Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

Though they were warriors who’d shed blood and taken lives, my upbringing made me see them as more than bringers of battle and death. To the Flets of Ossard, Kavists were the defenders of Fletland, and for that we were grateful. We felt we owed Kave a great debt.

We crossed the street and tried to keep to the dim night’s shadows. Leading us, Sef soon discovered a door halfway along the short alley’s length. We gathered about it, while a young Fletlander dropped to his knees to check the lock and work at it.

He was about to force it when we heard something behind us; a chuckle from the dark.

The Kavists turned with raised swords, but there was nothing to see besides the alley and its shadows.

Sef hissed, “Juvela, get your back to the wall!”

His tone wiped the surprise from my face. “What is it?”

“The followers of Mortigi.“

The God of Murder!

I found the wall, and planted my back against it.

And again laughter sounded, this time from the loading dock.

Sef said, “The light is poor, we must be careful and have faith.”

The Kavists broke into a chant.

In the silence that followed the air grew chill, my breath icing up in front of me.

The coming of magic…

The alleyway began to brighten under a weak but rising light. The smoke haze cleared to reveal the moon, the great orb’s blue face marked by swirls of white.

The Kavists uttered a chorus of thanks.

In answer, a woman’s voice sang a slow counter-prayer, it coming from the dark.

Sef hissed, “Lady Death.”

Again laughter sounded from the shadows.

The moon’s light began to fade, the haze returning to cloak it like a shroud.

Mortigists killed for pleasure, and to offer the stolen souls as morsels to their cruel lord. They were the antithesis of Kavists who fought out of necessity. They were bitter rivals.

Damn them, I just wanted my husband and daughter!

Lady Death purred from the advancing dark, “We’ve been hunting since dusk and claimed many, but I can see blessed Mortigi has saved the best sport for last!”

Sef spat in her direction. “Sport you can’t handle!”

Laughter greeted his retort.

To be so near my goal, only to be delayed fired my anger, and with its stirring my soul’s power began to churn.

Damn it, my family was so close, but Death’s servants closer!

It just stoked my fury, yet it wasn’t focused on anyone else, just my powerless self – and that fury began to burn.

Where was my damned witchery?

The Mortigists came forward cloaked in the dark that they’d called, the lack of light tilting the balance in their favour.

I was useless!

Yet my trapped power boiled inside of me.

I didn’t need much of it, just a bit, just a taste of its searing heat and shadow-killing glow.

Please Schoperde, I just wanted my family – was it too much to ask?

My power bucked as it mingled with my anger, the two painfully merging as they tore at the very fabric of my soul.

The agony!

Hot and rampaging, it threatened to consume me.

Then it happened…

Under all that pressure something finally gave.

The barrier stopping my power was no longer whole!

It began to leak through. It came as a trickle and was only a start, showing in the real world as a flourish of sparks.

I groaned at the pain.

Was my soul going to burst?

A new round of agony shot through me.

I gasped, “Sweet Schoperde!”

And then came relief.

A wave of green light rushed out from me. For a moment, the lane flared while I slumped to the cobbles, listening to the deafening thump of my heart.

Something had broken.

Something was free.

And that something was me.

My mind felt like it was spinning, and my heart kept drumming out, finally the power in my soul was ready to use – if only I knew how.

My vision drifted from the celestial to the real world, fading between one and the other as it cycled round and through. In that collage of images I saw the Kavists ready themselves, movement in the shadows, and two gods face each other through their followers and their truths.

And amidst it all I heard my grandmother gasp, “Oh, I thought they were all gone?”

Back in the alley, I began to lift myself up as my hand grabbed at a loose cobble.

Sef called over his shoulder, “Juvela?”

“I’m… I’m alright.”

And then the last of the sparks faded to let the Mortigists renew their advance.

Without thinking, I lifted my hand that clutched at the cobblestone, opening it so that it sat in the flat of my palm. With a sense of wonder I could taste the coming of magic – my magic.

I was going to cast.

It stirred as a cool sensation in my belly, and then deepened to grow wild. It spread to my chest before surging along my arm, to my hand, and then to set the cobble’s dark surface to sparkle. Within a heartbeat its surface became covered in a skin of frost. My palm tingled with the flow of power, but I seemed otherwise immune to its bite.

Wisps of mist began to rise from the stone and lazily drift about. The glimmering ice crystals didn’t last though, they melted to become short-lived beads of water that were then turned to steam. When the steam began to fade, the water gone, and the ice only a memory, the rock came to glow.

A soft red light bathed the flesh of my hand, but I still felt nothing of it. The stone went from red, to orange, and then to yellow, giving me light enough to see. I lifted it above my head as it brightened to illuminate the alley.

The Kavists cheered.

And in a dozen places about us, the black clad cultists stood revealed. They fell back, but not before the closest of the Kavists stepped after them to strike. Two warriors cried out as they landed hits.

One of their victims dove to safety in the dark, but the other fell. The cultist landed on his back, exposing a deep gash to his shoulder that showed bone and gushed blood. My flaring light lit his head and chest, but the rest of him was lost to the murk of shadow.

The warrior who’d struck him stepped forward to finish the job, but a whispered prayer from the dark caused him to slow.

Sef called, “Stay in the light!”

The warrior snapped, “The kill’s mine!”

But Lady Death challenged, “No, the kill is mine.” And two black-gloved hands slipped from the edge of the dark, one brandishing a knife. She hissed, “I take this for Mortigi!” And then slit the cultist’s throat.

The Kavist was already lunging forward with body and sword, his swing ending in the doomed man’s chest – but his soul had already been claimed.

Sef growled, “There’s no honour in this!”

But the gloved hands stayed there, not even flinching as they sat on the cultist’s chest as it was cleaved. Then, like a striking snake, they darted forward to fly up the Kavist’s bloodied blade, the darkness following to keep Lady Death hidden.

The warrior’s own body blocked the detail of what happened next – and for that I’m glad. I saw him stumble back, but too slowly, leaving himself open to her attack. He grunted in shock as the cobbles about him took the spray of his lifeblood, the noise tapering off into a sigh.

In an instant more gloved hands appeared to grab at him, them dragging him into the dark. A brief silence followed, only broken by the horrid sounds of stabbing, tearing, and the wet thumps of butchery.

Sef hissed, “He was a fool!”

Something landed on the cobbles in front of us – a severed hand.

A moment later, the warrior’s body loomed up at the edge of my circle of light. He’d been stabbed and carved, his armour and clothes shredded, and his lifeless face marked with Mortigi’s five-pointed star. The body then fell forward to land with a sickening crunch. His own sword stuck out of his back, standing straight and bloodied.