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

by Colin Taber

  “I think I see; the woods provided fur, food and shelter?” Sef asked.

  “And so much more. If the land could host the woodlands again, then the old blight that killed them off must be passed on or turned away. That in itself would be a kind of defeat for Death, marking a weakening of his grip on the North, and thus a strengthening of Life – at least here.”

  Remembering what I’d read in my grandmother’s tome, I said, “Divine war is fought in many ways, not just by battle, but by famine and plague – even a blight that kills field crops or trees.”

  Grenda gave a nod. “There’s no kind of war more total, and its tide may flow thick not just with blood, but disaster and misfortune. Every part of Life’s natural order comes under seige.” She looked grim. “In such a war, to achieve what we need here, Ossard would have to change hands – and to a people more in tune with Life. Ideally, that would be us or other followers of Schoperde, but it doesn’t have to be. For now, it might just mean a people who won’t be so actively hostile to the things we want.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Compared to the cultists, the Heletians would be better, even if they were to be governed under the hard law of the Inquisition.”

  “I agree that they’re preferable, but only because we don’t have the numbers to take the city for ourselves. They’re still slaves to Death through their own death-addicted god, Krienta.”

  And how bitter those words tasted, stinking of hypocrisy!

  Sef asked, “The tree killing blight that struck the North came when Ossard was under the same rule you now advocate?”

  Grenda agreed. “All of the world’s faiths can be found on a scale; the cultists of the Horned God are at one end aligned to Death, just as we are at the other on the side of Life, but the Heletians are somewhere in between. Krienta is enslaved to Death through his deep hunger, that’s true, but he’s relatively new to it, so that’s not the end of the matter: His people are walking a road that, without intervention, will eventually lead to the same crazed anarchy endured by the cultists – unless they’re turned.”

  “But it’s an addiction and Krienta’s lost to it – isn’t he?”

  “Most likely, for no god has been able to beat the hunger, but perhaps his people – or some at least – can still be swayed. The addiction is their master’s, not theirs. You’ve already proven it can be done by winning some of Krienta’s faithful over to you amidst the chaos of Ossard’s fall, including one of his inquisitors.”

  “But the followers of the Horned God have no such choice?”

  “A few might, but his faith is so rotten that it’s based on nothing but power and his enflamed hunger for souls – everything that goes against the cause of Life. While it’d be wrong to deny his followers hope, on the whole, they’re already well and truly lost to us.”

  “I think I see: The Heletians are better to be in control of places like Ossard, for in time, we can try and turn them onto Life’s road?”

  “That’s right. We need to work towards such things, turning those people to a new path by opening their eyes to the hope we bring. And we need to do a much better job of it than we have done in the past.”

  I asked, “Yes, so why should they find hope now, after not just years or decades, but centuries of being blind to it?”

  “Because now, as the darkness deepens and spreads, our light, like a freshly lit candle in a darkened room, can no longer be overlooked.”

  I considered her words. “So, here we are declaring war.”

  “Yes, against the forces of Death.”

  “With us standing alone.” I paused. “Will we have enough hope?”

  “There’s Dorloth and others, and hidden allies in other places, too.”

  “Where else?”

  “There are tales of the Lae Velsanans of Kaid-Onor at the heart of the island of Wairanir, and of those who live in the deep woodlands about the long lakes of western Kalraith. Of course, there are also pockets of common men in the countryside of many nations who practise the old faith in a half-forgotten way. There are also the Ogres, rumours say they survive further to the south.”

  Sef gave a nod. “Yes, in the Heletian Spine, where its peaks reach for the Kramer.”

  I asked, “How can we work with such a diaspora so far flung across all the world?” Yet I already knew what she’d say.

  “We can only try, for not only does no other choice remain, but you represent the change that they’ve been waiting for.”

  “And all this is my task?”

  “You’re the start of it; the candle flame that’ll light our beacon.”

  “How can I be when I’m ill with my own addiction?”

  She gave a single nod. “Ill, just like our suffering world. You have to understand; it must be done, there’s no more chances left.”

  I turned to look into her eyes, feeling my resolve stir. “I’ll give it all I can. I’ll do it, for it seems fated to me – but I need guidance.”

  A sad smile came to her face. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  To have Sef by my side stoked my determination, despite the size of the challenge. “As I said, I’ll give all I can. Absolutely everything.”

  Her sad eyes winced as I spoke, then she answered, “I know.” And something of her thoughts whispered in my mind; I know, for I’ve seen it.

  Absolutely everything!

  -

  More and more, Sef and I spent time with Grenda as we made plans to achieve our goals. Amidst all this we spoke of many things as my knowledge of the wider world deepened, as did my understanding of the celestial.

  Each conversation stirred my hunger, but still it remained manageable – as long as we only talked. I was unwilling to further test my self-control or the strength of the Prince’s efforts at numbing me to my addiction by actually delving into the celestial. In this matter, I don’t think either Grenda or Sef truly appreciated the depth of my fears.

  Grenda couldn’t work any real magic any more. Her skills and value now lay in herb lore, experience and wisdom, for, of course, Schoperde’s gifted blessings had vanished a score of years ago. In some ways she could still work some basic conjuring, as such feats came down to her manipulating her own power, drawing it directly from her soul. The fair day tricks she produced had more in common with cabalism than divinely given faith-magic.

  Her tutoring bore fruit, making me see the world in a clearer way. I still had much to learn, but she took me past the beginnings of my learning and saw me become more comfortable with my role in things. More and more I accepted my fate.

  My education continued with Grenda and myself meeting every day, often with Sef, sometimes also with the Prince. Such lectures were interrupted by other activities at Marco’s Ruin, and, of course, regular meetings with Anton who briefed us on news from the Black Fleet.

  The fleet was still gathering what information it could as it set agents ashore in different vales. Such research, I reminded Anton, while helpful, could only put his new loyalties at risk of discovery. His close association to us would tarnish him. He had to be careful.

  The Black Fleet was now only awaiting the impending arrival of its main force which had marched up the Sidian Valley through Greater Baimiopia’s heart. Latest word said it’d crossed into the Northcountry a week ago. On that basis, soon it’d be within range of the city.

  Chapter 20

  -

  A Vale of Hate

  -

  The crowd was large, larger than I’d have thought possible, and they came only with hate. I supposed they’d been drawn from amongst the Loyalists who’d been scattered over the Northcountry, but now gathered at word of the Black Fleet’s coming – and in our vale of all places. They’d been attracted by the close mooring of the Sidian.

  One day the vale had lay empty, but the next they were encamped at the southern end of the beach. Worse still, their coming meant that any pretence that my people were somehow building a cordial relationship with the Inquisition wa
s gone. Likewise, Anton now stood endangered by our association.

  With each contact between the Inquisition and that bedraggled camp the risk would grow. Anger at my people would spill all too easily from hundreds of hungry Loyalist throats, including the blame for the fall of the city.

  As a precaution I forbade anyone to go beyond our fields, and only beyond our walls in numbers until we could get some bearing on how the Black Fleet might react. I also arranged for runners to call back those of our own who’d taken to living in some of the isolated pockets of ruins that were sprinkled across the slopes of the vale.

  At the time, Marco’s Ruin represented the biggest settlement in the Northcountry with the exception of Ossard. With its solid walls and ghostly garrison, we were also the best defended. That fact gave me some comfort, but it wouldn’t help Anton.

  For now, we could only watch and wait.

  From the lower terrace I could see the Loyalists at the south end of the vale’s beach. So many had gathered in that ramshackle camp; perhaps only one hundred at its founding, but it was growing with every passing moment, and far too quickly.

  By noon, many hundreds of them pitched tents or made crude huts out of oleander canes. If it wasn’t for winter being well past its mid, I’d have declared them all to be doomed by the elements. As it was I only gave them half a chance, for to gather so many would only invite starvation and disease.

  Sef watched with me alongside Baruna. “They’ll demand more of us, more than we’re willing to give to their doomed campaign.”

  I could only agree, but it was Baruna who spoke, “And what of Anton, they’ll doubt him. He’ll not be safe.”

  Sef’s big hands on the balustrade tensed at the voicing of the truth, and then he cursed. “Only to escape Kurgar’s prison to be locked up and damned by the Black Fleet!”

  I looked to him with sympathy. “We’ll need to see how this plays out and work not to be caught unaware. He’ll be of no use to us in chains, and besides, his knowledge of the celestial and all that’s going on has been a great aid. He’s not one of them now, but one of us. If he’s imprisoned we’ll demand his freedom, even if it means working to engineer his escape.”

  Sef nodded, grateful to hear that his friend wouldn’t be forgotten.

  Baruna offered, “I agree he’s an asset, but he still carries a shadow of fear. Grenda won’t want to see him here, nor will some others who’ve fled the city.”

  “It won’t be a problem. I think I’ve got a special task for him.”

  Sef asked, “And what’s that?”

  “Let’s save it for when it’s needed, but it’s a trek someone will soon have to undertake on my behalf.”

  He looked out into the sound to the moored Sidian. Some of its crew stood at its bow observing the gathering camp, from where Loyalist flags now fluttered in gold, black and navy, and paired white and gold.

  Baruna said, “They’ll send a boat from the Sidian to greet the Loyalists and ask of news.”

  “Yes,” I said, “and that’s when they’ll be told I’m a witch and leader of a heretical coven that caused the city to fall.”

  Sef frowned. “And what if they agree?”

  “Anton’s already told them as much, but also suggested that we may be salvageable and of help in freeing Ossard. It’ll all depend on what else the Loyalists say – and how Anton turns it.”

  “If they begin to doubt him they’ll put him in chains.”

  “We’ll wait and see.”

  “If we do wait, it’ll be too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’ll transfer him to the heart of the Black Fleet. Aside from never seeing him again, he’ll either be imprisoned or executed – and that’s only after torture and questioning.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “What do you think we should do?”

  “If the Loyalists and Sidian talk, we need to hear what’s said. Even if they don’t, the fact that they’ve set up their camp away from us and fly the Church’s colours while we don’t already denounces us.”

  I looked about us to see the handful of flags that flew from our walls. None held any connection to the Church through colour or theme, they were all of Ossard’s Rose, me, the white bloom on a blue or green background.

  Sef challenged. “We need to take Anton – if we truly want him.”

  “And how would that best be achieved?” I asked.

  “If we can stall them today so that they remain moored overnight, it would only take a small but skilled force to sneak aboard after nightfall and liberate him.”

  Baruna paled. “Are you trying to bring the whole of the Black Fleet down upon us, or have you forgotten that they’re rallying here with hundreds of their warrior-priests, the Sankto Glavos?”

  I put a hand to her arm to ease her fears, but added, “It does sound like an act of war, not just banditry.”

  Sef bristled. “You’d leave him?”

  “No, but any action must be done with care.”

  Baruna gasped. “Must be done! You’d allow such a thing?”

  “Let’s talk this through, for he’s not just an asset, but one of us. I do have a task for him, and now that I think of it, he’s not only suited to it, but his escape from the Sidian may very well be part of it.”

  Sef said, “If he’s to go somewhere then I’ll be going, too.”

  The thought of Sef leaving hurt, but it’d be wise to send them together. They’d become a team, cell-brothers, and may well succeed because of that bond in what would otherwise be a harsh trek through hostile wilderness. “Yes, you will, though you’ll be sorely missed.”

  “Where are we to go?”

  “Into the wilds of Kalraith to find Dorloth.”

  His face was grave. “This’ll take some planning, as it’s no day trek.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do what I can to soften your path, but this must be done, for the time comes when we’ll need Dorloth’s aid.”

  “Will we have time?”

  “You need only get there and deliver my message.”

  “And your message?”

  “Let me think on that, but it’ll be one of hope.”

  Baruna turned back to the sound. “A boat!”

  A boat had left the Sidian, one with a single churchman and a small rowing crew. Robed in black, the figure stood uneasy, trying to look noble as they made their way across the calm waters of the sound to the southern end of the beach. A big belly marred what would have otherwise been a broad and almost dashing figure.

  I said, “That’s not Anton.”

  Sef answered, “No, it’s Inquisitor Louis. Perhaps we’re already undone, for that’s a pig of a man who’d prefer to be in his cabin. He’d only go himself if he couldn’t send Anton.”

  He was right. “Let’s get a couple of our own people to make their way to that camp and take note of what’s said. I suppose we need to send Heletians, and some that have a fair knowledge of the Church and its ways. Get them kitted out in rags and send them to come down the valley from out of the hills. We need to be quick.”

  -

  It was later in the day when we saw our people come trudging down the vale’s road. The three were dressed as those they went to mingle with, and one of them had even gathered some cloth of white and gold to show off feigned loyalties.

  By then, Inquisitor Louis was on the beach and had been for a good while. About him a crowd had gathered; they’d raised a handful of Church banners amidst songs of praise and cheers. Their passion worried me, for with it would come their anger.

  We’d be denounced, I was sure of it!

  I’d instructed our agents to return at dusk, so that we could hear all that had been said. From that point we’d have to choose a path of action. Such a path might be one as simple as waiting or as brazen as the talked of raid on the Sidian.

  The time of peace we’d enjoyed had ended.

  I bid Sef go and prepare for his journey should it need to begin as soon as tonight, while I went t
o see Grenda. Meanwhile, Baruna stayed to watch over the happenings on the beach.

  -

  I’d gone to my family’s chamber to check on Maria before heading on to Grenda at the heartwood. It was an old habit, one from an earlier life, born of a city of child thefts and fear.

  I walked in to find Pedro looking out the window at the Loyalists and their camp at the far end of the beach. He was tense.

  I kept an eye on him as I went to hug Maria where she sat on our bed playing with a cloth doll.

  Pedro tried to smile, but it faltered, and then his eyes slipped to the floor. He wouldn’t hold my gaze.

  I asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing,” but he answered too quickly.

  As softly as I could, I asked, “What is it?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, I was just thinking.”

  “About?”

  His gaze flickered to me for an instant. “About those people.”

  “The Loyalists?”

  “Yes, the Loyalists.”

  “You don’t need to worry about them. We’ve sent some of our own to see what they’re talking about and if they’re a threat.”

  “A threat?” His eyes widened in surprise, until a spark of anger came to quell it – and anguish, too.

  I studied his eyes, his look reminding me of what I’d seen after he’d returned from the monastery.

  So tortured, hurt and pained!

  “Well, there’re so many of them. We were worried that they might become a problem.” As I listened to my words, I realised I was just saying more of the wrong things.

  He turned back to look at the camp at the far end of the beach. For a moment he closed his eyes, swallowed and gathered his thoughts, before moving to face me. I knew I wasn’t going to like his words, a request that had grown from something seeded in his past, from both his pain and my own hurting of him as I lost myself in the depths of my addiction’s misery. “I want to go to them.”

  “You want to go to them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because... because they’re my people.”