Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

If the Kavists were an army, then what was it that followed them?

The tall windows of St Marco’s became obvious targets. The tinkle of rocks punching through the rare coloured glass peppered the square, all of it followed by the ugly chime of the precious shards falling to shatter. Before long, someone hurled a ball of burning rags through one of the broken windows. By the time my own boots found the avenue, the windows loomed as gaping holes that spewed thick smoke.

The Kavists marched unchallenged. In the distance, through the haze, we could see the lone figure of the churchman who’d fled to carry a warning. He was halfway there.

The Kavists kept a good pace, set by the rhythm of their chant. The crowd behind me also pushed on. I strode on between them, alone, aside from my haunting grandmother, while scrying for Pedro and Maria.

Perhaps, when we reached the Square, I’d again search the opera house…

But each step I took only fed rising doubts. My spirit, which had been so buoyed at being able to restart my search, now began to fail.

Grandmother whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you in your search.”

But I wondered; could we be too late?

“They’re hidden, and that means they live.”

And in front of us, Kave’s march continued, all of it accompanied by prayers, horns, and cheers.

The Cathedral’s bells started to toll, not long after the entrance to Market Square came into view.

And it was then that the empty avenue leading to it suddenly began to fill. A couple of hundred Heletians spilled from the streets towards its end, all of them armed with swords and makeshift shields. The Loyalists were moving to meet the Kavists.

The warriors of the cult of battle lifted their swords, checked armour, and readied themselves. The Kavists didn’t mock or jeer the defenders, they simply doubled their march. They had to; the berserkers having spotted a foe finally lost the last of their control.

A great cheer rose from the mob behind us, hungry for revenge.

And the ranks of the Kavists moved faster, trying to keep up with their berserk brethren.

The berserkers gave a guttural roar, as their lope became a run.

I whispered, “Sweet Schoperde, please protect Sef, even though he follows another.” And a bright golden spark sped out from me to charge into the rear of the advancing Kavists. It was magic, and woven from the stuff of love and life.

I marvelled. Somehow I’d called something, something to protect him; a blessing. I was learning.

Perhaps there was hope…

Up ahead, the Loyalists tried to link their shields.

The berserkers, frenzied and wild, now charged at full sprint.

And the main body of Kavists burst into song and took up their horns.

While the Loyalists braced themselves.

Then the berserkers were upon them.

The touched warriors crashed through the defensive line, swinging swords and roaring like animals. Blood sprayed up, along with cleaved flesh and broken shields. The berserkers didn’t slow, miss a step, or even choke on their battle cries. They met the faithful of Krienta, and in a moment, cut through them.

But Kave grew bored of chants, song, and play…

The crazed Kavists emerged from the defenders’ ruin. They didn’t pause or even glance at their grim harvest, they just headed on.

The Kavist ranks in front of me cheered, while the mob behind roared.

I winced at their madness. How could they all give themselves so easily to hate? They disgusted me, leaving me glad to be outcast and alone…

…until I found that I wasn’t.

She stood behind me wearing a worn grey dress. Surprised, I just started and stared. She was Heletian, perhaps somewhere in her late twenties, with a trace of silver prematurely teasing the temples of her hair. The colours worked well with her olive skin and hazel eyes, and when she smiled, it all joined to come alive.

“Alone no more!” my grandmother whispered.

The woman stood only a pace away, she didn’t flinch or fall back, or even look frightened. With a firm voice she said, “My name is Baruna, and I’d like to walk with you?”

I gestured towards Market Square. “I was going this way.”

She nodded. “Then let’s go together.”

And we turned to walk side by side, while the mob behind us fell silent.

Baruna said, “I’ve come to end your loneliness and mine. You’ve hope and compassion, I saw it in the square when you saved that poor woman’s child. What you have is what we’re poor in, and what Ossard needs in these dark days.”

Her words warmed me. Already I could feel my burden lighten, as if it was now shared.

I was no longer alone!

And ahead, the berserkers leading the Kavist charge had almost reached Market Square – yet we barely noticed. While Death loomed up to cast his shadow over the city, we stood as a spark of life, and perhaps, as Baruna had put it, hope.

But that spark was threatened by the surrounding madness.

The Kavists followed the berserkers in their charge, their swords raised and banners flying.

Before them opened the wide space of Market Square. It stood naked of its stalls and merchants, instead its middle spread blocked by a wall of robed churchmen. Behind that priestly line of a hundred stood thousands of Loyalists fingering grim blades, many of them makeshift weapons taken from kitchens, fishmongers, and butchers.

Inquisitor Anton stood above it all in one of the Cathedral’s belltowers, from where he bellowed, “Oh sweet faithful, Krienta watches and will appraise you. Be ready to work his will!”

His pious followers cried out for the chance.

From across the square, the Kavists called out in answer.

The priests waited, but did not fear.

And all the while, with each moment, Kave’s berserkers drew nearer.

Krienta’s holy men readied the seeds of their blessed defence. They knew that their lord wouldn’t abandon them, not here and now. United, they cried, “For Saint Baimio and his father, our righteous lord, Krienta!”

And the celestial heaved as hundreds drew upon it for power.

That strange other world, normally a pool of dark calm, churned into boiling life. The air about us tingled as it tensed, filling with flaring sparks.

Behind us, the followers of the new saints surged forward. They wanted to be a part of this, the smashing of the unreformed Church.

The berserkers raced across the square with blood-flushed eyes, crying from drooling mouths. For these touched warriors, only kills would do, but they’d have to work for them; Krienta’s priests were already casting.

The Inquisitor led that casting as he called from up on high, “Oh Krienta, heretics have dared enter the heart of your proclaimed city! We beg you to bless us so that we may show them your mercy, or if you wish it, judge them, and leave them blinded by their soul’s blight!”

His priests raised their arms, “May the carriers of heresy be struck blind!”

The square filled with piercing cries.

A flock of black ravens appeared, launching themselves into the smoke-heavy air from the weatherworn ledges of the Cathedral’s towers. Countless, they circled and cawed with grating voices, only to suddenly turn and dive.

Warnings were yelled.

And like a furious black hail, the ravens struck, raining down to seek the eye-flesh of the lead Kavists.

People cried out in horror.

Of all the Kavists, only a handful had helms or time to raise shields.

I looked for Sef in the chaos, finally spotting him with Cherub at the centre of the carnage. A Heletian between them had taken one of the birds in the face, the blow bringing the man to his knees, while the frenzied beast worked to puncture his eyes. Sef grabbed at the frantic bird, tearing it from the man before snapping its spine. In sober disgust, he threw the feathered lump to the cobbles and used a boot to crush the life out of it.