The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “So, Dolland bred them. Started the whole Llewan bloodline from those two horses. Soon he was buying and selling beasts to get the right traits into his line, and the family was starting to restock their coffers. Dolland’s father soon died of a wasting sickness, and Dolland was free to run the House as he liked. So he converted their many acres of farmland into pasture and began a large breeding business. It wasn’t long until he attracted the notice of his cousin, the king.”

  Dormael and D’Jenn leaned forward in their seats, now engrossed in the story.

  “The king was impressed with Dolland’s horses,” Alton said. “Being something of a horse enthusiast himself, he bought one. Soon, there were nobles from all over the country coming to buy a horse from Dolland Llewan. If the king had one, they all had to have one, you see. People were buying horses faster than Dolland could breed them, and before long he was quite wealthy and respectable. The rest of the story is fairly mundane. He got married. The king himself attended, and made a beautiful gift to Dolland’s wife. Soon, he had a son and three daughters. Shawna was the eldest daughter.”

  Alton paused in his story as Lyssa returned to the study with three fresh tankards, and the three men toasted for a second time. After savoring the ale for a moment, Alton continued.

  “Well, about ten years ago there was a pestilence that broke out here in Alderak. It was a terrible sickness, and there was no reliable treatment for it, at least not at first. Lots of people died. My parents. Shawna's mother, and her brother. Nearly everyone who got the plague died within a week's time,” Alton sighed.

  “I read about that,” D'Jenn nodded. “I'm sorry about your parents.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Alton said, raising his hand to placate D'Jenn. “The Lesmiran wizards came up with a cure, but it was too late to save Dolland’s wife and son. It did, however, save one of his youngest daughters—Shawna’s sister, Anna. So, without a son, he began to train Shawna to take up the reins when he was gone. She was the oldest child still living.”

  “It's hard to derive any reason someone would want her family dead from all of that,” D'Jenn said. “She was alone on the road?”

  “Yes, she was running from something, though I don’t know what,” Dormael said.

  “Their manor is a full day’s ride south along the road, and it’s not as if there are large parties of bandits roving across Cambrell,” Alton continued. “Certainly not in her father's barony. The region is frequently patrolled by the king's men. I’ve sent some men of my own to investigate their hold, though they’ve been gone a few days and haven't yet returned. I fear the worst has happened. The family had no known enemies, and Dolland was close to the king. Whoever did this has absolutely no fear of the throne, or they are ignorant of her connection to it.”

  “That would suggest either the king himself, or someone from outside the country,” D’Jenn said. “But what would provoke an outside power to attack the Llewans? They sound peaceable enough, at least from your story.”

  “There is something I’ve wanted to show you,” said Alton, rising suddenly and leaving the room. The cousins looked at each other and shrugged, and Alton soon returned holding something about three hands long wrapped in a towel. Sitting back down in his chair and leaning toward the cousins, he unwrapped what he was holding—the arrow shaft Dormael had pulled from Shawna's back.

  “This is what you pulled out of her,” Alton said, nodding at Dormael’s look of recognition. “Now—fletchers will usually use certain feathers, or leave distinctive marks upon the shafts of their arrows in order for others to recognize their work.”

  D’Jenn reached out and took the arrow from Alton’s hands, turning it over and examining it from tip to tip. His shrewd eyes crawled over the bloody shaft, and he handed it to Dormael to examine when he was done. Dormael, though, handed it back to Alton. He had seen it first, after all.

  “It’s not very well made,” D'Jenn said, “and there’s nothing distinguishable about the fletching. I see no marks on it.”

  “Military!” breathed Dormael, leaning closer to the arrow as Alton turned it over in his hands. “Why didn't I notice that before?”

  “Because your mind is full of shit?” D'Jenn muttered. Dormael ignored him.

  “Exactly,” nodded Alton. “But which? Certainly not our own. Word would have gotten out if a force was mustered. There would have been rumors.”

  “The Galanians are to the south of you now that they’ve occupied Shundovia,” Dormael pointed out. “Their emperor is eating up nations like a child sucking down porridge. I thought that he was no longer expanding his borders, though.”

  “What stopped him?” asked D’Jenn.

  “No one knows,” replied Alton in a dark tone. “I've heard that when he took Shundov he killed the entire royal line, and put the castle staff to the sword. Others have said he moved into the city and started killing everyone in sight. The king had prepared an army to bolster our southern border, but after Shundov, Emperor Dargorin just stopped his advance. Apparently he went back to Old Galan and closeted himself away. He hasn’t been seen much outside the palace since.”

  “Maybe he decided to move north instead of south,” D’Jenn offered.

  “I doubt it,” Alton replied. “The Sheran Shipyards are to the south, not to mention Solace Isle, which is currently occupied by the Moravians. The remaining Shundovians on the Isle joined up with the Moravian army to keep the Galanians out. There’s more gold on that island than anywhere in the world. It makes more sense to move south first, gain the naval advantage, take the gold, and then turn north. Not to mention that Dargorin fears the Lesmiran sorcerers. Everyone fears the damned sorcerers, but I'm certainly glad they're close now. Nothing like magic to keep an army at bay.”

  Dormael and D'Jenn shared an ominous look, but Alton didn't catch it.

  “You don't think it was the Galanian Empire, then?” asked Dormael.

  “It just seems unlikely that the emperor looks to occupy Cambrell. I'm no military tactician, but I can't see any sense in it. Besides which, an entire army makes more noise than this. Someone would have heard something, and the King has been watching the southern border ever since the Empire took Neleka and moved on to Shundovia. Everyone has been watching the Galanians,” replied Alton.

  “We’ll know soon enough when the girl wakes up,” D'Jenn said.

  The three men grew quiet for a while, drinking their ale and staring into the fire. The hour was growing late, and Dormael was starting to grow sleepy—something which the ale was helping along. Judging from D'Jenn's sunken eyes, he was feeling the weight of the day as well. Alton had a clear look of dread on his face, probably thinking that war had come to Cambrell, or worrying about Shawna. Dormael opened his mouth to speak, but a yawn replaced the words in his mouth before he could get them out.

  Alton rose from his chair, which prompted Dormael and D'Jenn to follow his lead.

  “It's getting a little late,” Alton smiled, “and I've got things to attend in the morning. We'll continue this conversation soon. D'Jenn, I'm honored to have you in my home. I'm sure your cousin will accompany you back to your room.”

  “I hope you put him in the stables,” Dormael muttered.

  “Yes, right beside your mother,” D'Jenn retorted.

  “That's your aunt you're talking about, you know.”

  “And a fine horse she is, Dormael. A fine horse, indeed,” D'Jenn smiled.

  “I'll see you two on the morrow,” Alton said, shaking his head as he ushered them toward the door.

  “Sleep well, My Most Illustrious Shiny Lordsome,” Dormael said.

  “One word from me and your bathwater tomorrow will be drawn straight from the sea,” Alton said over his shoulder as he marched off down the hallway. “Good evening.”

  The two wizards stood watching Alton walk away, and then favored each other with a significant glance. Dormael nodded and gestured for D'Jenn to follow him. They walked toward the guest wing, and D'Jenn took a furt
ive look around to make sure no one was around to overhear them. Satisfied that they were alone, he leaned in and began a whispered conversation with his cousin.

  “I felt it, coz, as soon as I got within sight of this place. The magic burst right out of me, and I had turned in this direction before I even knew where I was going,” D’Jenn whispered, his face betraying the smallest bit of concern.

  “It dies down after a bit, coz. It helps to get to the source. Would you like to see the girl?” Dormael asked.

  “Of course. There’s something strange and unnerving about this, Dormael. Nothing like this has ever happened to me.”

  “I know. I tried to tell you,” replied Dormael, a little disquieted by D’Jenn’s tone.

  Dormael turned down a side corridor and headed for Shawna’s room on the third floor. They went quietly—not skulking, exactly, but trying to avoid notice all the same—and eventually came into the hallway outside Shawna’s room. They could hear muffled singing from inside, and Dormael knew at once that Nan was with the wounded girl. He signaled D’Jenn to stay silent, and opened the door.

  “Oh, Dormael,” Nan said with a pleasant smile, “come to check up on the poor dear before turning in?” Nan was an old woman, wearing a high-necked, gray dress with a badge over her left breast that denoted her position as Alton's chamberlain. She was sponging cool water onto Shawna’s brow, and moistening the girl’s lips. Shawna didn’t stir.

  “Yes,” replied Dormael, “how is she?” Before Nan could reply, Dormael opened his Kai, and with a slight brush of magic across her mind, put Nan to sleep in her beside chair. He beckoned D’Jenn into the room as the woman's head tottered to her chest, and closed the door behind him.

  D’Jenn stepped inside and stopped at the foot of Shawna’s bed, gazing down at her with his piercing eyes. Even sweating and unconscious, Shawna was a striking beauty. She had a slightly upturned mouth that gave her the look of having a rueful smile on her face. Her lips were pale now, her skin wan and sweaty. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her breathing was shallow. Dormael couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry at the sight of her.

  “What has happened to you, girl?” D’Jenn mused as he gazed down at her. Dormael felt the familiar prickly sensation that meant D’Jenn had opened his Kai, and soon felt D'Jenn's magic reaching out and delving delicately at the wound in Shawna’s side. He hissed as Dormael saw him encounter the infection that had taken up residence there, and he moved the magic over the rest of her body until it came to rest around her sleeping head.

  “Careful, now,” cautioned Dormael, “we don’t want her to wake up just yet. She could start screaming or something, and I don’t want to startle her.”

  “It’s quite alright, coz, I know what I’m doing.” D’Jenn let the magic sleep again, and let out a deep sigh. He looked around the room until he turned to the wardrobe that stood against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. Dormael knew that Shawna’s belongings rested inside—at least, the contents of her saddlebags were there. There was a pair of short swords standing against the side of it, which D’Jenn was now perusing with interest.

  He reached down and picked up one of the blades, turning it over in its sheath and studying it closely. D’Jenn’s magic also ran along the sword, though Dormael wasn’t sure what D’Jenn was looking for. His cousin was more adept at infusing things with magic, so he was probably inspecting the craftsmanship. Finally, closing his hand around the hilt, he drew the sword from its sheath.

  It hissed as the blade was pulled from its scabbard, and a low musical note issued from the steel. The dim lamplight was reflected by the unusually smooth metal of the blade, giving the impression that the sword itself was glowing with a low, yellow-orange light. The crosspiece was straight and simple, and the hilt was wrapped in black leather held in place with silver wire. The pommel was set with a large onyx.

  “Incredible,” whispered D’Jenn. “This is an amazing job of infusion. Most of the time you see magical items with a gem set into them that contains the infused power. This, however, emanates magic from the metal itself.”

  “I’ve never been much of an Infuser, myself, but I could tell they were superb.”

  “That they are,” nodded D’Jenn. “I think that magic was a part of every aspect of the forging. The onyx,” D’Jenn pointed at the pommel, “has also been infused with magic.”

  “You don’t just pick these up at your local smithy,” Dormael said. “They must’ve cost a bloody fortune.”

  “Three fortunes, maybe,” D’Jenn replied, sliding the sword back into its scabbard and placing it against the armoire with its twin. “Still—these aren't the source of the...whatever it is.”

  “No. That is probably in her saddlebags. Go ahead, coz. Take a look if you haven't any scruples,” Dormael said.

  D'Jenn regarded him for a moment, and Dormael could see the consideration pass over his expression.

  “I would,” he sighed, “but Alton has shown us hospitality. It would be wrong to take the girl's stuff and leave.”

  “Right. And you don't want to do it now that you've seen her.”

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “Of course not. You're not human, after all,” Dormael said.

  “Fuck yourself, cousin,” D'Jenn grumbled. As he turned away, though, Dormael caught a smirk flash over his face before he quelled it. D’Jenn sighed and turned back to look at Shawna lying on the bed. After a minute, he nodded to Dormael and left the room for the hallway.

  With a slight wave of his hand, Dormael brushed the magic gently against Nan once more. The old woman gave a start and looked up at him. She blinked her eyes a few times and regarded him with confusion.

  “Nan? I was asking you how she was doing,” Dormael said, as if the old woman had just drifted off for a short moment.

  “Oh…right. I’m so sorry, I do apologize. She’s fighting it off slowly. She’s a strong young woman, and I have every confidence that she will recover soon enough,” Nan replied, dabbing a wet cloth to Shawna’s head.

  “Right, well…I’d better be off. Good night, Nan. You should head to bed soon. You look exhausted. Can't keep up that beauty if you don't get your rest,” Dormael said, waving at the old lady and tossing her a conspiratorial wink.

  “Oh, you're too nice, dear boy. You know this old face hasn't been pretty in a long time,” she said, unable to keep a tolerant smile from creeping onto her features.

  “Good night, Nan,” Dormael smiled.

  “Good night, dear,” Nan replied, still dabbing at Shawna’s forehead. Closing the door behind him, Dormael met up with D’Jenn in the hallway.

  “Tomorrow we should go out and buy some provisions for our journey,” D'Jenn said.

  “Our journey?” asked Dormael, a little surprised.

  “Well, you don’t think I’m going to let you go this alone, do you? I’m coming. There’s something interesting about all of this, and I want to know what it is. So—we’ll see each other in the morning,” D’Jenn said, waving Dormael good night.

  “Right, in the morning,” Dormael replied, turning down a side hallway.

  “Dormael, isn’t that one your room?” asked D’Jenn, pointing at the door directly across the hall from his own.

  “Aye.”

  “Thought you were heading off to bed,” said D’Jenn, eyeing him sideways.

  “I am. Soon enough, anyway. There’s a certain blonde who asked me to her room tonight. It would be rude not to at least drop in, don’t you think?”

  “You’ll never change, will you coz? One day you're going to get stabbed by an army of older brothers,” D’Jenn laughed, shaking his head and turning through the doorway into his own room.

  “Only if they catch me,” Dormael said to his cousin's departing back. D'Jenn's only answer was to shut the door. Smirking, Dormael made his way down the stairs and toward the servants' quarters.

  It would be rude not to at least drop in, after all.

  A Conspiratoria
l Turn of Mind

  The morning dawned bright and cool.

  Dormael lifted Lyssa’s arm from his chest, being careful not to wake her. She stirred, still pretty even in her disheveled contentment. Dormael slid from the bed and dressed in silence, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in weeks. He sank some of his magic into the air of the room as he opened the door, warming it so that the girl could sleep more comfortably. The servants' quarters in Alton's manor weren't very warm, and winter had its icy fingers in the very stone of the household. Being as quiet as possible, he shuffled up the stairs and toward the kitchens.

  Once he had stolen a couple of pastries from the irritated kitchen staff, he went to his own rooms to bathe. He pondered on the problem of Shawna as he soaked in his bathwater. She had clung stubbornly to life since he'd brought her in from the night. Dormael allowed his senses to float down to her room and check on the girl's health—something he did several times a day. She was still in an induced sleep, though Dormael could feel a change in the girl's energy. She was more at ease, and her body appeared to be recovering. He felt gladdened, but he'd figured that if the girl had been going to die, she'd have done it already.

  He was anxious to hear her story. Dormael wasn't much of a believer in coincidence, and the magical anomaly the girl carried must have had something to do with her attempted killing. He had a feeling that whatever was likely pursuing the girl, it probably wasn’t another country noble, or a band of brigands. Dormael sighed and pulled out the long braid of his beard as he tried to clear his mind. All he could do at this point was stay nearby and keep an eye on the horizon for trouble.

  Dormael spent a while meditating, and soaking up the warmth in the bathwater. When his hands and feet began to wrinkle, he jumped out and began to dress. It took him longer than a few moments to braid his long, unruly beard. He tied the end of it into a small, stylized weight to keep it from blowing in the wind, and wrapped a long leather string around the knot to secure it in place. He seized his magic once again, separated the accumulated grime from his clothing, and sent it out the window. He'd learned that little trick as a youngling at the Conclave. Dormael never did laundry with his hands if he could help it. Smiling, he grabbed his quarterstaff from where it was leaning beside the door, and left the room for the hallway outside.