Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

Even at a glance, it was obvious that the sleek ship had taken damage. One of its three main masts was down, snapped near the base, other harm was also clear.

I walked towards it with Marco and Baruna, and followed by the rest. The Lae Velsanan guards in their sea-greens didn’t move, but watched our approach. I slowed as we neared.

Looking across the deck, I searched for the officer I’d spoken to before, but was wary of his cold-souled senior.

Activity covered the ship. Reset rigging dangled and strained as it was adjusted, a section of the bow’s railing was being mended, and new supplies delivered. The crew were busy, and amongst them laboured a bare-chested common-man.

The blonde Flet, broad-backed and muscled, toiled to move heavy crates into position on the deck. He turned about to expose his thick arms and toned chest, his torso covered in a gentle mat of golden hair. He laboured alone amongst the Lae Velsanans, but showed no sign of fear.

I looked to his face, from where sweat ran down his brow and temples, despite a cloth tied about his forehead. He straightened up and stretched, brushing back his hair to take with it the sweatband. The movement uncovered his pointed ears.

He was no middling; it was the Lae Velsanan.

If not for his ears, he could’ve so easily passed for a Flet. His chest spread twice as thick in width and depth compared to those surrounding him, and he stood around my height, making him very short for one of his own kind. He also carried a hard masculine air that his tall and lean fellows lacked, consequently he’d missed out on their innate sense of grace. He was an enigma.

He’d noticed that the crew about him had fallen silent, so turned towards the city and saw me. Casually, he waved, as if we were longtime friends, and then he bent down to grab his shirt as he called out orders.

After squeezing into his sea-green shirt, he made his way towards us. Behind him, three of his fellows moved to finish his hard tasks.

I felt embarrassed. I’d been ogling him, and now he interrupted his work to come and see what I wanted.

What did I want?

My mind swam with shameful images of his chest and strong arms. They were quickly chased away by guilty thoughts of my own family, and a city being lost to Death.

How could I think of such a thing, and with a Lae Velsanan!

He smiled as he closed the gap between us, but I still had no idea of what I wanted. His warm manner disarmed my growing unease. “How are you?” he asked, remembering that last time we’d met I’d fainted.

“Well, and much better than before.”

He nodded, and glanced past to the rising smoke that marked the city. “It has begun?”

I turned to look behind me, to that growing forest of twisting plumes that climbed over Ossard. Fresh fires were being lit all the time, adding to the haunting pall.

I said, “The city has split into factions.”

He grimaced as he wiped late sweat from his brow. “We lost a mast and some supplies at sea. You can’t see it from here, but just over the horizon is an arc of diabolical storms. Our Cabalist says that they’ve been raised with magic. It left us little choice but to return.”

“So you’ll stay?” My hopeful tone surprised me.

“No.” He looked to the skyline and shook his head. “None can stay, not now. We’ll try to leave again, and if necessary we’ll die in the trying. We have to get news of this to home.”

“Home, to Lae Wair-Rae?”

“Yes, to our High King.”

I began to worry. “Why? What business is it of his?”

“This is the business of everyone. It’s not about mortal politics, but divine power.” He then shook his head in anger at himself for his bluntness. After a pause, he forced a smile and asked, “Your child is safe?“

I could feel the blood drain from my face. “She’s been taken.”

He winced. “I’m so sorry.”

“Her father and his parents as well; they took the whole bloodline.”

And his jaw dropped in surprise. “The whole bloodline?”

“All of it, three generations.”

“By Velsana!”

“What does it mean?”

He took a step back as he looked to the smoke-dressed city. His eyes then darted back, but now held a mix of sympathy and fear. “It means too much…” and his words trailed off.

“I need your help, I need to understand.”

He shrugged. “I can’t tell you much, I’m no priest or cabalist.”

“Please, tell me what you can.”

After a moment, he said, “They need sacrifices to feed things during their rituals. Using souls linked by a bloodline boosts the power harvested, it means they can use less people to get the strength required. If they’re gathering them, then a ritual can’t be far off.”

“A ritual for what?”

“For control of the city. They want to create a haven, something that will become a base from where they’ll build an empire of corruption.”

I whispered, “They? The cultists?”

He nodded. “High King Caemarou won’t let it happen. He’ll go to war to stop it.”

“But Ossard is part of the Heletian League, and only the smallest member – just a city-state despite its wealth.” And how those words tasted sour, for the evidence about me spoke only of ruin. “If Lae Wair-Rae went to war against Ossard, King Giovanni of Greater Baimiopia would be forced to intervene. The Church of Baimiopia wouldn’t allow any other action…” my voice failed as I pictured the carnage.

He spoke my thoughts, “And the remaining Heletian League states would also be drawn in. It would make Dormetia a battlefield, and the sea at its heart a foul pond littered with butchered bodies.”

“It would be lunacy.”

“Letting Ossard fall to the cults is a greater madness.“

“Is it? Could they possibly cause as much destruction as Lae Wair-Rae and the Heletian League going to war?”

“Please, listen to me…” He shook his head as he waged some inner battle. “I want to help you, but…” he hesitated before finally speaking, “You ask if a cult-controlled Ossard could be worse than a war that took in all of Dormetia?”

“How could it?” I sighed. “It’s but one city!”

“Yes, but that dark Ossard would launch its own war, one waged with ritual magic. And with that they could win!”

Sincerity rode his words, yet how could one city bring such doom?

He saw my doubts and challenged them. “Look around you at the carnage and destruction, and this has only just begun. Imagine this happening in every village, town, and city. Imagine all nations falling into chaos, all streets seeing discord and riot, and all farms and houses being looted and razed. Imagine every child abducted, and every parent willing to take up arms to get their kin back. Imagine, in that chaos, how many innocents will die.”

His words reminded me of what Sef had said. I asked, “Will peace never have a chance?”

He shook his head. “If the cults ruled Ossard, peace would only come when all else has fallen. Any survivors would then have to suffer through war’s closest friends; pestilence and famine. Afterwards, Dormetia would spread as a bleak and wasted land, from the misty forests of Wairanir, to the icy coves of Quor, and the sunbaked bluffs of Serhaem. All of it would lie ruined and lifeless as a shrine to madness.”

He was right. I hated it, but he was right.

He went on, “Ritual magic will give them that power, and that’s why they must be stopped.”

Smoke rose over the city to add to the dark pall. A haze hung everywhere, and through it, I could hear occasional screams and distant fighting. Ossard had already fallen far, but had it fallen too far?

I still wasn’t sure…

I asked, “What are these rituals supposed to do?”