The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

She struggled to her feet and let out a pained cry as the movement disturbed her wound. The battle lust that had filled her moments before had kept off most of the pain, but now it was settling onto her shoulders with a vengeance. Three Red Swords strode toward her after looking once at Dormael and D'Jenn, and despair filled Shawna's stomach as she watched them come.

  All that work, and she was still going to die.

  Something brought them up short, though. Shawna was breathing hard and trying to keep her balance, so it took her a moment to realize what was happening. Strange, red-tinted light was filtering over the surface of the deck, and blinding the men who looked on. The source was somewhere to the rear of the ship, near the companionway that led to their cabins.

  When she saw what was at the center of it, Shawna's breath caught in her throat.

  ***

  Dormael punched out with his magic, sending a bolt of lightning slamming into a trio of Galanians trying to flank him. The electricity arced around him as the strike hit home, and the three Red Swords were blown from their feet. He spotted another one behind them, sword raised over a cowering member of Seacutter's crew, and Dormael sent a second bolt screaming toward him. Charred spots marked the places where they all died.

  He turned to find a pair of them closer to his back than he would have realized, and pushed them from their feet with a gesture. Red Swords were swarming the deck, killing everyone in sight. D'Jenn waded through the fight nearby, keeping several workings going at once, and laying about with his morningstar. His Kai sang a desperate song through the ether.

  Dormael seized one of the men he'd knocked to the deck with his magic, eliciting a frightened yelp. He threw the Galanian so hard over the deck that his bones cracked, sending him tumbling through the chaos into a group of his friends. The second one was slammed into two others who were trying to flank D'Jenn. His cousin brought down four more by turning the very rain against them, sending the droplets screaming into their face until they backed over the railing. They had disappeared by the time Seacutter rolled back in their direction.

  “We've got to cut the boarding ropes, and get rid of those hooks!” D'Jenn screamed into the storm.

  Dormael ran his eyes down the port side of the ship, grimacing at the number of lines he saw from the galleon. Another Red Sword braved the distance every moment, and Mikael's men weren't putting up much of a fight. They were brave, and tough, but they were no match for Galanian soldiers.

  “If you can keep them off my flank, I can take out the lines!” Dormael yelled.

  “Just try not to break our ship in the process,” D'Jenn said. Dormael felt his cousin's song reach out around him, wrapping him in protective magic. D’Jenn paused to center his concentration, and gave Dormael a nod.

  More Red Swords came for them, and Dormael turned his attention to them, if only to get them out of the way. He sent slivers of ice whistling through the air toward them, bringing them down in sprays of blood. By the time he had turned his concentration back to the boarding ropes, a strange noise was lilting through the air.

  D'Jenn's magic went tense, and Dormael's followed an instant later. D'Jenn shot him a grim look, and Dormael's eyes went wide. He had listened to that alien crooning before, and he knew exactly where it came from.

  The armlet was awake.

  Dormael's heart went cold with fear. The artifact was still an unknown to them, and it had shown frightening abilities—if wholly confusing ones. He could feel the thing's presence sliding through the world like an invisible storm of quicksilver on his senses, and it sent his magic into wild elation. He turned toward the entrance to the companionway, and trained his eyes on the door. He could feel that thing coming like a peal of thunder.

  The door burst open, spilling red light onto the deck. It was a stark contrast to the darkened cast of the sky, and it startled Dormael with its sudden brilliance. Bethany came up the stairs, though her feet never touched the wood beneath her. Dormael's magic sang, resonating with the alien power of the artifact, and he could feel Bethany's power buried somewhere in the cacophony. The sight of her nearly stopped his heart.

  Her eyes were wide, expression one of pure terror. She seemed to have no control over her movements, because her body acted completely at odds with the expression on her face. The armlet had changed somehow, forming itself to the girl's body in a wild, decorative pattern. The giant ruby rested over the girl's shoulder, and it blazed with the strange light that cut so jarringly through the day. It had its silver tendrils wrapped around her, all the way from her jawline to her left elbow.

  Bethany floated a hand's distance from the surface of the deck, hovering in the arms of the armlet's power. Her head moved around as she took in the scene, and her fingers began to twitch as if she was plucking an invisible instrument. Her eyes, though, betrayed the storm of emotion that was happening inside. Dormael had never seen anything like it.

  Everyone on deck had paused to look in her direction, and the fighting had come to a complete standstill. Dormael could feel the collective intake of breath in his Kai, and in his own chest. He was just as caught in the moment as anyone else. In his magical senses, the world was on fire with sensations.

  One of the men nearest her mustered the courage to go for a quick kill, and he moved toward the girl, brandishing his longsword. Dormael tried to summon his magic to defend her, but Bethany was faster. Her manner suddenly changed, her expression going vacant, and her eyes shot to the man as he raised his sword for a strike.

  Bethany's eyes turned the color of a campfire, and the man exploded into bright flames. He didn't even have time to scream before his body was beyond recognition, and two men standing nearby went up seconds later. Bethany turned her dead, glowing eyes on the galleon that loomed over Seacutter's port side, raised her tiny hands.

  Every sail on the galleon went up at once, and the rain did nothing to stop the blaze.

  Chaos broke out on the deck as men fled from her in terror. Red Swords flung their weapons and headed for the railing, or climbed out onto the boarding lines and clawed their way back toward the galleon. Bethany turned her eyes on them, and raised her arms out to the side. Flickering motes of light began to fizzle out from the aura surrounding her, rushing into the deluge and giving a great hiss when they were struck by the rain. They flew in haphazard lines around the deck, ducking through the rigging and zipping past defenseless crewmen. Dormael watched in horror, fearing that the ship would soon be the center of a magical firestorm.

  The certainty of death sat in his guts like a cold, black stone.

  Then, the motes touched one of the Red Swords, and he flashed into bright flames. Half a moment later, a second, then a third. Galanians started going up like torches, and the scramble to leave the ship reached a fever pitch. Men went for the side like ants trying to escape a flood.

  “Dormael!” D'Jenn screamed, and he ripped his attention away from the slaughter.

  His cousin gestured at the boarding lines, and they began to dissolve under the power of D’Jenn’s magic. One by one they came apart, falling away into black dust that was swept away by the storm. The ships started to list as the lines gave away in sequence, and a great shuddering sounded from below as the hulls scraped together. Men were still burning, and some of them fell between the two ships, screaming in agony. The sea swallowed them all.

  Another shudder went through the deck of the ship, and Dormael ripped himself from the sight of the men dying before him. He reached out with his Kai, and took hold of the warring ships with his magic. His power felt the drain as he tried to wrest control of them from the sea, an effort which turned out to be futile. Dormael pulled back from the effort, feeling the pain in his leg throb as the deck shifted beneath him. He gritted his teeth, and with one last effort of magic, pushed against the bow of the looming galleon, bracing his power against Seacutter's hull.

  The wood of both ships gave a creaking protest, but the galleon dipped down the side of a swell, and the sea rushed between the two shi
ps as she listed away. Dormael watched, eyes unblinking, as the ship drifted away into the churning sea, sails still burning against the rain. The storm filled his ears as the last Galanian fell into the water, and Seacutter was free.

  No one said a word, and not a cheer went up.

  Dormael turned his eyes to Bethany, who watched the last soldier burn to death as he tried to run for the water. She turned her empty, flame-filled eyes on Dormael then, and a moment of icy terror filled his veins. What did the girl see? Would she burn him, too?

  She crumpled instead, the light around her winking out. Dormael grunted in pain as he went for her, the quick movement jarring his wounded leg. D'Jenn beat him there, and gathered the girl into his arms. Her head lulled to the side, and her eyes fluttered shut. The armlet was around her upper arm, but it was once again to its normal size—half again too large for Bethany. The gem sparkled with a low, fell light. Dormael could still hear it singing, crooning in low, contented tones.

  Dormael shared a grim look with D'Jenn.

  “What in the Six Hells was that?” Shawna asked, coming up behind Dormael. He turned and was startled by the sight of her. She was splattered with blood, and though the rain must have washed most of it away, gore still clung to the woman in every place that it could. She moved like she had fallen down a flight of stairs.

  “That was your mother's armlet,” Dormael replied. Shawna nodded, as if she had expected the answer.

  “Let's get her out of the rain,” she said, glancing around at some of Seacutter's crew. “I want to get her out of sight.” Dormael followed her eyes, and saw the frightened gazes of the sailors as they looked on. Dormael didn't want to admit it, because he cared for the girl, but the sight had been chilling for him, as well.

  D'Jenn nodded, and moved for the companionway. Shawna followed him inside, refusing to lean on him for support. Dormael wouldn't be surprised to find her and the girl laid up in the same cot, Shawna just as comatose as Bethany. He felt much the same way.

  Still, he stayed for a few moments and offered as much magical support to Mikael as he could. The ship was still battered nearly to death, and the storm was just as treacherous as it had been before. They were anything but safe, even with the threat of the Galanian ship neutralized. Dormael scanned the horizon, but saw no sign of the ship anywhere in the lurching water. It didn't make him feel any better.

  Mikael wasn't happy about the outcome, but anytime men were lost in combat, it was a bitter leaf to chew. Dormael promised to repay him as best they could, and the man was as satisfied as he could be, given the situation. Countryman or not, Dormael made sure they were still on good terms before he crawled back to their cabins. The last thing he wanted was an angry crew pulling them from their cots and tossing them all in the sea.

  He found D'Jenn alone in their cabin, sitting cross-legged, and staring down at the armlet.

  “It's quiet now,” he said. “It's still singing, but it's as if...it's like a cat, after it's gorged on a fat mouse.”

  “I know,” Dormael sighed. “I felt it, right before she fainted. Where is she?”

  “Lying down with Shawna. She wouldn't leave the girl alone, and I wasn't going to argue with her. Shawna needed her moment alone, too.”

  “Do you think she'll be alright?”

  D'Jenn sighed, and took a moment in replying. “I'm no healer, Dormael, no Hedge Wizard. I don't know. She seems to be asleep, but she may never wake up. She might wake up, but her mind would be gone. There's no way for me to know.”

  “You could just say 'yes' next time,” Dormael muttered. D'Jenn shot him an offensive gesture.

  “This thing, Dormael...it's like nothing in the world.”

  “I know,” Dormael said, regarding the armlet in D'Jenn's lap. “It's gods-damned powerful.”

  “Not just that, cousin, think about it. This thing is a separate power from our own, something no one has ever seen before. It communicates, and now we know it can do things completely on its own—things more complicated than tricks with the campfire. Things that kill. You know what that means.”

  Dormael looked down at the artifact, trying to swallow the bile that rose to the back of his throat. The armlet's ruby sparkled in the low light, twinkling as the song warbled in contented slumber. The screams of the burning Red Swords filled his mind, and he tore his gaze away from it. It was a moment before he cleared his throat and spoke.

  “The gods-damned thing is a weapon.”

  Epilogue

  Shawna sat bundled at the rear of the ship, huddled into a corner and gazing out over the expanse of the Stormy Sea. It had been days since the encounter with the Red Swords, and no sign of pursuit on the horizon. Shawna came and looked every day, anyway.

  She clutched the lock of hair she'd pilfered from her mother's shrine in one hand, letting it flutter in the wind. It was more golden than Shawna's own color, but close enough that there could be no mistaking the relation. Loosening her grip, she held the bundle of hair up into the wind.

  She teetered on the edge of letting the hair fall into the sea, but clutched it in the last instant. Part of her wanted to let it go, perhaps as some theatrical gesture to commemorate the end of her old life. She could admit to herself that it was a bit macabre, but she felt as if the Shawna Llewan of old deserved a funeral. She couldn't be more dead if Grant had killed her during the assault, instead of the other way around.

  The memory of his last moments flashed through her mind, and she shivered. It had been the first time she had killed someone so...intimately. The other men she had cut down had been obstacles more than anything else, but Grant had mattered. She had wanted him dead.

  She wasn't sure what she had expected, but the gray melancholy that filled her in the wake of taking his life certainly hadn't been it. Heroes in the old songs were always filled with righteous glee in the wake of their victories, but Shawna wasn't so sure of herself. She knew that Grant had deserved his death, but the sight of his corpse had done little to still the grief she had been feeling.

  That didn't mean, though, that it had done nothing at all. She could still remember his screams of agony when she had cut off his leg, and every time the sound filled the corridors of her memory, it brought a wicked smile to her face. Anytime she looked at Bethany, she felt vindicated.

  The girl had cried all night after Shawna told her that the man was dead, huddling against Shawna like a frightened deer. She didn't say any words, or try to explain her feelings, she just cried herself to sleep, and disappeared before morning. Since that night she had been withdrawn, but back on the road to normality. If, that is, normality could be found when traveling with a pair of wizards.

  She didn't think she would be rid of those two anytime soon. Half of their journey was still ahead of them, after all, and she had no idea what would happen once they made the safety of the Conclave. The thought of actually going there still filled Shawna with trepidation, but less now than after the fight at sea. One could only be exposed to so much sorcery before it became commonplace.

  Well, it became almost commonplace, in any case.

  Shawna did feel the beginnings of friendship with the Sevenlanders, though. It was a grudging thing, and slow to bloom, but she had grown used to their coarseness and disregard for tact. She was even starting to see humor in the way they acted, like they were a pair of teenage boys who couldn't help but cause no end of trouble. They certainly needed someone to look after them.

  What else would she do? She could reinstate her claim, but by the time she was able to make it back to Cambrell, her home would be a ruined husk. Farmers from surrounding lands would have looted the place, and Shawna had scattered the horses to the winds. She would have nothing but a claim. Alton would probably see to the place, anyway, or at least keep her inheritance intact. The thought of going home after everything she'd seen made her feel empty. Shawna loved her home, but she didn't think she could go back for a long time. She wasn't the same girl that had fled its burning remnants.


  Now, she was the woman that had repaid the gods for its destruction.

  She decided to stay with the wizards for awhile. Once this business with her mother's armlet was over, she could decide what to do next. Dormael had mentioned that her services as a mercenary could net her mountains of riches, and she could even garner fame if she so wished. The thought had pricked her ears up a bit, but she dismissed it after awhile. Glory wasn't what she wanted, and if it was excitement she needed, then she had found enough of that to last until the gods returned. She had a feeling that more would find her before she left the company of the two wizards.

  Mikael had said they had at least another twenty days at sea, but probably more because of the damage to the ship. There was plenty of time to make her decision, and time enough after that to find the path that pleased her the most. Looking down at the hair clutched in her hand, she stuffed it back through her belt. A reminder of where she came from couldn't hurt, wherever her journey took her from here.

  She thought about finding one of the two Sevenlanders and bothering them for conversation. D'Jenn, though, always acted as if she was interrupting the most important brooding episode of this life, even though every day was an episode of brooding for D'Jenn. Dormael couldn't help but flirt and sneak glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking, but that wasn't as bad for her as it used to be. It was fun to try and make him uncomfortable sometimes, and he was completely off balance when she turned the tables on him. She had been spending a good bit of time with him, as the pain of his leg kept him off his feet. Since her wound was also bothering her, she'd ended up spending lots of time talking to him. He'd even taught her to play tavern dice, which was fun enough after a fashion. Games of chance had never held much attraction for her, though men were crazy for the things. Dormael was no exception, as interesting as he was otherwise. He wasn't bad looking, either, even with that stupid beard.

  Her mother had always told her, though, never to trust the pretty ones.