The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs)

by D. W. Hawkins

  The cousins had left their Mesavais at Alton’s manor, seeing as how they were very distinctive garments, and had opted to come only in their dark, close fitting woolen shirts. It did help to keep them hidden in the shadows, but it also let the bitingly cold wind seep directly into their bones, and the wet spray that sometimes splashed high enough to hit them wasn’t helping, either. Both cousins were tying long bits of cloth around their mouths and noses, so as to hide their faces in case they were seen in the castle. Dormael had wrapped his long goatee loosely around his neck, and tied it so that it wouldn’t come loose or obstruct his movement.

  The waves crashed around them like thunder on the large rocks at the base of the sea cliff that the castle rested silently upon. The cliff itself was a sheer rock face that climbed nearly two hundred and eighty links into the night sky, a silent sentinel against the pounding force of the ocean below it. It was a staggering climb, and Dormael didn’t understand what made D’Jenn think they could make it. Dormael felt sure that he couldn’t.

  “How exactly are we supposed to get up there without flying or blasting out large sections of the cliff, coz?” Dormael said as quietly as he dared against the crashing waves. He wasn’t sure how the sound would carry to the castle above. Would it be drowned out, or would it come through clearly? He didn’t know, so he kept his voice as low as he could.

  D’Jenn, finishing the knot in his face mask, said, “I told you, it’s a little trick I learned while sneaking into the Keep at Thardin. Did I ever tell you how I did it?”

  “If you did, I didn’t pay attention, coz,” Dormael replied, still staring at the cliff face.

  “I scaled the wall. Watch,” D’Jenn said. Dormael felt the familiar prickly feeling and felt the magic bloom around his cousin. He watched D’Jenn tie a strange bit of magic between his hands, feet, and the cliff face. With that done, D’Jenn jumped nimbly out onto the cliff, and stuck there like a spider in its web. It was impressive, but Dormael still thought that he would have preferred to fly. Scale the wall, indeed.

  Copying D’Jenn’s spell, Dormael took a running start and jumped out over the gap to reach the cliff face. For one beautiful second, he was airborne and the thought of flying ran through his head again, but then he felt the cold rock of the cliff under his hands. It was a shock, sticking to the side of the cliff. Dormael had half expected his hands to slide and have nothing to grip, but they stuck right to it, as if walking up a sheer cliff face was absolutely natural. D’Jenn seemed to love it, but it was a bit unnerving for Dormael. Shrugging at his cousin, Dormael began to climb as fast as he dared to, and D’Jenn scaled along easily, keeping pace with almost no effort.

  After he got used to it, Dormael found that he rather enjoyed the effortless climb. Where his cousin had come up with the spell was beyond him, but already he could see in his mind an entire world of possibilities with it. The jokes he was going to play with this would be loads and loads of endless fun.

  After almost an hour’s climb, the cousins came to the base of the castle wall. There was enough ground space at the edge to pull themselves up and stand against the wall, but that was all. They had agreed prior to coming here that once they reached this spot, they would revert to the silent “Hunter’s Tongue”. Hunter’s Tongue, also known as the Silent Language, was a system of hand gestures originally developed by Sevenlander hunters to use when stalking prey in a group. It was very effective, and no outlander knew of the language.

  Wait, Dormael’s hands said, listen for voices. Don’t want to walk into a trap.

  Of course, replied D’Jenn. It was hard to hear over the crashing waves below, but soon the sound of voices floated down to them from the top of the wall, along with the tapping sound of boots on stone. As the noise slowly passed, the cousins recast their spells to bind their hands and feet to the stone of the castle wall. As the night once again grew silent except for the thunderous ocean, the two wizards began scaling the outer wall.

  As they slipped like a pair of shadows over the edge of the battlements, a cloud went over the moon and thunder pealed in the distance. Dormael, though he hoped it would rain to help keep them hidden, dreaded the thought of being wet while out in this cold. The storm still appeared to be a good distance away, however. The night was now moonless, and darker than before.

  Good fortune, signaled D’Jenn, Eindor smiles on us. Let’s move on to the tower before someone comes along. Nodding his agreement, Dormael took a look around to make sure that no one was looking at the towers between the walls. They had gambled on the fact that the guards would most likely be looking out instead of in. The nearest guard tower was just to their right, but it appeared that the two guards were either walking around or asleep at their posts, for they were not in sight. Satisfied that they would not be seen, Dormael backed up as far as he could to get a running start. He smiled at his cousin.

  This is one of my little tricks, his fingers said. With that, he took off running as fast as he could on the narrow walkway, and jumped out into the long gap between the inner wall and the seaward wall. Instead of falling like a rock, he floated almost effortlessly across the gap. Using D’Jenn’s spell once more as he flew through the air, he reached the inner wall and stuck there securely. D’Jenn jumped out over the gap as well, and floated to a spot four hands from Dormael.

  The cousins repeated the scaling trick and slipped silently over the battlements of the still higher inner wall. The wind picked up momentarily and rippled their masks, but the cousins remained silent. They had to move quickly to reach the high guest tower before they were seen. Dormael took off first, repeating his floating trick, and then enacting D’Jenn’s spell once more, to stick jarringly to the guest tower. D’Jenn came floating out of the night and stuck right beside him. The cousins paused for a few seconds to get their bearings, and D’Jenn took a hand from the wall to speak to Dormael.

  Neat trick, D’Jenn signaled, I’ll have to remember that one.

  I’m going to wreak havoc with yours, Dormael signaled back; let’s head for the topmost window. D’Jenn nodded and the two began to climb once more. Sticking to the side of the rounded tower was a little different than scaling the flat castle walls. Somehow, Dormael felt that he had less to hold on to, and he kept getting dizzy as they climbed higher and higher. As if that wasn’t enough, the stone underneath Dormael’s hands was very cold, and uncomfortable to hold on to. The wind was strong at this height, and Dormael sometimes felt that he was going to be blown off of the tower to splatter into the courtyards below, even if he knew logically that he would not. Fear was not a logical thing. D’Jenn was climbing as effortlessly as if he were part spider, and he frequently stopped to look over at Dormael, who only gave him a smile and signaled him on.

  If climbing straight up was dizzying, shuffling sideways on the rounded surface was even worse. Frequently the cousins had to do this to avoid a lower window, or to keep in the shadowed side of the tower. Finally, Dormael saw the window he had scouted out earlier in the day, and the cousins climbed up close to it to listen. Hearing nothing except the blowing wind buffeting the tower, they moved cautiously up to peer inside.

  The window was closed, and there were heavy drapes hanging beside the portal, left open by the room’s occupant. There was no light inside, but Dormael could make out a four poster bed standing in one side of the room, opposite a large fireplace that held no flame against the cold night. D’Jenn waved his hand at the window almost negligently and it sprang open. The cousins slipped silently inside.

  Looking around the room quickly, Dormael saw no belongings or signs of any kind that the room was currently occupied. There was no fire in the hearth, and the bed was made nicely and had not been slept in. A light layer of dust covered everything, and the room smelled cold and uninviting.

  No one here, D’Jenn’s hands flashed to him, Where would they be housing the leader?

  I don’t know. Let’s try one of the lower rooms. Everyone should be at dinner now anyway, the halls should be q
uiet, Dormael signaled back.

  Right, let’s move on, D’Jenn signed back. Dormael moved cautiously to the door and put his ear to it. There was no sound outside in the hallway, so he slowly pushed the door slowly open and peeked around the corner and into the hall.

  There were torches burning lowly in the corridor, but no one was there, and there were no sounds of echoing footsteps or voices. The two wizards moved slowly and as quietly as they could down the hall towards what they hoped was a staircase leading down into the lower parts of the tower. If anyone came along the hall and discovered them there it would be disastrous. They were fully illuminated and in plain sight, and there would be no choice but to fight. The wizards had left their weapons at Alton’s, seeing as how Dormael’s staff was too long and cumbersome to carry here, and D’Jenn’s morningstar had a tendency to clang against things as it hung in his belt. Neither man fancied a fight with armed guards while they were bare-handed, so they would have to use magic and hope that they could keep it quiet.

  They passed one other door on the same level that was unoccupied, and as the hallway began to curve around, the cousins stopped dead at the sound of a voice. They stood, raptly listening to see if there was more than one, but all they could discern was one male voice, humming a tune, and sounding as if he were standing still.

  Guard, Dormael signaled. D’Jenn nodded back in agreement, his bright eyes blazing over his face mask. Suddenly there was a loud rasping noise, as if steel were being drawn across rock, and the humming continued. The noise was disconcerting, and it made Dormael’s hair stand on end.

  Sharpening his blade, D’Jenn flashed at him, and Dormael realized that it was true.

  Put him to sleep?, Dormael asked, and at D’Jenn’s answering nod, Dormael reached out with his magic and brushed it across the dull mind of the guard. The humming went suddenly silent, and the cousins stepped out cautiously to survey the scene.

  The guard was a large man, dark haired and unshaven, Wearing chainmail and a white surcoat with red borders on it. He had a distinct odor of sweat and steel about him. He was sitting in a bare wooden chair beside a large door that was closed and had no lock upon it. The man’s chest rose rhythmically with his slow breathing, his chin resting sleepily upon it. He held his sword in his right hand and across his lap, and it teetered in danger of clattering to the floor with each breath. Dormael reached down slowly and took the sword, laying it quietly on the floor beside the man’s chair. As he bent down to take the sword, he noticed the man’s symbol on his surcoat: a large red sword, pointing downward in the middle of his chest.

  Dormael straightened and looked at his cousin, who was gazing intently down at the sleeping guard. Breaking his gaze, D’Jenn looked sharply at his cousin, and they nodded at each other. Dormael jerked his head at the door, and D’Jenn put his ear to it, listening for noises from inside. After hearing none, the two wizards opened the door quietly and slipped into the room.

  This room was also dark, though Dormael could feel the remnants of a fire in the hearth from the ambient warmth in the room. It was almost identical to the room the cousins had climbed into; it had the four poster bed on one side of the room and a fireplace opposite the bed. This room, however, most definitely was where Lord Eric was keeping some distinguished guest, and if the guard outside was any clue, it was the leader of the Galanian Red Swords here in the city.

  There was a deeply furry rug covering most of the floor in this room, and a small writing desk on one side of a window which was closed and drawn against the cold night wind. The drapes that covered the large four poster bed were also drawn, and there was a large trunk sitting at the base of the bed. Leaning against the wall next to the door was a long sheathed sword that bore the insignia of the Red Swords and some type of rank symbol upon the scabbard. Picking up the sword, he showed D’Jenn the symbols embossed upon the scabbard, and D’Jenn nodded wordlessly.

  Dormael crossed the room quietly and went to the writing desk. He rifled through the papers that sat on it while D’Jenn spelled the trunk to unlock and open itself. Coming upon a piece of parchment that had a broken seal on the backside, he opened it and conjured the smallest bit of light above it to read by. It read:

  Colonel Grant,

  Your last letter left me quite perturbed. I thought I could trust you to recover the artifact and kill the family, making it appear some grave accident. I see now that my trust was misplaced. You were bested by a mere girl. This turn of events does not please me at all. I cannot stress to you how important it is for you to find and kill the girl and bring me the artifact. Let me put it plainly, my dear Colonel. Find the girl and kill her. Bring me the artifact, or you will be one head shorter. I have sent letters to this Lord Eric of Ferolan, offering him gold and estates in Shundovia for his loyalty to the Empire. This should make it very easy for you to move around and do what needs to be done in Ferolan to find the girl. Try not to disappoint me this time, Colonel. You would not like the outcome of that.

  There was no name at the bottom of the letter, just a large stylized “D”. Dormael walked to D’Jenn and gave him the letter to read. D’Jenn took it quickly and read it by the low light that Dormael had conjured. His eyebrows rose higher and higher with each line of the letter until, shaking his head, he handed it back to Dormael.

  “Dargorin,” whispered D’Jenn, feeling safe to talk quietly, “I knew it.”

  “Lord Eric, that’s what is worse. He’s a filthy little traitor,” Dormael whispered back.

  “Indeed. Alton will deal with him, he is cousin to the King, after all,” D’Jenn said.

  “Right, well now we know why they’re after her. She’s got something they want,” Dormael said quietly.

  “Yes…this artifact that they speak of…I wonder what it -”

  At that moment there was a small, pathetic whimpering sound that came from the four poster bed. Both men started in surprise, and Dormael’s light went out, though he knew it was already too late. The sound, however, could not have been made by a full grown man. It had to be the voice of a young girl or boy. Dormael glanced confoundedly at his cousin, who only shrugged at him with the same confused look in his own eyes.

  The whimpering sounds continued, and Dormael realized that they were sobs. Moving slowly to the edge of the four poster bed, Dormael could see the outline of a small body lying on the mattress. Taking one last glance at his cousin, who gestured at him to go on, Dormael moved the drapes slowly back from the bed.

  A young girl lay crying on the bed, cowering from Dormael in fear. She could not have been older than eleven years old, and she was curled up into a fetal position with her arms hugging her knees to her chest. All Dormael could see of her head was a mass of tangled brown hair that had some dried substance matted into it. The girl had dirty knees, and Dormael noticed that she was wearing only a sheer nightgown that covered her privates and not much else. With a start, Dormael saw that her knuckles were bloodied, and that the dirt on her knees was not dirt at all, but blood. The substance in her hair must have been blood as well.

  The girl looked fearfully up at them as D’Jenn moved to Dormael’s shoulder and hissed with a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her. She began to shake uncontrollably and tears welled up in her eyes. Realizing that they still had their face masks on, both cousins lowered them hastily.

  “Who…who are you?” the young girl asked between sobs. Her voice was light, but watery now with the sobs that wracked her body. Dormael didn’t know what to say. This was not even on the list of things he had expected tonight, and he was at a loss for words. He looked to D’Jenn, who was gazing down at the young girl in concern. Dormael looked back at her, and realized that she had a large black eye, and that her nose had been broken. One entire side of her little face was red with dried blood. Dormael’s heart wrenched at the sight.

  “I am Dormael, young one, and this is my cousin D’Jenn. Don’t worry, we are not here to hurt you,” Dormael offered pleasantly, but the girl still had a look
of mild terror on her face.

  “That’s what he says every time…not here to hurt me…,” she replied, and then broke into a fresh bout of sobbing. Dormael’s face grew stony with a sudden shock of understanding. It appeared the Colonel liked his women young and unwilling. A sudden rage built up in Dormael, and when he looked at D’Jenn he saw the blue eyes burning with an inner fire. He would not let this go on, not if he had to die to stop it.

  “Listen, young one, what is your name?” Dormael asked soothingly.

  “Bethany…,” she replied, still crying.

  “Well, Bethany,” Dormael said, trying his best not to sound threatening, “We have come to take you away from this place…away from him.”

  “You…you have?” the sobbing girl asking, a small glimmer of hope in her voice.

  “Yes,” D’Jenn replied, “We’ll take you with us when we go.”

  “But…he said he would kill me if I tried to leave,” Bethany said again, a fresh bout of sobbing welling up in her tiny voice, her small shoulders shaking with despair.

  “We won’t let anyone hurt you, little one,” Dormael said, trying to soothe the small girl, “He can’t hurt you if you’re with us. Trust me, we can help.” The girl gazed disbelieving but hopefully up at the two cousins, and D’Jenn was chewing his lower lip in worry. Dormael felt the same way. They had not planned on this, and sneaking the girl out would be difficult.

  Suddenly the sound of footsteps rang out in the hallway outside, D’Jenn was at the window in an instant, opening it to the windy night and climbing outside. There were two voices in the hall now, talking in loud tones that echoed through the corridor.

  “Dormael!” D’Jenn hissed sharply. Dormael looked quickly down at the young girl cowering on the mattress, and hastily pulled his face mask up once again.