouble, but what better choice did I have – besides, now we’ve supper.”

  They ate quickly in the dark, splitting the guard’s soup. It was the first food they’d eaten in neither knew how long, so it came to them tasty, but also uncomfortably rich. Still, they downed it. Despite Juvela’s blessed healing having kept them alive and nourished, both felt obscenely elated to have a real meal in their bellies at last.

  Once done, they headed for the loading gates at the cellar’s end.

  The gates were barred from the inside, but easy enough to open. After a peek, they could see that they’d be able to get out and into the Malnobla’s courtyard, and then perhaps, to the freedom of the city.

  It did seem late outside, the courtyard abandoned, not just to the hour but a downpour of heavy rain that began to fall, as if on cue.

  Sef whispered, “Thank you, Juvela!” The big Flet then said, “We have to assume they’ll notice the loss of a guard and a serving boy – and then ourselves. With that we’ll lose our only advantage, and neither of us are in any condition to run.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “Finding somewhere to lay up for a day or two, maybe more. Somewhere safe from their searches where we can heal.”

  “We need to eat, too. We’ve managed to live off water and Juvela’s healing, but we need more if we’re to travel.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Have you got anywhere in mind?”

  “I’d love to get back to Newbank, as I know the place, but it’s too far and I’d be recognised. I think we need somewhere closer, a ruin, perhaps one of the nearby burnt out buildings. Then, once we’ve got a few more meals in our bellies, we head for Juvela’s ruins.”

  “Sounds good, all but the Juvela’s ruins part. I’ll find no welcome there.”

  Sef put an arm around Anton’s shoulders. “I’ll vouch for you. We travel together.”

  Anton nodded in the shadows. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Let’s get out of here first and find somewhere close.” His eyes lit up, catching some of the weak light coming in through gaps in the loading gates’ planks. “Perhaps the Opera House if any of it remains.”

  Chapter 13

  -

  Sails out to Sea

  -

  With the heartwood’s resurgence hope returned, and not just to Marco’s Ruin and our people, but also to me. I really felt that I’d achieved something, despite my travails and the challenges that lay ahead. With the help of the Prince and Grenda, maybe I could find a way to serve Life and deal with my addiction.

  Maybe...

  I also wondered; had I saved the rosetree by calling its green-race back from the grave, or had the heartwood still been alive, something I’d just caused to stir? It was an answer I’d never know.

  Whatever the case, now the heartwood stood with its new shoot growing day by day at an unnatural rate. All the while, Grenda and I spoke of what to do with the seeds. I hadn’t moved from my original position; they needed to be planted out in the Northcountry and wider world. Life needed to strike back, to put down roots. Such daring would be the only way it could again bloom.

  At Marco’s Ruin there were many things we needed to do. Some were obvious chores, from fishing, baking bread and fetching water. There were also other tasks that needed to be planned for with the nearing of spring – an ominous date, because of the Lae Velsanans’ deadline for the Heletian League’s retaking of Ossard.

  In my opinion, along with all else, we now also had to plant out five rosetree seeds. Each planting would need consideration, people to conduct and watch over them, yet it all seemed such an odd chore when Ossard remained in cultist hands.

  Ossard...

  There were many other things also competing for our attention; the Church of Baimiopia’s approaching forces; the matter of my grandmother and her hiding place; the coming arrival – I hoped – of Felmaradis; and, of course, Sef and Anton’s escape, something I hadn’t yet revealed to anyone.

  So, it was on a grey morning, as I looked out to sea from the upper terrace, that I noticed sails on the horizon, sails of a dark hue. They were too far out to show any detail, but I called to the watch to keep an eye on them.

  The night before, I’d seen Sef’s escape. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, as I didn’t want to break anyone’s heart should his flight from the city fail, yet I found the news so exciting that I struggled to contain it.

  Surely we could help him, somehow?

  And so, as I stood at the balustrade looking down the sound with Marco’s ghost by my side, I finally gave in and voiced the news. “Sef escaped the Malnobla last night. I saw it in my dreams.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  “Certain, for I’ve had a window on Sef’s life ever since I left him.”

  “So, Sef is free,” the words came in a wistful tone, one somehow made more liberated when born from the lips of the dead.

  “I hope he’ll be able to get here, leaving me to wonder at what we might do to help.”

  “A fair question; but what can we do from here?”

  “I don’t know. I’m trying to send them strength to heal.”

  “Them; who’s Sef with?”

  I swallowed, my nerves rising. “He’s with a friend he made in the Malnobla’s cells. Together they’ve worked to survive and escape.”

  Marco turned to me, suspicious.

  “It’s Anton, they’ve escaped together.”

  Marco’s eyes flashed, him grimacing as he turned back to the view.

  We stood in silence for a moment, before he said, “My wife and daughter died under Anton’s reign, on a pyre raised under his rule.”

  I’d been so mired in my own battles and fatigue that I hadn’t considered wh
at should have been such an obvious truth. “Oh Marco...” but I faltered as I failed to find the right words.

  Could there be any right words for such a thing?

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’ve been so buried in my own struggles, I’ve forgotten about those of everyone else.”

  He didn’t turn, just continued to stare out into the waters of the sound. “Juvela, I’ve no compassion for the man, though I sense you do. While I’d love to see him pay for his crimes, I don’t need him to do it now, not if he’s aiding Sef’s escape or going to be of use to you.”

  “Marco, I know I’m asking a lot of you to accept him, but he’s changed and is important because of the knowledge he brings.”

  Marco gave the slightest of nods. “One day he’ll pay for his crimes, but it needn’t be today.” He turned to look at me, his gaze cold and certain. “I’ve seen it.”

  It wasn’t what I’d hoped for, but would have to do. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “So, they’re on the run?”

  “No, they’re in hiding. If you can believe it, they’re sheltering amongst the scorched rafters of the ruined Opera House, above where once Pedro and Maria were held.”

  “It’s remarkable. And they plan to leave the city?”

  “Yes, when they’re better healed.”

  “I suppose they’ll try and slip through the gates and take to the road. Can we send riders with spare horses to wait for them?”

  That’s where my enthusiasm faded, for I couldn’t sense what Sef planned on next. “We need to wait to better see what they’ll do.”

  “What else can they do, surely they’ll head straight here?”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think they’ve made up their minds of which way to come. I think Sef is thinking of coming by sea to dodge any pursuit.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Regardless of which route that they might take, I liked Marco’s suggestion. “Perhaps we should send some riders with spare horses, to at least be there for them should they come over land.”

  “It can’t do any harm, and we could do with some news from the Cassaro delivered by way of our own people.”

  During our conversation, the distant sails on the horizon had passed out of sight. I doubted it’d be the last we’d see of them, and the thought set me to worry, for they hadn’t been of the Lae Velsanan cut I’d been watching for.

  Where was Felmaradis?

  I had a feeling that the ship out there wouldn’t be wholly unwelcomed, yet like so many things that intruded into my life, would come bearing a heavy cost. Only half aware of it, I lifted a hand to stroke my belly. My pregnancy didn’t yet show.

  So be it...

  I lived a life of contrasts; at once powerful, but also weak; poor, but wealthy; and loved by my many, yet reviled by my enemies.

  Enemies...

  I could’ve read the souls of those far out to sea, but I was still trying to avoid sensing the celestial lest it stir my hunger. “Marco, those sails, do you know who they are?”

  He gave a nod. “We all do.”

  I turned back to the horizon, to where they’d been. They were no doubt sailing up and down the coast of the Northcountry gathering knowledge of what had happened. With each pass they’d speak to fishermen out on the water, and even come ashore at some of the coastal villages.

  I said, “It’s the Black Fleet.”

  “Yes, come to find the truth of Ossard’s fall.”

  “And to unleash their attempt to bring the city-state back into the Church of Baimiopia’s fold.”

  “Yes.”

  “We need Anton.”

  “What?” The comment caught Marco off guard.

  “We do. Who better to deal with the Inquisition?”

  “By all the gods!”

  “Indeed.”

  Marco was quiet for a moment, before offering a smile. “What an odd couple he and Sef must make.”

  “And one I’ve been reluctant to reveal.”

  Marco gave a nod. “Send some horses, if not just for news and Sef, for Anton as well. He has a role to play, and if Sef can work with him, I’m sure we all can. You’re right; his knowledge will give us power.”

  -

  And so a party of twelve set off with two spare horses, ready to ride to within sight of the city to fetch them back and gather news. Silva offered to lead them, wanting to see the city again, and I think, more than anything, wanting to feel useful.

  Chapter 14

  -

  Time for Some Opera

  -

  Sef awoke to the sound of Anton’s soft and wheezing breath. He rolled over to look at his friend beside him, the two of them hidden away in the midday shadows of what remained of the Opera House’s charred roofspace. They lived in the last remaining corner of the roof, which put them four precarious floors up, with slumping rafters and tiles sheltering them from both the weather and the unfolding search in the streets below.

  They’d crawled up the ruin’s tumbled walls on a whim, the brickwork’s heights supporting what remained of the roof after rising like a set of blackened stairs. The space seemed so small from the ground that it wasn’t worth checking, yet, as they’d discovered, there was more to it than seemed possible. At the roof’s highest point they could almost stand before its timbers ended in splinters and charred wood – and there was also enough room to sleep in. Just.

  For now, as they healed, it was all they needed.

  Taking the precarious steps down was difficult, but the wall remained surprisingly stable and strong. They only risked the path in the dark of night, for any other time would’ve left them too exposed.

  The Opera House had been razed along with so much else during the cultist uprising, but that was the past. Today, Sef and Anton had their freedom – even if it was fragile.

  Sef sat up, casting aside the makeshift bedding that they’d gathered from the building’s ruined bowels. He peered through a gap between tiles to see past the rooftops of the city and out to the distant waters beyond the sound. He’d seen sails earlier, black sails, and when Anton next awoke, he planned to ask him of them, but he thought he already knew what they meant.

  The Black Fleet had come.

  Stretching his arms and legs, he felt well, very well in fact. Too well for someone who’d been through all that he’d endured.

  In truth, he knew he should be dead.

  That was when Anton’s breathing lost its wheeze, falling into a brief silence and then a yawn. “Sef, how are you?”

  “Healed, and not just mostly, but fully. I swear, I haven’t felt this good since I was a Kavist on the plains of Fletland.”

  “Me too – though I was never a Kavist.”

  Sef smiled. For an inquisitor, Anton had quite a sense of humour. “I suppose you haven’t seen the plains of Fletland either?”

  “I have, as a matter of fact.”

  “Really?” Sef turned with surprise.

  “I was born in Adonis.”

  “What!”

  “Yes, it’s true.” He smirked. “I’ve been reluctant to mention it, knowing you’ll just mock me.”

  “Where, in the Heletian Quarter?”

  “Yes, my forefathers have lived there since its founding. They were there when the Flets first landed as they fled Def Turtung.”

  Sef chuckled. “You’re a Flet!”

  Anton screwed up his face. “I suppose, but of Heletian stock; an outleaguer.”

  “That’s a surprise.”

  “Yes, well, as they say, there’s nothing more Heletian than an Heletian outleaguer.”

  “They do, don’t they.”

  “They do. You know, Adonis is a great recruiting ground for the Inquisition.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, that whole sense of alienation from the dominant culture sees us cling all the tighter to our Heletian roots. And then there’s the perceived wronging of Adonis,
when we were swamped by the flood of Flets at the fall of the Praagerdam during Def Turtung.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s a deep-seated thing, a little like woeful lost Evora and the outleaguers there. Adonis, to many of its Heletians, should have been the ninth Heletian League State, another Ossard, but it wasn’t to be.”

  “Do you miss Adonis?”

  “I didn’t think about it much when I first started my studies. It was much later, after I was free to travel unsupervised. It’s the sea, I think, it’s as though it calls me home. And I wonder, wonder what has happened to my family after all these years. I should have tried harder to keep in touch with them.”

  That reminded Sef of the sails he’d seen. “It’s funny you should choose such words, for I saw something out to sea.”

  “What?”

  “Black sails.”

  Anton didn’t answer, not at first, but instead turned west to search the horizon through a gap in the tiles. “I suppose they should be here by now trying to discover what’s happened to me.”

  “The Black Fleet?”

  “Not the whole fleet, but a good portion of it. Having not been allowed into Ossard for so many years, to now have the excuse to come in force won’t be ignored.”

  “Will they know anything of what’s happened?”

  “I can’t be certain, but even if they know something, I don’t think it’ll be close enough to the truth – unless they had other agents who were able to get word out. I sent a messenger, but his ship was sunk and him drowned.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Juvela told me on the night the city fell, showing it to me in the celestial. The Lae Velsanan she’d spoken with back then had told her of a storm barrier that circled Ossard out to sea, something hidden over the horizon that worked to isolate the city.”

  “Will the Black Fleet just sail into Ossard?”

  “No, they’ll survey the area and then send someone in on foot. They’ll not risk their ships until they know the port is friendly.”

  “So, if they passed by today, when will they send someone in?”

  “Soon, maybe tonight, but certainly in the coming days.”