Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

“Juvela, your father’s asked for our help, so I’m happy to give it.”

“Thank you.”

He gestured to a seat as he sat back down, looking to me from across his desk. “You have power?”

At first I was uncomfortable with the question, but I knew it held truth. I also understood why Pedro hadn’t been invited to join us.

He continued, “Don’t be afraid, the Guild has more involvement in these matters than you might think. We don’t only keep alive our people’s culture and faiths, we also nurture those of us touched by the arcane.”

“I can’t do much.”

He smiled. “Not yet, but you’re young and your skills only emerging. It’s all the more reason for me to make you aware of the help we can offer. Do you know much about the three magics?”

I shrugged. “The three?”

“The magics of the heart, mind, and soul. Soul magic is based on faith, it’s what the best priests wield – blessings bestowed directly from the gods. Mind magic is that of the forbidden Sisterhood. It’s conjured by gifted women who join collective minds, using their combined power or intuition to create effects we can only explain as magical. Then there’s the magic of the heart, the stuff we attribute to the mages and witches of the Cabal. You know of the Cabal?”

“A little.”

“It’s a network of mages. All who work with the magic of the heart must join. To refuse is to be renegade.”

I’d heard of renegades, they were known locally as the Sanjo Drago, or Blood Drinkers. They powered their castings not just from their own efforts, but by also spilling the blood of others. They spent their victims’ very lives.

I asked, “What am I?”

He smiled, a warm and comforting thing. “I think you’re a mage. We’ll arrange for you to meet with members of the Cabal after the current excitement dies down, but from now on you must be more careful. Here, unlike in Fletland, all magic is illegal except the soul magic of the Church. If they catch you, you’ll be burned as a witch.”

“Like my grandmother?”

“Yes, like your grandmother.” He sighed. “It’s best that you’re a cabalist considering what’s happened. People who use the same kinds of magic can often sense the truth of each other. Those with stronger gifts can even read others’ thoughts or send their own. If you were an emerging practitioner of soul magic, someone we might’ve trained as a priest, it’s possible that a senior priest or inquisitor of the Church could have sensed you. He could taste it in you, your heresy.”

“Is it that easy?”

“Only for the best. You’re a mage, so to most of their priests you’ll be as good as invisible. Only the most powerful in one field of magic can sense the users of another. You should be careful of the Benefice or others of high office.” He began to chuckle, his smile growing wide. “Mind you, I think you’ll be safe from Benefice Vassini, he’s risen to his rank through family connections and politics, not ability or devotion. Just remember, potentially, they can sense you. Be wary, try and maintain your distance from them. Your very life may depend upon it.”

I sat there horrified at how easily I could be discovered. What if Lord Liberigo didn’t offer me protection, would I forever be running from priests who could smell my corruption?

As if reading my thoughts, Kurgar said, “Don’t fret, we’ll keep you safe. Within the hour, we’ll have arranged protection, and while you’ll need to speak to the Church, their influence isn’t as strong here as in the rest of the League. They can’t just take you. Ossard has been too lax in its faith for too long. The Church just doesn’t command that sort of power. Besides, even the faithful in the streets are calling out your name, claiming that you’ve been sent by the saints to protect them. If the Church tries to imprison you the city will riot.”

I took little relief from the suggestion.

A knock sounded at the door before a guildsman looked in and gave a nod. Kurgar said, “We’ll take you to the Lord’s Residence. Once there, we’ll negotiate through him for you to be interviewed by the Church. That’s something they’re demanding.”

I tensed at the suggestion, as the Residence sat on Market Square facing the Cathedral.

Kurgar stood, indicating it was time to go. “Don’t worry, Juvela, your family is well connected. This will all be over soon.”

He walked out with me. We met up with Pedro, Maria, and Sef who’d just been roused by the same guildsman, then made our way back down to the courtyard.

When we were back in a coach and on the road, Pedro asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. We’re going to your father’s.”

Pedro didn’t seem pleased. They’d never got on well.

Maria sat opposite us next to Sef, the four of us filling the cab. She looked to us with her big blue eyes.

Pedro said, “Don’t worry, my little princess, everything will be alright.” Then he turned to smile at me, something warm and honest. Without a word he reached for my hand and took it. A feeling of girlish excitement flared in me, yet my anxiety moved to smother it. Too much had already happened today, I didn’t know if I could stand any more surprises.

On the way to the Malnobla the bells tolled eight, their deep call rolling across the sky and through Ossard’s empty streets.

Sef rode with us. The old bodyguard’s presence irritated Pedro, it always had. In my husband’s eyes he was only the paid help, but to me the warrior’s presence made me feel safe. After the events in Market Square I was certain that he followed Kave, something I’d long suspected – even expected, considering his extraction from the battle-weary wastes of Fletland. The knowledge was its own comfort.

The Church of Baimiopia was right to fear the cults of the Horned God, but some of the faiths they included in that group held more honour than they’d ever know. If I was to live in a time of war, then it would be my choice to do it with a band of Kave’s warriors at my side. It was said that the god of battle was not about slaughter, but the honour to be found in the skills of combat and defence. In truth, the survival of my people through all of our history’s bloody travails came down to the labour and sacrifices of such men and women.

Our coach drove down Ossard’s empty avenues unhindered and eventually into Market Square. The Lord’s Residence loomed ahead, its grand three-floor facade of sandstone standing out against the drab renders or dark stone of surrounding buildings. I didn’t turn to look, but knew the Cathedral rose across from it.

Would the Benefice be watching our coach race across the square, guessing who sat within?

Our driver took us to the stables at the rear, the gates opening to admit us. All about the Residence, along the walls of the courtyard and the building’s roof, the liveried men of Liberigo stood on guard.

The Residence made up three sides of the large courtyard, the stables and gate the fourth. We rarely came here, and even though I was familiar with the place, it never felt comfortable like a home should. It was a seat of power, not a place for family.

Lord Liberigo came into the courtyard with concern on his brow. He patted Pedro on the shoulder and eyed Maria with worry before looking to me. I noticed that he kept his distance. “Let’s get inside, it will be cold tonight.”

We followed him as another coach from the Guild arrived. Lord Liberigo pointed it out to an assistant, indicating for it to be seen to.

We entered the house in silence, climbed the stairs to the second level, and followed my father-in-law into his office. Once inside the timber-finished room, not unlike that of Heinz Kurgar’s, he pointed to some chairs and took his own behind his desk after drawing the curtains across the window behind him.