The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “Not the gods, no,” Victus agreed. “But think on this, D’Jenn—why is it that we call wizards born with the spark ‘Blessed’? Do you think it’s because it rolls off the tongue easily, or that it’s a nice thing to say about them?”

  “Of course not—”

  “Of course not!” Victus yelled. “It’s because we’re different, D’Jenn—we’re better. Some even believe that we are chosen.”

  D’Jenn felt cold disgust well up in his belly. Nothing was quite as repellent as a fanatic, and words like ‘chosen’ only ever rolled from the tongues of raging zealots. Hearing it come from Victus’s mouth was like a slap in the face.

  “Chosen?” he asked. “Chosen by whom, Deacon? Fate? The gods?”

  “Whatever the bloody fuck you want to call it.”

  “You’re mad,” D’Jenn said. “You’ve been stuck in this tower, neck-deep in tragedy for years, and it’s driven you mad.”

  “D’Jenn, we have the power to change things for the better! We can decapitate the Galanian Empire before it eats everything in Alderak alive! We can fly directly to Sul’Shuram, and end the Rashardian slave trade for good! We can destroy anything we wish—we can build a better world!”

  “And who gets to decide what sort of world is better?”

  Victus raised his chin.

  “We do.”

  “Because we’re chosen?” D’Jenn grimaced down at the head of the axe.

  “Because we can, D’Jenn—and we should!”

  “What did the others say when you sold them this little story?”

  “Ask them,” Victus said, gesturing toward the door to the Conclave Proper. “Any of them will tell you. They’ve all known my heart since this began.”

  The head of the axe came up so fast that it made a swishing sound in the air. Victus started back from it, but D’Jenn had only pointed it at the man’s face. The blade gleamed between the two of them, an accusation made of steel.

  “What about Vera?” D’Jenn asked. “What did Vera say? And Taglion?”

  Victus’s eyes went flat.

  “Vera went down in the—”

  “—Sea of Storms,” D’Jenn finished. “Her ship lost at sea, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  Victus kept his forehead as smooth as a paving stone, though his eyes tightened with the lie. D’Jenn saw it painted over his expression like a splash of color, and he was seized with the urge to spit at the man. Anger began to make his hands tremble.

  “But she knew—before her accident, I mean?” D’Jenn asked. “You’d spoken to her of your plans. What did she say when you tested her loyalty?”

  “I don’t see what this—”

  “What did she say?” D’Jenn shouted, moving a step toward Victus in what nearly turned into a headlong, murderous rush. He drew himself up short after starting forward, but only just. Victus didn’t move, but D’Jenn could see the readiness in his stance.

  It was only a matter of time now.

  “D’Jenn,” Victus sighed, blowing another heavy cloud of sweet-smelling smoke into the room, “you need to calm down, son. You need to listen—you’re not thinking.”

  “Here’s the thing, Deacon,” D’Jenn said, waving his axe blade at Victus’s eyes. “Vera would never have signed on to your little cabal—of that, I am completely sure. She was gathering evidence against you—she told me so herself.” The letter felt like lead in his pocket. “Taglion wouldn’t have done a damned thing that Vera didn’t tell him to do, and Jastom—Jastom had plans to marry! He had a woman, and a child with her. The bastard was going to become a Hedge Wizard and settle down in the country. Told me himself in a letter.”

  “How bloody adorable,” Victus said, his voice devoid of emotion.

  “So there’s no bloody way that Jastom would have decided to join the secret Warlock cabal, either—and that leaves only one explanation, doesn’t it? Why don’t we drop the bloody charade, Deacon, because we both know I’m not stupid enough to believe your line. You killed them. Vera, Jastom, Taglion, Kiriael—you had to get them out of the way.”

  Victus stared at D’Jenn, the space between them charged with energy. D’Jenn stoked the fire of his magic, ignoring the discordant note that rang out from the bracer. He divided his consciousness into four segments, one of them ready with a Splinter. He kept the rest ready to counter whatever Victus decided to conjure.

  His magic coiled like a scorpion.

  “D’Jenn,” Victus sighed, “is there any point in moralizing any further here? If you’re not going to wake up to the realities of the world, then I see no value in trying to wake you.”

  “You killed my friends,” D’Jenn snarled. “I loved them! They were family—you said that!”

  “They were traitors!” Victus screamed, throwing his pipe against the far wall. It splattered in a shower of ashes and splintered wood. “When it came time, when things got tough, they turned their back on the rest of us, boy—just like you and your cousin are doing!”

  “We haven’t betrayed anything!”

  “Bah! Haven’t betrayed anything, eh? What does it mean, D’Jenn, when everyone you know is standing on one side of the line, and you’re the only one on the other side?”

  “That the rest are either wrong, or cowards,” D’Jenn spat. “And that you’ve killed the ones who would’ve stood beside me!”

  “Will I have to kill you, too, D’Jenn? Make your bloody choice, before it’s—”

  D’Jenn was tired of all the gods-damned talk.

  He lashed out with the edge of the axe blade, aiming a quick cut at Victus’s eyes. The deacon slipped out of his range, throwing his head away. D’Jenn felt his arms and legs start to itch, and heard Victus’s song ring out. A low table lifted from the floor and launched itself right at D’Jenn’s head, forcing him to lash out with his own magic to block. The table exploded with a loud clatter, sending splintered bits of wood flying around him.

  Victus spun away from D’Jenn and the axe, scooting backward along the edge of the desk upon which he’d been sitting. He looked a wild man with his hair and beard sticking out, face twisted into an angry snarl. His eyes, though, were bright and calculating.

  D’Jenn brought up a magical shield, a bubble of energy that would catch the brunt of most things Victus would throw at him—force, fire, or lightning. Just as the shield crystallized around him, Victus punched out with a thin stream of fire. It burst only a hand from D’Jenn’s face, blinding him for a split second. He growled as spots were burned over his vision.

  Victus tried to seize D’Jenn with his Kai, but the shield protected him. D’Jenn slammed a Splinter into Victus’s power, bursting his spell like a bubble. Light skittered over the floor in incandescent sparks, leaving tiny burn marks on the stone as Victus’s magic spiraled out of control. The man reeled back, and D’Jenn advanced.

  D’Jenn took three quick swings—over, left, then over again—but he wasn’t used to the feel of the Orrisan axe in his hand. It was a great deal lighter than his mace, and he over-judged his swings. Victus threw himself to the side, rolling across the stone and coming to his feet with a long dagger in his hands. He smiled at D’Jenn as he made his feet.

  D’Jenn punched the man with his magic, throwing him into the far wall. He fell behind the piled furniture, and coughed with pain. There was no blood on the wall where he had hit, but the man was stunned. D’Jenn was hoping to have busted his head open, but no matter. In a fight between wizards, the first mistake was most often the last.

  D’Jenn gestured to the side, moving the furniture away from Victus’s prostrate form. The man lay on the stones, spitting blood onto the floor. The room was quiet in the wake of the quick, nasty fight—there was nothing but Victus’s fits, and the sweet smell of tobacco smoke. D’Jenn knew he should kill Victus quickly, get it over with, but he couldn’t. This was his mentor, this man had been like a father to him. Smashing his head with force, or breaking his neck, was too barbaric. Burning him alive was too excessive, too
sadistic.

  The last thing D’Jenn could give to Victus was dignity—he would offer him that much. D’Jenn reached out with his Kai and pulled Victus upright, positioning the man on his knees. Victus hissed with pain, and started cackling as blood ran into his beard.

  “Whatever your last words, don’t make them something insane,” D’Jenn said. “I don’t want to remember you spouting some nonsense about being chosen by the gods.”

  Victus spat on the floor, and sneered up at D’Jenn.

  “The arrogance simply astounds me, boy,” Victus laughed. “Last words, indeed. You’re not going to kill me.”

  D’Jenn put the blade of the axe under Victus’s chin, and lifted the man’s eyes to his own.

  “I am.”

  Victus smiled and made to speak again, but broke into wracking coughs. He got over his fit and spat on the stones a second time, then smiled at D’Jenn with bloody teeth.

  “Does this please you, boy? To see me on my knees? Your enemy, humbled before you?”

  “No,” D’Jenn said. “I didn’t want you for an enemy, Victus. Make your peace with the gods. I’ll make things quick.” D’Jenn readied his magic to stop the man’s heart.

  “You’re not going to kill me, D’Jenn.”

  “Those are the words you want uttered at your funeral? ‘You’re not going to kill me, D’Jenn’? You could have done better than that,” D’Jenn said. He shook his head, and tensed his magic.

  Victus favored him with another bloody smile.

  “Don’t be a woman about it, D’Jenn—give me a warrior’s death,” he cackled. “Go ahead.”

  “Victus—”

  “Your friends,” he coughed, spitting another wad of blood to the side, “oh…how they screamed. Fire does that, you know.”

  “I think I’ll change my mind after all,” D’Jenn snarled.

  Victus’s eyes grew wide.

  D’Jenn screamed and brought the axe down into Victus’s skull, piercing the bone with a metallic clunk. He yanked it free to bring it down again, but started back as sand exploded from the wound. Victus smiled as for half a second, then his body disintegrated, whispering as it became a pile of sand.

  D’Jenn felt a sudden moment of panic, and dove to the side on instinct.

  Something cracked through the space that he’d just occupied, and he felt a sharp burn across the back of his leg. D’Jenn hissed in pain as he rolled to his feet, trying to ignore the numb feeling that was creeping through his thigh. A twisting burn mark was painted on the wall—evidence of the lightning bolt that had nearly killed him. The axe was still tight in his hand, his Kai singing a tense, angry melody.

  “The arrogance simply astounds me,” Victus’s voice said.

  D’Jenn looked around the room, but the deacon was nowhere to be seen. He cast about with his senses, but was met with a cloying fog where clarity had been only moments before. Something in the room was interfering with his magic, and he was blind to Victus’s position.

  The fucking tobacco smoke, he realized. How could I have been such a bloody fool?

  “Don’t be a coward,” D’Jenn said. “Show yourself!”

  “Show yourself,” Victus’s disembodied voice repeated, laughing under its breath. “The universal rallying cry for those who are about to die.”

  D’Jenn poured power into his magical shield, and hardened it against attack. He spun around, flicking his eyes in every direction. Dread reached cold fingers up his spine, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Air whipped by the open window, making a low whine.

  “I find it a bit odd, in any case, that you would throw such a demand at me,” Victus said, “after climbing the tower, blowing a hole in my study, and attacking me at my desk. Show yourself, indeed.”

  D’Jenn felt the attack coming in the split second before it hit.

  He turned, hardening his magical shield as a blow hit him like a charging bull. He slid backwards over the stone, heels scraping as he held himself on his feet with the force of his own power. His shield came to rest against some of the disturbed furniture, and a lightning bolt slammed against it, leaving a bright scar across his vision. It arced all over the room as D’Jenn deflected it, igniting several flammable things.

  D’Jenn lashed out with a Splinter, but Victus’s power was already quiet, and the man was nowhere to be seen. How was he hiding himself? D’Jenn was nothing but vulnerable until he figured it out.

  Just as he had that thought, a vicious spike of power pierced his Kai, and he felt his magic violently unravel. He stumbled back as his arms and legs went numb, his mind momentarily stunned. D’Jenn reached for his magic, clawed at his Kai, but it would not respond.

  Victus had Splintered him.

  The energies that D’Jenn had gathered rushed into the room, seeping into the floor. The stones under his feet crumbled, eaten away by the random expulsion of magic. D’Jenn had a moment to despair over the fact that he could barely feel his arms and legs, and there would be no way to hold to the steel cage beneath the study. He tried to scream as he scrambled at the crumbling stones beneath him, but nothing would come out.

  Then, he felt Victus’s magic squeeze down on his chest, cutting off his air—and arresting his fall. His legs dangled over the yawning hole in the floor, the shadows of the steel webbing just visible against the moonlit stone. D’Jenn tried to suck in a breath, but Victus was squeezing too hard on his torso. He could barely hold in the air he already had.

  “D’Jenn,” Victus said, “did you really think it would be so damned easy to kill me, boy?”

  D’Jenn just let out something close to an urk.

  In his head, though, he was cursing.

  “Climb right up the tower, slip in through the window, and end me—easy as you please.” Victus materialized from the air, as if he was just coming into focus. He smiled at D’Jenn as he walked around the edge of the hole, shooting irritated glances through it to the grounds below. “It will be an entire year before that’s fixed. I love this bloody view, boy—you’ve ruined that for me.”

  D’Jenn wanted to retort, but he couldn’t breathe.

  “The others—well, most of them just tried to run, after all. None of them actually thought they could kill me,” Victus laughed. He shook his head and smiled, as if D’Jenn had done something endearing. “I would have thought you were smarter than this. Dormael would do this—he’s always been hot-headed, impulsive—but not you, D’Jenn.”

  D’Jenn gave him as baleful a stare as he could manage.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Victus said. “You know very well why they had to die, boy. I couldn’t leave them out there to gather strength against me. I didn’t want to do it, D’Jenn, but I had to. I had to.”

  “Keep…telling yourself…that,” D’Jenn squeezed out. The use of air made him light-headed.

  Victus turned an angry stare on him.

  “I was hoping to the gods that you and your cousin would join me, D’Jenn,” Victus said. “Hells, I even said a prayer—me! A prayer, can you believe it? I even left an offering at the temple for good fortune, lot of gods-damned good that did me. You were my best tactician, D’Jenn, the most shrewd of my students. I would have made you my right hand, your cousin my left. The two of you…you’re like sons to me.”

  D’Jenn felt like vomiting. He would have, could he summon the air to get it done.

  “You know I can’t let you live. Not after this.”

  D’Jenn was jerked out through the open window, and felt his groin tighten in terror as the night air embraced him. Victus held him out in the air, hanging in the cold wind. D’Jenn struggled to reach his magic, but it still wouldn’t respond. He could barely move his arms and legs, but his chest was still crushed. Spots began to appear over his sight.

  Come on! Keep talking for a bit longer, let me regain my strength!

  “I wish I could tell you how I did all of that back there,” Victus said, gesturing over his shoulder at the ruins of his stu
dy. “You, most of us all, would have loved it. Now, though…well…what can one do? Make your peace with the gods, son. I suppose this means your cousin will come after me. I promise to make it quick on him, D’Jenn. Despite what you may believe, I am honored to have known you. Luck, on your trip through the Void.”

  D’Jenn had a panicked moment to pull his arms over his body, then something white and painful hit him square in the chest. He saw the lights of the city spinning around him—orange trails burned through silver and shadow. He smelled charred fabric, and burnt hair. He felt the wind rushing through his beard.

  Allen’s going to be angry that I lost his axe.

  Then, a frigid darkness, and nothing.

  ***

  “Bethany! Shawna! Run!”

  Bethany turned at hearing Dormael call her name, the fear in his voice tightening her muscles with alarm. Bethany had heard the scream—a blood-curdling howl from some unknown creature. She shuffled back and forth, trying to get a look at what was happening, but everyone was standing in her way. Fat Lilliane, bull-chested Torins, ice-lady Lacelle, and Shawna—all of them were blocking Bethany’s view of what lay in Dormael’s direction.

  In her father’s direction, she reminded herself.

  Bethany skipped forward, dodging around Lilliane’s blubbery arms as the woman tried to grab her cloak. Adults were always so slow and unwieldy, like bears in dancing dresses. Torins stood frozen in fear, and he didn’t even see as she rushed past. Lacelle turned an alarmed gaze at her, and hissed something as Bethany ran by, but it was lost to her as she saw what was happening. She had already stopped when she felt Shawna’s hand clench the clothing at her shoulder.

  Dormael and Allen stood, weapons leveled at a pair of dark forms with burning eyes. Other things—people, Bethany thought—were running into the boiling room, disappearing into the gloom beneath the kettles. The drop from the walkway was enough to hurt someone, but these people made the jump without a noise of exertion, or cry of pain. They ran in complete silence.