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

by Colin Taber

  My slumber was uneasy, haunted by images of Ossard’s ravaged and battle-scarred streets. Smoke hung in the air while blood ran in the gutter, all as flames licked at buildings and carrion birds circled overhead. The cobbles were thick with ash, discarded weapons, and the crumpled and carved bodies of the dead. Death seemed to be everywhere, that and ruin. Hardly a thing moved to disturb the silence. The destruction seemed complete.

  What lunacy! Who could want to be a part of such a thing?

  It was not a night of rest and peace.

  In the morning, I started awake to discover an empty bed. Was it a taste of what was to come; Pedro gone; Pedro away and at risk; or perhaps Pedro dead and fallen?

  I found him on the lower terrace, as his volunteers tallied their skills and arms. Strangely, despite the hope I’d felt at the gathering plan, the longer I watched him and his troop the more despondent I became. Finally, I went to find Grenda.

  -

  I found Grenda by following the trail pointed out to me by my people who were working at harvesting the canyon’s root crops that had spent the past age going wild, as if in preparation for our arrival. As I passed them I heard no talk of war, just a constant labour as they gathered food for our future.

  Leaving them behind, on a path that I suspected would eventually end at the heartwood, I pondered the growing division of my people. There were those who wanted war, who hungered for revenge, and then there were others who just sought to move on. Some of the latter seemed so content in the canyon gardens that they obviously had no wish at all to leave. This growing division concerned me.

  Such divergent views had no doubt been born a while ago, something I’d been blind to while lost in my own suffering. But now that I knew of them it was something I needed to address, for such divisions could only widen as the Inquisition’s attack drew near.

  Soon enough, I came into the heartwood’s glade. I entered the ring of silver elms and walked across the mint lawn towards the circle of stone slabs that lay about the rising mother tree.

  The tree stood tall, but relatively thin, as its growth favoured reaching for the sky over the desire to spread its boughs. Still, I didn’t doubt that it would thicken and broaden as it matured.

  Grenda stood on the other side of the tree, on one of the great stone slabs. She was looking up into its branches, checking its progress.

  I called out, “Grenda, how are you?”

  “Well, and so is the mother tree.”

  I stepped up onto the nearest stone, crossing its face before jumping the gap to join her on her own. “It’s doing wonderfully.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but that’s not what you came to talk about.”

  “No.”

  She grinned. “It’s about Pedro and the Inquisition.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve just overheard enough of your own peoples’ conversations.”

  I grimaced. “Will he and those who follow him succeed?”

  “In taking the city? You already know the answer to that.”

  My spirits sank to hear such a thing.

  She went on, “But that’s not the right question.”

  “What is?”

  “Why they go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’ve decided to go and fight for many reasons; the Inqusition because they have to; Pedro because he’s striving to win himself back; and then there are the others who just yearn for strong leadership.”

  “So, it doesn’t matter what I do or say?”

  “Of course it matters, but not because it’ll affect the outcome of the fight. The difference will be whether Pedro and the others leave thinking that they have your blessing. The same goes for those who stay behind.”

  I sat down on the stone. “Are you saying that I should stop them?”

  “Ideally, you need to leave them to make their own decisions, but at least make it plain what you think and plan to do. Don’t let your opinion be ambiguous, let it shine clear. You need to show leadership, the same leadership you did in getting them out of Ossard.”

  “But how will that save them?”

  She looked to me with honest eyes, as she also sat. “It won’t, aside from making them rethink their commitment to Pedro’s cause. At the same time it’ll also strengthen the confidence of those who remain behind. You need to watch over all your people, not just those willing to fight.”

  “You’re not asking me to forget those who go, just to be clearer in my feelings?”

  “You need to tell them what you think. You need to lead.”

  “You know my opinion?”

  “You believe that they’ll fail.”

  “I did before, but now I’m not so sure. Regardless, to go into an alliance with the Inquisition presents its own risks.”

  “Why do you now see a chance for them, what’s changed?”

  “They told us their plan.”

  “Really?”

  “Left to itself it probably wouldn’t work, but Silva can give them an extra advantage; a hidden entrance into the city.”

  “You need to tell your people your opinion, then let them make their own choices if need be, but don’t leave them guessing at what you’re thinking or let others speak for you. Some will want to fight, but there will be others who’re unsure or just looking for leadership. If you think that this is the wrong fight or just the wrong time, then tell them.”

  -

  Later that day, just after noon, the Inquisition returned to us so that we might continue our discussions. In the clear weather we again met on the terrace.

  Inquisitor Louis’s entourage seemed more relaxed. Once seated, he went straight for the matter at hand, “I have thought long on what we spoke of yesterday and think if we could work together to take back Ossard that we should. It is my opinion that the involvement of your own people, this force of volunteers, is guarantee enough of your intentions. On that basis, if you are willing to reveal your secret gate, I will return to the Black Fleet to argue your case.”

  Pedro smiled, giving a satisfied nod, but at least had the grace to remain quiet so I could answer. I noted Silva also seemed gladdened, if tense. “Inquisitor Louis, I think we can share that and anything else of use, but before we do, I want it known that while you have my best wishes for your campaign, I’ll only send those who want to go. I’ll not force anyone to take up arms in this cause.”

  “That won’t change the numbers previously mentioned?”

  I looked to Pedro.

  “I speak for seventeen hundred who’ll fight, though there are more who are yet to commit. I expect to lead nineteen hundred.”

  Louis nodded, satisfied. “For my seniors that should suffice as commitment enough. And now, the secret gate?”

  We all turned to Silva for his revelation.

  He leaned forward. “The secret gate is a tunnel that runs under the wall, and while it’s cramped, it’s easy enough to use.”

  The Inquisitor gave a nod. “That will be for others to judge, but please, go on.”

  “There’s an elbow in the wall just south of Market Gate, it marks where an extension to an older wall moves southeast away from the heart of the city and into the vale. The extension was built well over a hundred years ago when the city had spread beyond its old defences.”

  I asked, “Why is the tunnel there?”

  “It’s not a well known story, more a piece of folklore amongst those governing the city, but at its heart is truth: Back then, a small building backed onto the outside of the old wall, just where the elbow was to be built. The house was to be razed along with several others to make way for the new wall as it swung out to head down to the river.

  “The owners of this particular abode, an old couple, refused to give up their home, eventually barricading themselves inside. The lord of the day, his patience spent, decreed that the wall be built right over the top of them.”

  “What?” I asked, my eyes wide.

  “And that’s what ha
ppened: Part of the house is now the outside face of the valley wall. The house remains there to this day, its only room forming a hollow space inside the guts of the city’s defences.”

  I noticed that I seemed to be the only one shocked. Angela showed distaste at the story’s telling, but it looked as though she’d heard it before. The men of the Inquisition weren’t overly troubled, neither was Pedro, and while Baruna and Kurt were perhaps horrified, I’d say that they weren’t surprised. It made me realise, even then, that I might have gone through my own ordeals, yet I still had room to learn: My upbringing had left me too sheltered.

  Silva continued, “The lord, not completely heartless, ordered that a way out be left from the house’s front door. So, a short tunnel was built that led into the rear of a building that backed onto the inside face of the new wall. That way the lord of the city left a means of escape for the stubborn owners. After that was to happen, the old dwelling was supposed to have been filled in with rubble and sealed.”

  “But it wasn’t?” asked the Inquisitor.

  “No, the owners refused to leave and held out for half a year before being claimed by starvation and winter’s cold. At that point, someone in high office decided to retain the room and utilise its position to add a small cellar and tunnel that led out under the fields of the valley until you reach the first of a series of open drains. The tunnel’s not tall or wide, but has been used on more than one occasion.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  “Yes, and that it remains to this day. The valley wall has never been important to the city’s defences, the focus has always been on the walls that face the sea – to deter pirate raids in ages past. The valley wall’s true use was to help control the levying of tariffs at the gates, the very thing, I believe, the tunnel was built to circumvent. Even today, if you stand outside the wall in the valley and look, you can see where the house stands: The wall to either side has sunk into the soil as it settles under its own weight, while the house wall uses smaller stones and has not moved as much. It’s still there.”

  One of the Inquisitor’s men nodded. “A scout reported a flaw in the wall at that place, though he didn’t have any more to tell. He just noted the change in stonework and the discrepancy in its settling.”

  Louis asked, “And the entrance to the tunnel?”

  “As I said, it’s in an open drain. It’s hidden amidst flanking reedbanks and a thicket of oleander.”

  Pedro smiled. “This could make all the difference!”

  Silva grinned. “That and where you want to land your Black Fleet.”

  “At the Fishing Wharves, why do you say that?” Louis asked.

  “Because it’s now being used as a closed district to house the Loyalists who remain in the city along with our own kind. Upon landing you’ll find not only no resistance, but instead reinforcements – if but unarmed.”

  Louis grinned. “We may be able to do something about that.”

  And then, as if the sun had come out, hope bloomed – even for me.

  Perhaps we could take back the city!

  -

  It was at dusk when I found Felmaradis. He was walking across the terrace in the fading light looking for someone, and by the set of his face, I didn’t have to ask why: He’d come to say goodbye.

  “Fel, you’re looking well.”

  He looked down at his uniform. “The clothes try to be kind, as do you.”

  I laughed.

  “I came to tell you that I’ll be leaving tonight.”

  I nodded, sad to hear such news. “It’ll be a shame to see you go.”

  “Well, I must collect my passengers and be under way. I also have my own mission to complete.”

  “I have to thank you again, you’ve been a great help.”

  “You needn’t bother. It’s been a great pleasure.”

  “You’ll be back?”

  “It might take me a score or more days to get here, but I will. I then need to deliver final word of what happens to the Inquisition’s campaign back to Quor.” His manner sobered, as if he could sense my troubles. “I’ll be here to see you through its outcome.”

  The thought of him returning worked to lighten my mood. “It’ll be good to see you again, despite what might befall the campaign.”

  He nodded.

  “So, when will you sail?”

  “Later tonight when it’s fully dark. My passengers know what to look for. The Sidian is also less likely to follow.”

  “Thanks again.”

  He smiled. “Good luck, Juvela.”

  -

  Later that night, Felmaradis’s ship left. Many watched it go, and in that darkness, the Sidian – to our surprise – also departed.

  It saw us left alone; me with a husband determined to go to war and again without Sef.

  The loneliness hurt, disturbing my calm. With such uneasiness my hunger awoke, and that scared me more than any sense of approaching doom. In fighting to control my dark hunger, I’d again be too scared to touch the celestial – and that meant my own people would march to war unblessed: Even my own husband.

  Chapter 26

  -

  All at Sea

  -

  The day had been uneventful under fine weather, if but cool. After Sef had re-examined Anton’s wounds, he left their vantage point to check on their boat stowed in the caves below. The boat remained, but had begun to work itself free on the tide, so he retied it.

  That night, as the moon rose in the east, they heard the deep toll of a distant bell come to them carried on a fresh breeze. Sef stood and looked down the sound. There it was, Felmaradis’ ship.

  Like a ghost, the big ship came cutting through the dark waters and a rising mist, white foam marking its bow, as its sails billowed aglow, catching the silver-blue of the moon’s radiance. What most caught the eye, however, were the blue lights of the naskae that studded its masts. They marked the ship unmistakeably as Lae Velsanan.

  Sef rushed to gather their gear. “We need to get to the boat!”

  “Are we to signal or will they stop and wait?”

  “They’ll slow as they leave the sound, swinging to the north. We’re to be waiting in their path. They’ll overtake us, throw down ropes so we can board, and then capsize our boat. If the Sidian is following, Louis will discover it sunk and think us drowned.”

  “They’re coming very fast?”

  “Yes, too fast. I don’t see how they can slow enough!” Sef grumbled as he began the descent, only pausing to check that Anton was following.

  “Do they expect to be followed?”

  “Perhaps, but they should’ve built up a good lead by the time they leave the sound. If the Sidian arrives, we’ll already be boarding.”

  They climbed down the rock-face of the headland, following a steep and twisting path. Sef went first so he could offer support if Anton needed it, and spent half the climb with an arm up and outstretched to steady his friend’s efforts. Several times they slipped and grabbed at each other, yet continued.

  All the while the tolling bell neared, its call ringing out with the rise and fall of the mighty ship on the night’s swell. They couldn’t see it, their view blocked by the rock of the ridge, but as it grew louder with each new ring, they moved faster.

  “Hurry, Anton!”

  “It comes too fast, we’ll never make it!”

  “We’re nearly there!” Sef reached the spill of rocks at the cave’s mouth, them wet under a high tide.

  Just behind him, Anton slipped and lost his footing, falling down to land heavily.

  Sef was there in a moment.

  Without a pause the big Flet lifted him up and dragged him into the waters of the cave. He led them, wading into the frigid swell as waves and spray surged about to buffet them.

  Soaked and tumbled, they made it to the boat and threw their gear in. Sef helped Anton, wet and bleeding, to scramble up and into the boat, before he untied it and began to guide it towards the moonlit entrance.

&nbs
p; The bell sounded again, now much closer. A moment later, the call of a Lae Velsanan horn joined in, its deep notes rolling across the sea.

  Sef pushed the boat towards the cave’s mouth, and then, after one more mighty push, lifted himself up and over its side to tumble in.

  Using their oars, they guided the boat out and into open water.

  The waves tried to send them back onto the nearest rocks. After a great lunging pull with his oar, Sef sent them past the danger before he picked up the other oar and began to row. The first few strokes didn’t seem to give much speed, but after another wave washed past, they found themselves moving forward.

  “There she is!” called Anton, as the huge ship sped out past the headland, its bell ringing and horn sounding, while glowing naskae dotted its masts as blurred globes in the rising mist.

  Sef gave out a throaty roar as he pulled back on the oars, trying to get them as far out into the water as he could.

  “It’s not turning!” hissed Anton.

  “Fel won’t leave us!” Yet, even as Sef spoke, he watched with a sinking heart as the grand ship made east. He knew that the ships of the Lae Velsanans were reputed to be fast and manoeuvrable, but no ship could make the necessary turn.

  Surely...

  The mournful call of the horn rolled out again, as the fog-blurred blues of naskae grew dim as they gave in to the night.

  And then the ship turned.

  It was a sudden move and so sharp that its masts tilted crazily as its bow threw up a great wash of spray.

  From where they were, Sef and Anton could hear the rigging strain as the ship endured the forces generated by the manoeuvre. A moment later, the ship righted itself, now heading north – a path that would see them pass close by.

  Sef continued to pull on the oars and make for where he’d planned. He doubted the Lae Velsanans could see them yet, not through the dark and rising fog – yet, there were those who believed that the so-blessed children of mythical Velsana could do even that.