Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

I was still on my knees with my fingers digging into the hard packed dirt. Throughout the conversation I’d sent feelings of warmth and comfort to Maria, feelings she returned.

Sef said, “We can’t stay here like this, it’s drawing attention.”

“We can’t just leave!”

“Do you still have Maria?”

“Yes.”

“And Pedro’s with her?”

“No, they’re… they’re bleeding him.”

Sef winced, but he wasn’t alone. “Can you contact him, I mean, how can we know where he is?”

Some of my determination faded. “No, I can’t, only Maria.” And I could guess what Sef’s next words would be.

“If we go in and get Maria, you’ll lose your only link to Pedro. We need to get them when they’re together.”

He was right; we’d have to wait.

Distant screams and the clash of fighting drifted to us, coming with a growing haze of smoke. It sounded close; the battle for the city had again crossed the river.

“Ossard is chaos,” I whispered.

Sef said, “If the building was owned by any other, I’d just fetch some of my fellows.”

Marco asked, “If the Kavists knew of Kurgar’s part in all this, would they not switch sides?”

“Seig is our senior priest and close to Kurgar. He must know what’s going on. It sickens me to say it, but I think this has his blessing.” He paused before adding, “Perhaps that’s how they knew we were coming when we went to the opera house.”

“Perhaps.”

Sef looked defeated.

I reached up to him with a hand, putting it softly into his.

Poor Sef, my poor Sef, not only did he feel guilty for the stealing away of Maria, his charge, but also for the failure of our rescue attempt.

Something of a smile came to his face at my touch, and I could feel a tingle as power flowed between us. I’d not meant to do anything but comfort him, and I did, but it came as a blessing. “It’ll be alright, Sef.”

The sound of fighting rumbled on, coming from the river and also to the east. All the while the drifting smoke grew thicker.

Marco offered, “Our own people can help; while most can work on readying to leaving the city, someone unknown to the cultists can stay here to watch over the tower before we return in force.”

Someone unknown? Obviously, he didn’t mean Sef or I.

“A good idea,” said Sef.

Marco went on, “In the meantime, as we move against the tower, we can arrange for our people to leave the city and regroup beyond its walls.”

The rising sounds of trouble saw the square begin to empty about us.

Baruna said, “This could be our last day in the city.”

Sef nodded. “We have to think of that; our last chance to pack supplies, seek out carts and drivers, and food and herbals.”

I hated the idea of leaving Maria again, particularly if Pedro was hurt, but they were right. Besides, I couldn’t go in there when they were handling him, they might kill him. Finally, I said, “Alright, but we move tonight.”

They agreed.

I added, “We also know that the Reformers are getting ready for a big ritual, so let’s get as many people out of Ossard as we can. Tell people you trust, but no Reformers.” I looked to Sef. “I’m sorry, but that has to include other Kavists.”

He nodded as his face flushed with shame.

I sent a message of parting to Maria, a sweet and loving goodbye. I promised to return soon, for her and her father, and for her to be brave. Reluctantly, I then lifted my hands from the dirt to break our link.

And straight away I knew it was the wrong thing to do. “Sef, I can’t leave them again! We were so close at the opera house, and now we’re only closer, yet still it can all go so wrong. Perhaps we should just wait for Maria to tell us when Pedro’s back and then go get them?”

Sef held great worry in his eyes. “Juvela, listen to the riots, they worsen and near and so does their flames. We need to go, prepare, and then come back. We can’t wait here. For all we know, Pedro may never return to Maria.”

Sef’s words were hard to accept.

My grandmother whispered, it passing through my mind like a cool winter breeze, “Leave them, Juvela, they’ll keep for another time.”

“Sorry, this is so hard for me.”

Marco said, “I’ll stay and watch the tower. I’ll get a cloak from a stall, and then hunker down amidst the refugees.”

I could trust him. I stepped forward and embraced him, it seeing my magic flare – a blessing. He drew himself back from me to look with wide eyes as his voice sounded, but only in my head, “Juvela, sweet Juvela, I can taste your love for them, for your family. I’ll not fail you. Can you feel me, my heart, mind and spirit?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Aloud he said, “Go and know I’ll tell you of anything that happens here, otherwise I’ll see you when you return.”

“I’m so grateful. I don’t know how to thank you.”

He smiled, a warm and gentle thing. “For you I’d do anything.”

“Oh Marco, this is no time for reckless sacrifices.”

“But it is; in a dying city, that’s what will make all the difference.”

“Marco, I ask nothing of you.”

“But for Ossard’s Rose, our Lady of Hope, I’m prepared to give everything. Atalia told me that you were true, and now I’ve seen you, yet you’re still to fully awaken.”

We stepped back from each other as I whispered, “I’ve seen your daughter and wife in the next world; they send their love.”

He drew me back into his arms. “A daughter; you bring such hope!” Then he let go.

We got Marco a hooded cloak from a closing stall and left. He came with us before wrapping himself in it, and then turned back. He planned to settle into position in an alleyway opposite the tower’s entrance, huddled amidst a group of refugees.

The rest of us headed back towards our coach. From there we’d go home and prepare for our return to the slums, but also organise for our people’s flight from the city.

The smoke thickened about us. Soon enough we passed a burning building, and not much after, our first body.

The curse of the riots had well and truly returned.

Those left in the open were hurrying through the haze, appearing as nothing but rushing shadows. I hoped Marco would be safe.

Walking in a group, our number became lost in the billowing smoke. Our world was one of dim light, haze, and the flaring flash of flames. I called out, “If we get separated, just head for home.” I kept on while watching the silhouettes about me, all the while hoping that they were my people, but only Sef answered.

Lost in the murk, a huge figure loomed ahead.

Sef cried out, “Cherub!”

The big Flet answered, “Ho Sef, Juvela, the Loyalists are about!”

Sef asked, “In Newbank?”

“Yes, a reprisal for Market Square. They’ve got scores across, all hidden amidst the ferry traffic. They’ve been creating trouble ever since.”

Sounds of fresh fighting came from the river, seeing Cherub’s eyes light up. “I must get on, but be careful!”

We moved on in deepening dread; we both knew we’d lost our fellows.

Sef said, “Kurt should’ve had the sense to take the coach and go.”

I’d have answered him, but I couldn’t. A strong hand had clamped over my mouth, holding a wet and stinking cloth. I tried to scream, to make some kind of sound, but Sef was already stepping away while a figure darted after him.

My mouth filled with a bitter taste, it coming from some kind of herbal brew plastered over the cloth. Given a moment more – a chance for my surprise to fade – and I‘d have unleashed some of my pent-up power.

Instead I passed out.

I awoke in a cell, a place seemingly built of the cold and the dark. Before long I came to my senses enough to discover there wasn’t much more to it; just three stonewalls, a matching floor, and a run of rough iron bars. A passage beyond held the only light that dared illuminate the dim world I’d entered. Out there the glow of a candle flickered in a silence so complete that I could hear its wick choking on the cheap tallow that fuelled it.