The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs)

by D. W. Hawkins

  “So how is the girl?” D’Jenn asked, his tone turning suddenly business-like.

  “Still fighting off the infection her wound took,” replied Alton, leaning forward in his chair a little. “The wound was a pretty nasty one, close to all the stuff that you need in your belly. I’m not a healer myself, and I don’t pretend to know much about it, but according to the local healer she’s improving slowly.”

  “I still wonder where she came by such a wound, Alton,” Dormael mused, not for the first time, “Are you absolutely sure you can think of no one her family has made an enemy?”

  “No,” replied Alton emphatically, “Her father, Dolland, was a well liked man. The Llewans, Shawna’s family, were horse traders and cousins to the King of Cambrell himself. No one knew horseflesh like Dolland Llewan, and he built their family fortune after his father had squandered most of the House treasury. It’s a well known story among those who knew the family,” he went on, “the man was a terrible gambler and a drunk. His wife had died and he spent the rest of his life making bets and losing all the family had. Dolland swore to rebuild the family funds and restore honor to their name. After all, they traced back their lineage to the royal family which entered the Duadan Treaty with Lesmira, a very noble line indeed.”

  “So,” mused D’Jenn, “her line actually has a bit of Sevenlands blood in it. Soirus-Gamerit, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Dormael nodded his assent. The Duadan Treaty was a very old agreement originally struck between the Sevenlands and Lesmira to strengthen ties between the two lands. The King of Lesmira took a Sevenlander princess for wife, and soon other countries in Alderak entered into the treaty as well. Cambrell had been one of them, and the Cambrellian King had taken a princess of the Soirus-Gamerit, Dormael and D’Jenn’s own tribe.

  “So we’re actually distant cousins in some way,” said Dormael good-naturedly. Alton raised his eyebrows and nodded musingly.

  “Well,” Alton continued, “Dolland began right under his father’s nose. The man was usually too drunk to notice what his son was doing anyway. He already had a fine mare that was given to him as a gift from an aunt or uncle, a Dannon mountain strain with strong bones and lungs. So, he traded a large part of his own possessions for a Rashardian black stallion.”

  “Fine horses down there,” said Dormael, “A large breed, too. Dreadful people though, Rashardians.” Dormael and D’Jenn both made signs with their hands that Alton didn’t recognize or care to ask about, and he went on with his story.

  “So, he bred them, started the whole Llewan strain off of those two horses. Soon he was buying and selling horses to get the right traits into his own strain, and the family was starting to restock their coffers. Dolland’s father soon died of a wasting sickness, and Dolland was free to run the House as he liked. So, he converted their many acres of farmland into pasture and began a large breeding business. It wasn’t long until he attracted the notice of his cousin, the King.” Dormael and D’Jenn leaned forward in their seats, now completely attentive to the story.

  “The King was quite impressed with Dolland’s horses,” Alton said, “being somewhat of a horse lover himself, and he bought one. An impressive gray stallion he called Mist. He still has Mist, I believe. I’ve heard he loves that horse more than most of his family.” The three laughed at the little joke, and Alton took a pull from his tankard to wet his throat, and continued. “Soon, there were nobles from all over the country coming to buy a horse from Dolland. If the King had one, they all had to have one, you see. People were buying horses faster than Dolland could breed them, and before you knew it, he was quite wealthy and respectable. The rest of the story is pretty mundane…he got married. The King himself attended, and made a beautiful gift to Dolland’s wife. Soon, he had a son and three daughters. Shawna was the eldest daughter.”

  Alton paused in his story as Lyssa returned to the study with three fresh tankards of ale, and the three men toasted again and drank to health. After a moment of savoring the ale, Alton continued his story with encouragement from Dormael and D’Jenn.

  “Well, about ten years ago there was a pestilence that broke out here in Alderak. It was a terrible sickness, and there was no reliable treatment for it, at least not at first. Sadly, during those first years of the plague, Dolland’s wife and son both came down with the disease. They were dead within a month.” Dormael and D’Jenn shook their heads at this sad turn of events.

  “Thankfully,” Alton continued, “the Lesmiran wizards researched and came up with a cure, but it was too late to save Dolland’s wife and son. It did, however, save one of his youngest daughters. Shawna’s sister, Anna. So, without a son to pass his House on to, he began to train Shawna to take up the reins when he was gone, now that she was eldest.”

  Dormael and D’Jenn were listening raptly now that the story had turned to Shawna. Alton of course didn’t know the strangest part of the story, the way that she had set his magic aflame, but the cousins knew nothing of Shawna’s history. Hoping to gain some new insight as to why she had ended up here, the three men began to speculate on what had happened to her.

  “So,” Dormael pondered, “When I found her, she was alone, slumped on her horse and unconscious. Does she usually travel this way, alone I mean?”

  “No,” replied Alton, his face taking on a look of deep thought.

  “The poor mare she was riding was frothy and near death when I came upon them as well. That can only suggest one thing,” Dormael continued.

  “Yes, she was running from something. I don’t know what; their manor is a full day’s ride south along the road. It’s not as if there are large parties of bandits roving across Cambrell or anything. The region is patrolled frequently. I’ve sent some men to investigate their hold, though they’ve been gone two days and have as of yet not returned. I fear the worst has happened…their home has been sacked and her family killed or imprisoned, though I don’t know who would do such a thing, or even who would want to. The family had no known enemies, and Dolland was close to the King. Whoever did this has absolutely no fear of the Throne.”

  “That would suggest either the King himself, or someone from outside the country,” D’Jenn offered, “but what would provoke an outside power to attack the Llewans? They seemed peaceable enough from your story.”

  “There was something I’ve wanted to show you,” said Alton, rising suddenly and leaving the room. The cousins looked at each other and shrugged, and Alton soon returned holding something about five hands long upon a towel in his hands. Sitting back down in his chair and leaning towards the cousins, he unwrapped what he was holding: a bloodstained arrow.

  “This is what the healer pulled from Shawna’s side,” explained Alton, nodding at Dormael’s look of recognition, “Now, fletchers will usually use certain feathers or leave certain marks upon the shafts of their arrows in order for others to recognize their work. It’s sort of advertising; another archer likes the arrows his fellow bought, and knows where to go from the fletching.”

  D’Jenn reached out and took the arrow from Alton’s hands, turning it over and examining it from tip to tip. “It’s not very well made,” he said, “and there’s nothing distinguishable about the fletching. I see no marks on it…”

  “Military!” exclaimed Dormael quietly, leaning closer to the arrow as his cousin turned it over in his hands.

  “Exactly,” said Alton matter-of-factly, “but which? Certainly not our own, the King was one of Dolland’s best customers and a close friend and relative.”

  “The Galanians are to the south of you,” said Dormael darkly, “now that they’ve occupied Shundovia. That Dargorin is a land hungry tyrant indeed. I thought that he was no longer expanding his borders, though.”

  “What stopped him?” asked D’Jenn.

  “No one knows,” replied Alton, a little shaken at the mention of this, “It’s said that when he sacked Shundov, he made the King of Shundovia his vassal, owing fealty to him, of course. His armies moved on to attack Moravi
a, using Shundov as a sort of headquarters for their invasion. The skirmishes along the border were just getting started when, for reasons unknown to anyone, Dargorin slaughtered the entire Shundovian Royal Family, killing the line completely. Then, he put the entire castle staff to the sword, and moved down into the capital, killing indiscriminately as he went. His armies had a field day with Shundov, but the city was too large and valuable to destroy completely. He recalled his armies from the border with Moravia, and settled in to occupy the regions he had. Apparently he went back to Galan and closeted himself with that strange advisor of his, Maaz, and hasn’t been seen much outside the castle since.”

  “Maybe he decided to move north instead of south,” D’Jenn offered.

  “I doubt it,” Alton replied, “The Sheran shipyards are to the south, not to mention Solace Isle, which is currently occupied by the Moravians. The remaining Shundovians on the Isle joined up with the Moravian army to keep the Galanians out. There’s more gold on that island than anywhere in the world, and it just makes more sense to move south first, gain the naval advantage and all that gold, and then turn north. Not to mention Dargorin fears the Lesmiran Wizards.”

  “Well then, why would he just stop all of a sudden?” asked Dormael.

  “No one knows, but it just seems unlikely that he looks to occupy Cambrell; it just wouldn’t gain him much at this point. Besides which, an entire army makes more noise than this. Someone would have heard something, and the King has been watching the southern border ever since Galania took Neleka and moved on to Shundovia. Everyone has been watching the Galanians,” replied Alton.

  “Well, we’ll know soon enough when the girl wakes up,” stated D’Jenn simply. At that the three men grew quiet for a while, drinking their ale and staring into the fire. The hour was growing late, and Dormael was feeling tired and slightly tipsy, and he could see that D’Jenn was looking forward to a nice bed tonight. Alton had a clear look of dread on his face, probably thinking that war had come to Cambrell and worrying about Shawna.

  After some time Alton rose from his chair and Dormael and D’Jenn followed his lead. The three men muttered their good evenings and sleep wells, and left the study for their own rooms. D’Jenn walked with Dormael toward the guest wing, and took a furtive look around to make sure no one was there to overhear them. Satisfied that they were alone, he leaned in and began a whispered conversation with his cousin.

  “I felt it, coz, as soon as I got within sight of this place. The magic burst right out of me, and I had turned in this direction before I even knew where I was going,” D’Jenn whispered, appearing a little shaken.

  “It dies down after a bit, coz. It helps to get to the source. Would you like to see the girl?” Dormael asked.

  “Of course…there’s something strange and unnerving about this Dormael. Nothing like this has ever happened to us.”

  “I know,” replied Dormael, a little disquieted by D’Jenn’s mood. Dormael turned down a side corridor and headed instead for Shawna’s room, a quiet room with many windows on the third floor. They went up the steps quietly, not exactly sneaking but not wanting to be discovered all the same, and eventually came into the hallway outside Shawna’s room. They could hear muffled singing from the inside of the room, and Dormael knew at once that Nan was inside. He signaled D’Jenn to stay silent, and opened the door quietly.

  “Oh, Dormael,” Nan said pleasantly, “come to check up on the poor dear before turning in?” Nan was an old woman, wearing a high necked gray dress with a badge of chief maid upon her left breast. She was currently sponging cool water onto Shawna’s brow, and trying to get the poor girl to drink something, but Shawna just lay unconscious.

  “Yes,” replied Dormael, “how is she?” Before Nan could reply, however, Dormael had opened his Kai, and with a slight brush of magic across her mind, put Nan to sleep in the bedside chair she was occupying. He beckoned D’Jenn into the room, and closed the door silently behind him.

  D’Jenn stepped into the room and stopped at the foot of Shawna’s bed, letting his bright blue eyes gaze down at her. She was a very pretty girl, with long wavy locks of reddish gold and a slightly upturned mouth that gave her the look of always having a rueful smile on her face. Her lips were slightly pale now, however, and her skin was sickly looking. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her breathing was shallow. She definitely looked as if she had been through a nearly life ending ordeal.

  “What has happened to you, girl?” D’Jenn mused as he gazed down at her. Dormael felt the familiar prickly sensation that meant D’Jenn had opened his Kai, and soon saw the magic reaching out from D’Jenn and delving delicately at the wound in Shawna’s side. He hissed slightly as Dormael saw him encounter the infection that had taken up residence there, and he moved the magic over the rest of her body until it came to rest around her sleeping head.

  “Careful now,” cautioned Dormael, “we don’t want her to wake up just yet. She could start screaming or something, and I don’t want to startle her.”

  “It’s quite alright, coz, I know what I’m doing.” D’Jenn let the magic sleep again, and sighed deeply. He looked around the room until he turned to the armoire that was standing at his back. Dormael knew that Shawna’s belongings rested inside it. At least, the contents of her saddlebags were there. There was a pair of short swords standing against the side of it, which D’Jenn was now perusing with interest.

  He reached down and picked up one of the blades, turning it over in its sheath and studying it closely. He ran his eyes up and down the weapon, and the magic, blossoming once again from D’Jenn, also ran along the sword. Finally, closing his hand around the hilt, he drew the sword slowly from its sheath.

  It hissed slowly as the blade was pulled from its scabbard, and a low musical note issued from it. The low lamplight was reflected by the metal of the blade, giving the impression that the sword itself was glowing with a low, yellow-orange light. The crosspiece was straight and carved with runes of power, which were inlaid with silver. The hilt was wrapped in tight black leather and held in place with silver wire. The pommel was set with a large onyx which drank in the light. The blade was polished to a silvery gleam that Dormael suspected never tarnished.

  “Incredible,” whispered D’Jenn, “this is an amazing job of Infusion. Most of the time you see magical items with a gem set into them that contains the Infused magic. This, however, emanates magic from the metal itself.”

  “Indeed,” replied Dormael, “I was never much of an Infuser myself, though I’ve heard that the Lesmirans are quite accomplished at it. I had noticed the swords were a superb creation.”

  “That they are,” said D’Jenn, “I think that magic was a part of every aspect of the forging. The onyx,” D’Jenn pointed at the pommel, “has also been Infused deeply with magic.”

  “You don’t just pick these up at your local smithy,” Dormael said, “They must’ve cost a lot of coin.”

  “Indeed, coz, indeed,” D’Jenn replied, sliding the sword back into its scabbard and placing sword and sheath to rest against the armoire with its twin. D’Jenn sighed and turned back to look at Shawna lying on the bed. After a minute, he turned back to Dormael and left the room for the hallway.

  With a slight wave of his hand, Dormael brushed the magic gently against Nan once more, and the old woman gave a start and looked up at Dormael. “Nan? I was asking you how she was doing,” Dormael said, as if Nan had just drifted off for a second.

  “Oh…oh yes, dear boy well…she’s fighting it off slowly. She’s a strong young woman, and I have every confidence that she will recover soon enough,” Nan replied, dabbing a wet cloth to Shawna’s head in a businesslike manner.

  “Right, well…I’d better be off. Good night, Nan,” Dormael said, waving at the old lady.

  “Good night, dear,” Nan replied, still dabbing at Shawna’s forehead and face. Closing the door quietly behind him, Dormael met up with D’Jenn in the hallway.

  “Tomorrow we should go out and
buy some provisions for our journey,” stated D’Jenn.

  “Our journey?” asked Dormael, a little surprised.

  “Well, you don’t think I’m going to let you go this alone, do you? I’m coming. There’s something interesting about all of this, and I want to know what it is. So, we’ll see each other in the morning,” D’Jenn said, nodding and waving Dormael good night.

  “Right, in the morning,” Dormael replied, turning down a side hallway.

  “Dormael, isn’t that one your room?” asked D’Jenn, pointing at the door directly across the hall from his own.

  “Well, yes,” replied Dormael.

  “Thought you were heading off to bed,” said D’Jenn, eyeing him sideways.

  “I am, soon enough, anyways. There’s a certain blonde maid who asked me to her room tonight. It would be rude to not at least drop in, don’t you think?”

  “You’ll never change, will you coz?” D’Jenn laughed, shaking his head and turning through the doorway into his own room. Smirking a little, Dormael skipped off down the stairs and headed for the servant’s quarters. It would be a little rude not to at least drop in, after all.

  ****

  Chapter Three

  Lord’s March

  The next day dawned bright and cool as Dormael lifted Lyssa’s arm lightly and quietly from his chest. He slowly and carefully sat up, so as not to wake her, and dressed as quietly as he could. Awakening the magic within him, he weaved a single red rose from thin air, and dropped it lightly on the bed with her. He felt a little foolish for the gesture, but she was a delightfully pretty girl and pretty girls loved foolish gestures. He’d learned that a long time ago. He slipped out of her room as stealthily as he could manage, and headed to the kitchens to steal a bit of pastry before breakfast.

  The kitchens were bustling as ever, and he dodged two spoons and a thrown dough roller to get his pastry, after which he was chased out by an irritated cook and hurried back to the guest wing to freshen up in his room. On his way there he smiled and winked at Nan, who laughed and patted him on the shoulder, calling him a “darling boy”. Three flights of stairs and two hallways later he was back in his room, and found that the servants had already poured him a hot bath. They were very expedient here.