The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  Was that what happened to those poor children? Were they taken by this thing? Absorbed by it?

  Dormael chanced a look at his brother, who was whipping his sword in deadly, circular arcs. He fought hard to keep the wraith from reaching him, but the spirit was pressing his defenses. Shawna was embattled on Dormael’s other side, barely keeping the thing at bay. The arms battered at Dormael’s magical shield, draining his power with each angry strike.

  “Incoming!” D’Jenn yelled. Gore exploded from the ghost’s torso as D’Jenn’s morningstar ripped through it. The mace hummed through the air, circling behind Allen before plunging back through the monstrosity’s chest. The beast screamed with indignation, but the holes began to twist shut without pause enough to bleed.

  D’Jenn’s magic played a sharp melody through Dormael’s senses, and frost began to appear on the monster’s body. The air steamed with the cold as D’Jenn tried to freeze it in place. The aberration slowed its attacks, and screamed wordless anger as it tried to fight through the ice growing inside its body. Dormael could feel his cousin’s magic being sucked away even as the spell froze the bloody limbs together.

  Dormael split his consciousness, turning a new attack against the specter. He pierced through it with his Kai, driving his magical grip deep into its belly. The flesh turned against him as he reached inside, like an anthill attacking an invading fist. He seized his spear and pulled it free of the wraith’s body, bringing it back to his hands. He expected it to be covered in blood, wet with gore, but the haft was dry. The blood from the phantom evaporated into black mist as it left its body, leaving only whispers behind.

  D’Jenn’s magic reached out again, and the stones beneath the ghost’s feet dissolved into soupy muck. It let out another howl, and limbs whipped forth from its legs as it sought to gain purchase. Allen and Shawna renewed the vigor of their attacks, chopping into the fiend again and again. Dormael took his cue, and brought the force of his magic to bear.

  Lending the full might of his Kai to the spell, he pushed against the undulating mass of bloody limbs with pure force. It slid backwards through the mud under its feet, arms grasping at the once-hard surface of the stones in an effort to stay in place. Roaring, it fought against Dormael’s magic, testing the limits of his power.

  Dormael pushed harder. D’Jenn battered at the brute with his morningstar, kept the freezing spell going, and turned the stones under its feet to mud all at the same time. Allen and Shawna chopped at it where they could, severing the fleshy appendages that tried to hold it in place. With a combined effort, they forced the monstrosity toward the alcove where D’Jenn had built his magical trap.

  “We’ll have to force it inside!” D’Jenn said as they got close. “You lift it into the sarcophagus, and I’ll slam the lid shut on the bastard!”

  “Just say the bloody word!” Dormael growled through his teeth. He could feel his magic being drained by the demon, healing it even as the spell pushed it toward the alcove.

  “Now!” D’Jenn said.

  Dormael planted his feet, and grabbed the beast with his Kai. It struggled against him, arms emerging from its torso to clutch at the stone, or lash out with blind fury. Dormael pulled on his magic, demanding more power as the thing tried to siphon it away. The monster’s fleshy legs left the ground, the last of its grasping hands sliced away by Shawna’s blades.

  It screamed with rage as Dormael pushed it into the sarcophagus, but the sound was cut off as D’Jenn smashed the lid down upon it. Several of its limbs were severed as the stone thudded into place, and began to melt into the shadows as they plopped to the ground with wet, squishy noises. D’Jenn’s magic rang out once again, and the arcane designs he’d cut into the stone began to glow with eldritch light.

  The silence in the wake of the fight was palpable. For a few moments, everyone caught their breath and took stock of their injuries. Dormael put a hand on Bethany’s shoulder as the girl wrapped him in a quiet hug, eyes staring at the coffin. Relieved glances went around, though no one put away their weapons.

  “Will that hold it?” Allen asked, peering at the sarcophagus. “How long will that thing be trapped in there?”

  “At least a day,” D’Jenn answered. “Probably more like three.”

  “Are you sure?” Shawna said.

  D’Jenn gave her a long, flat look. “No.”

  “Gods in the fucking Void,” Allen muttered, moving away from the alcove.

  “Best if we find what we came for,” Dormael said. “Get it done, and get out of here.”

  “I think I know where it is,” Bethany said, bringing everyone’s eyes to her. Dormael raised his eyebrow, and started to ask her how she knew, but stopped himself when he felt the magic in the room humming nearby. He turned his gaze in its direction—somewhere to the north side of the crypt, which was still obscured in shadow.

  “She’s right,” D’Jenn said. “Without that thing down here, I can hear it. Maybe the spirit’s presence was obscuring the sound.”

  “The Lurker,” Allen said. “That thing—it was the damned Lurker, just like the song says. If I ever see that trapper again, I’m going to have to tell him that the Lurker is the old man.”

  “Don’t say its name!” Bethany protested. “What if it hears you, and comes back out?”

  On the surface, Dormael knew her fears were childish. Still, the warning they conveyed made the same irrational fear blossom in his own guts.

  “Maybe you’re right, little pig,” Allen said.

  Dormael walked toward the magical resonance, trying not to picture all manner of abominable things waiting for him in the shadows. With the phantom trapped in D’Jenn’s spell, though, the air felt different from before. While it had been pregnant with menace while the Lurker was free, it now felt empty more than anything else.

  It’s probably my damned imagination.

  The armlet began to sing with a different tone as he moved toward the northern end of the chamber. He turned to look over his shoulder, and saw his friends arrayed behind him, anxious expressions cast in amber and red light. D’Jenn gave him the Hunter’s Tongue sign for go ahead, and Dormael turned back to the darkness.

  After a few more anxious steps, the armlet’s ruby exploded with crimson brilliance. Power misted forth from its gem, and Dormael held the artifact at arm’s-length. For a moment, the wild fear that it would come alive and seize him ran though his chest, and he had to resist the urge to tear it away like a poisonous insect.

  Just as he had the thought, the floor came alive with light.

  Twisting glyphs in the stone began to reveal themselves as the armlet came near. The spell lit up like a trough filling with glowing water, lines rushing together and twisting to form complicated geometrical designs. The light crawled over the stone and spread, dashing across the floor as Dormael walked forward. Once it reached the back wall, the light burned a curling pattern that terminated in a large symbol in the center—the same glyph they’d seen above, representing what Dormael thought were the seven pieces of the Nar’doroc.

  As the spell activated, a rectangular shape cut itself away from the symbols on the wall. With a quiet hiss of displaced air, the lights from the spell winked out. The chamber was once again plunged into the gloom cast by the armlet, and D’Jenn’s magical light.

  Dormael moved toward the wall, reaching ahead with his Kai in case there were any nasty surprises. He could tell, though, that the spell underfoot had run its course. The stones were empty of magic.

  The rectangular shape turned out to be a massive sheet of bronze. Time should have turned it green with tarnish, but it was as brilliant as it might have been on the day it was cast. It was five hands taller than Dormael, and carved with a strange array of designs—perhaps part of the spell they had just witnessed. In the center of the bronze plate was the glyph representing the Nar’doroc. Dormael reached up to run a finger over the smooth metal, and jerked it back when the giant bronze plate moved under the pressure of his hand. Shooting a qu
ick glance at his friends, Dormael tested it again, prodding at it with his finger. Then, in a moment of realization, he pulled the massive metal plate toward him.

  It swung open, revealing a dark corridor beyond.

  “Would you look at that?” Allen said, giving D’Jenn a meaningful look. “It’s a door.”

  The Song of All Things

  Beyond the ancient door lay a corridor that stretched into darkness.

  Dormael felt cool air rush over his skin as he stepped into the tunnel. It smelled stale, ancient, like an old stone. Bethany clenched his hand in a tight grip, and together, they moved forward.

  His Kai swept ahead of him, searching the shadows for hidden magical dangers. It returned the sounds of an intricate spell laid into the rock, though its function was beyond him. The structure didn’t strike him as anything dangerous—he’d seen similar spells in the Rat Holes around the Crux—but he proceeded with care, nonetheless.

  When he and Bethany passed the threshold of the corridor, lights began to glow beneath their feet. A repeating circular pattern was laid into the floor, and it lit up as they moved like steel glowing in the bellows. Amber light bloomed from the symbols, illuminating the tunnel in pleasant tones.

  The stone itself was smooth, gray, and had a low polish to its face. As Dormael’s friends crowded into the tunnel behind him, the gleaming patterns bloomed with more light. Dormael could feel a magical hum deep in his chest—the spells that inhabited this place coming to life.

  “This is the work of Indalvian,” D’Jenn said. “I recognize the glyphs—they’re the same used in the lower parts of the Conclave, and on his bridge in Soirus-Gamerit. This place was built by the Founder.”

  “I’d had the same thought,” Dormael replied, keeping his eyes ahead as they crept into the tunnel. “I hope he didn’t build anything nasty into this place. I wouldn’t want to be burned alive because I stepped on the wrong stone.”

  “You don’t have to say those things out loud, Dormael,” Shawna said from behind him. “Some of us hadn’t yet considered that possibility.”

  “How long do you think it’s been since anyone stepped foot in this place?” Allen said.

  “Generations,” D’Jenn answered. He moved to the side of the corridor, gesturing to the glyphs on the wall. “This form here is antiquated. It’s one of a set of what we call Passing Glyphs, which serve to link spell-signs together into a logical series. See here, where the lines terminate at the center of the circle? Lesmiran Infusers devised simpler, more universal Passing Glyphs hundreds of years ago.”

  “They’re quite beautiful,” Shawna said, gazing at the glowing inscriptions. “This is a pleasant change from what was outside.”

  “Aye,” Allen said. “That’s one way to put it.”

  The warm light crawled along the magical equations until it reached the far side of the corridor. In the dim light, Dormael could see a room beyond the hall, which brightened by degrees as the spell continued to manifest. He gave his friends a considering glance, and gestured to the chamber beyond.

  “Let’s find out what else is down here,” he said.

  He and D’Jenn moved toward the room in the distance, keeping their magic ready. Something in there was pulsing with magical energy, echoing through Dormael’s Kai like the sound of a heartbeat. He shared a quick glance with D’Jenn, and the look on his cousin’s face told him that he could sense it as well.

  They were halfway down the tunnel when a man suddenly stepped into view.

  Weapons rasped free of their sheaths. Dormael tightened his grip on his spear, and pulled on his magic, ready to defend Bethany with a quick casting. Everyone froze in mid-step.

  The man in the entrance held his palms up to them, and shook his head. He kept silent, but gestured them forward. Dormael shared concerned looks with his friends, and turned back to the stranger. The man made no threatening moves, so Dormael began to walk toward him. Feet shuffled as everyone else followed.

  The stranger regarded them with a pleasant smile, his cold gray eyes weighing. It was hard to place his age, though Dormael was certain he was not a young man. Wrinkles decorated the corners of his eyes, and the stubble peppering his chin was the silver of a winter sky. He wore a simple black robe with a white stole hung around his neck. Over the man’s chest hung an amulet—the Eye of Eindor intertwined with a tower. When Dormael recognized the symbol, he paused.

  It was the emblem for the office of the Mekai.

  The man gave them another impatient gesture, waving at them to follow, and disappeared into the room beyond.

  “Did you see that?” Dormael asked. “The talisman hanging around his neck?”

  “Aye,” D’Jenn said. “I saw it.”

  “Do you think that one is going to turn into some gods-forsaken beast?” Allen said.

  “No,” D’Jenn replied, turning a flat stare on him.

  “Right. It couldn’t happen twice.” Allen frowned after the stranger. “Could it?”

  “No,” D’Jenn repeated. “Come on. Let’s see this to its bloody end.”

  “Agreed,” Shawna said. “I, for one, am ready to set my eyes on the sky again. I’m finished with dank ruins.”

  Dormael nodded to his friends, and they all set off down the hall. The illumination had grown to something like candlelight, and the warm ambiance made Dormael think of a pleasant dinner. His stomach rumbled in response, and he realized how tired he was.

  The hall opened into a chamber with deceptive contours. In the center of the room was a single column, wide and ornate, with glyphs laid in stacked patterns from top to bottom. The walls were curved, as if the chamber had expanded like a great bubble, instead of having been dug from the earth. The stone itself was seamless, with glowing lines curving from the column, along the walls, and back again in an ever-repeating pattern. Dormael tried to follow it, but his eyes crossed before he could discern its nature.

  The stranger stood by the column, regarding them with an opaque expression. He made no move to violence, but his eyes lingered on Dormael with acute pressure. He stared at the armlet around Dormael’s neck, then took in his face.

  The elderly man adjusted his robes and sat cross-legged by the column, moving to place his hands over a pair of circular designs. He gave each of Dormael’s companions meaningful looks, and nodded to the column. Then, the symbols beneath his hands began to emit a low hum through the ether, and the old man closed his eyes.

  “I think he wants us to follow him,” Dormael said.

  Everyone shared a cautious look. Weapons were sheathed, or placed beside the doorway. Dormael didn’t like the thought of following an apparition into the midst of an ancient spell, but he didn’t see another choice.

  “Like I said before—we didn’t come here for nothing,” D’Jenn said. With that, he moved to sit next to the chamber’s occupant, and placed his hands on the symbols meant for his seat at the column. As soon as both hands touched the pattern, D’Jenn closed his eyes, and went still. Shawna muttered something about wizards and their tricks, but she was next to find her place around the giant post. Dormael made sure Bethany got it right before he sat, and by the time he got situated, all his friends were silent, eyes shut against the dim light. The sight of it gave Dormael chills.

  Taking a deep breath, he put his hands to the spell, and plunged into darkness.

  ***

  Familiar windswept hills greeted Dormael’s sight. He could smell high summer on the breeze, though the sky was gray and ominous. There was a weird feeling tickling his mind—a strange emptiness—but he dismissed the sensation as part of the spell.

  He spun to find his friends arrayed behind him. Bethany smiled when she saw him, and scampered over to stand by his side. Allen and Shawna looked wary, and D’Jenn pensive. Everyone was staring at the structure that dominated the hilltop—the ancient monument from the armlet’s dream.

  The strange man stood near the altar, scrutinizing the lot of them like a merchant weighing his coins.

>   “Jut sooye bit Vendonya-nai?” he said.

  Dormael shared a blank look with D’Jenn. The old fellow grimaced, and took a step toward them. He hesitated, then held out his hand. When the two cousins gave each other cautious glances, he gestured with more fervor, indicating that everyone should join hands. Dormael shrugged, glanced at his friends, and grasped the man’s outstretched palm in his own.

  A cold, slippery sensation crawled up the back of Dormael’s neck. It flowed into his skull, then his eyes, and finally dissipated, leaving only an uncomfortable shiver behind. As everyone else joined the circle, he watched as they each reacted to the same feeling.

  “There,” the old man said, tasting the word as if it was a fruit he’d never tried. “I had…hoped?—hoped—that particular spell would be unnecessary. It has significantly shortened our time together.”

  “What do you mean?” Dormael asked.

  “I entertained some hope that whomever found this place might speak some derivation of my language. I suppose time is indifferent to such things. I used another spell to facilitate communication between us, and it has taxed the reserve of power keeping this place alive. Your language sounds like the Church Cant married the tongue of the Dark Cities. Hardly palatable.”

  Allen snorted, but kept his mouth shut.

  “Who are you?” D’Jenn asked.

  “I am the one who built this place—or a shadow of the same. My name was Indalvian.” Dormael shared a stunned glance with D’Jenn, but the gray-haired man had already dropped his grip on their hands, and was turning away. “We don’t have much time. This spell is running its course as we speak. Come—we shall discuss the subject of the Nar’doroc.” He paused when he uttered the word, and turned back to them. “You don’t have your own word for it? Troubling. Troubling, indeed. Come.”