The Fall of Ossard (35 page)

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.

The stunned Heletian sported a red face with torn and bloody cheeks. He’d been lucky, he still had his sight - many others around him didn’t.

The birds continued to attack, gouging and slashing, and bursting the eyes of any Kavist they could. Agonised howls filled the square as blinded warriors fell to their knees while dropping their swords.

Despite the gore of it, the Kavist charge went on - if slowed. And amidst the advance, Kave’s priests desperately worked to finish their own castings to end the threat from above. Two of them in the command worked especially hard to provide such relief, chanting and praying while rubbing flints together from where they kneeled.

When the ravens ended one attack, those that escaped the swinging swords, fists, and grabbing hands of the Kavists launched themselves back into the air. They rushed to gain height, before turning about to dive back down and seek fresh eye-flesh.

After the savage fury, marked by their harsh screech and deep caw, some began to squawk in surprise. No longer did their call hold anger, now it began to ring out with fright.

Above the square, as they sought fresh victims, some of the birds began to smoulder and leave singed and flaming feathers to fall free. Before long, it wasn’t just a few birds so afflicted, but most of the flock. Their pained sounds became more panicked until they started to burst aflame. The squealing birds then fell as balls of fire to land with sickening thuds amidst a haze of stinking smoke and singed feathers.

Warriors swatted other birds off their comrades before stomping them dead. In moments, Kave’s priests had seen the ravens finished.

With their warriors now free, their mighty charge could resume.

Krienta’s priests braced themselves. They knew that this would be a test, their biggest test, of their character and faith’s truth.

The Kavists closed the gap.

And from that other realm, Kave also watched. He paid heed to his followers here, as he did to them everywhere, but only the most deserving would receive any more gifts. Ultimately, the skills of his followers would decide who won their battles, not endless favours.

In contrast, Krienta was a god worshipped by only one people, of one region, of one world. The Heletians revered him, but no one else. He didn’t just
watch
, he
worked
to see his followers win, lest this be the beginning of his undoing.

The Krientan priests stood in front of the Loyalists, the ordinary townsfolk poor in weapons and skills, but rich in faith. The Loyalist force seemed outdone, until, led by Anton, their priests uttered a second curse.

The Inquisitor called out from above, “Krienta, you have seen their souls and sampled their truths, now lend us your power to cripple the heretics amongst these fools!”

His priests spread their arms, as they cried out, “May the carriers of heresy be struck lame!”

And again Krienta listened.

The lead Kavists froze with their swords in mid-swing, while their roaring voices failed. Some stood posed like statues, others just slowed as if burdened by cold-bitten joints strung with weak muscles on age-weary frames.

Many Kavists escaped this latest curse to continue the advance, but soon discovered that their way lay blocked by their crippled brethren. The Kavists’battle cry, its roar halved by sickened throats, fell into confusion.

Some of Kave’s priests sought a divine solution to this latest trial, others raised their swords and called out fresh rally cries.

Emboldened by Krienta’s support, his priests moved on with their plan. Half of them drew knives and stepped forward to begin their bloody tasks, seeing them slash at exposed throats and stab at undefended hearts and bellies. In moments, the white robes of the Church of Baimiopia turned red.

The square spread half full of Krienta’s cursed, the Kavists too sickly to do anything but wait for the advance of his blood-drenched priests. There was hope for them though; their fellows were passing through the maze that their blighted bodies had created, and they came unaffected and free.

Krienta’s priests held knives and daggers, but were poor in the skills of wielding them. Having to face the swords of enraged Kavists was an unbalanced contest, yet they didn’t shy away from it.

Anton’s voice rolled out again, “And with their wilting bodies and sour souls, let their minds be fouled!”

And Krienta’s priests, those who’d stayed in place during the slaughter of the lame, cried, “May the heretics taste of lunacy’s flower!”

Again, desperate to win the day, lest this be the first defeat in a long line that would leave his people, church, and ultimately himself vanquished, Krienta granted the request.

Kave laughed at his divine rival’s desperation. He’d never so lower himself, besides the world held more than one battle this day; wars raged in far off places where the stakes were greater. He wished his followers well, but left them to prove themselves.

The advancing Kavists spilled through the tangle of their blind and lame brethren to cut into the Krientan priests, but again their charge was to be stilled. Some of their number slowed, seeming to be struck down like their fellows, but they hadn’t - they suffered a different fate.

Instead of taking ill and coming to a stop, the newly cursed kept moving, but stumbled and blundered. Some left trails of drool as they wandered, others groaned and mewled, while some simply sat down and trembled. A few dropped their weapons, while others cut at themselves. One poor wretch stabbed at a lame fellow’s back, as if trying to cut a way through.

Baruna and I came into the square near the opera house. We climbed the grand old building’s front steps and surveyed the terrible scene. This was the bleak world promised by Death, a world of blood and war detailed with carnage and decay.

The Kavists continued their advance, passing their cursed and wounded. Some of their fellows managed to shake off their blights, only to reach for their dropped weapons and croak out renewed battle cries.

Left as it was, the Kavists would win through skill and numbers.

But it wasn’t to be left.

To balance the Kavist advance, more and more of the pious Heletians pushed past their priests’ breaking line. They charged with whatever weapons they had to hand, but also armed with faith and determination.

Already the cobbles lay thick with bodies and gore.

Blood and more blood…

Strangely, crowds gathered at the edges of the square to watch the macabre spectacle. Before long, some of their number also joined in.

Bloody chaos, and it only deepened…

Standing there with Baruna, I realised that it was the city that stood forsaken and not me. They just couldn’t see it. Even in the confusion of battle, people kept away from me.

They were crazy!

And above it all Anton watched.

Surprisingly, I could read his feelings. Like mine, they ran strong right now, making them difficult to shield. He’d also had enough of the fighting, but for so many different reasons.

He wanted it finished; not just the battle, but the whole uprising. The disgust on his face for the Kavists and Reformers was plain. He wanted them crushed, it setting his anger to burn and flare.

He cried into the celestial, “Enough!”

And I could feel him gather power as he bound it with his rage. He asked of Krienta a mighty blessing, and his god, so desperate to hold Ossard, gave him what he wanted.

His power deepened, then doubled, and then began to surge as though Krienta himself touched the Inquisitor.

Baruna looked to me with nervous eyes, her calm shaken. “I can feel something, something coming, something woven of shadow, anger, and fear.”

She wasn’t alone, many in the square also began to look about with unease.

The very air began to chill and become brittle, as if haunted by Death’s stale breath. The tension rose as more and more people stopped fighting to focus on a threat they felt, yet that remained unseen.

Nervous, Baruna shifted beside me, so I reached out to take her hand. Before they met, the gap between them blazed into life with a fat and flaring spark. She started, but I grabbed her hand.

I whispered, “Please Schoperde, I’ll give anything to save these people from whatever doom stirs.”

Power began to gather in my soul, seeping through into my body as it came into our world. I worked to control it, wrestling with it while the air around me buzzed and snapped.

Baruna turned to me. “Please, you must stop him!”

But I barely heard. I was lost in my efforts to manage the power flooding into me.

For the briefest of moments, I risked a glance at Anton to see if he was close to finishing his task. I could see his spell gathering in the celestial, some kind of fiery coil, it rank with power.

I called, “The Inquisitor brings death, get out of the square!” and my voice rang out over a sea of people looking for a threat they felt, but couldn’t see.

The Inquisitor replied into my mind, “You can’t save them!”

He was probably right, but I had to try!

Seig Manheim stood at the heart of the bloodstained square, his torn battle colours hanging limp from the pole strapped to his back. He could also sense the strength of Anton’s casting, seeing him call, “Retreat! Get out of the square!”

The disbelief was plain on his warriors’ faces: They were of Kave and had the skills and numbers to fight. They could finish this, win it, and take the city. There was no need for flight!