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

by Colin Taber

-

  Sef and Anton awoke to find the day well under way. The mid-morning sky spread heavy and overcast, something that had helped see them lost in slumber, as had the ending, finally, of the rain.

  They’d pushed themselves hard over the past few days, with the wet weather only adding to their task. Still, disappointed with such a clumsy start to the morning, Sef grabbed for the blame. “I’ve not only failed on watch, but seen us sleep through our lead!”

  “Don’t blame yourself. We’re still alive – and that’s what matters.” Anton said, as he got up and gathered his bedroll. “Besides, if I’d been on watch the outcome would be the same.”

  Sef shook his head, as he stuffed his blankets into his pack.

  Anton changed the subject. “Thinking about it; their following of us must be connected to our divine marks. The Seers aren’t likely to work with the cults, just as the Countess isn’t likely to offer them any information unless there’s something in it for her.”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking the same. Walking through the heart of Fletland, especially the lakelands, was always going to attract attention. Our marks will’ve cried out louder than any gossip or decree. We should’ve been more careful, but of course, the truth of it is that we’ve been running the whole time and done too little planning.”

  “Too true.”

  As they shouldered their packs and checked over their campsite, the clouds parted to bathe them in light. Both of them looked up, letting the sun warm their faces.

  Still, Sef could only manage a mournful sigh.

  Anton asked, “You also feel it? That something terrible has happened?”

  He gave a nod. “Back in the Northcountry, yes.” And then gestured to the sunlight around them. “All the hope’s here.”

  “Then we should gather it up.”

  “For Juvela?”

  Anton nodded, but Sef turned away and began to head through the undergrowth back to the road. The outleaguer followed and said, “She’s strong for what she is; considering her age and experience, and her lack of training and knowledge.”

  Sef answered without looking back,“Yes, she is.”

  “So, we labour on for her and hope.”

  Sef grunted as he walked on, a response that spoke of nothing but his worries and fears.

  Anton prodded, “But today I can feel a chill. Today, something bad has happened.”

  Sef didn’t answer.

  Anton persisted, “Can you feel it?”

  Finally, Sef stopped and turned, looking grim. “Yes. I think today’s the day hope dies in Ossard, only to be reborn elsewhere. There’ll be blood and doom about the Cassaro. Juvela will also fall low. Yet, hope will continue to burn, to struggle on, and it may very well be up to us to take up its burden.”

  -

  Sef and Anton got back to the track and followed it with speed. In time, another trail came to meet it, seeing the backwater road broaden, but also revealing something of concern; three sets of horse tracks.

  “It must be them,” Sef declared.

  “It’s likely, I agree, but how did they end up in front?”

  “Who knows, but at least we’ve retained an advantage; we’ve an inkling of where they are, while they’ve no idea about us.”

  They continued on with caution, following the tracks.

  It was well past mid-afternoon when Sef said, “You know, I’ve a headache and feel sluggish, as though I’m burdened the day after drinking far too much ale. I don’t think the feeling has anything to do with me, though, but more so, Juvela.”

  The Heletian nodded. “I’ve a similar feeling. I think it’s the link between you and her, something that seems to be growing to also include me, if in a lesser way. Something has happened, and not just to Ossard, but to her.”

  “I think she’s fed again, or that something relating to her battle with the divine addiction is plaguing her.”

  “You’re right to say that whatever it is plagues her, for it’s not complementing her strength.”

  Sef stopped and looked ahead. He could smell something; wood smoke and cooking meat.

  Anton discovered the scent at the same time.

  Sef said, “We’re about to come upon a Wildling village.”

  “One possibly also visited by those hunting us?”

  “Let’s be careful; we’ll see if the tracks go in or skirt around.”

  They followed the road, and after a few more turns, could hear the sounds of a blacksmith hammering. With another turn, a wooden stockade could be seen about a hundred paces ahead through the wintering trees.

  Anton smiled. “Hunted or not, I could do with a real bed.”

  Sef chuckled. “We’ll see. This’ll probably be a small village, but there’ll be a few towns ahead – there’s supposed to be two or three. We’ll also need to stick to Quorin. They don’t mind Flets, but can be suspicious.”

  They walked on, following the road towards the wooden stockade. Through the open gate, they could see the road broaden as it entered the village, the way beyond lined with stout buildings.

  Most of those homes stood with stone ground floors and wood-framed roofs over lofts. Sef also noticed, as they neared the gate unchallenged, that there were no great wooden spikes or other defensive structures mounted to protect rooftops.

  They stopped not far from the gateway, hanging back by the roadside trees. Looking ahead, they could see that the tracks of the three horses did indeed continue inside.

  It was Anton who spoke, “Well, I guess we’re camping.”

  Sef nodded. “At least the weather’s fined up.” He then led them along a path that left the road and skirted around the outside of the stockade; as he went on he noted the low sun.

  Anton said, “I suppose they’ll stop here for the night.”

  But it was another voice that answered, coming heavily accented from above, atop the stockade, “Who’re they?”

  Sef and Anton froze as they looked up.

  A Wildling woman gazed down upon them, her dark eyes piercing.

  Sef could see her empty hands atop the stockade’s moss-covered logs. He glanced at Anton and then back to her. “We’re just passing through.”

  “Yes, I can see – and you’ve brought the sunshine with you.”

  Her words came as a gentle welcome.

  Sef smiled at her, her own face coming alive in kind. He said, “We’re happy to share the sun, for we’ve had enough of the rain.”

  “Then welcome to Mava Royar, for we’re always grateful to host such travellers.”

  Sef glanced towards the lowering sun.

  She noticed and said, “It’s getting late, and while we’ve no inns there’s a travellers’ shelter, but its comforts are sparse.”

  Anton asked, “That would be a great kindness. May we ask if other travellers have also recently come off the road?”

  “Many use the road – and not all for good. Your question bodes ill, but I’ll say that a party of three have arrived just now seeking the travellers’ shelter. You’d have to share with them, as it’s a single hall.”

  Sef asked, “Are they Flets like myself, and Kavists?”

  “It’s an honest question, so I’ll answer in kind; they’re armed and given to Kave – and looking for two men.”

  Sef and Anton looked to each other.

  She asked, “I know from experience that Kavists won’t speak of their errands, but what of you?”

  Sef looked up to her. “We’re merely passing through, heading further north on business of our own. We hunt for no one.”

  “Further north, but there’s nothing there?”

  Anton shrugged. “Nothing of the Flets perhaps, but to say that there’s nothing over the mountains isn’t true.”

  “Over?”

  “Yes, in the ruins of Kalraith.”

  Her eyes widened. “I know somewhere you might stay, somewhere hidden from the Kavists. Follow me around to the other gate and I’ll come down and show you.”

  Cautiously, t
hey agreed.

  Sef and Anton walked on, following the stockade’s moss covered log wall. They could see the Wildling woman atop it, as she followed the deck around. Occasionally, she glanced down into the village, but didn’t seem to be communicating or signalling to anyone. Despite their concerns, their fears lightened.

  Before long, they came upon the other gateway. It was also open and unguarded.

  Their would-be host said, “I can understand that you might be nervous, so stay where you are. I’ll come down to you before leading you in, giving myself into your hands.”

  Anton raised an eyebrow. “And why would you do that?”

  “To talk to you some more; I might have news for you.”

  Sef and Anton looked to each other. Finally, it was Sef who nodded. “We’ll wait, but only for a moment. You must come quickly.”

  “Give me a moment.” She then disappeared from view.

  Not long later, just a few heartbeats, she walked out of the gateway and up to them. “I’m going to take you to my home, but you must be quick and follow where I lead. The Kavists shouldn’t be able to see us, as they’ll be at the travellers’ shelter on the village’s far side.”

  Sef and Anton both tensed, but agreed.

  They entered the village and quickly moved to get off the road, walking behind the first homes there. They passed a few more buildings before she brought them down a lane and into a small house. The room held a man who nursed a small boy on his knee; they both looked up surprised from where they sat at a table.

  She said, “Etha, I have guests.”

  Etha looked Sef and Anton over. “And the travellers’ shelter?”

  “Is taken by three Kavists who came hunting them.”

  “So you bring them here?”

  “Just for now; maybe they’ll go to the lodge later, I think. First we’ll sit and talk.” She looked to Anton and Sef. “I’m Filli and this is Etha.”

  Sef answered, “My friend here is Anton and I’m Sef.”

  She gestured for them to sit. “Where’re you from?”

  “Ossard.”

  Her look was blank. “I’ve not heard of it, is it on the coast?”

  Anton smiled at that. “No, not this land’s coast. I suppose you wouldn’t have heard of it seeing as you’re not involved in Fletland’s politics or trade.”

  “Is it an important place?”

  “Ossard was a great city-state over the sea, but has fallen. It’s now half razed by fire and riots and ruled over by the cults of the Horned God. It’s become a place of injustice and misery.”

  She looked to her husband.

  He gave her a nod and then rose from his seat. “I’ll go and see about you staying at the lodge, and about posting a watch on the travellers’ shelter.”

  She smiled as Etha handed their young son across to her. Filli said, “This is Garna, our youngest.” The boy was barely a year old and amused himself with a small length of leather cord.

  Sef smiled and said, “Perhaps we should move on?”

  Filli shook her head, “The Kavists won’t mingle with the village. In truth they’re not welcome, but will be tolerated for the sake of keeping the peace. They don’t often cause trouble, but when they do it’s always beyond the walls of the stockade. Trust me, you’ll be safe here.”

  “Do their kind come through much?”

  “More often than we’d wish. They pass by on their way to the wastelands in the north.”

  “The wastelands? I thought nothing was to be found to the north but forest and the Varm Carga?”

  “It’s now barren and where the Kavists mount their watch.”

  “A watch? What are they doing there?”

  “They keep people from travelling north, stopping them in the scorched foothills of the Varm Carga.” She frowned. “You said that you were heading that way, but don’t know of the bleak landscape to be found there?”

  Sef glanced to Anton, who gave a nod, so he answered, “We spoke truth before, but you’re welcome to more of it: We go north to enter the jungles of Kalraith before seeking out Dorloth.”

  Her eyes widened. “A dangerous road, some say impossible.”

  “We carry a message for her.”

  “What kind of message could you have for her?”

  “I can’t say, but it’s from her sister, Juvela Liberigo, once of Ossard and now in need of her aid.”

  Her eyes lit up. “A sister?”

  “A sister in the divine way.”

  “I can see why you’re being hunted.”

  “Will you help us?”

  “We’ll do what we can to see you safely on your way.”

  Sef smiled with relief. “So what of this watch to the north?”

  “I’m told it’s something they’ve laboured on for years, though we’re not supposed to speak of it. They let none get close enough to examine what they’ve built, but we Debast have a cunning way of moving in the woods, a way that is swift and secret.”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “The mountains of the Varm Carga rise high and hard as a great wall. What has made them an even greater barrier are the watch-towers that now guard their passes. From them, watchers and archers block the way, and between them are Kavist patrols.”

  “What’re they watching for?”

  “Invaders from the north.”

  Sef asked, “What’s happening there?”

  “A power stirs, readying itself.” Her eyes sparkled.

  “The gargoyles?”

  “No! The gargoyles man the watch-towers alongside the Kavists!”

  Sef and Anton were stunned, both asking, “The gargoyles?”

  “Yes.”

  Sef was confused, almost into silence, “But you think we should go to Dorloth; your manner shows that you think her good?”

  And now Filli gave them a quizzical look. “Of course?”

  “But she’s their queen, the spirit queen of the gargoyles – isn’t she?”

  Filli’s jaw dropped. “No, not of the gargoyles, but the Dagraun. The gargoyles serve the watch-towers. They fight against her.”

  “What?”

  “There are two winged races; one corrupt, the other living in the ruin-dotted forests at the heart of Kalraith. It’s the latter who the gargoyles and watch-towers seek to keep behind the mountains, which is a shame, for they’re a good people, though I’ve only ever met the one of them.” As she spoke, her eyes glimmered with gathering tears.

  “What is it?” Anton asked, as he reached forward with a gentle hand.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, what I’ve seen is a wonder: A winged woman, one with a punctured wing that’s now lame. We found her in the woods not long ago after she’d fallen from the heavens.”

  Both Sef and Anton sat with their eyes wide in wonder.

  Etha returned. “The lodge master will offer them shelter.”

  They all rose, but remained quiet after Filli’s tale.

  Etha asked into the silence, “What’s wrong?”

  “They need to see Matraia.”

  “What is it?” he asked, but his eyes went from her to his guests.

  “She needs to meet these men.”

  He turned back to his wife. “Is it them she’s been waiting for?”

  Filli smiled and nodded.

  -

  The sun sank behind the great lodge, painting Mava Royar and the dying day in rich hues of gold.

  The lodge was a building both long and tall. It stood above all others, facing onto a dirt square, and stretched back eighty paces with stout timber walls. Topped by a thatched roof that rose at a steep angle, giving it height, all of it was built over a raised foundation of stone.

  Sef and Anton made their way up the lodge’s front steps, led by Filli and Etha, under the gaze of many of the Debast who gathered to watch the honour these outsiders were being shown.

  Etha was met at the top by an attendant, and sent the young lad running to let the lodgemaster know that Matraia had guests
.

  They crossed the paved landing as they made their way to the lodge’s doors. There they were met by the lodgemaster, who looked them over, but didn’t delay admitting them as he spoke with Filli and Etha in their own tongue.

  Filli turned to Sef and Anton, whispering, “She’s asked for you.”

  Behind them, many of the villagers climbed the steps and followed.

  Sef and Anton entered the lodge to find a grand hall covered in carved timber of great work and design. More than anything, what dominated the long hall was a large round window at the far end, from where the setting sun shone like blazing fire.

  Sef and Anton followed their hosts, the hall almost overcome by the sun’s rich light, yet they didn’t avert their eyes: Like burning gold it awaited them, calling to them, so they made their way forward.

  Two thirds of the way down the length of the hall, Anton began to slow, as he whispered, “Oh, Sef, is that what I think it is?”

  Sef also began to slow, while the Debast gathered behind them.

  Ahead, almost overwhelmed by the golden glow, a tall figure stood. Arms rose to stretch above a beautiful face, and at the sides, high and broad, wings spread in a splendour of white and yellow.

  Sef gasped. “Is it true, can this really be?”

  A woman’s voice came strong and welcoming. “Sef and Anton, I’ve been sent to offer Dorloth’s greetings.”

  Epilogue

  -

  A Rain of Tears

  -

  It came to me in a vision, as a collage of feelings, sounds and scenes. I knew it was true and had unfolded after that tragic battle, as I lay above Ossard, unconscious upon the ridge. The happenings were set far distant to the south, in the Holy City of Baimiopia...

  The early morning sky spread grey and sombre above the Holy City, a place full of the grand buildings of the Church, yet they weren’t alone, for the city also hosted King Giovanni as it was also Greater Baimiopia’s seat of power. And now, under a tense air, the city stirred.

  Heavy bells tolled, seeing many of the holy orders hurrying from dawn prayers to their next observance, before they could go and break their fasts. As the monks, initiates, priests and holy scholars of the Calbaro rushed, they passed the best of the city watch, those charged with guarding the holy buildings. Such guards, the Virta Garda, stood rigid and fresh, having just relieved the night watch.