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

by Colin Taber

  Sef chuckled. “Expected? By the Seers, of course, but to what end?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  The street stretched ahead sided by buildings made more of wood than stone. Most rose to a height of two floors, but as they followed the road towards the centre of Adonis, they could see some twice as tall.

  The highest two buildings to be seen were the Seers’ Tower – the only thing of any size besides the city wall to be made of stone – and near it, the residence of Countess Brumoer. Her home loomed five floors tall, a large building of two wings, its wooden walls beautifully finished with decorative carvings, all under a steeply shingled roof.

  About them, many other buildings came from a similar mould; of wooden walls, often carved, and topped with roofs of shingles.

  Anton said, “Well, Adonis seems to be doing well: The people are fed, travel freely, and go about their business without fear or care.”

  “Was it not so before you left?”

  “It was, but it was also a thing open to change. Often the wealth and health of the town were driven by the fairness of the weather or richness of the harvest in the surrounding towns and villages. It seems to me that Adonis has reaped a good run of years.”

  The man escorting them smiled as he glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s been a time of plenty. The rise of the Prabesk in Evora has broadened our markets for many things over the last ten years. Trade has become more important. There’s even talk of Adonis joining the League.”

  Sef asked, “The Heletian League?”

  “Yes.”

  Anton raised his eyebrows. “And so the Heletians of Adonis finally pay their dues?”

  The guard laughed. “Indeed they do, Master Camberi!”

  Anton ventured a question, “And the countryside thrives, too?”

  “Mostly. The best land is along the coast or in the river valleys. There are places further inland that suffer from bandits, just as the Reavers’ curse afflicts the waters to the south.”

  “The Reavers?”

  “The Lae Velsanan pirates who harry the coast. They’re worse around Bayner, and have become so bad in parts that some land has been abandoned. They’re the coast’s own curse, just as the lakelands suffers bandits.”

  “I see,” said Sef, “and they can’t be fought off, not even in a prosperous age?”

  “Not yet, but come summer there’ll be a naval patrol. Each of Fletland’s three cities is supplying three ships. The Fletlana Naval will concentrate on the southern waters to stop them passing up from Lae Evora and into the Evoran Sea.”

  “It sounds like a grand plan.”

  “It is, and headed by Karl Van Murren, the Lord of Bayner. It won’t fail, and they’re already planning for more ships. The Naval will start service with nine, but in the following year grow to twelve, and the year after fifteen. It’ll be a solid force to block the Reavers.”

  “It sounds so, but what of the troubles of the lakelands and frontier?” asked Sef.

  He shrugged. “They work at clearing land for timber and to establish new farms. There’s been much done around Lakes Haage and Cristaan, so I hear, and more away south, up river from Bayner, near Korstrich and Alkmaar.”

  Sef asked, “And Roddis?”

  “Yes, everywhere, except for near the foothills and mountains.”

  “Because of the gargoyles?” asked Anton.

  “Yes. They’re raiding more these days. We hear of whole villages razed, the charred ruins found by travellers who arrive at road’s end to discover such tragedies. People are leaving those areas, abandoning the deep forests and heading back to the heart of the lakelands.”

  “Why don’t they do something about it?” asked Sef.

  “Who?”

  “Anyone, this Lord Van Murren, for instance?”

  “He’s busy with the Reavers.”

  Anton asked, “What about the other governors?”

  “Most think it wise to leave the woodlands to the Wildlings.”

  “But the Wildlings survive such raids, yet the Flets pull back?”

  The guard’s back stiffened, seeing him stop and turn. “We deal with our own problems on the coast. Let the Wildlings and their villages be a wall between us and the gargoyles.” The guard then turned and continued, saying nothing more as they made their way.

  Their march ended at the residence of the Countess. Guards stood at her doors, but it was not a fortified house. Everyday townsfolk passed nearby on their errands. It seemed that the Countess was not just wealthy and powerful, but also respected.

  The guard led them through the residence’s main entrance. Once inside, he handed them over to a man who seemed to be in charge of the household, and then without a word left.

  The man before them, a Heletian of a good many years, smiled to Anton as he asked, “Have you been treated courteously?”

  They both answered that they had.

  “I’m to lead you to an audience with the Countess, as she wishes to see you. Sitting in on this audience will be the Seers of the Tower.”

  Sef and Anton both nodded.

  “This will take most of the morning; do you have any questions?”

  Sef said, “Many, but they can wait for the audience.”

  “Good, it bodes ill to keep our Lady waiting.” He turned and led them up a set of wide stairs, and then down a grand passage until they came to a set of double doors. He knocked on them twice, two single and distinct knocks. After a moment the doors opened.

  Ahead spread an audience room sided by deeply carved wooden panels, them spaced along the walls between tall windows filled with coloured glass. The morning sun streamed through the windows to bathe the long chamber in gold and amber. At the far end on a small dais sat the Countess. To her sides were arrayed two sets of three chairs, each holding a robed mage of the Cabal.

  The Seers of Adonis.

  Sef and Anton were led forward while several cabalists nodded to themselves, as if confirming something, perhaps the vision that had foretold the travellers’ arrival. Finally, they came to a stop at the foot of the dais. Servants appeared to offer chairs.

  As he took his seat at a gesture from the Countess, Sef couldn’t help but marvel at the impressive chamber. The ceiling was dominated by countless hanging silks, them showing off the colours of Fletland’s cities, towns, counties and great families.

  Were there truly that many people in Fletland?

  Yet, he knew instinctively; only if you counted the dead.

  Without wasting any time, with silver hair long and rich hanging about her shoulders to frame a face of lightly powdered skin, the Countess spoke, “Welcome back to Fletland, Sef Vaugen and Anton Camberi. As you’ve no doubt guessed, your arrival was foreseen. We’ve no plans to delay you, but do wish to speak with you about events in the Northcountry.”

  Sef let Anton answer, him being more familiar with the customs of Adonis.

  “Thank you for our welcome, Countess. We’re willing to share the tale of Ossard’s fall, and are grateful to hear that you don’t wish to see us delayed.”

  She gave a nod, it slight but regal.

  So they talked of Ossard’s fall and how it had come about. They also spoke of Juvela leading those who wished to leave such madness behind. With Fletland being a land of cults and varied beliefs, they tried to soften the truth of the fall and the many cults involved. Most of all, they didn’t mention the direct involvement of Kave.

  Or had the Seers already seen it?

  Despite Anton’s efforts, the Countess was aware of his diluted truth. She asked, “So, you blame the cults, but name none specifically. What am I to make of that?”

  Sef answered, “They came in disguise, representing themselves as new saints of the Baimiopian Church. As Anton indicated, few admitted the truth of their origins, but many were from the family of creeds that pay homage to the Horned God.”

  “Your proof?”

  “My word and the presence of the followers of Mortigi, who
m I myself had to meet and fight. Malsano and Rabisto were also named amongst the new saints – and, of course, their readiness to use ritual magic watered with blood.”

  “What of the cult of Kave, for I hear that his followers are amongst them?”

  Anton and Sef exchanged a glance before the former inquisitor said, “He was named as their fourth saint.”

  “Yet Kave is an important god in Fletland; he keeps us safe?”

  Sef said, “We’re all raised to believe such a thing, but I can only speak of what I saw; and that was of the cult of Kave being a terrible force that helped bring about the city’s fall. Not only were his followers a part of it, they seemed to have been one of the powers behind it.”

  “So, who leads Ossard now?”

  “Heinz Kurgar.”

  “Kurgar of the Flet Guild? A Flet rules Ossard?”

  “Lord over a ruin – and perhaps a hundred thousand dead.”

  She paused for a moment. Her mouth opened, but no words came. After swallowing, she asked, “One hundred thousand?”

  “Yes, I’d think it a fair estimate.”

  “But that would be a third of the city?”

  “Yes, with probably a further third fled.”

  She glanced at her Seers. “More than all the souls of Adonis?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked to the cabalists about her, many sharing a concerned glance. “This is more than we’ve been told, much more. Already rumours have crossed the Northern Sea. They speak of contrasting things, from calamity to liberation, it all depends upon the speaker.”

  Sef and Anton both nodded.

  She looked them in the eye as they noticed the Seers tense. “What is your agenda, Sef Vaugen and Anton Camberi?”

  Sef glanced at Anton before turning back to her. “I had no agenda, not at the beginning. I was only a bodyguard to a young girl for a family fortunate enough to be able to afford such a thing. The reason they needed such a service was because Kurgar was orchestrating a cruel campaign of kidnappings and ritual murders that were to serve no one but himself. Now, as the city has fallen, I wish only for those still outside his power to be able to rebuild their peaceful lives.”

  “Yet, that’s impossible; all things have changed.”

  “It’s true that we can’t go back to the way things were, but it doesn’t mean that they’ve to stay the way they are now.”

  “You’d fight him?”

  “Fight might be the wrong word, but if it’s the only one to fit, then, yes.”

  “Then why do you run from him?”

  “I’m running from no one, I’m on an errand.”

  “For this Juvela Liberigo?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is it that you’ll do for her in Fletland?”

  “I’ve come seeking the truth of something, to discover if it may aid in the retaking of Ossard.”

  “What ally could she have in Fletland when Kurgar claims the allegiance of so many cults?”

  “Fletland is not our destination, only the beginning of our trek.”

  One of the Seers spoke, “They go north-west, over the mountains and into the ancient heart of Kalraith.”

  The Countess gave a wry smile. “You go to Dorloth?”

  Sef nodded. “Yes.”

  “You know that no one survives such crossings?”

  “We’ve heard the tales.”

  “And yet you still go?”

  “Juvela has little choice, she needs to parley with her.”

  “Dorloth is a great unknown. This could be the death of you.”

  “So be it.”

  She turned to the Seers. “Leave us.”

  They got up, offered a bow, and then left.

  She watched them start their long walk, before turning back to Anton and Sef. “You’ve a strong commitment to your cause.”

  Anton spoke, “We’d die for the Lady of Hope.”

  “Why?”

  “Because without her the world has no future.”

  “Is she truly so noble?”

  Sef chose his words carefully. “She was born a mortal and with such failings, but wishes to see the best for all. She’s leading us despite her own burdens, and because of that and the sacrifices she makes, we love her.”

  The Countess didn’t answer. Instead she rose, seeing both Anton and Sef do likewise. She waved them back down as she watched the far doors close as the last of the cabalists left. “The Seers are gone. When they’re outside of this room they can’t see within – or so they say. Now, tell me the full truth, tell me what you’d tell no other, for I may yet aid or hinder you.”

  Anton cleared his throat. “If I may?”

  “Please.”

  “I’ve forsaken my faith in Krienta for Juvela, just as Sef has turned from Kave. Our souls, once promised to others, are now allied to Juvela, not because she demanded it or even asked for it, but because of what we sensed in her. She’s the last hope of this age.”

  “So, you tell me the truth; that you go to the gargoyle nation, despite the reputation of its wilds and the ruthlessness of its swarms?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s madness!” She looked to both of them, gazing long and hard. “Tell me, how do you know she holds hope?”

  Anton said, “She raised Lord and Lady Liberigo from the dead, and then led over ten thousand people out of the city’s gates as Ossard fell. Since then she’s called back the rosetree to the Northcountry and made allies of the Ogres, a ghostly nation of the dead.”

  “How can this be?”

  “She’s an awakening avatar and daughter of Schoperde – and our last chance at life in a world being swamped with death.”

  “Schoperde is a force all but spent, her followers few, her priests fewer, and her blessings all gone.”

  “You know of such things?”

  “There was a time when I followed her path. Now, I’m more taken by Woden, the god of the wild. Schoperde has become just a memory for most. More than any god, she’s lost all power.”

  The sound of rain began to drum as it beat on the roof. At the same time the light from the windows dimmed.

  Sef said, “Schoperde may be gone, but it doesn’t change the fact that her daughters remain.”

  “Daughters?”

  “Juvela and Dorloth.”

  “Of course, a truth so often forgotten. So, Juvela wishes to speak to her older sister, Dorloth, an awakened god gone mad with loneliness?”

  “Gone mad?”

  “She has no equals. Without allies or even a mate she’s been reluctant to leave our world – to be elevated. She wishes to have her own family, to found a pantheon, to leave something behind to watch over her people. In all her waiting, her mind has drifted.”

  Sef asked, “How can you know this?”

  “When I was a little girl, I used to spend a good deal of time with a priest of Schoperde, an old lady who seemed particularly taken with what most would call tales of myth.”

  “Juvela wishes to make an alliance of mutual benefit, one that’ll see neither of them alone in such a hostile world.”

  “A good idea, but I’m not sure if Dorloth is capable of such reasoning. She sounds, from what’s said, to be all beast and instinct.”

  “We must try.”

  “Why?”

  “For, without such efforts there can be no future.”

  “So, why didn’t Juvela come herself?”

  “She’s needed back in the Northcountry as the Heletian League’s forces under the banner of the Inquisition arrive.”

  The Countess nodded. “I see.”

  Anton and Sef both remained silent.

  “Well, is there any aid I can offer you, for you may ask?”

  “Horses?” Sef asked.

  “Yes, I can loan some, and the medicines you’ll need if you’re to cross the mountains. It’s said that many of the plants on the other side are poisonous, but my physician will have some remedies and treatments. I’d also have you check over my
library’s maps.”

  “So, we’re free to go?” asked Sef.

  “Almost. I have one last line of questions.”

  “Of course.”

  She paused before asking Sef. “You came on a Lae Velsanan ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why and how?”

  “A ship under the command of Felmaradis Jenn, a friend of Juvela’s, who also offered what aid he could. He’s an officer in the Lae Wair-Rae military and of a family that swears friendship to Flets. Their house has adopted the colours of the Praagerdam.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, his house has worked over the years to acquire the Praagerdam’s former lands. They, so Felmaradis says, regret the injustice of Def Turtung and work to honour the memory of the Flets.”

  “House Jenn is known to me.”

  Anton and Sef exchanged surprised looks.

  “Its head is Rajis Jenn, a cabalist of great talent.”

  Sef said, “Felmaradis told us he was raised by Flets and indicated that our people live again in the lands of the Praagerdam, which are now part of House Jenn’s estates.”

  “I’ve also heard such a thing. Something is happening there, something that needs to be investigated.”

  “We’ve only spoken with Felmaradis.”

  The Countess looked about the room, her gaze lingering on the closed doors before she spoke again. “What I’m about to tell you is a great secret, and for now must so remain. Do you understand?”

  Sef and Anton both nodded.

  “Rajis Jenn is known to me. He’s written several times, but I’ve never met him face to face. He’s asked for nothing that I wouldn’t have freely given, though I’ve also come to enjoy his letters. He’s different to so many of his people, a peacemaker and thinker, but also someone not afraid to strive for a better world.”

  Sef asked, “If you don’t mind, Countess, what’s he after?”

  “He wants to know about us; how we’re managing after Def Turtung and about our ancient history.”

  “To what end?”

  “He seems enamoured with us as a people, and perhaps someone who just loves to learn. I’m sure, from the tone of his letters, that if he could visit in safety, he would. He loves to hear of our lakelands and towns, and of how we work to tame the wild. He offers what he can in his own way, and in return asks for only answers in the half-lost history of the Flets prior to Def Turtung.”