The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  Dormael called the lightning.

  His entire body sang as the energy was released. The first strike flashed from the sky, rushed around the pathway he'd created, and slammed into the foredeck of the Galanian warship. It struck three times in quick succession, bright flashes of superheated air searing a path across the deck, directly through the forward ballista. The siege engine shattered into flaming splinters as the lightning carved through it, and Dormael could feel the screams of the galleon's crew resonating in his Kai.

  He focused on the second ballista, trying to send the lightning in its direction. The sky opened up with random strikes as his magic sought the machine, and each one sliced into the deck, leaving charred destruction in its wake. The second ballista was destroyed much like the first, and Dormael abandoned his magical link to the sky. He collapsed into the bucket, breathing hard from the effort of using his power. His leg ached like fire, and he still had to climb back down.

  He could wait a few moments, though. The gods could give him that much, at least.

  ***

  Shawna watched, blood running cold, as Dormael threw lightning at the oncoming ship. It was easy to forget just how dangerous the man was. Charming smile and brash attitude aside, the fact that he could unleash such deadly forces with nothing more than a thought chilled her. Every time she thought she was used to these sorcerers, something new came along to change her mind about it.

  She couldn't imagine being on the other end of that lightning. She wondered what it would be like to run in terror of something so alien, so unstoppable. Her thoughts went unbidden to the feeling she'd had when the Galanians had killed her family—that there had been some mistake, that this was all wrong somehow, and would somehow be set to rights. But there had been no justice. The crushing weight of reality had soon fallen on her shoulders, and she remembered the despair that had come with it. As her thoughts returned to the lightning, and the terror those Galanians must be feeling, she felt a smile come to her lips.

  She hoped the lot of them died screaming. It wouldn't be long before they'd be close enough for blades, and she planned to send more of them into the Void. They would only be drops in the bucket against the weight of blood she owed the gods.

  “You’re eager,” D'Jenn said, his gaze on the approaching warship.

  “I just want this to come to its end,” Shawna said.

  “You won't have long to wait,” D'Jenn said. “Have you ever fought at sea?”

  “This is only the second time I've ever been to sea,” Shawna said through clenched teeth. “Is it so different from fighting on land?”

  “Just watch your footing,” D'Jenn said. “The deck will be pitching about. They have to make sure you're dead, and get your armlet, so I assume they're going to try and board us. They'll come alongside and toss hooks onto the deck. Cut them if you can, but don't be underneath one of them when they come down. That sort of thing isn't pretty.”

  “I'll keep that in mind.”

  “And don't get yourself killed, Lady Baroness,” D'Jenn grunted, giving her a grudging sidelong glance. “You're not half as bad as you could be.”

  “I'm...not quite sure if that's a compliment,” Shawna said, feeling a smirk cutting through the anxiety that had locked her face into a grimace, “but I'll take it that way.”

  D'Jenn snickered and turned back to the railing. “We should find some cover. She's almost close enough for—”

  He raised his hands suddenly, hissing in alarm. Two thunks sounded in front of Shawna's face, and she started back in surprise. A pair of quivering arrows hovered in midair where D'Jenn had caught them with his magic, the rainwater eddying around where his power gripped them. Shawna caught his eyes with a surprised look.

  “Arrows,” he finished. “Come on!”

  They rushed from the railing in the driving rain, and ducked behind a capstan to take cover. D'Jenn shouted the warning, and the call was repeated around deck as arrows began flitting out of the storm. A few stuck harmlessly into the deck, but more than one found a mark, downing sailors in sprays of blood. Shawna heard Mikael's voice calling out orders, and the random twangs of crossbows being fired.

  “Get ready, Shawna,” D'Jenn said. “They'll make the deck soon. I'm going to hit them with something before they get to us.”

  “Don't get yourself killed,” Shawna said.

  D'Jenn answered her with a wink, and slipped back onto the deck. Shawna rose to where she could see, and watched him stride into the rain. D'Jenn pulled his mace from his belt and gestured with his off-hand, rolling his wrist as if he was stretching it. The rain began to slide away from him, as if he was encased in some invisible bubble that kept it off. Flashes of light winked through the thing at random places, and it took Shawna a moment to realize that they were arrows glancing from the magical barrier he had erected.

  Seacutter pitched as she rushed down the back side of a swell, and the hulking galleon filled Shawna's vision, coming along the port side. The sheer size of the thing was staggering up close, and as the two ships rose and fell with the ocean, the galleon loomed over the Orrisan trade ship. Shawna caught sight of men rushing back and forth along the railing of the warship, some of them gathering up lengths of rope.

  D'Jenn strode toward the port railing, ignoring the arrows that glanced from his shield. He gestured, and balls of flame blossomed in midair, hissing as they rushed toward the galleon. Screams cut through the deluge as D'Jenn tossed several of them at the Galanians. He strode through the storm of arrows and tossed flame as if nothing could hurt him. Still, he ducked away as hooks began to clamber onto the deck. He deflected a few with his magic, and sent a few nasty surprises that Shawna could never comprehend toward their attackers, but D'Jenn couldn't stop the assault on his own.

  Arrows began to cut through the air in a furious storm, and it was all D'Jenn could do to keep them off. Shawna had to duck behind the capstan as several missiles stuck into the wood nearby, and she dared not stick her head out while the rain of arrows continued. A few screams sounded through the thunder, and then everything went silent for a moment. Shawna gritted her teeth, steeled her resolve, and glanced over the edge of the capstan.

  She was up just in time to see a man clambering over the side, and several more following in his wake. D'Jenn was facing off with another, but Shawna paid him only a spare second of thought. Her heart beat with sudden intensity, and she raised into a fighting crouch. Her side still hurt, and she knew she wasn't at her full strength, but there was nothing to be done for it. These men had chased her out of her home, had taken everything from her. Now there was nowhere left to run.

  Shawna drew her blades and rose to her feet. If she was going to die today, then so be it. The gods would do what they willed, and all she could do was go screaming along for the ride. If that was to be her fate, though, she would take as many of these bastards with her as she could. Shawna was tired of running, in any case.

  She took a deep breath, and waded into the fight.

  ***

  When Dormael peeked over the edge of the bucket, the Galanians were tightening their boarding ropes. The two ships were so close in the churning water that the rigging threatened to tangle together, and Dormael wasted a moment in awe of the sight. The storm raged around them, but the galleon had made good her chase nonetheless. Fighting was beginning to break out on deck.

  Cursing under his breath, Dormael slipped over the edge and grasped hold of the slick rigging. He summoned a barrier with his magic to keep stray arrows from ending his climb prematurely, and split his consciousness to enact his floating spell again. Doing his best not to let his stomach climb into his throat, he started down the ropes.

  Arrows sliced into his shield. Dormael paused for a moment as the sensation flashed through his magic, and tried to locate the offending archer. The galleon's rigging loomed behind him, and Dormael saw a man winding a crossbow on one of the platforms halfway up a mast. He concentrated, and pulled the man's legs out from under him with a
quick rush of power. The Galanian tumbled into the rigging, screaming until he hit something that silenced him. Dormael clenched his teeth against the pain in his leg, and continued on his way down.

  He passed the crewman he'd evicted from the lookout, and gave the man a grudging nod as he climbed downward. The sailor favored him with a smile—or the best he could do, given the bolt that was clenched between his teeth—and took a shot across the distance separating the two ships. Dormael kept going.

  Halfway down, a shuddering crack went through the entire vessel. An ominous scraping noise sounded from the wood itself, and Dormael's feet slipped from the ropes. Seacutter rocked hard to her starboard side, and the jarring motion ripped Dormael's hands from the wet rigging. The floating spell allowed him an extra moment of panic as he tumbled from the ropes, D'Jenn's warning echoing into his mind.

  He slammed hard into something lumpy, and his vision blossomed with stars as the breath left his chest. He bounced—the floating spell at work again—and slid to a halt a small distance from where he'd hit. Dormael would have spent a moment kissing the deck of the ship, but he knew it was crawling with Galanians.

  One look at what he'd landed on demonstrated the truth of that.

  He blinked and tried to roll over as he stared in amazement at the two soldiers he'd flattened to the deck. One of them was shaking the other, who was lying in a spreading pool of blood and gurgling something into it. A blade protruded from beneath the body, lying at just the right angle to have cut his throat in the fall. Dormael couldn't keep a smirk from his face as he climbed painfully to his feet.

  The second Galanian saw him move, and rose to his feet as well, picking up a longsword from where he'd dropped it. He was wearing some form of leather armor, though the Galanians had an advanced curing process that did something strange to the leather. It was said to be tougher than other types, but more pliable. The soldier took one look at his fallen companion, then turned an accusing stare on Dormael.

  “You killed my friend,” he said.

  Dormael looked at the man like he was an idiot. “Aye, I did. That's the point, isn't it?”

  “He was my friend,” the man repeated, brandishing his sword.

  “You said that already,” Dormael growled. “He was dumb enough to fall on his sword—clearly, that isn't my fault.”

  The Galanian answered by coming at him with the longsword. Dormael gave him another flat look, and tipped him into the sea with his magic. The man screamed as Dormael's power ripped him from the deck and tossed him into the frothing water, but Dormael didn't have time to enjoy his victory.

  Two more Galanians came screaming out of the rain, and Dormael slammed one into the other with so much force that he heard their bones crack as their weapons went tumbling away. A third came at him from behind, but was blown from his feet by one of the swords left behind by his comrades, thrown with Dormael's magic. A fourth went down as he ran past, Dormael coaxing his very skin to catch fire. That one screamed in agony and cast himself into the sea.

  Dormael shifted his weight and cried out in pain as his injured leg betrayed him. He grabbed hold of a hand-line to keep from crumpling onto the deck, and took a few deep breaths as he got his bearings. His leg was bleeding good now, the red soaking though his pants before being absorbed by the wetness of the rain. He could feel the wound throbbing in time with his beating heart.

  D'Jenn's song blasted through his senses, and he could feel his cousin tossing death at their attackers from nearby. The driving rain and wind was a cacophony in his ears, but he thought he caught the telltale sound of Shawna's blades ringing, too. Men screamed in general chaos, the sky rumbled with thunder, and the sea whispered its fury.

  Dormael had a spare moment to reflect on how badly things had gone before more Red Swords came for him. Two shards of ice took care of them, but more came in their wake. Dormael laid about with his magic, sweeping some men from the deck and burning others where they stood. The bastards seemed to come from nowhere, and Mikael's men were being cut down in droves. They couldn't go on losing men like that—the Galanians might be able to throw fighting men at them until they were exhausted, but Mikael's men were all sailors, and much more valuable for it.

  If something wasn't done soon, even a victory would mean eventual death. Dormael didn't relish the thought of winning the fight only to die afterward at sea. He steeled himself against his pain, pulled more power from his magic, and went to work.

  ***

  Remember to breathe, girl.

  Shawna slid a longsword wide of her shoulder, and stepped into the blow to thrust her blade into the eyes of the man behind it. He screamed and rocked back from her sword, but it was in and out of his eye socket before he could even think to move. She slid aside, letting the screaming man fall somewhere out of her field of focus, and met the attack of his comrade with a jarring downward parry. Her steel sang as the blades met, and the Galanian's sword was knocked to the deck. His blood closely followed.

  She skipped to the side as the deck of the ship rolled, seeking a higher elevation on the shifting platform. D'Jenn's earlier warnings about fighting at sea came to mind, but he had no cause for worry. Shawna's Master had made her run backwards, stand on her head, and do other seemingly ridiculous feats of agility. At the time, she had thought the endless exercises pointless.

  Today she reveled in their familiarity.

  A grunt of effort alerted her to a man at her back, and she dove forward out of range, rolling to her feet and turning to face the attacker. He followed up and came on with a wild overhead slash. Shawna sprang forward, thrusting her blade through the man's armpit. He gave a small gasp of surprise as his blade tumbled from his hand, and Shawna kicked him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling to the deck. Her side ached in protest, but she bit back the pain as best she could.

  Remember to breathe, girl.

  Two more went down after they tried to rush her, stumbling over each other as she tripped them up with a bit of basic footwork. She had barely pulled her sword from the back of one man's neck before a third attacked her, facing off and offering a few thrusts to test her reflexes. She knocked each aside with contemptuous ease, and left a drawing cut on his arm as she disengaged. The man grimaced and glanced down at the wound, and Shawna put a delicate cut across his eyes as a lesson. He stumbled away into the rain, clutching his face and screaming in agony.

  “Baroness! Baroness Llewan!” a voice—cultured and deep—called out from behind her.

  She turned, raising her swords in a lazy guard, and regarded the owner of that cultured baritone. He was a tall man, imposing, though she couldn't readily say why. He was in the process of removing a helmet—something close-faced in a standard military style—and he carried a huge, round shield. His face was hard, expression one of tightly controlled anger, though his features were pleasant enough. He had a growth of gray stubble across his face, and his hair was the same shade, cropped close to his head.

  “Are you the one?” she asked. For the life of her, she couldn't think of anything else to say.

  “If you mean 'the one responsible', then I suppose my answer would have to be a resounding yes,” he said, eyeing her with a face made of stone. “I am Colonel Rengard Grant. In service to the Emperor of Galania, I formally place you under arrest.”

  Shawna almost laughed, but all she could feel was cold anger. “We both know that's a load of horseshit.”

  “Well,” Grant said, cracking a smirk, “horseshit has its place. That particular bunch is now out of the way, wouldn't you say? Why don't we speak frankly?”

  “Oh, do me the courtesy, kind sir,” Shawna said, her tone as mocking as she could make it.

  Grant smiled. “You know why I'm here, Lady Baroness. The artifact. Give it to me, agree to enter into my custody, and I promise you every courtesy befitting a lady of your station. The emperor will clothe you in wealth for all your days.”

  Shawna narrowed her eyes at the man, unable to keep the pure disgust she
felt from twisting her face into a grimace. Her father's words echoed again in her mind, the parting phrase with which he'd left her—a warning that had been painfully relevant. This offer sounded much the same to her.

  No matter what they tell you, you will not leave here alive.

  “You murdered everyone I've ever loved,” she said. The words came out more hollow than she had imagined they would in her mind. “You slaughtered innocents over...over what?! A piece of magical jewelry? This is what I think of your courtesy!”

  Shawna spat at the man's feet.

  “Quite unladylike,” he sneered, looking to the spot with disgust.

  “Fuck yourself!” she snarled. The profanity that issued so freely from the mouths of the Sevenlanders tasted awkward, but freeing. “You can play at that Imperial courtesy all you like, but I've seen the true face of it. Your men, when they threatened to rape me. The bruises all over Bethany. The bodies of my family—those are the faces of your gods-damned courtesy!”

  Grant's eye gave an involuntary twitch. “The girl? The girl is here?”

  “You'll die before you see her again,” she hissed. “If you're quite done with this insipid wordplay, I'd like to get your death over with.”

  Grant's eyes narrowed, and he slapped the helmet back onto his head. “You're not like what I imagined. Landed nobility, the blue bloods of the old world, courteous and aloof to a fault...instead what I find is a mouthy bitch, up to her neck in things that will get her killed. A pretty girl with a pair of pretty swords, playing at being a pretty little warrior.”

  “And I see a man too weak for a real woman, so he hurts little girls instead,” she shot back.

  He rocked back from the comment, though she couldn't see his face through the helm.

  “Oh yes, I know all about your perversion,” she said. “I might have given you the respect of an honored enemy otherwise, but that little tidbit is enough to change my mind. Your death will be slow, do you hear me? It will be painful.”

  Grant hoisted his shield, and drew a longsword from his side. “Very well. For what it's worth, I never intended for any of this to happen. I would have enjoyed a spirited conversation with your father, perhaps a bit of dithering. My men were overzealous.”