The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “They know exactly where we’re going, and they’ve set an ambush for us,” Shawna said, her eyes going to the street beyond the alley. “I don't like this. If they know about us, then they also know about Alton.” Her eyes tracked up the cliff face in the direction of Alton's estate, and Dormael felt cold tension in his stomach as he followed her gaze.

  “Quite perceptive,” D'Jenn grunted, giving the woman a grudging nod.

  “Gods,” Dormael cursed. “Nothing is ever easy, is it?”

  “Easy is for the weak,” Shawna muttered. The comment had the sound of a well-used idiom, and he wondered if it was something she had learned from her days training to be a Blademaster. It was a question for another night, though.

  “I'll Mind-Fly up to Alton's place and warn him,” Dormael said. “The Sanctuary should protect him from any immediate harm, but he needs to know that we've been betrayed.”

  “Shouldn't we head back? We can't just leave him there alone,” Shawna protested. “Alton is no warrior. He doesn't even have that many guards.”

  “He's got the magic we left with him,” D'Jenn said. “That's better than a whole company of mercenaries. He'll be alright.”

  “If you say so,” Shawna said. She didn't look happy about it, though.

  “I do,” D'Jenn nodded. “The most important thing right now is to protect you, and figure out our next move.”

  “I'd like to head over to the Squidchaser and break up whatever party the Galanians have set for us, maybe punish Roldo a bit for his treachery,” Dormael growled.

  “Do that, but make it quick. Once we spring their trap, we'll need to get out of the city before they can react,” D'Jenn said.

  “How are we going to do that now? We don't have a ship,” Shawna pointed out.

  “We have horses,” D'Jenn said. “So that only leaves us with two options—north, or south.”

  “South leads us right into the Galanian Empire, into old Shundovia. The closest port is around one hundred leagues inside the border. They could snatch us up at their leisure,” Shawna said.

  “North it is, then,” Dormael said. “We'll go to Borders, and cross the sea there.”

  “Borders?” Shawna said. “Borders is a cesspool! Not to mention that the bay is blocked by the Maelstrom Field. It was hard enough finding a boat to cross the sea this late in the season. How do you expect to find a ship that will do that, and brave the maelstroms?”

  “Would you rather we continue north into Dannon, dodge the barbarians, and trek over the ice?” Dormael said. D’Jenn rubbed his chin and nodded in agreement.

  “He's right,” D'Jenn grunted, cutting in before Shawna could protest. “The Dannons hate Sevenlanders, in any case. We'd be killed on sight, and the Sea of Moving Ice is impassable. Not to mention the Gathan Mountains. No one in their right mind goes there, and even if we could make it through, it would take all year to make it to Ishamael. We go north, and find a ship at Borders if we can,” D’Jenn said.

  “And if we can't?” Shawna asked.

  “Then we'll deal with that problem when it presents itself,” D'Jenn replied. “Go on and warn Alton. Take care of our friends on the Squidchaser, and get a good lay of the land. Don't take long, though. We need to get moving.”

  “I’ll return shortly,” Dormael nodded.

  He closed his eyes and summoned his magic, turning it inward and separating his consciousness from his body. It was always a strange feeling at first, but Dormael ignored the detached sensation that accompanied the act of mind-flight. He soared upward into the night, away from the alleyway and over the crowded streets that abutted the Docks District. Turning toward the cliff face, he sped toward Alton's manor.

  Nothing was amiss as he rose over the outer wall into the gardens. The light from Alton’s study was shining from the window at the top of the sprawling compound. Dormael flew in through the window, and found Alton at his desk, scratching a letter by candlelight. Pouring his magic into a thought, Dormael solidified before him.

  “Alton,” he said, nearly causing the man to jump out of his chair. Alton stared at him in surprise, then glanced around the room, doubtlessly looking for the rest of the party. Seeing no one, he blew out a breath and focused on Dormael.

  “Magic?” he asked.

  “Even so,” Dormael smiled.

  “All the gods in the Void, Dormael. A little warning next time you decide to call on me this way. I nearly pissed myself. What's happening? Is Shawna alright?”

  “She's fine,” Dormael assured him, “but something has happened. Your captain has betrayed us to the Galanians.”

  “The treacherous little shit,” Alton said, his expression going dark.

  “Indeed. We haven't been captured—we figured out their intentions, and we're holed up near the Docks. We're headed north out of the city. We're going to try and get a ship in Borders, and cross the sea there.”

  “Borders?” Alton asked in a dubious tone. “Borders is the capital of all graft in Cambrell. Nothing but criminals and muddy streets up there.”

  “It's our only choice. In any case, we wanted to warn you before the trap is sprung. If they know about us—”

  “Then they know about me,” Alton sighed.

  “The Sanctuary should keep you safe in the immediate, but you need to hunker down. If you know any fighting men you can hire out, now would be the time.”

  “None that can get here on such short notice, but I'll be fine, Dormael. Lindesholm would have a hard time explaining how he arrested the richest man in the city, and a distant cousin to the king himself—to whom I'm currently drafting a message. The pigeons will fly to Arla tonight, and his treachery will be known come the morning. You worry about my cousin,” Alton said.

  “We'll take care of her, my word on it. Don't leave the manor if you don't have to. The Sanctuary won't protect you outside of your grounds. I have to go and break up the Red Swords' little surprise for us. Take care, my friend. May the gods keep you safe,” Dormael said.

  “And you, Dormael,” Alton nodded.

  With that, Dormael threw mind once again out into the night. He flew over the rooftops of Ferolan, headed toward the docks. The street lamps shone like small beacons in the night, passing beneath him as he hurried out to the harbor. There was a single quay that ran the length of the wharves, passing perpendicular to the multiple docks that branched from it like fingers from a giant hand. Ships were clustered in their berths, but it only took Dormael a moment to find dock number sixteen.

  The Squidchaser was a two-masted brig that looked more than a little worse for wear. She was stained with a dark finish, and had been painted with a white line just under the rail. The paint was in ill repair, however, and was peeling in many places. There was a single oil lamp burning on the ship, and another on the wharf by a stack of crates, where a few crewmen were milling about and trying to look busy. Dormael hovered over the scene, searching for something that was out of place.

  There were several crewmen standing just out of reach of the lamplight on deck. They appeared to be doing nothing more than huddling against the sides of the rail, or lounging against coiled ropes. Spiraling downward to get a better look, Dormael noticed the crossbows that were cocked and ready to use, and the furtive glances the crewmen kept giving the quay, where Dormael and his companions would inevitably have appeared.

  Stacked on the quay that connected the various docks were large formations of crates. As the night wind blew a frosty gust in from the sea, Dormael saw one of the crates wobble with the wind. In his experience, crates full of cargo were rarely lifted by a breeze coming in from the sea. Rushing around behind them, Dormael spotted what he had been expecting to see. Huddling in the spaces behind the stacked crates were a troop of men wearing armor and carrying weapons, each with a surcoat bearing a red sword pointing downward. Dormael imagined how the whole thing would have played out—his friends all coming down the quay, moving to load up on the Squidchaser, only to find that they had been surrounded by the
Galanian Red Swords.

  Not tonight, you bastards.

  He wheeled around and alighted on the deck of the Squidchaser, picking a spot near the forecastle where the light from the oil lamp couldn't reach. Several crewmen milled around on deck, placed in positions where their crossbows could be used for effect. Roldo stood near the gangplank, shooting nervous glances at every moving shadow. Dormael poured his power into another phantasm, solidifying his form in the shadows before striding into the light.

  One of the crewmen gave a fearful start, and Roldo's eyes tracked around the deck in confusion until they fell upon Dormael's form. Dormael watched the expressions play across the man's face in a few spare seconds—surprise, anger, uncertainty, and then fear. Dormael couldn't help but smile.

  “Captain Roldo,” he said, showing the man his teeth. “Are we ready to depart?”

  “How did you get here?” Roldo asked, eyes shooting around the deck.

  “You made a big mistake, Roldo.”

  “What in the Six Hells are you talking about?” Roldo said, still shooting glances around at his men, who were clearly unsure of what to do. Dormael could almost see the decisions going through the Roldo's head. Should he order his men to kill Dormael? Should he run? Should he call out to the quay for the Red Swords waiting there?

  “Don't act the fool, Roldo,” Dormael said. “You lied to me once already tonight, and I'm getting bloody tired of it. You betrayed me, betrayed my friends. You took Alton's money and promptly gave us all up to the duke and his new allies. Not a nice thing to do, Roldo. It shows just what a wriggling little turd you are.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Roldo snarled, but in the grip of his magic, Dormael could see the sweat beading on the man's forehead.

  “Cowards,” Dormael snorted. “You're all the same.”

  “Kill him!” Roldo said, gesturing angrily at his men.

  Dormael allowed his form to dissipate, flashing away from the spot in which he'd been standing. A few tentative twanging noises rang out, and bolts passed harmlessly through the air where Dormael had been only moments before. Roldo screamed another curse, whirling around and peering into the shadows.

  Solidifying himself once again, Dormael stepped from the darkness on the other end of the deck.

  “You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?” Dormael said, still smiling a broad, mirthless grin. “Normally I'd take a good bit of time to seek the proper redress for this sort of thing, but lucky for you, I'm in a hurry. We'll have to settle for a little payback—for me, and for Alton.”

  Dormael concentrated on the ship, reaching down to the cured timber that made up the outer hull. Roldo snarled another command, but Dormael was lost in his power. Working magic at a distance always put a wizard at a slight disadvantage, and required more of an effort. Dormael, though, was among the strongest wizards of his generation. Grasping hold of the wood below, he yanked it inward.

  There was a violent cracking noise, followed by an ominous creaking from the brig as water began to enter the hull. The ship rocked in the water, then began to tilt to the side as the sea started dragging her under. Crewmen ran in all directions, shouting and flailing about. Roldo only held to the railing, staring in open-mouthed horror at what was happening.

  “Have fun dredging her up, old boy!” Dormael called. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he set every sail on the Squidchaser aflame at once. Maybe it was a bit vindictive, but Dormael held no sympathy for Roldo. The man had earned his fate.

  He quickly abandoned his phantasm and rose once again into the air. The docks near to the sinking brig were alive with frantic activity as people jostled to see what was happening. Dormael looked over the crowd and spotted the Red Swords looking out from where they'd been hiding, staring in wonder at the burning ship.

  They like fire, do they?

  With another effort of concentration, Dormael pulled some of the Red Swords from their feet and into the dark waters of the harbor. In all that armor there wasn't much of a chance they could keep themselves from sinking to the bottom, but they had earned their fates as well. The ones who Dormael hadn't been able to pull into the water were unsure of what was happening, and a few even made to draw their swords. Dormael slammed the nearby crates into their startled faces, and set them ablaze.

  Let them chew on that for awhile.

  Dormael rushed back into the night, toward the alley where he'd left his friends behind.

  “Alton knows,” Dormael said as he came back to his body, fighting off the dizziness that always blossomed in the wake of mind-flight. “Roldo has been dealt with. They had a tidy little ambush set for us. It couldn't have been all of them, though. There are probably more in the city somewhere.”

  “Good,” D'Jenn nodded. “Let's get to the North Gate.”

  Shawna said nothing as Dormael remounted Horse, but she gave him a nod as he climbed into the saddle. Dormael wasn't sure what to make of the woman just yet. She was feisty, intelligent, and determined, but she was also mistrustful of the two Sevenlanders. He imagined it was to be expected, though. He had caught himself watching her face during the ride through the city, trying to gauge what might be going through the noblewoman's mind. All he could read in her expression, though, was cold resolve.

  There were no more City Guardsmen in the streets than there had been before the ambush, but the mood of the companions was sharper, more alert than before. Dormael's eyes tracked to every darkened alleyway as they passed, searching for any threat that might be hiding in the shadows. He searched every down-turned face that passed them for signs of treachery, and had to tell himself to relax. The city was quiet—almost conspicuously so.

  They rode at a walk from the poorer parts of Ferolan into the higher reaches, where the tenement buildings gave way to modern designs made of neat bricks of stone. The streets were quieter toward the northern end of town, and the only people making their way through the night paid the party little heed, other than to shuffle from their path. The silence was welcome, but it made the hairs on Dormael's neck rise with anxious tension.

  As if the thought heralded their appearance, the city walls came into view as D'Jenn led them through side streets toward Ferolan's North Gate. They halted in the shadows between two stone buildings, and Dormael dismounted to peek around the corner at the gate. Four torches burned along the wall of the gatehouse, casting a flickering pool of light across the cobblestones of the street. Inside the glow of the torches, five men stood conversing in low tones, though their voices carried odd bits of the conversation to Dormael's ears. Three of them wore the telltale surcoat of Galanian Red Swords.

  “Five men,” he said over his shoulder, “three of them Galanians.”

  “Eindor's blighted eye,” D'Jenn cursed. “Well, we knew it wasn't going to be easy.”

  “Just use your magic and have done with it,” Shawna said. “We need to leave, they're in the way. Seems pretty simple to me.”

  “It's not simple,” D'Jenn sighed, giving Shawna an irritated look. “If we just go out there and blast our way through, we might as well write your Colonel Grant a letter explaining to him where we're going.”

  “Let him come,” Shawna shot back. “I'm practically itching to meet the man.”

  “I have a feeling you'll get every chance for blood before this is over,” Dormael said before D'Jenn could offer the girl an angry retort, “but D'Jenn is right. The less they know for sure about where we've gone, the better.”

  “Besides, what are you going to do in your current state? You might be deadly with those blades when you're healed, but right now about all you could do is hurl angry words and get killed,” D'Jenn said.

  Dormael winced, but Shawna only shot D'Jenn an angry glare, and then stared off into the night.

  “Distraction, or deception?” Dormael asked.

  “Maybe a bit of both,” D'Jenn said, keeping his icy glare on Shawna for a moment before turning his eyes back to Dormael. “Have any ideas?”


  Dormael thought for a moment. “What about a messenger? I could run up, inform the Red Swords that the colonel needs them down at the Docks. Reinforce the ambush, and all of that.”

  “They'd piece together what happened pretty easily after we'd gone,” D'Jenn said, shaking his head. “Not good enough. Besides, that might draw the Galanians, but it leaves the City Guard on the gate.”

  “Put them all to sleep?” Dormael offered.

  D'Jenn shook his head again. “If they all get knocked out, they'll know something strange happened as soon as they wake. Not good enough.”

  “A distraction, then. We could start a fire,” Dormael said.

  “I don't like the thought of burning a few buildings just to aid in our escape. People could die in the fire,” D'Jenn said.

  “An illusion, then?” Dormael shrugged, turning away in frustration. “Maybe we could slip past them in a magical disguise.”

  “It's risky,” D'Jenn said.

  “Wait—you can do illusions with your—,” Shawna wiggled her fingers to mime them using magic, “—with your power?”

  “To a certain degree,” D'Jenn nodded.

  “Well,” Shawna said, drawing the word out as she thought. “There is one thing that would set them all to running.”

  “What?” Dormael asked.

  Shawna looked him square in the eyes. “Me.”

  “You can't just go out there and lead them on a chase,” Dormael said.

  “Wait,” D'Jenn said, cutting him off. “She's right.”

  “Betrayal from all sides,” Dormael muttered. “What do you mean 'she's right'?”

  “If you can make an illusion of me, and let them see it…,” Shawna said, trailing off.

  “They'll take off chasing her down the street,” D'Jenn nodded.

  “Once they abandon their posts, we just ride right through,” Shawna smiled.

  Dormael tried to find a reason to object, but could find no holes in her logic. “I see.”

  “They might even think that she's still in the city when the illusory Shawna disappears into the streets. I think it will work,” D'Jenn said.