The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  She paused as she came to the armlet. The box that held it was closed, though an ominous feeling crept into her bones as her hand hovered near it. This odd little piece of jewelry had caused all of this bloodshed, burned everything she loved to the ground. What could be so important about it that such powerful forces were willing to kill for it? Maybe she should just leave it for them, and get away while she could. It would be the easier thing to do.

  Grimacing, she grabbed the silver box and stuffed it into the bottom of her bags.

  Her father had been right. If she left it here, then everyone who had died—her father, her sisters, and everyone she had ever loved—would have done so in vain. Shawna ground her teeth in anger and belted the sheaths to her twin blades around her waist. She tossed her saddlebags over her shoulder and fled from the room, headed for the staircase.

  She rushed down the stairs with one hand on the hilt of a sword and the other clutching her bags, eyes manically searching for danger. She looked toward the kitchens and hesitated, realizing that she needed to fill her waterskins. Her father’s body, though, still lay inside. Grimacing, Shawna turned away and headed in the opposite direction. She could get water from the well outside, or do without, but she could not look upon her father again. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she cursed herself for a fool as she carefully made her way toward the side entrance.

  Shawna encountered no one as she stepped through the destroyed finery, trying to keep her eyes averted from the destruction. She passed the bodies of some of the serving staff, mostly young girls and children. Shawna cried out in involuntary horror at the sight of the tiny bodies mixed amongst the rest, scattered like so much trash over the polished floor. Her arms started to quiver with a cold emotion she couldn't name as she forced herself to step over the corpses. She bit her tongue to keep herself from crying out in horror.

  Shawna rounded a corner near the storerooms and almost ran bodily into a grinning Galanian who was toting two bags worth of collected loot. It took him a moment to process the sight before him, and Shawna saw his eyes flash through a series of stunned thoughts. His hands opened, dropping the bulging sacks to clatter loudly to the floor as he reached for the dagger at his belt.

  Shawna was too fast for him. That cold fire that had filled her at the sight of the children flared into action before the sacks hit the floor. Her free hand whipped to the side and drew one of her blades in a smooth, contemptuous motion. Her sword hummed as it tore through the man's armor at his stomach, rending a gory hole in his midsection.

  The man gasped in pain as his knees buckled, and he fell to the floor. His hands scrambled to his belly, trying to hold in a tide of gore, and Shawna looked away before her gorge could rise. She raised her sword to finish him off, but the faces of those children flashed once again through her mind. Her arm lowered, and she just regarded him coldly as she stepped back. Surprisingly, he didn't scream as she moved away, he only lay there gasping as he tried to hold his guts together.

  Shawna left him to die with his loot.

  She kept her sword in her hand as she moved for a darkened hallway that led out onto the back lawn of her family's manor. It was deceptively silent now that she had killed so many, but Shawna felt sure there would be more of them outside. She put her ear to the door and listened with every tense fiber of her being, but heard nothing through the hardened wood.

  A moment of panic came over her, so sudden that it nearly caused her legs to give out. She felt so cold, so shocked at everything that had happened. Her eyes tracked down to her hand, seeing the blood of the men she had killed settling into the creases between her clenched fingers. The faces of her loved ones flashed once again before her eyes, and that snapped her back into reality.

  She had been planning on training her new horse, up before dawn and readying herself to put the young mare through her paces. The horse—Charlotte—was bursting with pent-up energy, and Shawna had intended on taking her for a hard morning ride. With any luck, she was still where Shawna had left her—saddled and ready to go. All she had to do was make it to the training stables.

  Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, Shawna peeked around the door.

  The sun shone brightly down upon the winter-browned grass that covered the grounds behind the manor house. Shawna's family owned some of the most idyllic land in the rural parts of southern Cambrell, just a day's ride from the sea. Everything for almost a league in any direction had been owned by the Llewans for generations, and most of it was rolling hills—the perfect sort of place to raise herds of thoroughbreds. Even this close to the Winter Solstice, the beautiful surroundings belied the scene.

  The land rolled slowly downward to the east, and the training stables occupied the corner of a large, fenced off pasture there. It was a long run, and without cover, but Shawna could see no one else moving around. A tiny hope kindled to life that she had taken care of all of the Imperials, but she couldn't be sure. Clutching her sword tight in her hand, she moved slowly out onto the lawn.

  Her fears were realized as she took a few steps from the door. Screams echoed around the side of the house, and Shawna felt a sinking dread as she remembered Janks and the girl on the front lawn. Her eyes went to the distant stables, and then back in the direction of the crying voice. She knew she should go. She knew that if she ran for it now, she might make it out of here while the rest of the men were distracted. A wave of nausea went through her as the thought crossed her mind.

  Her father would doubtless tell her to go. You're not a warrior, Shawna. You learned the sword academically, but you're no cold-blooded killer. You should run! She could practically hear him shouting the words at her.

  Those things may have been true about her this morning. Becoming a Blademaster was seen as a mark of achievement for firstborn sons amongst the nobility. Shawna had decided to earn her Mark to prove a point to her father. She had never imagined she would need to use the skills she learned to actually defend her life, but now she had killed several men. She had not only killed them, but she had done it easily. She had done it contemptuously—righteously even. The gods, it seemed, had forced her to become the warrior that her skills implied.

  “If that's what you want,” she whispered, glancing to the sky in general, “then so be it.”

  She wasn't sure if the gods were watching, but she didn't know how they wouldn't be. If they had decided to take everything from her in the space of a single morning, and snuff out so many beautiful lives, then the least they could do was watch it happen. Every desperate cry that echoed around the side of the manor bit into Shawna's soul, and tightened the grip she held on her blade.

  It didn't take her long to make her decision.

  She dropped her saddlebags from her shoulder and drew her second sword. The steel reflected the bright morning sun in quicksilver flashes, and Shawna took a deep breath. If it was blood that the gods were looking for, then Shawna would give it to them.

  She turned her eyes to the sky.

  “Look here, Aastinor!” she hissed through her teeth. “Look here! See me now, Shawna of House Llewan, see me now! I swear this oath in your name! Let all the blood that follows spill in your honor, if you only grant me the reckoning I seek! Open your eyes, and watch!”

  She drew her blade along her palm, clenching her teeth against the sting. Blood welled out from the wound, but Shawna made sure not to cut too deep. She turned her eyes once more to the clouds, and smeared the blood over her face.

  “So mote it be.”

  Shawna stepped around the side of the manor as if she were in a trance. Her body seemed to float along the ground of its own accord, moving with a purpose that was still mostly unclear to her logical mind. Her limbs were afire with cold energy, and she felt as if her stomach held a thousand butterflies. She wasn't sure exactly how she meant to proceed, but that fire inside of her demanded that she act.

  She was barely breathing when she made the front lawn.

  Three men stood in a semicircle with their b
acks to her. They were taking their ease and passing around a decanter of some vintage that had doubtless been looted from inside, laughing like old chums out for a nighttime romp. These Galanians had a casual regard for their brutality.

  The fourth man was on the ground in the middle of the circle. A girl not much younger than Shawna struggled beneath him, but her struggles weren't earning her much more than sporting laughter from her attacker. Shawna's hands tightened on her hilts as she quickened her steps, but her feet must have made some noise as they came down, because the three men turned as she rushed them.

  She had unconsciously moved to attack the man in the center, so the two to each side of him cursed and drew their weapons as they backpedaled. The one in the middle whipped his longsword from the sheath at his side and regarded Shawna with a confused expression as she came on. She thought she caught a smile on his face as he moved forward with a tentative thrust—a testing blow meant to be more of a taunt than an attack.

  Shawna flicked the thrust aside with contempt, and with a backhanded whip from her other blade, opened a delicate slice in the man's throat. He gurgled and dropped his sword, falling to the grass with an incredulous look on his face. Blood poured freely from the wound.

  “Tarmon!” shouted the man to her right.

  Shawna knocked aside a vicious downward slash as he attacked her, but he continued to advance with heavy sword blows. Shawna danced backwards, being careful not to slip in the first man's blood, and turned aside two more slashes with easy parries. Her riposte took the man in the side of the neck. The blade slid through his flesh with ease, but his sword nearly put a cut on her arm as it fell from his suddenly limp hands.

  She caught sight of the man who had been ravaging the girl struggling to rise and put himself to rights. Their eyes met as he was going for his sword, and Shawna drank in the fear that she saw there. She rushed forward and put her sword through his chest before he could ever get his own from its scabbard.

  The last man swallowed as she turned to him. This one didn't attack her with clumsy slashes, or rush in with amateur thrusts. He held the tip of his sword in her direction, and kept his distance. Shawna opened her mouth to say something, but found that no words would come to her throat.

  “Think about this, girl,” he said, flicking his eyes at the road in the distance. “There's more of us coming. You got no choice but to run. If you leave now, I'll let you go. You got a chance to get away, here.”

  “I do,” Shawna spat, suddenly finding the anger to fuel her words, “but you don't!”

  She rushed forward, attacking him high and low. He put up an admirable defense for someone with marginal skill. He held her at bay with wide, sweeping parries, but Shawna inevitably slipped behind his guard. Her left sword stabbed in and out of his stomach so fast that it surprised him. He continued to attack, bringing his longsword up for a downward slash at her head. Shawna's answer was to remove his hand at the wrist.

  The Galanian's longsword tumbled into the grass, and he screamed in pain. He fell to his knees, cradling the bleeding stump where his hand used to be. Shawna took a deep breath and took a moment to absorb the sight of the man before her, humbled to his knees and screaming with agony. He didn't look up as she placed the tip of her sword in the crook of his left shoulder, and thrust downward into his heart.

  The morning went silent, save for the sobs of the girl still lying in the grass.

  Shawna cleaned the blood from her swords and sheathed them mechanically. She turned to survey the carnage around her, consciously trying to slow the beating of her heart. The Galanians had been stacking the corpses they had made during their initial attack on the lawn, and now Shawna's bloody attack had added to the pile. Her family's lawn had been the envy of the country nobility for years. It was always neatly tended, and grew bright and green each spring.

  She clenched her teeth together as she looked out over the despoilment, trying yet again to hold her gorge at bay. Her family had cared for a large staff of servants and holdsmen, and many of them with families of their own. The bodies, when all laid out together, occupied a sizable section of the manicured yard. Crows were already picking through the pile, and Shawna turned away in horror.

  When her eyes passed over the distant road, she saw a dust cloud gathering on the horizon.

  Her body went rigid at the sight. The last Imperial she killed had flicked his eyes over her shoulder when he had made his threats, but Shawna hadn't looked. He must have been waiting for her to see that his companions were closer than she had thought.

  “Lady Shawna?” asked a timid voice, snapping Shawna from her reverie.

  Shawna's eyes snapped to the girl, whom she recognized as one of their kitchen staff, Taiba. She was a slight thing, and only two years younger than Shawna. Taiba's mother had been in her family's service for years, and Taiba had grown up with Shawna.

  “Taiba,” Shawna said, voice cracking with a sob. “Taiba...I'm sorry I didn't get here faster.”

  “You saved my life, Lady Shawna,” Taiba replied, her own voice barely holding back a tide of emotion. “What do we do?”

  Shawna grabbed Taiba by the shoulder and looked hard into her eyes.

  “Taiba, listen to me. There's more of them coming. Do you see that?” Shawna turned the girl around and pointed toward the road, and the growing cloud of dust over the rolling hills. “We have to leave! But first we have to slow them down!”

  “Slow them down, Lady?” Taiba asked, a look of horror creeping over her face.

  “If we don't, they'll catch us,” Shawna said. “I'm going to get us some horses. I need you to do something for me, Taiba. Can you help me?”

  Taiba took a moment to rip her eyes away from the dust cloud, but she squared her jaw and nodded.

  “Yes...yes, I think so.”

  “Good,” Shawna growled. “Go into the house. Get all the lamp oil you can find, Taiba. Burn it down, do you understand?”

  “The...the house, Lady?”

  “Burn it to the ground, Taiba. Set everything you can on the first floor on fire! Go!” Shawna said, ushering the girl into motion. Taiba nodded and ran for the house, trying to gather her ripped dress around her knees. Shawna winced at the state of the girl's clothing, but they had no time to worry about such things now.

  Shawna broke into a sprint around the side of the manor, and yanked her saddlebags up from where she'd left them. She pumped her legs and ran for the stables, hoping that she had enough time. If there were as many men under that cloud as she thought there might be, then there was no way she could fight them off.

  The horses reacted with unease as she ran into the long corridor between their stalls. Her breath was misting before her face in the cold air, and she fancied she could feel the heat radiating from her head. Charlotte and two other horses were already saddled—ready for the morning ride—but readying horses for her and Taiba still took too long. Shawna’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, for one thing, and the horses could sense her anxiety. When everything was ready to go, Shawna tossed a winter cloak around her shoulders and took hold of the horses' reins.

  Shawna was an expert rider. Her father's main business interest was in horseflesh, and he had bred the finest stock in Alderak. Shawna had been riding horses for as long as she could sit up in a saddle, and she led the two mounts easily toward the stable exit. As she came to the storage area before the doors, she was struck with an idea.

  She ran over to the wall and grabbed a long horsewhip from its peg. Shawna had never liked using the whip on a horse, but some of the older members of her father's staff had been of a different school of thought. She was glad of it now—she would need it for what she had planned.

  Anyone who kept a large stable of horses feared one thing above all others—fire. Wooden barns could go up like burning hay, especially during the dry winter seasons. One single accident could kill entire herds of horses, so her father had hired an engineer from Lesmira to ensure this couldn't happen. The strange little man had
built a system of levers, counterweights, and springs into her father's stable. It was all attached to a single rope that held a heavy iron weight at bay, so that in the event of a fire one could slice the rope and set the emergency system into motion.

  Shawna led her two mounts outside and left them lightly tied to a post near the entrance. She hung the horsewhip over the pommel of her saddle and rushed back through the doors, screaming and raising a general din as she went. The horses responded to her urgency as she'd expected them to, all moving restlessly to see if they could get a look in her direction.

  Shawna knew these animals like no others, and she felt horrible for what she was about to do, but there was no helping it. She couldn't allow the enemy to get their hands on her father's legacy—not if she could use it against them instead. Llewan stock animals were known not only for their endurance, but also for being capable of surprising bursts of speed. Every remount she freely allowed the Galanians would only help them to catch her, and she knew that leaving the horses behind would be a mistake.

  Shawna grimaced, and sliced the emergency rope with one of her swords.

  Several things happened in quick succession. The rope gave easily, causing a gear further up in the contraption to spin wildly out of control as the absence of tension suddenly unfurled it. Heavy stone weights that had been tied into place against the walls of the stall doors suddenly slammed to the floor all along the stable, jerking the stalls violently open. As this happened, a thin, steel cylinder attached to the rope started to screech with an incessant clattering noise that jarred Shawna's teeth.

  The horses went crazy.

  Shawna covered her ears and rushed out of the door as they started to rear and panic. Two or three of them thundered past her and out onto the lawn, just missing her by a hair's breadth as she dodged past the edge of the door. She could hear the rest of them screaming in panic and bustling through the other side of the stable, away from the strange, clattering alarm.