The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “Alton,” she smiled, wincing as she tried to sit up again.

  “Careful, cousin. I don't know if you realize this, but you had an arrow in you,” he smirked.

  The joke made her snicker despite the warring emotions in her chest. “You're still an unrepentant ass, I see.”

  “How do you feel?” he asked. “Nan just informed me you'd awoken.”

  “I hurt,” she said, shooting him a smile that was more wince than anything else.

  “I imagine.”

  “Alton...my father,” she said, trying to force the words out. “He's dead.”

  His expression sobered. “I had feared as much. When Dormael brought you in...well, I assumed the worst.”

  “Who is this Dormael everyone is talking about?” she asked, trying once again to sit up.

  Just as the words left her mouth, the noise of bustling feet brought her attention to the doorway. Two strange men entered the room, both wearing interested expressions on their faces. Shawna felt a little taken aback—after all, she was indecent under the blankets—but she tried to keep her face from showing her discomfort.

  They definitely weren't Cambrellian. The first was a hair's breadth taller than the second, with long, wavy hair and eyes that were a startling shade of blue. He wore a goatee and regarded her with an intense look that made her a little uncomfortable. The man favored her with a smile that was friendly on the surface, but his eyes hid a frenzy of mental activity.

  The second man wore his hair short, the way a soldier might. His own beard was a ridiculous thing that was braided all the way from his chin to his waist, and his eyes were a bright green color. She almost laughed at the sight of him, but stifled it before it could reach the surface. As her eyes ran over him, she noticed that his right hand was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, and she could see blood mixed with the rainwater that dripped from his fingers.

  Both of them were drenched, in fact, and it took Shawna a moment to realize that she could hear rain pattering outside. They wore close-fitting shirts and leather breeches, and had rags tied around their necks. Shawna tried to puzzle out what in the Six Hells they could have been up to dressed the way they were—especially having been out in the rain in the middle of winter—but she chose to keep her mouth shut.

  “Speak his name and the man appears,” Alton smiled. “Shawna, meet Dormael,” he indicated the one with the braid hanging from his chin first, then the blue-eyed man, “and D'Jenn.”

  “Dormael and D'Jenn,” she repeated, the names making her realize where these men were from. “Those are Sevenlander names.”

  “Just so,” Dormael smiled. He placed a fist over his heart and bowed to her, and the blue-eyed one echoed the gesture. “Dormael Harlun, Lady Shawna.”

  “D'Jenn Pike,” blue-eyes said as he rose from the bow. “Pleased.”

  “Shawna Llewan,” she smiled back, but the expression slipped from her face before she could hold it there.

  “It's good to finally speak to you,” Dormael said.

  She turned her eyes to him, and was struck with a strange vision—an image of him standing amidst a storm of lightning, or perhaps touching the lightning. She wasn't sure where the dream was coming from, but she imagined it must have something to do with her injury. Maybe her mind was cracking. His voice, though—that sounded familiar to her. She was sure of it.

  “I remember you,” she said before she could stop herself. “They said you brought me in. You found me.”

  Dormael grimaced. “Indeed. On the road, near the southern gate.”

  “I see,” Shawna said. “I suppose I should thank you for my life.” She said the words because she felt that she must, but as soon as they were out of her mouth, she knew that she didn't mean them. Her whole life had gone up in flames, and for some reason she couldn't drum up the gratitude that should have lent weight to her words. All Shawna could feel was...empty.

  “No need for thanks,” he replied, favoring her with an awkward smile. “Anyone might have done the same.”

  “Maybe,” she said. She forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you, nonetheless.”

  “We're all very happy you're alive,” D’Jenn said, “but we should speak of serious matters.” Shawna was taken aback by the dismissal in the man's tone, but her voice trapped itself in her throat as he turned to Alton. “Things have changed, Alton.”

  “For the worse?” Alton asked.

  It was then that Shawna finally found her voice. “Excuse me?”

  Everyone's eyes turned to her, but it was D'Jenn who spoke. “Yes?”

  “To begin with, I'm wondering who in the Six Hells you think you are,” she clipped. “I'm grateful for whatever help you've given, but that doesn't give you the right to speak over me—especially considering that I'm landed nobility. Any 'serious matters' that need to be discussed are the purview of my cousin and I.”

  “Is that so?” D'Jenn asked, a smirk raising the side of his mouth.

  Shawna’s anger stirred. “It is so, and I would caution you to remember my station. Your attitude is more than a bit free.”

  “You'll have to forgive me,” D'Jenn said, showing his teeth. “I've not much experience in dealing with touchy nobility.”

  The one called Dormael winced and looked away.

  “Touchy?!” she replied, drawing herself up as best she could.

  “I think everyone needs to calm down,” Alton said, but Shawna ignored him. She struggled to swing her legs out over the edge of the bed, using every ounce of control she'd learned during her training to hide the pain she was feeling. D'Jenn raised his eyebrows in surprise, and both Alton and Dormael moved to help her—the latter running his eyes over her legs with an incredulous look on his face. Shawna was too angry to rebuff him, and her attention was absorbed with waving the two of them away while pushing herself to her feet.

  She gritted her teeth and moved to look into the Sevenlander's eyes. The surprised faces of the men she had killed flashed through her mind, and she couldn't help feeling a bit of that righteous anger bubble back to the surface. D'Jenn was taller than her, but she looked directly into his eyes and set her jaw.

  “You listen to me,” she said in a quiet voice. “I have just been through the worst night—”

  “Week,” Dormael put in. Shawna gave him a dangerous look, and he shrugged in response.

  “Week,” she repeated, turning her eyes back to D'Jenn, “in my life. My family is dead. Our livelihood destroyed, our holdings burned. I only escaped because I killed my way out, and you're making me wonder why I've stopped doing that.”

  “Lady Shawna—,” Dormael started, but Shawna turned her gaze on him, and he faltered.

  “You can call me Lady Baroness, or Baroness Llewan,” she said, biting off every word to drive her point home. “And keep your damned eyes up here, for the gods' sake!” The insufferable man shot her cousin a wry look and backed away, holding his hands up in surrender. He did stop ogling her, though.

  “Got yourself into this one, coz,” Dormael said to D'Jenn.

  “It would appear so,” D'Jenn replied.

  “Shawna, I know this is all very strange,” Alton cut in, “but please sit down. We'll explain everything.”

  “Strange? Oh, this is strange, alright. And you,” she shot Dormael another irritated look. “If you don't stop running your eyes over my legs, I'll cut the treacherous things from your head.”

  The man didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed as he snapped his eyes back up to her face—in fact, the lecherous bastard was actually smiling. She was beginning to see why everyone hated Sevenlanders. They appeared to have no care for propriety.

  “Lady Baroness,” D'Jenn said, “allow me to apologize. I spoke out of turn. If you will forgive me, we can move on from this misunderstanding and discuss these important matters of which I spoke. I believe you will want to hear what I have to say.”

  Shawna took a deep breath, feeling the wind leave her sails. “Better. First, would the two of you
care to explain who you are, and why you're dressed like a couple of thieves?”

  “We're not thieves,” Dormael said.

  “Oh no?” She ran her eyes over the man's soaked clothing and the rag hanging around his neck—which was obviously some sort of impromptu face-mask. She made a point of hovering her gaze over him in a familiar way just to jab at him a little, and raised an eyebrow. “You certainly look like a pair of thieves.”

  “We're not thieves,” D'Jenn grated. “It's an insult to call a Sevenlander a thief.”

  “Is it?” she smiled. “And here I am, not caring a bit. Who are you, if not thieves?”

  “Alton?” Dormael asked.

  “Just show her,” Alton sighed, rubbing at his temples. “I want no part of this.”

  “Show me what?” Shawna asked.

  Dormael held out his hand, as if waiting for something to land in it. Shawna peered at it for a moment, giving him a confused frown. He crooked his finger, and the fire suddenly made a whoof as a piece of it shot toward the man like it was spat from the mouth of a beast. She shied away, thinking for a moment that the coals had popped out into the room, but had to freeze in incredulity at what happened next.

  The flame came to rest above Dormael's hand, undulating in restless patterns as it danced in the air. He gave her a sheepish smile and crooked his fingers, causing the fire to compress into a point of light no larger than a bronze mark. It took her a stunned moment to realize what she was seeing, but when she did, her heart nearly stopped in shock.

  Sorcery, she thought. The smiling savage is a sorcerer!

  The burning point of light flew straight to D'Jenn's outstretched hand, and from there the second man coaxed it back into an undulating mass. D'Jenn smiled and gave her a wink, and the flames blossomed into the form of a bird. It flapped its burning wings and flew around the room, going two full turns of the walls before disappearing once again into the fireplace.

  Shawna sat down on the bed.

  “Shawna,” Alton said, “Dormael and D'Jenn are—”

  “Sorcerers,” she finished. “They're sorcerers.”

  It felt odd even saying it.

  “Again, she insults us,” D'Jenn sighed.

  “You're not sorcerers?” she asked.

  “Yes—well, no. Sorcerer is an insult,” Dormael explained. “We're wizards.”

  “Wizards of the Conclave,” D'Jenn said.

  “The Conclave?” Shawna repeated, dread filling her stomach at the mention of the organization. The Conclave had destroyed parts of Alderak during the Second Great War. Thousands and thousands had died at the hands of the infamous Conclave wizards. The armies of the east had been powerless to stop them. Shawna had never met a sorcerer before. She didn't have a problem with magic, not really, but the only magic she knew was the kind that her swords had been made with. Was it the same as the magic the two Sevenlanders were tossing about in the room?

  Were they still using it, even now?

  “Yes,” Dormael nodded. “Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

  “I had this strange picture of you in my mind,” Shawna said, turning her eyes to the green-eyed Sevenlander. “You were standing in some...some kind of storm. There was lightning.”

  “Ah,” he nodded. “I thought you were unconscious during that part.”

  “So my mind isn't cracking after all,” she sighed.

  I stood face to face with a sorcerer and dressed him down, she thought. What if he curses me?

  “Shawna,” Alton sighed, “you're going to upset your wound again if you don't relax.”

  “Relax?” she asked. “How do you expect me to bloody relax?”

  “Well there’s no need for cursing, certainly,” Alton muttered.

  “You should get as much rest as possible tonight,” D'Jenn said. “Things aren't going to get any easier.”

  “What do you mean?” she said, looking up into his face.

  “Galanians,” Dormael said. “They're here.”

  Shawna felt dread wash over her shoulders, and the familiar, cold anger kindled to life in her chest.

  “We knew that already,” Alton grunted.

  “I didn't know that,” Shanwa sighed. “It was them, Alton. They are the ones who...who did this to me.”

  “We know,” D'Jenn nodded, his tone softening for the first time. “We worked it out when we heard rumors about them in the city earlier today.”

  “You said something had changed?” Alton asked.

  “They know she came into the city in the company of a Sevenlander,” Dormael sighed. “I'm sorry, my friend. I was careless. This is my fault.” Dormael turned a pained glance on her, as if to include her in the apology.

  “You helped me,” Shawna said, feeling a bit peevish for having to admit it. “I probably would have died out there if not for your assistance. Don't blame yourself for the Imperials.” Dormael gave her a nod in thanks, but she didn't think her words had any effect on him. His guilt was written across his face as plain as the sunrise.

  Men, she sighed inwardly.

  “No use in crying about it now,” D'Jenn grunted. “We overheard their commander—a colonel named Grant—talking about conducting a search for westerners. They're going to start rounding up all the Sevenlanders and interrogating them.”

  Alton let out an exasperated breath. “By all the bloody gods...this isn't good.”

  “There's more,” Dormael said. “We saw a letter addressed to this Colonel Grant with an Imperial seal. From the tone of the thing, it was clear that Grant is under orders to apprehend and kill you upon pain of death. It was signed at the bottom with a big, fancy 'D'. I think we can guess what that means.”

  “Dargorin,” Alton said before Shawna could utter the word. “So this conspiracy goes all the way to the top of Galanian power.”

  Shawna had a moment of cold realization as her father's words echoed in her mind once again. He had said that a rich man had contacted him, and he hadn't known who the buyer for her mother's armlet was. The Galanian emperor was probably the most powerful man in all of Alderak, and a warmongering tyrant at that. He had the resources to chase her across the entire continent—a large portion of which was already in Imperial hands.

  She felt like a rabbit, quickly running out of places to hide from the hounds.

  “The duke of your city is treating them like guests of honor,” D'Jenn added. “He's got the colonel put up in the castle, and his men appear to have free run of the city. He's had promises made to him by the Empire, so we can't expect any help from the officials here.”

  “We suspected that already,” Alton nodded, “but it still makes me bloody angry to hear it. It's treason, for the gods' sake.”

  “Indeed,” D'Jenn said. “If they know who she is, and they know she came into the city with a Sevenlander, then we don't have long to act.”

  “It's worse than that,” Alton grimaced, his eyes shooting to Dormael. “Remember the Baronet Keeting?”

  “Oh, bugger the gods, and bugger Keeting, too,” Dormael cursed. “I'd forgotten him.”

  “You can bet the simpering little shit hasn't forgotten you,” Alton sighed.

  “What's this?” D'Jenn asked.

  “I...had a confrontation with one of Alton's business associates the day you made it here,” Dormael grimaced. “There were insults. Alton challenged him to a duel, even.”

  “Ah, the Baronet of Warehouses you told me about,” D'Jenn sighed.

  “A duel?” Shawna asked, turning an incredulous eye on her cousin. “Alton, why on Eldath would you challenge a man to a duel?”

  “Because he deserves to have his nose hacked off,” Alton replied, shooting her a sheepish look. “He insulted Dormael, insulted me. What's worse is that he's exactly the type to go running to the duke if he hears of what's happening. He'll be jumping at the chance to wipe the noble ass of anyone that will grant him social favor.”

  “Well,” Shawna said, trying to hold back a smile, “I suppose I can't blame you
. Though if helping me is what the three of you had planned on, you seem to be doing a truly wonderful job.”

  “Our path is clear now,” D'Jenn said. “I figured that it would only be a matter of time before they came knocking on your door, in any case. Once they realize that the Lady Baroness has relatives here in the city, this will be the first place they come looking.”

  “How long do you think we have?” Alton asked.

  “No more than a day, maybe less than that,” Dormael sighed. “If the rain and the cold hold out, it might keep them from the streets until morning, at least.”

  “I doubt it,” D'Jenn said, shaking his head. “These men weren't normal Galanian soldiers. They're Red Swords, and if they're being led by a colonel, then you can bet the emperor is taking this mission very seriously.”

  “Gods,” Alton cursed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “What are the bloody Red Swords doing chasing you, cousin?”

  Shawna made to speak, but paused before uttering the words that came to her tongue. She knew these wizards had helped her, and had risked their lives to do so, but she wasn't sure how far she could trust them. After the events of the past week, her naivete was wearing thin, and so was her trust. If she revealed the reason behind the attack, these two could probably just take her mother's armlet and leave, and she wouldn't be able to do much about it in her current state.

  She may not be able to stop them even if she was able-bodied in the first place.

  “They...wanted something from my father,” Shawna began, trying to decide how much to reveal.

  “The letter mentioned an artifact,” Dormael said, looking at her with what she thought was sympathy. “Oddly enough, it seems that this Colonel Grant botched the operation in the first place, but the letter specifically said to kill you, recover the artifact, and return it to Galania.”