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

by Colin Taber

  Sef gave a grunt of satisfaction as he turned to face the last remaining fellow; the Kavist attacking Matraia.

  She had already re-engaged him, stepping back and hefting her knife. The poor man had her in front of him and Sef at his back.

  He was doomed – and knew it.

  Doomed.

  Sef squared his shoulders.

  The Kavist swallowed, tensed, and then raised his sword. In a whisper he prayed to Kave as he stepped to the side so he could try and face both of them.

  Sef swung his blade, drawing a blocking parry. The defence was firm and followed by the Kavist’s own attack.

  Sef didn’t hold back. He knew this had gone on long enough, divine blessings or not. No warrior should play with combat, as it was nothing but a deadly business rich in risk. He stepped forward and met his foe’s blows. As their blades struck, Sef pressed and hissed, “What’s wrong with you murderous bastards?”

  As his next step hit the humus, a deep boom pulsed out, the tremor joined by a ring of emerald sparks that flashed out along the forest floor and into the night.

  Tired of such bloodletting and conflict, and just wanting to move on in the cause of Life, Sef moved to the side and brought his blade back into action, meeting his foe’s metal and locking them at the hilt.

  They both struggled, groaning and grunting as they tried to force the other off balance. Their efforts brought them so close together that proximity presented another kind of opportunity.

  Sef leaned in, drew his knife with his free hand, and whispered to his foe, “I’m sending you back to Schoperde, your mother.” He then thrust the knife under the man’s ribs and into his chest.

  The Kavist gave out a startled gasp and tensed before Sef stepped back and away. For a moment he just stood there frozen, then he looked down at the great flow of blood leaking out to catch the moonlight. A moment later he dropped his sword and fell to his knees before slumping into the humus.

  Sef watched the body fall forward, until it lay still.

  As he did, the chaotic energy burning through his own body dissipated, draining away into the night as a burst of sparks. Trembling, he fell forward onto his own knees. Staring at the cooling body of his last foe, he tried to gather himself. With a sigh, he turned around to scan the clearing and see if any other Kavists remained.

  The Kavists caught up in the saplings all remained, but now were still. The young elm branches were wrapped tightly around them, yet not just their limbs, but also their necks. They were dead.

  All the Kavists were gone or defeated.

  Sef dropped his sword and swooned for a moment, surprised at how he felt.

  Only paces away, Matraia also dropped to her knees. She not only trembled, but looked like she was going to be sick the way she leaned over.

  Anton came forward, sitting down heavily. He looked at both of them but didn’t speak. He held his knife in his good hand, the blade dark with blood. Looking at it, after turning it over in his hands, he then stabbed it into the humus to leave it standing upright. While he didn’t get up, he still managed to shuffle a little back from it and sigh.

  Sef was exhausted, a heavy weariness filling his limbs.

  Matraia threw up, though the move seemed to still her shaking.

  Anton got up and went to her, leaving the knife.

  Sef also got up, but he felt truly drained. While any combat filled him with nervous energy, what he’d just experienced had been much more potent. Looking at Anton and Matraia, he could understand their reactions now, neither of them as regularly exposed to the violence of combat as Sef had been through the years.

  And the whole experience intensified by two differently sourced divine blessings.

  He picked up Anton’s knife and wiped the blade on the dead Kavist’s tunic to clean it. Again he looked around to check for any remaining foes. There was nothing, no movement or sound, and certainly no sense that anyone watched – including the Kavist who’d fled.

  Sef frowned; that Kavist had probably earned himself a divine mark from the blood hungry god of battle for fleeing in such a cowardly manner. Such a truth, once the man had a chance to consider it out there alone in the dark, would no doubt tempt him to turn around and attempt to redeem himself.

  The alternative would be to eventually be caught by one of the local Kavist patrols and face a much harsher punishment.

  Sef knew better than most that a divine mark was best avoided.

  He let such thought fall from his mind as he walked over to Matraia and Anton.

  Matraia was wiping at her mouth, but seemed to have gathered herself.

  Anton knelt beside her, uttering reassurance.

  They were all a bit shaken as the power of the dual blessings faded.

  Sef said, “Come you two, we need to get up, find our packs, and go. There’s still at least one Kavist out there. He might be able to rally some help or signal the gargoyles.”

  Anton gave a nod and reached for his knife.

  Matraia also acknowledged him and got to her feet.

  -

  They found their packs and moved on cautiously through the dark wood.

  None of them had much to say to each other, in truth, each of them was in shock at how bloody the night had been.

  Thoughts of the carnage and the power of the two different blessings surging through them largely eclipsed the memory of what had happened at the stream, where they had been healed.

  Anton was stunned by what he’d done. The bloody violence had been disturbing on one level, though he’d seen plenty of blood spilled over the years. Yet at the same time, the whole incident settled some of his fears regarding his ability to defend himself after his maiming. He was no warrior or champion, unlike Sef, but he’d proven he was able to handle a knife and defeat opponents, even if all the while he’d been heavily supported via the blessings of Life’s last two gods.

  The former inquisitor wondered... did Dorloth even know what she’d delivered to them via an innocent woodland stream? He guessed Juvela did, but the way the two blessings had interacted and empowered the three of them had also verged on chaos. He supposed, both were of Life, and thus the magics were probably quite compatible, yet there had been something unstable about the moment, something out of balance.

  He’d never heard of anyone taking blessings from two gods at the same time.

  In truth, he had nearly lost control of himself. The killing had become all too easy.

  And almost fun.

  For Matraia, the night had been a horrid surprise.

  The initial healing had not only been fortunate, but life saving for her as well, and she knew it. She could even feel that her lame wing was much stronger, perhaps even in a state that could get her back into the air. If she had the chance, in a suitably hidden gorge or canyon, she might have to put it to the test. But what had come next when Juvela’s blessing had touched her, a gift of defence and strength interacting with the healing blessing, had overcome her own caution, even when she dropped into the heart of the standoff, landing behind the Kavist lead.

  She’d never been part of such bloody combat, nor so close to so much death. Only when they had been discovered the previous night by the gargoyles in the rain cut gorge out in the wastelands had she experienced anything close to what had just gone on. Prior to that, she’d fired arrows before in airborne battle, but only in the predawn or gloom of dusk, at distant raiding parties of gargoyles already beating a retreat. The exception to that, of course, had been when she’d been chased from over the mountains and caught in the skies above the forest edge, when she’d so recently come to find the Wildlings and eventually Sef and Anton. That incident had again been at a distance.

  No, what she’d just gone through was a lot more close quarters and shatteringly different.

  She’d been terrified, but also giddy with the blessings, the sensations combining to fill her with an angry kind of power. While she was curious where that sense of fury had come from, in the end she thought
she knew; she could feel an elemental undercurrent, a sense of time running out.

  Or had she put that there herself, as a warning surfacing from her subconscious?

  She knew they needed to get to Kalraith.

  Nonetheless, the whole ordeal, nor the urging adrenalin that had come with it, was what she was used to experiencing. All of it – the blood, tension and fear – had left her feeling stunned and exhausted. Just like her friends, if more heavily affected.

  She was not used to divine magic.

  They’d been walking for a while, packs on, trying to maintain their silence, yet that meant their progress in the dark forest was slow. Several times they lost sight of the healing stream that they’d been trying to keep close to while also taking the clearest path.

  Anton was the one who’d said it best, in a whisper as they walked, “If we can’t find a tunnel, then surely the safest road for us is to follow the stream as it climbs the mountains. Perhaps we can’t count on it to always deliver such rejuvenation or empowering blessing as it did earlier this night, but its waters aren’t ever going to hurt us.”

  Sef and Matraia agreed with him.

  They walked on through the woodland and the night. They knew this remnant of forest wasn’t that big, so they constantly expected to reach the edge and again be out on the barren land of the foothills or hopefully to have the mountains in front of them.

  Yet, on they went, the trees continuing.

  Again, after a long silence, a whispered conversation began.

  Sef asked Matraia, “I’m still confused about what we felt back there in the stream.”

  “I don’t think you’re alone, but voice your questions?”

  “Why is Dorloth throwing that power out, pulsing it to aid us? Is it to help us get back to your home?”

  She smiled, the moonlight illuminating her for a heartbeat. “I’m no priest. I don’t know what she’s doing, but I doubt she knows that we’re here. She might not even know I’ve left her dominion.”

  Anton spoke up, “She’s supposed to be very powerful, so much so that her power is probably in some ways overflowing her realm, just as it has long since outgrown the bonds of her physical body. Perhaps we have simply been lucky enough of find a strong trace of it, and through our connection to Life, been able to utilise it, even if she never meant it to be the powerful blessing it was.”

  Sef gave a thoughtful shrug.

  Matraia sighed. “I can tell you one thing, I am not merely glad to have felt her presence through the stream; I think it saved me. Even my damaged wing feels stronger.”

  They agreed, having already noted her sudden return to health.

  Anton added, “And not just us; I wonder if the stream is what has helped nurse this sliver of woodland through the wasting of so much else?”

  Sef turned to look at him. “Do you think she has inadvertently protected it from the fire?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “Maybe, but more so whatever survived has been well watered and cared for since. I think these waters offer a special resilience, elements more than the roots of these trees and even we might find elsewhere.”

  “I’ll say one thing, which I find to be of great comfort; the stream seems to radiate Life, and in a way that is reminiscent of Juvela’s power. If Dorloth’s blessings feel so similar to Juvela’s, then I have no issue doing whatever is needed for her, just as I would for Our Lady of Hope.”

  “And to feel Dorloth like that also gives me confidence. She is so much like her sister, if but older and stronger.”

  “Yes, their allegiance is like a constant with the same kind of flavour.”

  “Yes, a constant, and I suppose that is what it is to awaken into godhood under Life – at least to mortal eyes.”

  “Yes,” said Sef, turning to look at his good friend as he noticed the first trace of the coming day in the sky above, where it could be glimpsed through the canopy. “Juvela has recovered strength, regardless of whatever happened back in the Northcountry and brought her low. Now, she seems to be stronger than ever and also more in control.”

  Anton nodded. “Yes, she has grown. I think she must have undergone some kind of terrible trial, but succeeded in spite of her soul feeding.”

  “I wonder what’s happening back in the Northcountry.”

  “Our people should be safe for now, after the Inquisition’s failed attack and in the calm before the Lae Velsanans arrive.”

  Sef stopped and said, “There is little victory in that, in just being safe. The whole thing is yet another chapter of tragedy, one that will come to an end soon enough, but hopefully happily.”

  Anton said, his eyes now on the bank of the brook, “Let us hope so, but any tale so mired in death doesn’t end happily, I think, but maybe with a better outlook than how it first began. That would be something I’d settle for.”

  Sef started to move again. “It’s a grim thing to say, but you’re right. If this is a tale that started with children being stolen from their cribs, only to find death, then the tale needs to end with new life born of the hope Juvela has delivered. That would be something.”

  From ahead came the sound of a waterfall, not something large, but nonetheless heavy and casting water from a fair height. Walking on Sef glanced around again to check on the sky where he could see it. “Dawn’s coming.”

  “Yes, the canopy is also thinning. Maybe we’re about to reach the end of the woodland?”

  All three walked on, tired but glad to be underway. As they continued, watching where they went, they noticed the trees were indeed thinning, if but the undergrowth rising to be both taller and thicker. The air itself, already chilled, now came to be wet and heavy with moisture.

  What had initially been the distant slap and thrum of water falling on rocks grew to be a deeper roar.

  Matraia slowed and made to move around a large bank of ferns that blocked the way. The undergrowth seemed to be thriving in this part of the wood. She headed down to walk alongside the stream, leading Sef and Anton around a bend half hidden by ancient trunks, some rocky outcrops, and the rising heights of lush undergrowth. As they cleared the bend, the waterfall was revealed, cascading into a wide pool. The waterfall tumbled down a sheer cliff face that reared up at the end of the woodland.

  Sef looked at the wall of stone. “We can’t go up here; we’re going to have to find another way. Let’s follow the cliff wall and see if there is a way up further along. Then we can try and find the stream again if we’re still set on following its healing waters.”

  Anton walked past Sef as he took in the sight. The cliff was sheer, and while they could only see a score or so paces up because of the canopy, the view didn’t fill him with any confidence that it presented an obstacle they’d be able to scale. “I think you’re right, and if you’re asking, I think we do need to find a way up there, then try and swing back and find the stream. The strength the water has given us is not just something worth searching for, but a gift we may need to survive the rest of our crossing.”

  Matraia was perusing the scene when she said, “I can see something over there, across the stream and a fair way down that looks to be a lower edge of the cliff. Perhaps that is a way up. We can cross the stream here, then go and take a look.” She indicated a series of stones that dotted the beginnings of the swift water, from where it flowed out of the pool to begin its flow through the woods.

  Sef nodded. “First, let’s refresh our water skins.”

  They agreed and worked at it as the sky above continued to lighten.

  Dawn wasn’t far away.

  As they worked, Anton said, “The air has a real chill to it. I think we’ve climbed some height in the last day or two, even if we’ve not really been conscious of it.”

  Sef agreed as he put his refilled water bag and a flask back in his pack. “Yes, the air is fresh. I’d not be surprised to find snow up there.”

  Matraia was just repacking her bag when she let out a gasp and fell forward, partway into the stream.
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  Sef and Anton were both startled by her sudden movement. Anton looked to her with concern, moving to help, but Sef instead turned his attention to their surroundings.

  She began to right herself, reaching for her shoulder.

  A small knife was sticking out of her flesh, blood running from the wound. With a broken voice, she gasped, “We’re not alone.”

  Sef hissed, “Get across the stream and into the undergrowth. Whoever is out there is on this side.”

  “And you?” Anton asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’m following. I don’t have much with me in the way of throwing knives.”

  Matraia reached up and grit her teeth as she pulled the blade free. With a pale face, she dropped the knife at Sef’s feet. “Now you’ve got one, but don’t waste your time with it. Let’s get to cover.”

  Sef picked the weapon up, only briefly taking his eyes from the surrounding undergrowth.

  Handling it, he could feel its weighting. This was a good knife for throwing.

  Beside him, Anton got Matraia to her feet as they quickly made for the other side and sought cover behind a thick, fallen tree trunk half overgrown by fernery. “Come on, Sef!”

  The big Flet examined the blade, noting it was marked by more than blood. Something else had been on the metal, sticky and yellow, the point dressed before it’d been thrown. Sef brought it to his nose and smelt it before again refocussing on the nearby undergrowth.

  The rustle of leaves suggested their foe was moving to a new patch of cover further back.

  He knew the smell, vaguely, but was familiar enough with the family it came from – the strong and bitter scent of the bittershade plant. The knowledge froze him. There was little else he needed to know. The blade was poisoned and any sizeable dose was known to be lethal.

  Matraia was doomed.

  More movement in the undergrowth grabbed his attention.

  He slowly rose, trying to get a better look. All the while, as he did, he was thinking... I’m just offering another target.

  Leaves rustled again, now a bit further back.

  Silence.

  Sef lifted the knife, ready to throw it at the next movement he could be sure of, before heading off with haste over the stream.