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

by Colin Taber

  Sef asked, “And Dorloth, what does she think?”

  Matraia frowned. “She does not see it, only memories of what has happened in the past. The situation is not helped by the fact she has been forced into an isolated existence because of her immense power.”

  “How so?”

  “Her divine energy warps the reality around her, threatening to merge this world with the next. She has become withdrawn and keeps more and more to herself. Only the strong souled can approach her. The rest of us, particularly our young, who cannot tolerate the strength of her divine focus, must keep well away.”

  “You’ve never seen her?” asked Anton.

  “No, her power is too great. Her presence tugs at not just my reality, but my very being.”

  Sef frowned.

  She responded, “You will see for yourselves if you are strong enough; raw power rolls off her in Quersic Quor, the very celestial in our own world.”

  -

  Soon the valley joined others and became so steep that the sky closed in. That, coupled with the late afternoon light now obscured by heavy clouds, meant it was time to find a place to camp.

  By then Matraia wasn’t just exhausted but growing sickly, her skin burning and wearing an obvious sheen of sweat. In the landscape they were now in, finding a hidden place to shelter wasn’t so hard, with overhangs, protruding rocks, caves and crevices regularly presenting themselves as they made their way alongside the babbling stream.

  Matraia no longer spoke, instead her breathing began to wheeze.

  Sef suggested, “The caves are too obvious. They’ll get searched if they’re looking for us, which is a very real possibility.”

  “Yes, it is. So far we’ve managed to evade the Kavists who were chasing us to the Pandike, then killed another patrol in the woods that is sure to be missed, and, of course, there were those gargoyles that found our camp.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “So where do we shelter if not a cave?” He glanced at Matraia, who he was supporting with an arm, before adding, “We need something quickly.”

  “Ideally, a location alongside Dorloth’s blessed stream. We have to accept that Matraia has been poisoned and the toxin is affecting her. The healing waters might well be the only way we can get her through the night, as I don’t know any other way to treat such a wound.”

  “Yes.” With reluctance, Anton agreed.

  The sun was out of sight, the surrounding mountainous ridges tall and rugged enough to put the entire snow dusted vale in shade. They all knew, as the air chilled around them, that dusk would soon be fully upon them.

  The clouds thickened in the skies above, matched with a rising wind and occasional flurry of snow.

  Sef spotted a low overhang under rock that bulged out of the slope. The spot was not so visible, already with a cap of snow on top and around it, and it was also only a dozen paces from the stream’s vital flow.

  Anton led Matraia over to the spot, walking on the gravel where the snow hadn’t fallen. He sat her down and rugged her up as Sef checked out the space underneath.

  With some work, it looked as though they could make room for all three of them.

  Each of the two men took a turn watching the darkening sky above, as the other delved head first into the space, clawing what they could of gravel and rocks out, trying to make room.

  Soon, as the last of the light faded, they were finally done. The space wasn’t going to be wildly comfortable, but it was deep enough for them to lie down in and give them what they needed.

  Anton crawled in first and pulled in Matarai, who now was barely conscious. He put her in the area with the best clearance, for the sake of her wings, but laid her out on a blanket before he then dragged in their packs and gear.

  Before he went in himself, Sef used the snow and gravel around him to cover any sign of their labours. As he did, the snow flurries increased, cutting the feeble light even more. His last efforts saw him close off much of the overhang with snow and rock, making their resting place a little harder to spot, and also a place that might contain their warmth. Finally, he slid in to join his fellows.

  -

  The night came on hard and long, matched by the weather outside as a storm closed in. Anton worked on Matraia in the last of the light, checking the wound that had now become swollen and discoloured. There was little he could do other than wash it with fresh water from the healing stream, which Sef fetched, and then add a herbal preparation to it that he hoped would draw away the poison.

  In truth, he figured it was too late to undo the damage.

  The bittershade seemed to be working fast on her Dagruan form. He could only guess whether the decline would continue and finally claim her, or perhaps plateau and give her health a chance to rebound. But he wasn’t optimistic.

  Sef didn’t have to ask, he could see Matraia was in trouble.

  When the last of the light faded, Anton stirred Matraia to enough wakefulness so she could eat and drink. He then wrapped her in their spare blankets and left her to sleep.

  When Anton had finished tending her, the two men lay side by side in the dark, chewing on stale bread and cheese and sipping water. It was a glum start to what promised to be an uncomfortable night.

  Occasionally, as the night dragged on and during breaks in the weather, they could hear gargoyles fly past, the rhythmic snap and whoosh of their great leathery wings unmistakeable. Thankfully, the creatures did not seem to dawdle in their passage or come too close.

  At least, in the matter of the weather, the snowfall and wind hampered all of them.

  Sef spoke quietly as they settled into their bedrolls, “This is the first night of our mountain climb.”

  Anton asked, “Do you still think it will take a few days to cross?”

  “It’s hard to say. The terrain is almost what I expected, if only more barren.”

  “I suppose it’s all going to come down to how often we have to stall our progress or change direction because of the Sentinels and their patrols. And then there’s the consideration of our stocks of food.”

  “And Matraia,” Sef added.

  Anton answered with a glum whisper, “Of course.”

  “Well, a few nights of sleeping without a fire on rocky ground should be more than enough for me. Let’s hope it’s a crossing that is noted for being uneventful more so than uncomfortable.”

  Anton offered, “Or perhaps one made simpler if we can find one of these ancient roads under the mountain.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” his reluctance sapped his voice.

  “We’ll see.”

  The wind began to pick up, whistling as it passed by outside. All three of them lay together, sheltered from the worst of the elements, and certainly from any sky-born eyes.

  Quietly, Anton said, “In all of this trek, my greatest fear is that we will never see those who will be watching for us and we will be caught unaware.”

  “The gargoyles and the Kavists?”

  “Yes, as the gargoyles will likely be passing overhead, while the Kavists might spy us from the Sentinel towers.”

  Sef agreed, “It is a worry, but if we avoid travelling at night and when it is heavily overcast, we should be relatively safe from the gargoyles. As for the Kavists, I’m not sure there’s a lot we can do other than be careful.”

  “I suppose any patrolling Kavists will most likely be lost in the same maze of barren valleys and passes as us. The Sentinels will be what we need to be most conscious of during the day.”

  Sef had been thinking about such matters, the topic something that busied his mind when he wasn’t worrying over Juvela or Matraia’s health. “You are right.”

  “Yes, though I’m in no hurry to come up against any enemy.”

  “The best fight is the one avoided.”

  “Wise words.”

  “Although, we have managed not to merely survive the last two incidents. Against the gargoyles we were lucky – and blessed by Juvela – and in the second fight
we were empowered by Dorloth as well. We can’t expect to be so protected or gifted every time, and regardless, despite those victories, we still bear wounds.”

  They were both silent for a moment as each contemplated what those wounds might mean. Besides them, unseen in the dark, Matraia laboured on with her strained breathing.

  After a while, Anton continued, “We’ll need to be careful in our passing to not leave any sign or trail. I, for one, am eager to put all this behind us and get over the mountains into Kalraith.”

  “Hopefully it’ll also be warmer,” said Sef as he winced against the bite of the rising breeze.

  Before either of them said another word, the rhythmic beating of wings came to them as a beast flew past.

  The gargoyle moved on, seemingly alone.

  The moment reminded them of the dangers around them, not that they needed to be. Both burrowed deeper into their bedrolls against the cold, as Anton whispered, “You sleep first, I’ll watch.”

  -

  Later, Sef lay wrapped in his blankets against a deep and settling chill as he completed the last watch. The night had become bitter, so much so that Sef wondered just how much snow they might have to contend with when the sun rose. And that was something that wouldn‘t bode well for Matraia.

  He prayed to Juvela, with one hand on the hilt of his sword that lay in the frosted gravel in front of him across the low entrance to their camp. His other hand, though, lay on Matraia’s blanket covered leg as Sef begged the God of Hope to aid the winged woman’s battle against the poison.

  Sef could feel a seeping of power from him, a warmth that ran down his arm and into Matraia’s leg where his hand rested.

  As his watch came to an end he turned to face his friends, figures he could now see as the predawn grey began to spill in and banish the dark of the dying night.

  He could feel a welling in him, a kind of blooming encouragement, as if Juvela was urging him on, assuring him all would be well.

  They’d make it!

  Beside him, Matraia whispered softly in her sleep, the first sounds she’d made that weren’t a wheezing breath or moan. He didn’t understand the words, not at first, but when she softly repeated them he was startled to realise that they weren’t of the common tongue, but were Lae Velsanan. He stared at her, his gaze on her lean face and pointed ears, as he considered that.

  He told himself Lae Velsanans didn’t have wings.

  Sef removed his hand from her leg, where it had spent half the night as he had begged Juvela for her to be healed. He noted she seemed cooler than she had been. Her fever had broken.

  Had his prayers worked?

  Hopefully enough to ensure they could continue on.

  He knew Matraia would refuse to complain or hold them back with her suffering, but he also knew they would need her when they reached Kalraith. She had already alluded to political divisions and a complex history that they could not afford to misunderstand when dealing with Dorloth. Despite the break in her fever, too many things still weighed on her body, too many wounds, old and new. Divine healing might get her back on her feet, but that came at a cost, too, as did all things from the celestial. They had all felt it the previous night when the blessings of two different gods, even if aligned, had corrosively and chaotically coursed through their mortal forms. A body could only stand so much healing before it became a burnt out husk. And Matraia had already said enough to indicate she could not tolerate magic.

  The thought reminded him of Lady Death, the head priest of Mortigi back in Ossard. Her form had been both drained and burnt out by Juvela at the fall of the city-state when Lady of Hope had awakened and utilised the celestial against her adversary. The result hadn’t been pretty.

  For now, Sef could do little but watch Matraia as they took the road ahead. The next few days would have them pass through terrain that was no place for the weak, as little along the way would provide any help. The cold alone was just the latest problem.

  Sef’s worries doubled at the sound of a bestial cry from away to the south. It was high pitched and from the air. As the call rang out, the echo bounced off the rugged landscape, the source close enough so the snow couldn’t quite swallow it.

  He was certain it was a gargoyle.

  The way was watched, as they’d been told. Should they ever have doubted such a warning, now they had even more reason to proceed with caution.

  After a long stretch of silence, he heard the call repeated, but it was softer and more distant. Sef took comfort in that and the growing light. Peering through the narrow exit from their camp, he saw that the snow had stopped, at least for now. That meant with sunrise upon them, they should soon be able to move again, but with the world still shrouded in fading gloom, he was happy to wait.

  For now Matraia could sleep.

  As the light grew stronger, Sef took some water and some scraps of dried meat. He got out of his bedroll and packed up his gear so he was ready to go.

  Eventually, his movements woke Anton. “We’ve survived another night?”

  “So it seems.” Sef smiled at his friend, for despite the cold confines of their shelter, or their predicament, he could think of no other person he’d prefer to have made the journey with.

  “And you’re packed and ready to go?”

  “Yes, ready enough. Look, I’ve been thinking... about Matraia.”

  “Yes?” Concern clouded the former inquisitor’s face.

  “I’m going to scout ahead and see how easy the way is. While it’s perhaps not smart to separate, knowing the terrain ahead might be beneficial. She might be strong enough to continue, but we can’t afford to have her wasting her strength backtracking because we find the way blocked by a landslide or cliff.”

  Anton sat up as high as the overhang’s low ceiling would allow and got out of his own bedding. “Separating... ” He frowned and shook his head. “What if you get spotted and attacked?”

  “Anton, Matraia’s stronger, Juvela has blessed her overnight so she can continue on, but she’ll not have strength to waste. Every step she takes has to count.”

  “That might be so, but what if something happens to you?”

  “We’ve got to move on. Something will happen to all of us, eventually, if we stay here.”

  The Outleaguer frowned. “Last time we got separated, I ended up losing fingers, remember?”

  Sef put a hand to his shoulder, his voice breaking as he said, “How could I forget. I came with Fel and we got you. I won’t go far. I’ll be back by midmorning, and the extra time for rest won’t hurt Matraia. Besides, scouting ahead will also speed our progress later on in the day.”

  Anton finally relented. “Just be careful.”

  “I will be.” Sef smiled, and added, “When I return, be ready to go, but let her rest for as long as she can.”

  “I will.”

  “Also, go through your pack and pull out what you can that’s white and grey. It’ll better hide us amidst the snow, now that we’ve left the rock-strewn wasteland behind.”

  His friend nodded, but again said, “Be careful.”

  Sef smiled. “I will.” He patted his cell brother again on the shoulder, and then turned to crawl out from under the overhang.

  Chapter 7

  -

  A Gathering Will

  -

  Marco’s Ruin, The Northcountry.

  For the first time since my return, I sat alone in the tower that climbed above the water hall on the ruin’s second terrace. There, I quietly sang a song that had once given me so much comfort and strength – Schoperde’s Song of Sorrow.

  Yes, it was a song that carried heavy words and even heavier emotions, for it was woven of almost nothing but loss and what might have been.

  Yet...

  In singing that song, I could feel my soul join my voice’s chorus, as if relishing the misery of its mournful melody. More than anything, singing the song not only rallied my strength, but gave me focus. And focus was what I needed.

  As I
sang, I looked out on the spring morning that deepened over the sound.

  Marco’s Ruin was busy, my people excited after the return of Kurt and Baruna, who the previous night had led over two hundred survivors home.

  They had marched the whole journey in a single day, my gifted power filling their legs. Together, they had made their way quickly and together, not needing to stop for rest.

  That was the glory of my belated blessing.

  No one had forgotten those who didn’t make it home. Far from it... how could we. But to have any return from what had been such a debacle – and from a neighbouring vale now marked with distant plumes of smoke as Kurgar’s cultists spread up the Cassaro – stood as a small victory.

  Yesterday afternoon we’d seen Kurt and Baruna’s reunited column coming along the last length of the sound. Some of them, Schoperde love them, still carrying my banners high, despite all that had happened.

  Near on sunset, when they had reached the beach and begun to pass by the Loyalist camp, all work in the ruins had stopped as the news spread of their approach. Finally, before they even reached our walls, we spilled out to meet them with cheers, hope and love.

  I walked out with the crowd to find Baruna and Kurt for myself. While I already knew they were safe, I wanted to see them together.

  I found them leading the column.

  Baruna’s smile was the widest I’d ever seen. Kurt sat beside her, driving a cart, with one arm wrapped around the reins and his other arm around her. He looked weathered, but still full of the blessing I’d bestowed as he led in not just the survivors, but also Baruna’s expedition.

  Before long, they closed on the ruins and our greeting crowd, and as soon as they did, Kurt stopped the coach. For a moment he just looked at me in wonder, while Baruna sat beside him, her smile still aglow and her eyes beginning to water.