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

by Colin Taber

Once there, Matraia did not stop, but with a hand on Anton’s forearm and one on Sef’s shoulder, she tentatively took a step into the flow.

  She gasped at the chill, but her face lit up, her eyes opening wide as if coming to glow.

  The waters ran quickly to tumble, splash and sing, but she stepped deeper, the flow rising until it was past her knees. The bottoms of her wings were also submerged, the stream flowing past them to drag at her long feathers.

  Slowly, with a sigh of exhilaration, she knelt down into the flow, facing from where it came.

  Anton and Sef both gasped, for as her knees found the stream bed and she sat down to lean into the flow, bringing her waist under the water, green sparks began to flare through the water around her, pulsing in time with that soft but deep celestial beat.

  After a moment of silence, Sef asked quietly from the dark, “Are you alright, Matraia?”

  She let out a soft moan.

  Anton asked, “Is it helping?”

  Matraia turned to face them, the flaring sparks reflected in her eyes. “Yes, it feels wonderful.”

  Sef looked at her. “Are you being renewed?”

  She nodded vigorously, her former sense of fragility washed away. “Step into the water, please.”

  Anton and Sef looked at each other, and then back to the clearing where their prisoner lay. Together, they pulled off their boots and socks, and then stepped into the water.

  At first the water came chilled, kissed by mountain heights after having been birthed of winter snow. But the icy bite quickly faded.

  A tingle replaced the cold, a feeling that grew steadily stronger until it burned with delicious heat. Green sparks also started to dance around both of their legs as they stood in the shallows, the flaring light pulsing with the unheard, but felt beat.

  Anton sighed, “That is wonderful.” And then he slipped, almost toppling over, only stopping when he reached out to grab Sef. Matraia also put a hand up to steady him, her grip surprisingly strong.

  After a moment of stunned silence he let out a quiet laugh.

  Sef could also feel it, the warm pulse around him that rose from his feet and up his legs, as if infiltrating his bloodstream. A smile spread across his face, something that replaced his previous worry and caution. Looking at Anton, he could see the green of sparks reflected in his friend’s eyes, as they too caught the flaring light that despite its subtle glow was clear in the dark of the woodland.

  Clear at least to them, to those loyal to Life.

  For long moments they stood there, perhaps a little stunned, perhaps even in awe of what was washing over them, but it finally passed. Although the pulsing beat persisted, Dorloth’s blessing faded along with the green glow, but not until it had healed their bodies and spirits.

  Matraia stood and led them out of the stream. With a shiver, she said, “And that is Dorloth’s blessing, nothing but the magic of Life.”

  Sef could only smile as he recovered himself. Turning to Anton, he said, “It makes you wonder how any could have ever have turned from it and taken up the dark blessings of Death and his fellows?”

  “Yes it does. I suppose, in the beginning, they were all blessings sourced from Life. Eventually, those lesser gods, the children of the original Divine Union, must have grown used to such a feeling and sought something stronger and sharper. Perhaps that is how they became addicted to soul feeding, where the energy comes in a stark and sudden hit, surging at a mortal’s death.”

  “And, I wonder, when that began to happen, what of their followers? Did they not feel a shift in the blessings of their gods?”

  Anton pondered that, finally answering, “The change in their blessings to their mortal followers would have been slow, so slow that the potency and flavours of it would have shifted over generations. Mortals probably wouldn’t have noticed such a gradual drift.”

  Sef looked around them, at what little could be seen of the night-shrouded forest. “Come, it’s time we returned for our gear. We need to move on. As wondrous as all this has been, we mustn’t forget our prisoner or the Kavists travelling with him, who surely by now must realise he’s missing.”

  They all agreed and began walking up the slope, back to the clearing.

  -

  On their short walk back up to the clearing, it didn’t take them long to realise something was wrong. While the wood spread small and at the edge of wasteland, it was still a haven for life and held the noise such a forest should – of birds, insects, and the rustle of small creatures as they sought seeds and grubs in the humus – yet now all of that was silent.

  They weren’t alone.

  Sef knew it instinctively; even his fellows sensed something lay ahead in the dark, watching, and waiting for their return.

  The big Flet began to slow and hold his hands out to the sides, to warn his fellows. After a heartbeat, he put a hand to the hilt of his sword and stopped his walk, peering ahead into the darkness.

  Lit only by dapples of the moon’s silver-blue light spilling through the spring canopy, the clearing now spread empty before them. They hadn’t yet crossed its threshold, but stood only paces away, half of the boundary marked by the thick trunks of ancient oaks and undergrowth, the other half by the thick wall of elm saplings. Within its boundaries they could see their prisoner was gone, as well as their packs and gear.

  Including Juvela’s written message for Dorloth.

  Sef felt a surge of anger, the fury building in him quickly. He was taken aback by the way it burned, realising in an abstract way that, like a flood of adrenalin, the blessing he’d just received from Dorloth had been preparing him...

  But for what?

  ...for the chaos about to be unleashed.

  He could feel that they were equipped for what lay in wait. They had been not been blessed; they’d been prepared.

  Despite the darkness and all it hid, and the fact that walking into the clearing was surely what their enemy had planned, he would do nothing else. The power rising to boil through his veins from the blessing pushed him forward, not just emboldening him, but filling him with strength.

  The wrath he felt building was so hard and hot that it shielded him like armour.

  He had to act, to go forward, to take back what was theirs!

  Sef whispered a prayer to Juvela, a short and quiet thing.

  His energised soul, simmering and vital, received only more divine favour.

  Blessed by two gods!

  At the same time, he felt Anton and Matraia fall into actions of their own.

  Matraia stepped sideways, back from the clearing, to the cover of a large tree, while whispering her own prayer. Likewise, Anton seemed to melt into the darkness beside him, leaving Sef to catch only the gentle whisper of the Outleaguer’s verse to the Lady of Hope.

  A heartbeat later, Sef noticed Matraia was in the tree above, having scaled its mighty limbs. With care, she moved through the canopy towards the clearing, hidden, and at an unexpected height.

  Anton had become the stuff of shadows.

  Ahead, the clearing’s stillness exuded an uncomfortable tension built from those waiting to strike.

  A big smile split Sef’s face.

  No, a huge smile, but it was built of all things grim.

  If they wanted blood and were determined to stand in his way, he would help them gather it up until they drowned in it.

  Blessed by two gods of Life, Dorloth and Juvela, he held no fear. He could feel their gifted power thrumming in the muscles of his limbs.

  He quietly cleared his throat, began to hum a tune, and then went forward with one hand on his sheathed sword’s hilt.

  The tune was Schoperde’s song.

  As he did, he could feel the power surging through his system, rippling within, filling him to overflow with energy, while his heart beat fast and true.

  The tingle, snap and crack of it reminded him just how caustic magic could be.

  He crossed the threshold into the clearing, carrying the tune to make it louder a
s he moved to the centre where their prisoner had been. He stopped there, looking to the flattened humus, before interrupting his song and announcing, “Caught by an old inquisitor, one with only two fingers on one hand, and the bluntest knife Fletland has ever seen!” He chuckled.

  A rustle came from around him, sounding from the edges of the clearing, concentrated where the elm saplings rose.

  Encouraged by the fact that no arrows had found him, nor thrown blades, he pushed his luck while revelling in his brash actions as yet more adrenalin flooded his system. “Come on, rise up and come out. I know you’re there!”

  Sounds of shuffling movement increased, including a chorus of whispers.

  A voice rose from within the elm saplings, a figure finally stepping forward. Others also stood, but hung back, mostly lost in the gloom. “Ho there, you are surrounded, so keep your sword sheathed. Talk to us of your fellow travellers, as I’ve already heard one is an Outleaguer, two fingered or not, and the other a she-vulture from over the mountains.”

  Sef faced the figure but tried to take in all he could of other sounds and glimpsed movement in the gloom. “I travel with a good friend, a Heletian man who was with me but a moment ago. The woman is also travelling with us, but was sick. We have been aiding her.”

  “There’s nowhere to travel to out here. What is your business?”

  “I am passing through on my way to the Pandike, to see it for myself. I’ve come from over the sea to set my own eyes on it. I have heard it is a wonder.”

  The voice hardened, “A wonder perhaps, but it’s supposed to be a secret. How’d you hear of it?”

  Despite the danger he was in, with the adrenalin pumping through him, he couldn’t help but enjoy the surging confidence he felt. All of it was making him cocky, like a stupid youth, urging him on to foolhardiness...

  ...if he wasn’t already.

  He cleared his throat again and decided to spin a lie, “Hearing of the wonders of the Pandike is a common tale on the streets of Ossard. I’m sorry to have offended you by having heard of it, but that’s the truth. If you really have a problem with it, I’d be taking it up with Kave’s head priest in that city, Seig, or that turbulent city-state’s new lord, Heinz Kurgar.”

  Silence greeted Sef.

  A heartbeat passed, a moment Sef could guess was being spent by the Kavist leader weighing up his response. A hissed whisper sounded, followed by an annoyed curse. More movement stirred the darkness, but nothing sudden, part of it perhaps the soft step and drag of a foot from a man with a limp as he moved to speak to his leader.

  Their former prisoner.

  Sef interrupted the moment. “Your man on watch was brave, but fooled by my Heletian friend.”

  “I was tricked!” someone hissed from the saplings, the sound coming from next to the lone figure who stood in front of the elms.

  Sef shook his head, his muscles tense and twitching. He was bursting with energy and really needed to do something to bring this standoff to an end. As a priest, he could host magic, but not for long. The power would burn him out of if he didn’t soon shed it.

  He wondered... were Anton and Matraia feeling the same thing?

  The former inquisitor might be able to hold the power, but Matraia would not. She was no priest or magic wielder.

  On impulse, he replied to their former prisoner hidden in the dark, “And I suspect you will be tricked again.”

  “Shut up, you bastard!” Foliage rustled and steps sounded as the fool made to come forward from the shadows, revealing himself.

  Until a gasp suddenly sounded, powered by fright.

  The leader turned to see what was happening beside him and cursed.

  Sef could see why.

  Anton stood in silhouette behind their former prisoner, an arm around his neck and a knife pressed to his throat.

  The Kavist leader hissed, “Call off your Heletian dog!”

  “He’s not mine, if but perhaps a dog,” Sef smirked.

  “We outnumber you!”

  “A few more moves like that from my friend, and soon enough you won’t.”

  The Kavist leader drew a blade from his belt, holding it out to his side. “Call him off or I’ll stick him!”

  Anton’s prisoner hissed, “No!”

  Beginning to tremble with adrenalin, Sef couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

  Things were going to get bloody indeed.

  Frustrated, the Kavist turned and stabbed at Anton with the knife.

  The blade found meat, then a groan sounded, followed by the pitter-patter of blood hitting the forest floor.

  Sef laughed again. He couldn’t clearly see it, but he knew with a divinely gifted certainty that it wasn’t Anton who had been hurt. Not when his friend had received two powerful blessings.

  The Kavist leader swore and then stumbled to the side, the knife no longer in his bloodied hand. The moves brought him further into the clearing’s dappled moonlight.

  Anton pushed their former prisoner forward, the man dropping to the ground. The hilt of the blade caught the moonlight where it stood out, stuck between ribs in the meat at the side of his chest. Weakly the man struggled, but his efforts were fading.

  In a moment, Anton disappeared again into shadows, causing gasps of consternation from the hiding Kavists as the Outleaguer wove amongst them in the dark.

  Rushed movement sounded from the elms as four of the Kavists came forward, a few to check on their fallen comrade, others plainly trying to escape the saplings and Anton’s stealthy hunt.

  As soon as stillness settled, it was interrupted by a cry from the elms, the body of another Kavist, slumping forward into the clearing, his throat cut.

  The Kavist leader half turned to Sef, but he did not put his back to the elms, where Anton lurked. He gawked for a moment in surprise at what had happened, but then recovered and kicked into action as he lifted his sword and warned, “They bear divine favour, be wary!”

  From the shadows, Anton called, “There’s only eight left.” As another lifeless body fell forward from the shadows to hit the clearing’s humus.

  Sef laughed darkly again, and that was when Matraia dropped down behind the leader.

  The man, shocked by the sudden movement, spun around.

  Sef’s smile grew as energy burned within him, his hand moving under its power to draw his own sword.

  The Kavists’ leader tried to swing his steel at Matraia, but she was too close, hampering his attack.

  Regardless of standing there unarmed, she wore a grim smile, her wings spread wide behind her.

  The deep beat that had first drawn them to the stream pulsed out again, but this time came accompanied by a flurry of green sparks. The lime embers raced out from Matraia in a broad ring, lighting up the clearing before washing over the elm saplings.

  She stepped back as she dropped and closed her wings.

  The air chilled as it buzzed with power, ice crystals glittering in the air.

  A dozen of the young elms lashed down like whips, making the lead Kavist cry out as he was struck. Some of them whipped across his face, others struck at his hands and arms, knocking his sword from his grip. Once he was disarmed, they all wrapped themselves around his limbs and pulled him off the ground as they straightened, holding him prone.

  He cursed, “Gods! To me, men! Cut me free!”

  The four Kavists who had fled Anton in the elms looked at the saplings holding their leader over their heads. They began venturing closer to try and hack him free. Around the clearing other Kavists also came forward from the shadows, two rushing at Sef with swords and another went for Matraia.

  Sef turned to face the charge, checking his footing and grinning.

  Matraia looked at her own attacker as she pulled a knife from the folds of her clothes.

  Sef fended off the first two blows, strikes that seemed to be more about probing his defences and distracting him as his attackers worked to get either side of him. The tactic put one of them near Matraia, the Kavist tak
ing care not to get too close to her or turn his back in her direction. The man looked anxious, constantly switching his gaze from Sef to Matraia, and then to his leader who was urging his people to hurry and cut him free.

  Matraia’s foe lunged forward with his sword, but slipped on the damp humus and over stretched. The unexpected movement and his consequently startled attempt to regain his balance compromised his attack. She dodged his strike by stepping to the side, but with his arm extended and sword angled down, she moved to take advantage.

  Matraia came right up to him as she used her knife as a guard to keep his sword locked away, the blessing giving her strength. She then used her other hand to bunch a fist and punch him in the face. The blow connected solidly, but carried more shock value, forcing her foe to the side where he stepped into the back of one of Sef’s assailants, throwing that man off guard.

  At the same time, after a glance from Matraia at the Kavist lead, more elm saplings lashed forward to ensnare those trying to cut him free. In a moment, after a flurry of whipping branches and howls of horror, all four of the Kavists were caught by the young trees and lifted off their feet.

  Sef’s two assailants were thrown by this. One seemed scared enough to bolt, the other had lost his balance as Matraia’s attacker stumbled into his back.

  For a moment, in the moonlit clearing, Anton could be seen standing nearby with a bloodied blade in hand, watching to see where he was most needed.

  Sef struggled to maintain the energy surging through him and his racing heart. He had to lash out, to spend some of this power, before it overcame him.

  He raised his sword and then attacked, ignoring the terrified Kavists to his side, who finally broke and ran for the edge of the clearing. Instead, he focussed on the attacker who’d been knocked off balance.

  Sef unleashed a series of blows against the man’s upraised sword.

  The first blow was parried, but the second weakly deflected as the man again lost balance under the force of the attack.

  The big Flet came in for the third blow, a swing he lined up for his foe’s neck.

  The blade sang as it cut through the night and struck home. In a moment the body slowed in its movement as the head flew free off to the side.