The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  Lacelle had a strange look on her face as he opened it. Dormael stood aside and gestured her into the room, a polite smile on his face. She entered, looking back and forth as if she expected someone.

  “I thought I heard you speaking,” she said.

  “I was just talking to myself,” Dormael replied, trying to cover his embarrassment. “I do it sometimes when I’m brooding.”

  “Odd,” she muttered, looking around the room once again. Could she sense Tamasis’s presence, or had she simply overheard their conversation?

  “You wanted a word?” Dormael asked. Lacelle turned, giving him an apologetic smile.

  “Yes,” she said. “Lilliane and I will leave before dawn, and I wanted to say a few things before we part.”

  “My brother said the men he contracted for your journey sounded trustworthy,” Dormael said, pulling out a chair for the former Deacon of Philosophers. Dormael sat on the edge of his bed, trying to cover the way his legs protested the movement. “I would still guard yourselves with them, though.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for all you and your friends have done for us. I’ve had a chance to speak with the others, but you didn’t rouse to my knocks earlier today.”

  Dormael’s eyes shot to the window, and he was surprised to see that hours had passed since Tamasis had appeared. The numbness in his legs suddenly made sense, and he again tried to hide his reaction from the woman. Dusk now painted the sky a deep orange, where the midday sun had been shining through his window the last time he’d looked.

  What in the Six Hells is happening to me?

  “I was deep in meditation,” Dormael said. “I suppose I was tired, and fell asleep.”

  “I see,” she said, though her eyes said she didn’t believe a word of it. “It is of no moment, in any case. Lilliane has left D’Jenn with a device we can use to communicate back and forth. Is there anything you wish for me to say to the Lord Dersham? I understand you and he became friends.”

  Dormael smiled. “Tell him I said ‘Greetings to my Most Illustrious Lordship’. Then tell him I said that I still plan on finishing that bottle with him, upon a day. He’s a good sort, Deacon.”

  “That’s what the Lady Shawna said.” Lacelle looked around the room again, took a deep breath, and let it out. She fiddled with her hands, and straightened her shoulders. The woman was dreadfully transparent.

  “I don’t think you came here to speak about Alton,” Dormael said. “Is there something else you wanted?”

  “There is,” Lacelle replied, taking another deep breath. “I wanted to talk with you about the girl—about Bethany.”

  Dormael’s back stiffened. “Deacon, we’ve already had this conversation. I understand your misgivings about teaching her to defend herself, but to be blunt, the decision is not yours to make. Those pigeons have flown.”

  “That is not why I’m here,” Lacelle said, holding up a hand. “I would not wish to supplant your place as her guardian, and I don’t think that teaching her a few defensive spells is a bad idea. There’s something else I wish to discuss.”

  “Oh?”

  “What do you know of the girl, Dormael?” she asked. “What do you know of her past?”

  “What do I need to know?” he said. He realized he was being defensive, but he couldn’t stop the indignation at her line of questioning. “I know she was abused at the hands of that shit Colonel Grant, the man who was also responsible for the deaths of Shawna’s family. I’m fairly certain she’s not from Ferolan, where we found her, and that she must have been a sneak thief at some point, probably because she was a street urchin.”

  “A street urchin?” Lacelle echoed.

  “Aye,” Dormael nodded, “the truth of it is all over her. She’s as nimble as a cat—far more dexterous than any girl her age ought to be. That, and she eats her food like someone might steal it. Watch her when a loud noise shatters the quiet, and she spooks like a deer ready to bolt. My guess is that she grew up somewhere on the streets, in a dangerous area. It’s probably where the Galanians found her. An orphaned girl wouldn’t be missed, just one less sneak thief, or beggar, to dirty up the streets.”

  “Perhaps,” Lacelle said, nodding in thought. “Has she said anything of her past to you?”

  “She refuses to speak of it,” Dormael said. “I don’t want to push her. If Bethany wants to forget her old life, she’s welcome to do so, as far as I’m concerned. I want her to be happy, not haunted.”

  “That’s understandable,” Lacelle said. “Commendable, even. But…there is something about her.”

  “Something?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for the proper time to mention this to you, and seeing as how we’re leaving on the morrow, it’s my last chance to have this conversation.”

  “Mention what?”

  “I told you about Torins, and his betrayal, during our flight through the tunnels?”

  “Aye, I remember.”

  “And I told you that we overcame him, and were able to win free.”

  Dormael narrowed his eyes. “What was it that you kept from me?”

  Lacelle took a deep breath, as if she was steeling herself for something.

  “Torins had us at a disadvantage,” she said. “He had a knife to Lilliane’s throat. I probably could have overcome him had I wanted, in retrospect, but I wasn’t used to that sort of conflict. I had no idea what to do, you understand.”

  “What is it you’re trying to tell me?” he asked.

  “It was Bethany that killed him, Dormael,” she said. “Picked him up with her Kai and tossed him to those…those things like a sack of meat. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she did it. She was…I don’t know. Cold.”

  “Cold?” Dormael scoffed. “Bethany is anything but cold. You must have misunderstood.”

  “I didn’t misunderstand,” Lacelle said. “She was worried for Shawna, kept yanking at my sleeve to let the Baroness back into the safety of my ward. My attention was divided, but I remember this in great detail. There was a moment when the desperation left her face, and her expression changed. Her face went flat, and her eyes were…I don’t know…different. It gave me the chills, Dormael. It still does.”

  “You misunderstood,” Dormael said with more force than he’d intended.

  “I didn’t,” she repeated. “There is something about Bethany that you don’t see. Even I am not sure what it is, but there is a darkness about that girl, Dormael. You must have noticed it.”

  “A darkness?” Dormael said. “This is what you came here to tell me? That Bethany killed that boy that turned on you and would have sliced open Lilliane’s throat? You’re going to complain to me that she saved all your lives? I cannot believe what I’m bloody hearing.”

  “I’m not complaining, Warlock Harlun,” Lacelle grated. “You aren’t listening. Did you know that trauma can sometimes awaken the Blessing in a child? That a dormant spark can sometimes manifest in a violent way when the life of the child is threatened?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Would you stop your indignation and just listen?” Lacelle said. “I wouldn’t be here saying this to you if I didn’t think it was important—if I didn’t care. May I go on?”

  Dormael closed his mouth, and waved an angry gesture for her to continue.

  “Sometimes, when a child manifests their power in a violent way, it can leave a stain behind on their psyche—such as a memory block, or some other type of condition. Sometimes these things can lead to more violence. There are times when she is distracted, looking past me as if something were standing just beyond. I could swear, it’s as if she is listening to something that is not there—do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Dormael’s eyes shot to where Tamasis had been sitting. He would have scoffed at such a claim only days before, but now he didn’t know what to say. Was there some merit to Lacelle’s worries? Was something speaking with Bethany the same way th
at Tamasis was speaking with Dormael?

  Hells, am I going crazy myself?

  “It’s probably just the armlet,” Dormael said, but the words sounded empty.

  “It is not the armlet,” Lacelle said. “I’ve heard it singing at dusk, just as I’m sure you have. Listen, I’m not trying to say that Bethany is somehow evil, or that she’s sick in the head. I just think you should keep a close eye on her.”

  “You said there is a darkness about her. That came out of your mouth.”

  “How many people has she killed with her magic?” Lacelle asked. “How was it that an untrained girl of her age was able to overpower one of your Warlocks in the Rat Holes? Was he the first man she killed with her power? The look on your face right now tells me that he wasn’t.”

  “There were some men in the mountains on the way into Ishamael,” Dormael said. “Bandits hired by the vilth. She did for a couple of them, but it was an instinctual thing. They were trying to take her.”

  “So—a couple of bandits, one of your Warlocks, and Torins,” Lacelle said. “That’s quite a lot of blood on the hands of a girl her age. Are you sure that she only used her magic for the first time under your tutelage?”

  Dormael remembered their battle on the Stormy Sea, and the Galanians that she’d killed when she’d worn the armlet. He couldn’t blame her for that, though. It had been the armlet’s doing—hadn’t it?

  “She may have done all that,” Dormael said. “She may have. But you have to remember that she’s also been exposed to more danger than most girls her age. If she’d grown up in a nice home, she’d be like any other Conclave initiate right now.”

  “But she didn’t,” Lacelle said. “That has changed her—which is my point.”

  “Why don’t you just make your suggestion, and go on your way?” Dormael growled. “I’m growing tired of this conversation.”

  Lacelle sighed, and regarded him with a piteous expression. She rose, and walked over to sit next to him on the bed. Dormael was taken aback by her familiarity. The woman had always been cold to him, and now she looked at him like an errant son she wished to lecture. He almost expected her to reach out and tousle his hair.

  “You care for her,” she said. “I can see that. I’m not trying to attack the girl’s character, or suggest that you put her aside. I’m simply asking that you watch her more closely. Ask her about her past. I suspect that she will require a delicate, caring hand.”

  “And mine is not delicate enough?”

  “Not by half,” Lacelle laughed. Dormael balked at the words, but couldn’t help but smile. She was right—he was a blunt instrument, most of the time. “I know you love her. I think there was probably a great trauma in her past. I think she has blocked that out—and I can see by the look on your face that you’ve suspected something of the sort.”

  “I know there was trauma in her past,” Dormael said. “I found her in the midst of it.”

  “There must have been something before,” Lacelle said. “Something she has buried deep. Just watch out for her. Those things have a habit of manifesting in nasty ways when you least expect them. A gift as powerful as Bethany’s is a dangerous thing even without the further concern of her troubled mind. All I want is for her to be safe—and for all of you to be safe as well.”

  “I appreciate the concern,” Dormael said, “but it’s unnecessary. Bethany would never hurt us.”

  “I know,” Lacelle said. “I just wanted you to be aware of my observations.”

  “Very well,” Dormael said, letting out a long breath. He tried to banish the indignation he felt at Lacelle’s words, but worry began to twist in his stomach. He thought of the way she’d ignored him when he’d asked about her past during the ride, and wondered what might be buried there. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “Good.” Lacelle rose from the bed, and turned to leave. Dormael walked her to the door, but stopped short when she turned to face him. “One more thing—I’ve become quite fond of the Baroness Llewan.”

  “I’m glad you’re friends,” Dormael said.

  “I hope that you and I have at least bridged the differences between us since we’ve left the Conclave,” she said. “I would consider you a friend, as I would consider her a friend.”

  “I would agree,” he replied, giving her a smile.

  “Then you should know something—if you mistreat the Lady Shawna, I would be quite vexed with you.”

  “Mistreat her?” Dormael scoffed. “Lacelle, really, what happened between us on the road was—”

  “I know your type, Dormael Harlun,” she went on, talking over his objection. “Fast-talking, handsome, and keen to flirt with every woman that crosses your path.”

  “I think that’s a little unfair.”

  “I don’t,” she said, softening her comment with a smile. “In any case, I think you should know that Shawna isn’t the type of woman to forgive a betrayal. She’s fond of you, and despite what you’re going to try and tell me, you’re fond of her, too.” She placed a friendly hand on his arm, and looked him right in the eyes. “But she’s not the type of woman you want to anger.”

  “Believe me,” he said. “I know.” She’d flattened his nose on the ride to Ishamael, after all.

  “Take my advice on this one, Dormael,” she said. “For the gods’ sakes, don’t fuck it up.”

  He watched her walk down the hallway that separated their rooms, an unexpected feeling churning inside of him. He had always thought that Lacelle hated him, just as she’d hated all Warlocks. She had been an outspoken opponent of Victus for as long as he could remember, and at the time, he had interpreted that as a personal vendetta.

  The truth, as it turned out, was much more complicated. It could be said that Lacelle had seen something that the rest of them had failed to notice for years. Perhaps it was her close relationship with Victus that had primed her to notice his faults, but it could also have been that she was just perceptive. Her warnings about Bethany could prove just as prophetic.

  His heart was warmed that, as she had said, they had bridged the differences between them. It was a perplexing feeling to become close with someone he’d once regarded as an enemy, to see further into the depths of their soul than he’d ever expected, and to come away with understanding. Strife was a powerful thing between people, and forced them to forge bonds that were deeper than friendship. As he watched Lacelle disappear around a corner, he felt a lessening of the grief for his lost kinship with the Warlocks.

  Perhaps, in time, newer bonds could be forged.

  ***

  “She’s a fat old river cog,” Allen said, “and slow as dirt, but she’s full of furniture and pottery. Nothing any smart river pirate could want. The job didn’t pay as much as the others, and it will be slower, but I think we made out on this one. No one else wanted the contract—probably not exciting enough for them. For us, though, I thought it was perfect.”

  “Lucky find,” D’Jenn said. “You did well.”

  “I know,” Allen said, giving D’Jenn a smile. “It should be an easy run.”

  Dormael made the tenth adjustment to the leather armor that Allen had purchased him. It wasn’t that the stuff didn’t fit, it was just that he wasn’t used to wearing it. Shawna gave him a sidelong glance and rolled her eyes. Dormael stuck out his tongue at her, and tried to get the neckline straight. His own kit was thicker than hers, but it was also of lower quality. There was bound to be a few issues. Dormael settled it onto his shoulders, and tried to ignore it.

  The Midwife was a large ship compared to other river craft, but most of that mass came from the fatness of her keel. She looked to have been designed to bob up and down the river, or maybe the coast, carrying as much as she could. Her crew crawled over her, checking rigging lines and stowing cargo. Dormael and his friends stood in an out-of-the-way part of the deck, watching the bustle of preparation.

  “Our horses should make it to Jerrantis before we do,” D’Jenn said. “At the rate we’ll be traveling,
they might beat us by a few days.”

  “How did you manage to pay for that?” Dormael asked.

  “I didn’t,” D’Jenn said. “Today, Mataez walked into the local banking house, and withdrew a substantial amount of money from the Conclave’s accounts. A few hours later, he was generous enough to pay for the passage of our horses.”

  “You used an illusion?” Dormael asked, keeping his voice low.

  “I was careful,” D’Jenn said. “The way I figure it, the Conclave owes us that much. If anyone comes looking, it will appear as if Mataez needed the money to continue searching for us.”

  Dormael narrowed his eyes at D’Jenn, but the itching around his neckline distracted him. He adjusted the armor once again, grunting in irritation. Shawna sighed, and moved to help with some of the buckles.

  “You don’t have it adjusted correctly,” she grumbled. “Here. Sit still.”

  He settled down to let her adjust the armor for him, only to find D’Jenn and Allen both regarding him with raised eyebrows.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” D’Jenn said, shrugging and looking away.

  “You look like a real professional soldier, Dormael,” Allen said. Dormael shot him an offensive gesture, which his brother ignored. Shawna had him move his arms about, and in the space of a few moments, he could move without upsetting the leather kit.

  D’Jenn peered at a group of crewmen struggling to move a crate of goods onto the deck. Even with four of them supporting it with poles across their shoulders, they looked to be having a tough time. Dormael and his friends scooted out of their way as they maneuvered over to the cargo crane, attempting to steady the load while other men secured it to the hook.

  “You said they’re carrying what—furniture and pottery?” D’Jenn asked.

  “That’s what’s on the manifest,” Allen said, watching the men struggle with the load. “It was in the contract.”