Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

Baruna stared, until finally she said, “We’ll come too.”

“No, please, you must lead the people out of Ossard before sunrise.”

“She will,” Sef said, “but I’m coming, and there’ll be no argument.”

I smiled. “You know what you’re going up against?”

“I know,” and his voice wavered. If he intruded on the rituals of the Reformers, he’d be working directly against the wishes of Kave.

In the celestial, I could feel the perception of a god looking our way, noticing something of what happened here. Quickly, I set layers of soul-stuff about my life-light to hide its glow. My soul, as powerful as it threatened to become, was still no match for the likes of Mortigi.

Sef asked, “Can we stop the ritual?”

“Too many stand against us, and they’ve too many souls to feed it. The city is lost, and nothing can stop that – but we can weaken it.”

Hope lit his eyes. “Let’s go then!” He began to turn.

“There are quicker ways.” I spread my arms, my hands beginning to glow, but this time with a softer light. “Come to me, Sef. Baruna, please, see to the innocents and get them out by sunrise.”

She nodded, smiling at my blooming power.

With just a thought, Sef and I rose from the blood-soaked dirt of the alley and up into the night. Sef laughed, a sound that became louder as we climbed to pass above the slum’s uneven rooftops. The blue light from my hands mixed with the amber and gold of the city’s fires to expose Mortigi’s cultists as they fled across roofs of shingle, slate, and tile.

Sef lashed out at one with a sword as we passed. “And that’s for Marco!” It seemed only a flesh wound, but the cultist slipped from his perch on the roof’s ridgeline to fall to his death on the streets below.

And from our vantage point, as we rose higher, we beheld the doom of the city – the very fall of Ossard.

The rooftops about us ran alive with the followers of Mortigi. The black clad murderers swept across the heights of Newbank like a plague of rats centred on the slums, but not exclusively; they were everywhere. They numbered close to a thousand, the only things more common the roofs themselves and the fires eating the city.

Below, someone called, “Get Mortigi’s marked!”

Darts, throwing knives, even arrows and crossbow bolts flew at us, but nothing struck. I refused them all.

The missiles slowed as they neared, only to stop and then be returned with greater force. Cultists screamed and cursed as their fingers were sliced and their bodies pierced by their own weapons. Some died instantly, while others slid from rooftops unable to grab onto handholds with now fingerless hands. And in the celestial, I reached out and burst each of their souls, remembering Marco as I let their essence dissipate and sent them on to Oblivion.

Such action denied them an afterlife, and their foul god a feeding.

I refused to take them despite my aching hunger. I had to be strong; for that was the path to Death’s addiction.

We rose above Newbank, all of it illuminated by spreading flames. Along the roofs moved packs of thieves and cultists, and in the streets below Flets, Reformers, and Kavists. They banded together under many banners, fighting for their newfound or – in some cases – long-hidden faiths.

Loyalists also attacked on several fronts, both in the city and now in a freshly established beachhead in Newbank. They marched, charged, and died under the Inquisition’s black and gold, pushing on despite their losses as they surged into Newbank to claim revenge. Behind them, down the main avenues of the city, I could see Heletians fighting each other; Loyalist against Reformer.

Slipping my perception between worlds, I could see the reptilian eye above the city. Power grew there; a dark dream of what was to come.

I shivered.

We were high enough now that we’d cleared the tallest rooftops and towers, and passed over the heart of Newbank to head towards the river. To the east, at the Newbank Gate, I could see a gathering of coaches, carts, and people.

Our people!

The sight lifted my spirits.

There were so many, thousands and thousands, and they hadn’t gathered for me, but for hope and life.

I sent a thought, it not something they’d understand in a word-for-word way, just a sense of what they needed to do to survive.

Get beyond the wall to safety!

Beneath us, the Loyalists continued flooding across the river. They’d advanced from their landing to reach the steps of the Guildhall and work their way into the district’s streets. With flaming brands, they pushed into Newbank’s main square, the area of my own home and that of my parents. Two forces fought in that open space, Flets and Loyalists, and behind them I could see my own people still heading for the gate.

In the celestial I warned, “The Loyalists are in the square!”

And fires sprang up in the surrounding buildings.

My parents weren’t at home – I could sense it – yet I still felt sickened to watch the first signs of flames. By their flaring light, I watched looters spill through their house and courtyard, trampling the rose garden I’d planted during my season of shame. I knew I could stop it, but as soon as I moved on it would only start again. It was pointless. Like the city it had grown from, its fate was to be razed.

A flash of light from below marked the beginning of the Guild’s magical defence. Great waves of red power rolled out of the building to strike the bands of storming Loyalists. The attack only incited the mob, drawing more of them. Half a dozen died in a moment, while a score fell wounded.

Sickened by the sights about me, and already fatigued by a catastrophe that was far from peaking, I wondered; perhaps they deserved each other, these people in love with their barbarous city.

My own home lay behind us already aflame. I hoped everyone had got out and that someone had taken my grandmother’s tome; regardless, I couldn’t worry about it now. It was just too late.

I turned from the fighting in Newbank. For my people I could do no more. It was time to focus on my family, perhaps – with all that was going on – an indulgence, but to me it was a symbol of hope.

Finally, I was strong enough to get them.

Damn it, I was an awakening avatar!

We rose higher, having passed the worst of Newbank’s fighting to now be above the Cassaro. Hundreds still rushed across to join the battle, but increasingly the Loyalists were turning about: Their vengeful charge had left a flank exposed.

The Reformers had been ready, heading straight for Ossard’s undefended heart. They surged down the alleys of the poorer districts, to the avenues that had for so long marked the boundaries of wealth and class.

The city heaved with the desperation of thousands of separate life and death struggles. Fires flared and chaos swept its streets. Crowds fought, looted, or in some places celebrated victories. In many places buildings burnt, not just homes or businesses, but also whole blocks.

Sef gasped, “The Turo!”

The mid-level windows of the high tower flared with blinding flashes of light. After a moment, more came from the next level up as an unknown spell caster advanced.

I said, “The fighting’s spread so quickly. The Reformers were ready.”

As they had been all along.

The casting continued in the Turo, making its way up floor by floor. Whoever led that charge stalled on the second highest level, before unleashing another series of spells, each followed by rumbling booms.

A final flare lit up the night. The brilliant light shone from the tower’s top level to roar angrily and blow off part of its roof. For a moment it drowned out the rest of the city’s fury, before sending a rain of burning timber and rock to shower down on the streets below.