Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

During the summer, instead of my mother hearing of a child killed in some misfortune several times a season she’d hear of fever deaths every other day. We tried to keep such news from her, it trapping her at home, yet the sounds of passing funeral processions marked by the slow beat of mourning drums could not be kept at bay.

Poor Inger, so sensitive and emotional, so busy feeling other peoples’ pain – it almost drove her mad. Then one summer the real problems began…

Child-theft is a coward’s crime; that’s what my mother said.

At first I didn’t even understand it. I mean, how could you? Why would someone want to steal someone else’s child? But then it happened, marking the beginning of Ossard’s fall from grace.

A little boy was the first to be taken. An infant girl went missing half a season later, stolen straight from her crib. More followed, and they were all Flets. I didn’t know any of the victims, but I couldn’t miss their families’grief.

The outrages went on, haunting the alleys of Newbank – the squalid Flet quarter of the city. The Heletian authorities ignored it as they did all the problems that plagued our district. In the end, any attempt at handling it fell to our guild, the Flet Guild, who unofficially governed everything on our side of the river. Still, as skilful as they were at dealing with our other problems, this was one that they couldn’t overcome.

So the kidnappings continued, as did the misery they delivered.

Running our household kept Mother busy, it being one of the most prosperous in Newbank, and even of note in the larger and wealthier Heletian side of Ossard. She tried to keep an eye on me, as did Father, but that along with the family business, an inherited importing concern, just took too much of their time. One of our two maids could have watched over me, but they couldn’t hope to defend me. If I was to be safe, it needed to be at the hands of someone suited to the task.

Father found someone, a man of battle that came recommended as honest and able. Still, on the day he started, none of us were sure.

Like any young adolescent I came with some attitude. At Sef’s introduction, I displayed as much rebelliousness as I could muster.

“A bodyguard?” I asked.

“Just for now,” said my father.

Mother nodded, her movements anxious.

I said, “It’s because of the kidnappings, isn’t it?”

Father nodded.

Mother said, “No, not at all, and it’s just for a short while.”

I turned to face him – my bodyguard.

He stood tall and solid, in his late twenties, with blonde hair and blue eyes spaced between the occasional scar. He tried to smile to win me over. It sat strangely on such a big man, one made bigger by an armour of leathers, and a scabbarded sword at his side. He looked like he’d just come from the bloody battlefields of Fletland, our people’s war-torn homeland across the sea, so much so that I checked his boots for mud – to my disappointment they were clean.

He shifted, moving his imposing bulk awkwardly on our polished floorboards and setting them to softly groan. He just didn’t belong in our civilised household, or for that matter any home.

I smiled; having him around would drive my mother mad. “Well, I guess it could be fun having my own bodyguard.”

Sef’s smile broadened.

Mother sighed in relief.

Father grinned. “How about we give it a try by letting him take you to the markets?”

I was making it too easy for them, so I let my enthusiasm fade. “I guess…”

Sef’s smile faltered, making me feel bad. It was my parents I wanted to toy with, not him. He obviously didn’t have a lot of experience with children.

I found a grin. “I guess. He looks like he could handle anything.”

Their faces lit up.

Then I went on, “And he’s got a great sword.” I turned to him. “Can I hold it?”

He looked to my parents.

My mother paled while my father shook his head.

That’s when I delivered the punch line, “Killed anyone with it?

Mother nearly fainted.

He squatted, coming eye to eye with me. “Only those who deserved it.”

I looked into his eyes, cold pools that had seen a lot of worse things than a spoilt girl of thirteen.

Well, if I needed a bodyguard, I guess he could do the job. He was bigger than Father, and easily worth two maids and my mother in a fight.

Father filled the silence. “The markets then?”

Sef’s smile dropped, now all business. “The markets.”

I took a step back, my bravado dead.

All four of us took the family coach, Sef up front with the driver while my parents sat inside with me. My parents spoke of nothing in particular, just mundane household matters, both nervous as we headed out from home and away.

We arrived under overcast skies at the edge of Market Square. Crowds and stalls filled its wide expanse, all the way to its bordering sides marked by Ossard’s grandest buildings; the guildhalls; Cathedral; and Malnobla, the residence of the lord of the city-state.

Sef helped my mother from the coach and then reached up for me. He tried to be careful, but his strong hands held too firm, seeing me twist against them. In response he tightened his grip.

I gasped, “You’re hurting me!”

Father frowned. “Come now, Juvela, be good.”

Mother stood to his side, worried but silent.

Then we set out.

Sef walked a pace beside me, or a step or two behind. He watched the crowd for trouble, and my parents for directions, but more than anything he watched me.

Mother looked at some cloth, and then some fruit, before we headed towards the livestock stalls. Amongst them we found a boar running around an otherwise empty pen. Alone and in a strange place, the brutish animal had become frenzied, to the amusement of a small crowd.

The owner was trying to calm it, but the tusked beast lunged at his handling attempts. We watched for a while as the owner called in two men to help. Armed with long poles, they began forcing it into a corner. Soon they’d have it. With the chase over we moved on, my mother not wanting to watch its likely death.

I led Sef and my parents down a narrow path that cut between two banks of pens, some empty, while most hosted goats, pigs, or sheep.

My mother complained, “Juvela, the animals’ filth is everywhere!”

“But there are lambs ahead?”

Father looked to his women and sighed, then noticed my shoes already caked in muck. “Juvela, go and have a look, but take Sef. We’ll walk around and meet you on the other side.”

Sef offered an awkward smile.

My mother paled. “Can we leave her alone?”

Father put a hand to her back as he began to steer her away. “She’s not alone, she’s with Sef.”

I skipped down the path. I could see a dozen lambs in the last pen.

Sef followed, but also kept his distance.

The lambs huddled in straw near the fence, it made from a tight weave of oleander canes. I went to them, squatting down as I slipped a hand through the lattice to offer the nearest my fingers.

Sef walked past, coming to a stop only paces away.

The owner of the lambs, a fat Heletian, approached him to see if he represented a possible sale. They talked while I patted the closest animal, marvelling at its innocent face.

That’s when I sensed something behind me, it cold and sudden.

I looked down by my side to see a pair of black boots. A man stood there with his back to Sef, but Sef also had his back to him.

The man wore a dark cloak to protect against the coming rain that the sky promised, yet it also harboured something else – something akin to the chill that lurked in Sef’s eyes. Earlier, I’d been a little spooked by Sef, but right now this stranger had me terrified.