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

by Colin Taber

  Anton found himself studying this sad place. At one point, he went to move and leave Sef to his mourning, but Sef reached out and grabbed at his arm to hold him there. A moment later, the sun came out to draw back the day’s grey veil. Its golden rays shone down to reveal winter’s rich greens and even some flowers that prospered enough to bloom. Sef’s tears stilled, so he wiped at them before looking up to his friend and whispering, “Thank you.”

  Anton dipped his head.

  Sef rose to look about himself, to see the ruin of Kaumhurst anew, now being reclaimed by the wilderness.

  A bird in the distance began to sing – a song of the living.

  Sef took a step back from the cairn and said, “And here’s my family, my friend. It’s such a shame you couldn’t meet them.” A smile came to his sad face, something that helped soothe the wound he carried deep inside. “So, here they rest, at home.”

  Anton looked about in the golden light that lit Kaumhurst’s rise. “A more peaceful place to sleep the deepest slumber couldn’t be found. Your love honours them.”

  Sef smiled and looked about again. “You’re right, it is peaceful. Now, I’ve done what I came for, and though I could stay a thousand years, it’s time we restarted our trek.”

  Chapter 33

  -

  To War

  -

  We’d moved as quickly as we could, stopping only for the briefest of breaks. As we went, the Inquisition messenger’s warning rang out in my mind; that if we rode down into the vale we’d only arrive after Pedro’s departure – and miss the chance to deliver my warning.

  I needed to get word through, if not to Pedro then to Baltimora’s command. If the attack was to go ahead regardless of my message, at least the foreknowledge might help minimise what damage my grandmother could do.

  But I only had the one chance.

  And in that, there was only one option to choose: As much as I would have preferred to reach Pedro, I had serious doubts that our lone messenger had gotten through as I remembered the bandit leader, fattened on fresh horse meat and donning his soiled rose flag. If that were the case, then Pedro would’ve had no reason to wait. With no delay, he’d have already set out. Simply, I’d never catch him.

  That made Baltimora’s command the only place I could reach in time and have my warning heard.

  The decision was made.

  When we came to where the ridge-top trail began its zig-zagging descent into the Cassaro just after mid-afternoon, I called a stop. Quickly, I asked Kurt to join me in the coach where I issued new instructions. “We have to change our plans, partly because events have gotten away from us, but more so because I fear our messenger has failed.”

  Kurt gave a nod. “It’s my worry, too. So what’s the plan?”

  “I want you to take ten men, including some good with bows, to ride down and still try to catch Pedro if you can. I don’t think you’ll get to him in time, but if you don’t you’ll at least be there for afterwards, perhaps to carry him back home to me.”

  “And what of the rest of you?”

  “We’ll continue along the ridge until we find Baltimora’s command. There I can share my news, but also, if need be, make our way down into the vale along the rougher tracks the Inquisition’s messenger spoke of.”

  He nodded. “Well, there’s no time to waste. I’ll go on horseback and not take another coach or cart. It’ll be quicker.”

  “Good, can you choose another driver for me?”

  “Yes, I’ll see to it now. We’ll also grab some supplies.”

  “When you return, if it’s soon, check the ridge for us. If you are delayed, just go back to the ruins – but watch that camp at the bottom of the road.”

  He nodded. “You don’t have to remind me.”

  Soon, I had a new driver, and then we parted ways with Kurt and his ten. Once he’d begun the descent we again headed on, but now to seek out Baltimora.

  I hoped I was making the right decision!

  Later, we approached a bend in the valley that would reveal Goldston to us in the waning afternoon. While the sky had grown overcast, at times the lowering sun broke through the clouds to rake the vista with rays of amber.

  As we cleared the bend, Goldston was finally revealed on the valley floor below. The flaring light of the sun obscured most of the detail, yet we could see what we needed.

  Goldston sat alone!

  No encampment encircled the town, and as we came to be up-ridge of it, we could better look down upon Goldston free of the sun’s glare. With that clearer view, we could see signs of churned ground and empty fields, indications that the town had recently played host to a large force, but obviously that force had departed.

  It was Angela who spoke, “They’ve gone, and Ossard’s so close that they may’ve already joined battle!”

  Grimly, I called to our driver, “Go on, and quickly!”

  We risked what speed we could as we continued along the ridgeline on our shepherds’ trail. As we moved, our banners snapping in the wind, one of our guards pointed out movement down in Goldston; of another Inqusition messenger, now ahorse and heading back up the valley for the switchback road.

  I answered, “We keep going. If he’s coming for us, he’ll have seen our banners and can catch up with us later tonight. It’ll take hours for him to finish the climb. We need to head on under what light remains. We need to reach Baltimora!”

  And so we did, heading on into the sunset.

  -

  Sunset revealed few answers, but I did think I glimpsed something on the valley floor under dusk’s deepening gloom; was it the tail end of a troop column?

  Or not – for I was no scout or general?

  It took until full night before we could see the city ahead. There were no obvious signs of battle; no fires or clash of arms, instead it was quiet. I ordered our lamps doused, guessing that our volunteers and the Inquisition were settling into position – and trying to remain undetected.

  We continued along the top of the ridge, but slowed, working to not give them away. The ridge itself was losing height as it headed west towards the sea, bringing us at once closer to our people, but also the enemy, yet the ridge still loomed well above the city.

  The closer we came, the more cautious we grew. We couldn’t be sure of whom we might find ahead; of course, there should be Baltimora’s command, but perhaps also scouts from Kurgar’s Ossard. Regardless, the ridge wasn’t going to be empty.

  Under weak starlight broken by scattered clouds,we continued on. I was keenly aware that we’d be targets for archers, not just from ahead, but also from our sides.

  A faint twang sounded, quickly followed by a sharp thud as an arrow hit the coach’s wood. The shot landed to the side of our driver’s leg. A moment later, a voice hissed out, “Who goes there?” the words came in Quorin, dressed in an Heletian accent.

  Our driver answered, but spoke first to our riders, “Steady, stay at ease,” and then to whoever challenged, “We’ve come from the north.”

  “From the north? You’re men of the Rose?”

  The driver considered his answer, wondering if it might earn him an arrow in the throat. “Yes, we serve the Lady of Hope.”

  Silence came to settle deep about us.

  No voice replied, instead it was the sound of a rider’s gear; the jingle of stirrup and bridle. A long moment later, a Heletian voice asked, “You’re not of the volunteers?”

  It was the Inquisition.

  Relieved, I opened the coach door, “I’m Juvela Liberigo.”

  The rider moved his mount closer. “What are you doing here?”

  He seemed alone, but held no bow, so there were others out there watching us.

  “I’ve come with important news for Inquisitor Baltimora.”

  He nodded. “You’ve done well to smother your lights, but I’ll need to seek permission to let you continue on.”

  “We’re not here to put the campaign at risk, so do what you need.”

  “
You’ll have to wait.”

  “We will.”

  And then he rode off into the night.

  My driver gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done!”

  I sighed. “It’s my fault, all of this. We should’ve either been here from the beginning or sent a message to say we were coming, and not just arrived in the dead of night. I’m sorry; I apologise to all of you who I’ve put in danger.”

  Angela answered for them, “Juvela, the world’s a dangerous place.”

  A short while later we could hear a horse approaching. It was the rider returned. “You must follow me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Inquisitor Baltimora’s command: First, we’ll cross to the far side of the ridge so you’ll be hidden from the city’s prying eyes. You must also maintain your quiet and strike no lights.”

  The rider led us off the top of the ridge and a little down its northern side. Soon, we were hidden from the city, if but on a rougher trail, one steeply lopsided.

  Ahead, a camp came into view, standing as a tight collection of tents and tethered horses on the slope, all of it next to a small shrine. The latter was an intricately carved booth, as tall as a man and open on one side. A row of banners stood planted by the shrine, all hanging limp as the winds of the north slumbered.

  Before the shrine, lit by a scattering of stubby candles, a massive sword stood leaning back against its wooden front. The ornate blade was spectacular, so much so that I found I had trouble lifting my gaze from its engraved length where it lay partially wrapped in red velvet. The fine craftsmanship sparkled in the flickering light, yet seemed to drink up most of the candles’ glow – just as it supped on my attention.

  That wasn’t right...

  And then it called to me with a mind-voice that rang like steel drawn from a sheath, “I am thirsty, thirsty for souls!”

  The message set me to shiver, as my own dark hunger roused.

  Not now! Not when I was so far from the Prince!

  With sleazy disdain, the sword spat, “I’ve drunk of more souls than you, and not by a few, but by thousands!”

  Concentrating, I tried to block the voice out of my mind, but also found myself grasping the pouch of moonroot Grenda had gifted me. I opened it and gathered a pinch of the ground powder. Without really thinking about what I was doing, I brought it to my lips and put it on my tongue.

  Bitterness bloomed.

  The hissing voice of temptation became muffled as a wave of dizziness washed over me. I narrowly avoided fainting as my vision darkened. A heartbeat later, I tried to gather myself as I swallowed and shook my head to clear it. Soon, I settled – and thankfully found the sword’s easy voice missing.

  The moonroot’s gritty bitterness remained in my mouth, but seemingly the powder had worked.

  For now, I was free of the sword and its sleazy temptation!

  Rising out of my turmoil, I’d missed our progress through the camp. We’d moved beyond the sword’s shrine, the horses, and to the tents; waiting for me there stood a gathering of the Inquisition’s Sankto Glavos led by Inquisitor Baltimora. They stood mostly in leathers and lightweight armours, all of them darkly coloured so as not to catch any light that might be spotted from the city below when they no doubt went to look down upon Ossard from the ridge’s crest.

  Our coach came to a stop, so I opened the door and got down, soon to be joined at my sides and back by my own people.

  Baltimora stood before me, surprisingly not in his robes. He’d been imposing when we first met, but even now, just in leathers, he towered before me. Simply, he said, “You came.”

  “I have important news.”

  “Not to help?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me, for it must be important if you’ve come all this way and carried it yourself?”

  “I think there’s one amongst our volunteers who’s planning to give you away.”

  His lips curled. “To the cultists, who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, yet know it’s to happen?”

  “My grandmother was burnt at the stake by your order during The Burnings. She has returned, possessing a body, and has been waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “We knew of the possession; the ghosts of the ruins told us, but have been unable to deduce who. Her presence, as well hidden as it was, is known to have left the ruins at the same time as the volunteers. I believe she has come to sabotage the campaign in an effort to not just see the Inquisition fail, but to see as much of its blood spilled as she can. This will be her vengeance.”

  He thought about my words for a moment and then squared his shoulders. “It’s too late. Our forces are in place and beyond recall.”

  “But without surprise, you’ve no chance.”

  He frowned. “Surprise is important, but we still have a good force and plan. So far we retain surprise – all is quiet in the city. We can still succeed, regardless of what you think.”

  “Can you send word to my husband?”

  “As I said, it’s too late. He and his forces are already moving through the hidden gate,” and then he added, “amongst others who are already in the city.” He glanced at Angela who stood by my side.

  She whispered, “Silva? He’s in the city?”

  Baltimora gave a nod. “He led a small group in late this morning to make preparations for our forces’ landing at the Fishing Wharves.”

  She put her hand to her mouth, “Oh!”

  The news silenced me.

  He filled the void, “It all begins at sunrise. For now, you and yours must stay back under the cover of the ridgeline. At dawn, you may cross over and watch. If you or any of your party make any noise or try to cross the ridge before then without my permission, you’ll be forcibly silenced. Our plan calls on us to make the most of surprise – even if it’s now at risk.”

  I could only agree. “In that, until dawn or your say, we’re in your hands.”

  “Then you may go and set up camp, next to but downhill from our own. I’ll have someone fetch you later so I can explain what you’ll see at dawn: A fog is coming, something thick and concealing that will join with the night in helping to facilitate your people’s entry and the positioning of our remaining troops. At sunrise it’ll clear, but as it lifts it’ll reveal our force encamped, setting the cultists to ready themselves for a seige. They’ll be oblivious to the fact that we’ll already be within their walls. It’ll not be the only revelation either, for with the sun will come the Black Fleet. Already thrown off balance by such surprises, they’ll be ripe for the unpleasant discovery of your husband and his volunteers.”

  -

  Restless in the dark, I found the night both too long and likewise too short. In that time I considered all that I’d done – and hadn’t. Thoughts of Pedro and his volunteers hounded me.

  Down there, some of them might already be dead. Perhaps even Pedro.

  Such thoughts just left me feeling worried and downcast, so in an effort to rescue myself from such a mood, I focussed on Grenda’s gifted moonroot and how it might best be used.

  I remembered when it was used to capture me on Newbank’s streets, and how it’d not just blocked my ability to work magic, but left me unconscious. Maybe being knocked out was its own kind of safeguard, another way to stop my hunger if it threatened to get out of control?

  Maybe, but what a desperate measure!

  Much later, while still lost in such thoughts, one of the Inquisition’s men came for me and led me alone to Baltimora atop the ridge. The night was cold and coming to an end, the eastern horizon already lightening.

  He stood in full armour on the ridge’s crest, not speaking or moving. His full focus lay on the city below. I realised; he wasn’t just an inquisitor, but a Sankto Glavos.

  Truly, he was a powerful foe!

  Before us spread a thick fog that ran into the city from t
he sound, only allowing the tallest towers to climb clear, along with some of the higher parts of the northern district.

  Baltimora spoke, “They may have realised that the mist has an unnatural source, yet fogs are common this time of year. Regardless, so far there seems to be no unusual activity.”

  He was right; from what I could see of the stifled streets, there seemed no commotion or noise and little light.

  I asked, “Is Pedro in the city?”

  That broke his focus. He turned to study me, his gaze piercing. “You can’t tell?”

  Damn it, I’d just admitted I had limits!

  Thinking quickly, I said, “I find the celestial distracting. I could lose myself to it; seeing so much and sampling so many. There’s too much power there that I can take. I worry that I’ll become lost to it.”

  How true my words sounded, but what would he make of them?

  His look softened, but he just turned back to the city.

  Or was it feigned?

  “Yes, he’s in the city. Ahead of plan and without discovery.”

  Oh, Pedro...

  I asked, “So, it goes well?”

  He turned and smiled, but the firm set of his jaw didn’t make it a warm thing. “Very well. Our forces are in place and we have set counter castings to see us safely through their sanctified vale. We remain undiscovered and are finally ready.”

  Looking down upon the city, one about to feel the wrath of chaos and war, I started to shake my head. It all seemed so calm and peaceful.

  Something then sparkled in the gloom over the city, for a moment in the light of green, flaring like a star – or so I thought.

  Schoperde?

  But no, the light began to fade, falling into a deep violet as it dimmed. A shiver ran through me.

  Beside me, Baltimora caught his breath.

  It was magic, that couldn’t be denied. The real question was; was it merely a coincidence to have occurred just now, over a city full of cultists, or did they know that we were coming?

  Chapter 34

  -

  In The Woods Deep

  -