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

by Colin Taber

  The rain began the day after Kaumhurst, as Sef and Anton battled to follow a trail that threatened to disappear amidst thick undergrowth. The downpour came heavy and chill with no breaks or relief. As the day wore on, they both knew that they’d need to find somewhere that offered real shelter for the night, or that they’d be dealing with an evening of cold and damp misery.

  Despite looking as they followed the trail, nothing exceptional came into view. They just seemed to be passing through an endless gloom bordered by the thick trunks of dormant trees, the timber giants rising out of a waist high carpet of greenery. Soon enough, with nothing better presenting itself and the light failing, they backtracked to the best they’d seen; an elm of sizeable girth that had fallen across the path.

  The two of them hauled themselves up its fallen timber, and then walked along its grand trunk in the rain. About thirty paces from where it crossed the path, it forked.

  Sef stopped, squatting down to see what might lie underneath. With a lightening smile, he then dropped into the gap. To his relief, he found a narrow space that rose to be waist high, and that was dry and hidden by the surrounding undergrowth.

  Sef put down his gear as he called back, “There’s room for both of us, but little more.”

  Anton nodded as he passed his own pack down.

  Sef took it and slung it into their new hiding place. “It’ll at least keep us out of the rain.”

  Anton slid down to join him as lightning flashed to briefly overwhelm the dying light of dusk. A moment later thunder cracked as the rain turned to hail.

  The space was narrow, just enough for them to sleep side by side, and screened by waist high ferns that carpeted the forest floor. Sef arranged their gear as more thunder sounded. “Good timing, at least.”

  They settled in and ate some bread with a few twists of smoked meat. It was a joyless meal in the dark, but better than nothing. A little later, wrapped in their bedrolls, Anton took the first watch as Sef fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Sef awoke several times to the dark of the night, usually because the rain had got harder or the wind had begun to swirl. Each time he burrowed deeper into his bedroll and went back to his slumber. Later, he awoke again, but this time because Anton shook him while hissing in his ear for him to be still. It took him a moment to rouse enough to realise what was wrong: Beyond Anton’s whisper came the sound of voices, them coming clear above the rain that had faded into a steady drizzle.

  Sef lifted his head clear of his blanket so he could better hear.

  Anton whispered, “We’ve been followed.”

  The voices of at least three men sounded, them speaking Fletlanas.

  One of them said, “This way.”

  “How’d you know, you said that the rain’s ruined the trail?”

  The first snapped, “It goes this way!”

  “How can you tell?”

  A third voice sounded, “You’re right to say it’s hard to follow and the trail not complete, but we have to try. We’ve got to stop them before they get to the Panadike.”

  The dissenter argued, “The rain’s been too heavy. It’s flooded the road and flattened much of the undergrowth. We’d never know if they left it, like the bastards did a few days ago.”

  The third voice said, “Come, this isn’t helping. We should continue on, at least for a while more.”

  And then, amidst the noise of jingling bridles and heavy hooves, their voices grew fainter as they moved along the sodden trail.

  Anton spoke first, “What do you think?”

  “They’re following somebody, and it must be us. We’ve been lucky to overhear such a thing, and luckier that they’re desperate enough to try and follow our trail at night.”

  “And they’re on horseback.”

  “I think so, or perhaps they’ve just got packhorses to carry their gear. Either way, they’re going to be messing up our tracks as they pass over them, making it hard for them to backtrack and re-check.”

  “How’d they know we’re here?” Anton asked.

  “The Countess or Seers?”

  “I suppose, but there are also our divine marks. Maybe we caught someone’s attention as we passed through the lakelands?”

  “Needless to say, they’re not coming after us as friends.”

  Anton agreed.

  “And what’s this Panadike?”

  “We’ll have to find out.”

  Sef crawled out of his bedroll and towards the fork in the trunk. With great care, and with Anton coming after him, he slowly lifted himself up and out of their shelter. After a quick look around in the dark, he reached down to pull Anton up. The two of them stood there in the drizzle, the only other noise to be heard their breathing.

  To the north, a faint light could be seen, but not its source, just where its radiance lit the trunks of leafless trees.

  Already the men had moved on about a hundred paces. In the dark, Anton and Sef would be invisible to them.

  Sef walked down the length of the fallen tree. He didn’t leave it, for he didn’t want to put a new set of tracks down in case the men returned. All he could see ahead was the faint light, but it continued to fade.

  He returned to Anton. “We’ve been fortunate.”

  “Yes, and I suppose by the light of day they’ll doubt the merits of choosing to follow the road all the more.”

  Sef nodded. “So, they’ll return and eventually find where we left the path. It’s probably only a matter of time before they find our camp.”

  “What’d you suggest, I’m not a man of the wild?”

  Sef chuckled, but tried to keep it hushed. “And me; I’m a farmer and carpenter, or have you forgotten?”

  Anton smiled.

  “We should take advantage of the fact that we know where they are, yet they don’t know that we do. We’ll shadow them, but not on the road. If we follow their light, when they stop for the night or backtrack, we’ll rejoin the road further on. We can then continue on at a double march. For every step they backtrack, we’ll lay two forwards.”

  “A good plan.”

  “Let’s hurry, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

  After getting their things, they followed the trunk of the fallen elm that’d delivered them to their camp, but now used it to move further away from the trail. When they could follow its thinning girth no more, they jumped down from it and into the undergrowth. From there they moved as quickly as they could until they could again see the glow of the lamp ahead.

  Eventually they caught up, following about one hundred paces back. Aside from the trees and undergrowth to hide behind, the returning rain’s constant drumming drowned out any noise they made.

  As they followed, they got better glimpses of the men. There were indeed three, all mounted on horses and dressed in travellers’ garb. They looked to be well armed if but lightly armoured. Sef knew it; they were Kavists.

  The men moved slowly, trying to discern some sign of the passing of their prey. Sometimes they stopped and talked for a while, sometimes they backtracked a little or even followed some imagined or innocent side trail. The rain had been heavy earlier, and varied now between the same and drizzle. It left both Sef and Anton soaked and shivering, but was clearly why the Kavists were having so much trouble finding any definite sign of their passage.

  Sef knew that for now the pursuit was hamstrung – as long as he and Anton didn’t give their presence away.

  They followed for a while longer, until their hunters decided to give up for the night. Sef and Anton overheard them agree to get what sleep they could, and then to backtrack until they found the trail again in the morning.

  Sef and Anton moved further ahead, until the lantern’s light was no longer visible. They then took to the trail to follow the path. With care, they tried to leave as little sign of their passing as they could, and continued on until dawn. After a brief stop for a hurried breakfast, they again took to the road.

  For the rest of the day they marched on.

&
nbsp; By mid-afternoon they’d begun looking for a safe place off the road to camp. They eventually found a couple of groves of pine separated from the track by a small gully that hosted a lazy stream. Exhausted by their efforts, they numbly crossed the water in the rain. Gratefully, they then settled down and arranged turns for both to watch and sleep.

  Chapter 35

  -

  The City Wakes

  -

  Under the growing light of the coming dawn, the Sankto Glavos had gathered in a large group fifty paces further west along the ridge. They stood armoured and ready, posed like a grand set of statues, all of it framed by their raised banners. Behind them were their squires, ready with horses and arms, along with priests and monks, the latter repeating a litany that carried on a rising breeze.

  They looked magnificent.

  Before all of us, at the bottom of the steep slope, the valley spread shrouded in fog. The bulk of Ossard lay just to the west, also smothered by the mist with only a few sections of wall, a collection of towers, and the higher northern district protruding free.

  Earlier, Inquisitor Baltimora and I had studied the fading violet spark over the city, him sensing it through the celestial to eventually announce it benign. Yet, just watching him, I could see that he was shaken by its appearance.

  Now, who was surprised?

  He’d then left me to prepare for battle, saying that he’d have my people sent for, so that they could join me on the ridge.

  Now, with my own gathered about me as our banners caught the wind, I explained that the fog below was under the Inquisition’s control and that Pedro and our volunteers were already in place within the city.

  At our arrival last night, I’d felt reasonably collected, more so than I’d have thought possible, despite my worry for all that was to come. But now, ever since that lone spark had flared, my doubts and fears had multiplied.

  Did they know we were here?

  The Inquisition’s plan seemed sound, perhaps even with some strengths, yet if it went wrong we’d lose all of our own. For Pedro’s volunteers there could be no retreat: With their numbers being bolstered by Loyalists who’d continue to enter the city by way of the hidden gate, such reinforcements would block their only means of escape.

  In silence we began our observance.

  -

  From somewhere a high-pitched bell rang out, perhaps down in the valley under the fog or maybe even in the gloom along the opposite ridge. The sound came faint, but clear. A moment later the fog began to break and rise. At the same time the sun crested the mountainous horizon to the east.

  While the sky brightened, the sun’s golden rays first hit the ridge-tops, leaving the valley below as a place of shadow and murk. Still, it wouldn’t be long before all the vale spread awash in the new day’s light. As the tones of the bell died, a silence settled, deep and ominous.

  The fog across the sound was the first to clear enough to reveal what it had cloaked: The Black Fleet. Over a score of ships lay anchored there, dark and ready, with crewed landing boats already in the water beside them.

  In Ossard itself, another bell started to ring, but this one’s call came built of a deep and booming bass. Before long, that alarm was joined by others as the tolling chorus called upon the city’s people to wake.

  Meanwhile, the fog kept lifting, rising to twist from amongst the city’s alleys and streets. The mist likewise moved in the valley, but more slowly, seemingly reluctant to unveil the last of its secrets.

  Looking down, I spied movement on the city walls, as the rousing militia hurried about, yet they seemed disorganised and too few.

  Thanks be to Schoperde!

  Finally, the fog over the vale dispersed enough to reveal the Inquisition’s forces. They spread in two groups: One lay across the river on the Newbank side, the other, a much larger force, stood ready to reach for the two gates that led to the city’s heart. Large parts of that force were volunteers taken from the Northcountry’s vales and topped with Loyalist refugees, them numbering close to twenty thousand. Amongst them were smaller but much more disciplined formations of soldiers, mounted nobles and their men at arms, right through to the Church’s own ranks of priests, inquisitors, and finally, two troops of mounted Sankto Glavos.

  They looked impressive, but facing the city’s wall, not formidable.

  As the fog gave up the city the deep chorus of bells tolled on.

  Out on the sound, the Black Fleet crowded thick and ready, ominous in their dark stowed sails, flags and hulls. They were already launching their packed landing boats, them advancing on the Fishing Wharves where Silva would be waiting.

  The city looked to be caught off guard, its only reaction so far the warning bells and a light militia presence along its walls. With so many forces arrayed against it, and on so many fronts, hope dared stir in my breast.

  Maybe we could do it!

  Gradually, the bells lost their intensity as some of them fell silent, their ringers moving on to more urgent tasks. Meanwhile, more defenders arrived to man the valley walls, them standing thickest around the gates. Behind them, the streets remained all but deserted.

  “Look!” Angela called, pointing to a few columns of dark smoke that began to curl up from the Fishing Wharves.

  At the same time, the Loyalist forces in the valley prepared to march, incredibly, on all three gates at once. As those formations stirred, Ossard’s defenders remained lost in confusion.

  Just as we needed!

  I looked for the elbow in the wall marking where Pedro would be hidden with his volunteer troop. I found it a few blocks down from Market Gate. The streets around it lay quiet, unlike the Fishing Wharves where the first signs of fighting now bloomed.

  At first the stillness of Pedro’s area worried me, but I reasoned it meant that they’d maintained surprise: If the fog had lifted to reveal bloody fighting, then our plan would have been discovered and our chances diminished – perhaps even ruined.

  Away from the wall, down in the valley, as the sun’s rays came to grace the plain, the Inquisition’s forces unfurled their banners and began their advance. As they did, I noticed that the road ahead had been sided with crates, equipment and packs of gear, some of it on abandoned carts. All of it was a strange sight, as though the debris of battle had been left out beforehand.

  Minus the corpses...

  The smoke rising from the Fishing Wharves thickened as the Black Fleet’s landing boats neared. Silva’s insurrection looked to be well under way, if its detail obscured by a haze of chaos and distance.

  With the beginnings of the advance in the valley, the defenders of the city redoubled their efforts. Archers on the walls hurried to the fore, while swordsmen and the curious were pushed back. Despite their improving efforts, confusion still looked to dominate – at least where people could be seen.

  Where were all the city’s people?

  Over the city, a lone violet spark flared where the previous pre-dawn light had been.

  “They’re landing!” Angela exclaimed, as she pointed to where the first boats were reaching the Fishing Wharves, disappearing behind a wall of billowing smoke.

  Someone asked, “When will Pedro’s volunteers start their attack?”

  “Soon.” I answered, but in truth I didn’t know.

  Angela asked, “What of the Fishing Wharves? The fighting has begun, but I can’t see anything. Juvela, can you see Silva?”

  I didn’t dare try to use the celestial, as such an action would break the protection the Prince had bestowed upon me. I couldn’t even bring myself to glance into the void in case it upset my fragile balance. “No, I can’t see anything more than you.” My words came out cold.

  I was blind and helpless, just as our people went into battle unblessed!

  A couple of deep booms rolled out as red flashes erupted amidst the smoke of the Fishing Wharves. The ground shook with the sound, the rumbling coming backed by a chorus of screams.

  Angela gasped as new columns of smoke bo
iled up.

  For the first time, at the edge of the spreading smoke, we could see and hear fighting near Fishmonger’s Gate. The combat was marked by the glint of steel, as the weapons of the Inquisition and their allies caught the dawn sun as they met Ossard’s militia.

  Joining with that rising cacophony, a roar sounded from below as nearly two thousand throats called out a charge. Behind the elbow in the wall, the streets there, once empty, suddenly filled as Pedro and his volunteers flooded from wall-side buildings and headed for Market Gate. They were marked by their blue, white and green rose banners.

  “Oh, Pedro!” I whispered.

  A moment later, that lone violet spark again flared.

  I hissed, “What is that?” And then gasped, dropping to my knees.

  I’d been caught by surprise as the first soul from amongst our volunteers arrived, coming after his mortal form had died in the streets below. The shocking sensation – elating and rough, jagged and sweet – was the likes of which I’d not felt for more than a season. The jolt set my heart to race and my dark appetite to try and boil over.

  Desperately, I tried to clamp down on it.

  Around me, some of my people reached for me, while others were lost to the drama unfolding below. As I gathered myself, I dragged my attention back to the city, but also pulled the pouch of moonroot out of my pocket with shaking fingers.

  Down there, a fresh haze arose from the city – it stank of oleander.

  I gasped afresh and gagged, struck by another returning soul.

  The atmosphere around us, already tense, only tightened.

  Chaos gathered about Fishmonger’s Gate as the Loyalists and Patrinans there tried to force their way through. As that fight grew in fury, the time for the assault on the valley gates also drew near.

  Some of the attacking forces in the vale began to close on the city by crossing the fields. Defending archers along the wall showered arrows down, but remained disorganised and too few.

  At the same time, Pedro’s troop worked to clear the street about them as they fought towards the rear of Market Gate.

  Without warning, two more souls from our volunteers came to find me, sending me reeling from my focus on the attack and into bitter bliss. Sweat ran from my brow as my pulse raced. After a deep breath, I pushed myself up from my knees, determined to stand.