The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “What?”

  “That 'my cousin' thing. You're about to draw my ire, alright.”

  “Just what I've been afraid of our entire lives,” D'Jenn smiled.

  “How long has it been since you were in a fistfight?” Dormael said. “Probably too long.”

  “If you're going to fight,” Shawna's voice piped up from her bedroll, “can you do it quietly? The rest of us are trying to sleep.”

  Dormael smiled at D'Jenn and mimed Shawna's words with a mocking expression.

  “I saw that, Dormael,” she said. D'Jenn snickered as Shawna climbed from her bedroll. Her expression was twisted with pain, but she stretched her body after climbing from her blankets, forcing herself into as many positions as she could. Dormael tried not to watch as she bent over and rotated her body in interesting ways, but he failed. Luckily, Shawna didn't see him this time. When she was done, she trudged over to the campfire, bringing her blanket with her. “What are you drinking?” she asked after she sat next to him. “It smells nice.”

  “It’s called Sweetpenny tea,” Dormael said. “Want to try it?”

  “Anything to stave off this cold,” Shawna replied, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I hadn't realized how windy it was up here.” The girl was right. There were no trees this close to Ferolan, and the sea wind blew unchecked across the hills of the Cambrellian coastline. Dormael silently echoed her sentiments as another gust blew the chill right into his face.

  “It's sweet, but it has a kick,” D'Jenn said as he dipped her out a steaming cup and handed it over.

  Shawna took a tentative sip, then a longer one. “That's good. Where does it come from?”

  “Back home,” Dormael smiled. “It's made from a flower native to the Sevenlands.”

  “We get it from Dormael's mother,” D'Jenn said. “She keeps us well supplied with the dried leaves for the tea. She also makes some of the best firewine in the Sevenlands. Makes quite a bit of money from selling it, too.”

  “Your mother?” Shawna asked, a strange look on her face.

  “We all have them,” Dormael said. “Why? What's that look on your face about?”

  “It's just strange,” Shawna replied. “I grew up hearing stories about magic users. I'm sure you know what I mean. It's just odd to hear about you having a mother. It seems so...normal.”

  “Oh, of course,” D'Jenn snorted. “Let me see if I've got one of your stories correct.” He cleared his throat and went on in a dramatic voice, “Wizards are born deep in the bowels of the earth. We only come out of our caves to steal young women from villages and get our love children upon them.”

  Dormael laughed. “Wait, I've got one. We're born when the stars mate with the moon, and we fall to Eldath as old men and live our lives backwards. Every time we use magic, we regress toward childhood, until the fateful day when we finally become babies!”

  “Or that every time we use magic, children die somewhere in the world,” D'Jenn said.

  “We commune with evil spirits that help us in our trickery,” Dormael added.

  “We all worship Saarnok, the Lord of Bones!” D'Jenn said, using his evil sorcerer voice.

  “We draw our power from the sorrow of the downtrodden.”

  “Or evil blood rites,” D'Jenn smiled.

  “I get it, that’s enough,” Shawna sighed. “Though I have heard the one about dead children.”

  Dormael smiled and grabbed Shawna's wrist, prompting an astonished look from the noblewoman. “Now you know the real reason we stole you from Alton. Bethany's sorrow feeds our magic, and you get to have all our love children. Off to the cave with you!”

  D'Jenn busted out with laughter, but Shawna looked distinctly uncomfortable, and a little embarrassed.

  “I didn't mean that I believed those stories,” she said, jerking her wrist away, “just that I'd always heard them growing up. And now I'm sitting here with two of you, and you're talking about your mother. It's strange, that's all.”

  “Let's just hope we can get you back to Ishamael before Dormael and I are in swaddling clothes,” D'Jenn smiled. Dormael snickered at the quip, but Shawna shot D'Jenn a withering glance.

  “The truth is more benign,” Dormael said. “You have a talent—the sword. Magic is like that. It's a skill, that's all. It isn't evil. It's the simplest thing in the world.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Shawna objected. “Anyone can pick up a sword and learn to use it. True, not everyone is good at it, but it is only a tool.”

  Dormael sighed and looked to D’Jenn for help, but D’Jenn just shrugged and took another pull from his tea. He shot Dormael a sidelong glance, flicking his eyes at Shawna in a covert gesture. Doubtless the man was recalling his ‘rule’ about dealing with her. Dormael wanted to slap him in the arm, but he turned back to Shawna and tried to explain.

  “Where to begin?” he said. “Alright. First of all, there are two kinds of wizards. The first—like D'Jenn and I—are called the Blessed. We're born with an innate connection to magic. We can't deny it any more than you can deny your arms or legs. It will come out eventually no matter what, and if you don't train the skill to use it, it can be deadly—to you, and to everyone around you.”

  “That sounds ominous,” Shawna said.

  “It sounds that way,” Dormael nodded, “and it can be, but not always. It usually manifests at a young age, somewhere between eight and fourteen springs.”

  “What about the second kind?” Shawna asked.

  “The second kind are called the Learned. They're regular people just like you who have trained their mind to feel and use magic. Most of the time they're not as strong as the Blessed, but that doesn't always hold true. Some Learned are quite powerful.”

  “And power isn't everything when you're talking about magic,” D'Jenn put in. “Concentration, subtlety, and innovation all go a very long way.”

  Shawna looked dumbfounded. “You mean to tell me that anyone can use magic? That I could do it if I wanted?”

  “With enough training and dedication,” D'Jenn nodded, eyeing the woman sideways. “I suspect you'd do well, actually. It must have taken a lot of focus to earn your Mark.”

  “A lot of pain,” Shawna said, but she broke a genuine smile at the wizard. “But yes—dedication, as well. Mostly to deal with all the looks I got in the training yard. The baron's own daughter, being whipped around the yard by a Blademaster. The first year I trained, I think everyone had an incredulous expression permanently etched onto their faces.”

  “Just as you discipline the body for the sword, you discipline the mind for magic,” D'Jenn nodded.

  “So, someone doesn't have to...I don't know...have magic inside of them?” Shawna asked.

  Dormael shook his head. “Magic isn't something D'Jenn and I have inside of us. Magic is in the air, it's in the trees, and it's in the stone. It's everywhere, in everything. You, me, D'Jenn, Bethany—we all have magic inside of us. Some of us are just born with the ability to hear it, to touch it.”

  “Where does it come from?” Shawna asked.

  “Who knows?” Dormael shrugged. “You could take the religious explanation if you wanted. Evmir forged the world with his great hammer, and his brother Eindor gifted it with magic. You could also take the latest theory from the Philosophers at the Conclave—that magic is the leftover energy from creation, the very fabric of existence. The Song of the Gods, they call it.”

  “Or you could believe your old folk tales,” D'Jenn smiled, “and say that magic is the sorrow of abused children.”

  The discussion was interrupted as Bethany climbed from her blankets and tromped over to plop down between Dormael and D'Jenn. Dormael tousled her hair, and D'Jenn took her aside to help her with keeping her teeth clean. Bethany protested, but D'Jenn met her little rebellion with a cool, stony expression. Dormael smiled and reached into their saddlebags to start handing out rations for the morning.

  “So, if everything has magic, and everyone has magic, then why are mo
st of the wizards in Eldath from the Sevenlands?” Shawna asked as he handed her breakfast over.

  “Well, that's not entirely true,” Dormael replied.

  “Lesmira has the School of Magic Arts,” D'Jenn said as he led Bethany back to the campfire.

  “Yes, but the Mage Tower has some connection to the Conclave,” Shawna said. “That's what people say, at least. That you have some treaty.”

  “We do have a treaty,” Dormael said. “A very old treaty, actually.”

  “The Lesmirans are our only allies in Alderak,” D'Jenn nodded.

  “That's beside the point, though,” Shawna replied. “There still aren't many wizards on this side of the ocean.”

  “Think about it like this,” D'Jenn said. “Through some accident of history—nobody I've read knows what—the attitudes concerning magic were different all over Eldath. In Rashardia, some wizards claim to be descended from the gods. They have little cults down there, all roaming around and killing each other over this or that Mystic. In Alderak, people thought wizards were evil, so the usual reaction to them involved pitchforks and public killings. In the Sevenlands, we accept it as part of the natural order of things.

  “From what the Philosophers at the Conclave have gathered over the years, the trait of being Blessed—being born with an inherent connection to magic—is mostly hereditary. For generations—thousands of years—people in Alderak have been killing magic users. You've been culling the trait out of your own population.”

  Shawna frowned and looked at D'Jenn askance. “You think that's how it works?”

  “Farmers have been doing it with cows and horses for as long as anyone can remember,” D'Jenn smiled. “Why wouldn't the same be true of people?”

  “I guess it makes a strange sort of sense,” Shawna said, peering into her tea.

  “Now,” Dormael said, “imagine you're thirteen, and suddenly strange things start to happen to you. Maybe you start a fire without realizing how you've done it, maybe you move something by wishing it to do so.”

  “Maybe you wake up one morning and you can hear the world singing to you, but you don't know what it is, or why it's happening,” D'Jenn added.

  “You can't tell anyone, because you know what will happen. You've heard the stories—tales of evil sorcerers. Who knows? Maybe you are evil. But you know one thing—if you tell anyone the truth, you'll be killed. No trial, no sympathy. You'll get a hangman's noose, or a headsman's axe,” Dormael said.

  D’Jenn nodded. “If you're that kid, and you're from some no-name village in Thardin, or Neleka, maybe you don't know about the Lesmiran school in the first place. Most of those kids end up dead, but some run away. There are wizards here in the east whose sole mission is to seek out these youths and bring them to the school, where they will be accepted and educated.”

  “I...had never thought of that before,” Shawna said.

  “Most people don't,” Dormael said. “But that's what our treaty with Lesmira was about—mutual support, the sharing of knowledge and experience. The Conclave helped build the Mage Tower, establish the school. They even helped build parts of Tauravon, but the Lesmirans are their own people. The School of Magic Arts is not an extension of the Conclave.”

  “So how was it for you—when you discovered you were Blessed, I mean?” Shawna asked.

  Dormael took a deep breath. “I was having an argument with my father. I was eight, I think. I got to yelling and pitching a fit about something, I don't remember what, when the tree in the yard just burst into flame. Damned thing burnt right to cinders. You should have seen the look on my father's face.”

  Dormael smiled at her, but Shawna looked genuinely horrified.

  “For me it was different,” D'Jenn said. “I could hear it for a long time before I knew what it was. The world just sounded different, it sang to me. I could feel it in every fiber of my being, but I kept it to myself.”

  “Why didn't you tell anyone, if you weren't afraid you'd be killed?” Shawna asked.

  D'Jenn shrugged. “Sometimes it's fun to have a secret between you and the world. It was my secret to tell, so I kept it for awhile, until I realized what it was.”

  Shawna appeared to mull that over, so Dormael took the cue to break the conversation and start readying the camp to move. In short order everything was cleared up, the mounts were prepared, and everyone was ready to leave their hasty campsite for the company of the dusty highland road. Bethany settled onto Horse with Dormael, and they set out into the day.

  The hills stretched out around them like a folded blanket of brown grasses, interspersed with islands of green shrubbery and stunted trees. The wind whipped through the landscape, launching the grass into a constant whisper. To the west, Dormael could see the ocean as a bluish haze on the horizon, and the air still had the salty tang of the sea.

  As the day wore on into afternoon, the road turned away from the jagged coastline of Cambrell. Scattered trees began to appear, stunted limbs bare for the winter, and by the late afternoon the party was riding through the edge of a light forest. Dead leaves littered the ground, having lost their color weeks gone, though Dormael did spot a few evergreens in the distance. The trees cut the worst chill from the wind, and Dormael was able to lower the hood of his cloak and take in a little sunlight.

  Shawna rode up on his right side and matched pace with Horse. “So, you said that there are wizards in Lesmira—the ones from the School of Magic Arts—that have a mission to round up these children in Alderak. Do all wizards have specific missions? What's yours?”

  Dormael looked behind him to D'Jenn for support, and D'Jenn's hands flashed in the Hunter's Tongue.

  It won’t hurt to tell her. She’s just as deep as we are in this, and if we can’t trust each other we might as well stop now, he signed. You’re going to do the talking, though—remember the rule.

  Dormael took a deep breath, and turned back to Shawna. “I'm not sure how the Lesmirans do it, but at the Conclave there's a few choices a prospective wizard can make, after his initial training is complete. The most common choice is a path to becoming what's called a Hedge Wizard. You learn a lot of natural sciences, healing arts, that sort of thing. Hedge Wizards usually return home and help their communities with farming, healing, the birthing of children, and education. Many wizards from other disciplines end up in that position anyway, if they retire from their professional lives.”

  “What else?” Shawna asked.

  “Well, there are Infusers—wizards who specialize in making things with magic, like your swords. It's not widely studied at the Conclave, but the Lesmirans are quite good at it. I've never gone for it myself, but D'Jenn has studied a bit about infusion,” Dormael said.

  “I have,” D'Jenn smiled.

  “So you're an Infuser, then?” Shawna asked.

  “No,” D'Jenn said.

  Shawna gave him a flat look, then turned it on Dormael. “Well, go on, then.”

  “There are the Scouts—the ones we talked about earlier. In the west they're a lot like traveling teachers. They go from settlement to settlement, gathering up younglings who can use magic and teaching them their very first exercises on the way back to the Conclave. They're given free room and board all over the Sevenlands,” Dormael said.

  “Here in the east, the Scouts are more like bounty hunters,” D'Jenn added. “Half the time they have to rescue the children from angry townsfolk. Sometimes they have to track them after they've ran away from their homes. I've even heard stories about Scouts being forced to put down a troubled youth or two, after they've gone mad. It's another major difference between the Conclave and the Mage Tower in Lesmira.”

  “Is that all?” Shawna asked.

  “There are two more kinds of wizards at the Conclave,” Dormael said. “The Philosophers are naturalists. They study things about the world, come up with different ideas. Everything from engineering to political discourse. The Philosophers do a lot of talking, reading, and writing. They rarely leave the Conclave. When they d
o need something, they usually send one of the last kind—wizards like D'Jenn and myself.”

  “It's certainly taken you long enough to get to this part,” Shawna said.

  “D'Jenn and I are what's known as a Warlock. We're a little different than the other disciplines. We're trained to fight with magic, trained in stealth and survival. We're trained with weapons.”

  “So it is true,” Shawna said, peering at Dormael as if she'd found him hiding under a rock. “People always said that the Conclave had a network of spies, and sorcerers trained to kill with magic. I can't believe it's true.” Shawna blinked and shook her head.

  “We're not spies, exactly,” D'Jenn said. “We don't care for state secrets unless they affect the Conclave. When something involving magic happens—say a rogue wizard kills a bunch of innocents, or some minor nobleman starts using a dangerous infused item—that's where we come in.”

  “Like when the Galanian emperor attacks a foreign barony in search of a magical item?” Shawna asked, her face going blank.

  “Precisely,” D'Jenn said from behind them. From the angle, Dormael could tell that D'Jenn couldn't see the look on the girl's face.

  “So...so why weren't you aware that he was searching for magical things in the first place? How were you unaware of my mother's armlet?” Shawna asked.

  “Shawna,” Dormael said, “despite what you may have heard, the Conclave can't be everywhere at once. It's especially hard to move around here in Alderak. How would any of our agents have known about your mother's armlet without something happening, or someone reporting it?”

  “I understand, it's just hard to swallow,” Shawna sighed, turning away. “That my whole family, everyone I've ever known…just gone. All over this stupid piece of jewelry, too.”

  “In tragedy, the world never disappoints you,” D'Jenn nodded. “The good thing is that now we know. The Galanians made a mistake when they came after you, that's for sure.”

  “I don't know if there's anything good about this,” Shawna replied, “but you're right about that second part. They made the mistake of their lives.”