“Is something wrong, coz?” D’Jenn asked.
“I feel like we’ve just punished an errant child, sort of. It’s strange, but the thing has awareness. As dangerous as it could be, it just sort of feels wrong to shut it out,” Dormael replied. D’Jenn nodded, but didn’t have an answer for him. Looking over at Bethany, who had watched them enact the spell, he knew that she felt the same way.
****
The companions rode in silence for the rest of the day, not wishing to speak or speculate on the events of the night before. Dormael and Bethany rode along calmly, Bethany not playing with anyone’s hair for once. Shawna appeared to be a little relieved, but still wary of the armlet. She had moved it from her saddlebags to the packs that the draft horses carried for them, and kept glancing back in their direction. D’Jenn rode along stroking his goatee in his old habit; Dormael knew that it meant he was thinking.
D’Jenn had set a moderate pace, and as the sun was setting in the western sky, tiled roofs became visible down the road. The companions rode purposefully for them, perhaps a little quicker now that civilization was in sight. The collective mood began to lighten a little as they passed the first outlying homesteads of the nearing town. The houses were all decorated with wreaths of holly and mistletoe hung generously from eaves and doorways. Bethany gazed around with growing interest and began to smile and point out this or that, and Dormael couldn’t help but be infected by her childlike happiness.
Even D’Jenn began to smile and laugh a little as the older oak trees loosed their hold on the land around the road and a town suddenly became visible around a bend to the west. Two young maple trees flanked the road at the entrance to town, and there was a carved wooden archway erected over the road in the old style. It was beautiful work, Dormael noted, with decorated columns rising to hold a stylized plaque bearing the name “Stormcoast.” The columns were wound in ivy and the plaque bore a generous amount of holly hanging from it, in spirit of the holiday.
The sound of flutes drifted to them from somewhere deeper into the small village, a merry tune that carried the feeling of the day. The Festival was in full swing, as it would have been since sunrise, and there were small knots of people gathered here or there speaking in excited tones and every once and a while waving at the strangers riding into town. The old prejudices against Sevenlanders here seemed to have been forgotten with the feeling of the Festival, and goodwill almost flowed in the streets. It calmed Dormael’s nerves a little, and D’Jenn was smiling approvingly at the surroundings while Bethany laughed a silver little laugh.
A short ride later, the party came to the center of town where a large green pavilion tent was erected in the shadow of a squat three-story inn. Most of the villagers appeared to be here, loitering and dancing to the tune of that same flute the friends had heard, played by a young boy who danced on the heels of his feet while he weaved the merry song into the air. It was the most beautiful thing that Dormael had seen in weeks, and all of his anxiety seemed to lift and be carried away by the airy tune of the boy’s flute. He noticed that D’Jenn was bobbing his head in time with the song, and couldn’t help but smile to himself.
“Well met, travelers!” came a friendly voice from atop the steps of the inn, “My name is Walter, and by the Gods be welcome to Stormcoast on this fine day. Mayhap it was fate or fancy, but I’ll tell you now that you couldn’t have picked a better Festival to attend. This is my Inn, here, the Stormcoast Inn, and if you will all climb down I will see you put up for the night so you can partake in the feast that’s almost to begin.”
The companions turned their attention to the speaker, a red-faced and balding heavy-set man who was descending the short steps of the Inn with an open and friendly expression on his face. He was dressed in what were probably his best woolens, and wore a clean apron over his clothes. Dormael and D’Jenn both climbed down from their horses and offered him the formal Sevenlander bow with their right fists over their hearts.
“Very poetic, friend Walter, if I may name you so,” Dormael greeted, “This does appear to be a fine Festival, indeed.”
“I am D’Jenn, and this is my cousin Dormael,” D’Jenn introduced them, “The raven-haired beauty there is Dormael’s sister Delia, and the girl’s name is Bethany.”
“Merry met and merry meet all,” Walter bowed from the waist, “We are blessed today to have westerners appear in our little village on the day of the Festival. It must be a Solstice blessing, indeed. We haven’t seen Sevenlanders here in many seasons. Well, bring your horses around to the stables and we’ll see to them and get the four of you into some suitable rooms.”
“Thank you,” Shawna smiled at the man, who blushed an even brighter red than what seemed to be his usual tone, and bowed them all into the Stormcoast Inn. Taking up their immediate belongings, with Dormael grabbing the small silver box, the four companions followed red-faced Walter inside.
It was a very cozy scene inside the Inn. The doorway opened into the common room, which was full of patrons drinking and talking in a low buzz that only slightly increased at the entrance of the four travelers. There were about eight long, low tables which were mostly filled, and a stage in the back that was empty for the time being, though Dormael imagined it would be occupied before the night was out. The floor was hardwood and polished so highly that it reflected the candlelight which shone from the many sconces on the walls. It caused the room to have a warm, merry glow that bespoke of the inn’s simple coziness. There were three young serving girls moving in and out of the throng, one older and two who were most likely in their teens, and Dormael surmised that they must be Walter’s daughters. Small village inns such as this one were almost always a family business.
Holly hung from almost every mantle and corner of the room, along the staircase, and even from the sconces along the walls. As the group waited for Walter to make arrangements for accommodations and tally their price, a young boy approached and relieved them of their bags, probably another of Walter’s brood. Dormael took a deep breath and relaxed. He liked this place already.
“This is a very cozy place, friend Walter,” Dormael complimented him, “my commendation to you for running such beautiful establishment.”
“Indeed,” D’Jenn agreed, and Shawna smiled and nodded along with them.
“Thank you,” Walter sighed, “It is nice to hear that from someone of your worldly experience. I mean, surely you have all visited much larger and more cultured places than Stormcoast.”
“An inn such as yours rivals any in the world, friend Walter,” Shawna smiled to him, and Walter beamed with pride.
“Well then, I’ve three rooms for the night. I imagine that the young lady will be staying with one of you?” Walter queried, nodding down to Bethany who smiled in return.
“She’ll stay with me,” Shawna assented, and Walter smiled and nodded. Reaching to a rack of keys behind him, he pulled three of them down from their little pegs and handed one each to Dormael, D’Jenn, and Shawna.
“William will show you all up to your rooms,” Walter said, indicating the small boy who had taken their bags, “and don’t forget to come down and join in the Festival. There will be a dance held right here in the common room, and a feast outside. There’ll also be candies for the younglings.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, friend Walter,” Dormael assured him. Walter bowed, and the young boy took up some of their bags and asked them to follow him up the stairs. Smiling, the four companions stepped behind the young man and mounted the stairs up to the second floor.
Their rooms were across from each other at the end of the second floor hallway, which was also cheerfully lit with candles. Dormael and D’Jenn’s rooms were on one side, and Shawna’s room on the other. As the boy turned to leave and get the rest of their bags, Shawna stopped him and asked him to have baths sent up for all four of them. When D’Jenn looked at her askance, she wrinkled her nose and said, “We all need it. Especially you two; you smell like the horses you’ve been
riding on.” Dormael didn’t argue, and soon he was settled into his room and soaking in a warm basin of clean water.
After he soaped up, Dormael sat thinking about the night before and the pictures that the armlet had tried to show him. He went over some of them, trying to piece together the meaning of it all. The stars shining into the great Void, and the sun beaming out into the nothing, a great long sadness, and someone reaching for him; it was all so confusing. What had it all meant? What had it been trying to tell him? And for that matter, he thought, why had it tried to show Bethany as well? Why not D’Jenn?
After a few minutes of deep thinking on the matter, he supposed that the only reason the armlet had shown him was because he had been the first to connect his magic with it. The armlet and his magic had sort of a…familiarity…if he could put it that way. The only problem with the communication between the two was that whenever it happened strange occurrences were sure to follow. That still left the question of Bethany’s communion with the thing, which for now Dormael had no answer or even an idea of why that had happened. Maybe she had just been caught up in it by accident. Maybe, and maybe not.
His water was beginning to grow cold, and he opened his Kai and fed just a bit of heat into the water to keep it warm. Sighing deeply, he stretched his tattooed arms towards the ceiling and sank deeper into the large tub. He closed his eyes and let the stress of the day wash out of him. There were few things in the world more comforting than a warm bath. The only two that Dormael could think of were a warm woman and a cold mead or ale, and reminded himself, There’s plenty of ale downstairs if I can will myself up out of this tub.
Finally feeling relaxed, he grabbed the edge of the tub and hoisted his dripping body from the warm water. He shook off his feet as he stepped onto the cold wooden floor, leaving a generous puddle of water on the hardwood that reflected the orange light of the fire burning in the brazier in the corner.
Dormael opened his Kai once more and the water on his body and on the floor as well became steam that rose into the air and dispersed. He then gestured at the wardrobe that stood in the corner. The doors popped open and the clothes he had hung earlier floated into the air before him. With a satisfied smile on his face, Dormael willed them into the way they would be worn, and they sprung to obey. The sight of his disembodied clothes standing before him like an invisible man wearing them gave him the giggles.
“Alright, chaps. Be good sports and take a bath, you’re filthy as well,” he said to his clothes, and they jumped into the water, losing their man-like form immediately. Of course, talking to them wasn’t necessary, but it was a little joke of his and he thought it was quite a good one. On a second thought, Dormael gestured to his bag, and all of his clothes flew into the water along with his riding outfit. Immediately, the water began to churn, and suds appeared as the laundry began to do itself.
“It’s great being a wizard,” Dormael said to no one, and plopped down on his bed completely naked as he waited for his clothes to clean themselves. After he re-braided his long, gingered goatee, he sat and traced the archaic script tattooed on his arms. The elegant, flowing tattoos covered his arms from wrists to collarbones, and were mostly words of power in the language of his ancestors, Old Vendon.
There was Honesty and Dedication, which were depicted as flowing and sweeping characters playing spirals up and down his forearms. However, there were also old spells of luck and protection written in with the rest, and on the whole the tattoos themselves had their own power. He and D’Jenn had been acquiring their respective collections of ink for years, a new addition after every assignment. Their tattoos were not identical, though to the casual observer they appeared similar enough to be misconstrued as such. For that matter, the casual observer wouldn’t know it from gibberish, anyway, but it wasn’t the casual observer that the wizard worried about. There were some who may know what the tattoos meant, and it was for that reason that he and D’Jenn kept them constantly hidden.
He turned to the tub and gestured nonchalantly, and his dripping garments rose one by one into the air. As they hovered over the tub, Dormael dried them with more magic, the water turning to steam in an instant, and sent them back into the wardrobe, folding them as they went. He still found amusement at the beauty and the ridiculousness of the ritual. Picking out his white mesavai and black woolen shirt, he reached deeper into the wardrobe and drew out his now clean leather pants. He dressed quickly, adjusting his clothes after he had stamped his feet back into his boots, and left his room, locking the door behind him. There was no answer at D’Jenn’s door, nor at Shawna’s, so Dormael turned and headed down the stairs into the common room below.
D’Jenn was down in the common room, seated at one of the long, low tables drinking a tankard of ale. He was alone, in fact there seemed to be almost a bubble around him that no one wanted to penetrate. He was rubbing his goatee, and Dormael knew what that gesture meant. D’Jenn probably wanted to be left alone, which is why Dormael promptly took a seat at the table directly across from him. D’Jenn inclined his head slightly as he sat down, but offered no words, as he appeared to be brooding on something.
“Need a drink or maybe some soup, good sir?” a woman asked from behind him. Dormael turned and looked at the oldest of the three serving girls. She was a pretty thing, wearing a long gray dress, though she had covered her interesting parts with an apron. Her eyes struck Dormael, though. She was a brunette, as most Cambrellian common girls were, but her eyes were a light, clear blue. It was a striking combination. She had a smirk on her face as she waited on Dormael’s answer, obviously trying not to seem impressed by the travelers.
“Is there a local wine?” Dormael asked, and the girl nodded.
“Stormcoast gold, we call it. It’s a white wine.”
“I’ll take that, if you please. It is a Festival, after all,” Dormael smiled and nodded to her, and the girl swept off towards the kitchens. Dormael was willing to bet that the girl had told her sisters that there wasn’t a chance in the Six Hells that she wasn’t going to serve the newcomers. She was probably in the back right now telling her younger siblings everything that had just been said. Dormael chuckled as he turned back to D’Jenn.
“So, coz, what is running around in that head of yours?” Dormael inquired with an understanding smile on his face. D’Jenn smiled in spite of himself and took another pull from his ale before answering.
“Am I that readable, cousin? Do my emotions so easily play across my face for you to pick out one by one? It’s the armlet, of course.”
“I thought as much. Shall we discuss it, or do you wish to think on in silence for a while longer before you bring it up? I can wait, you know, and pretend that I had no idea what you were thinking about,” Dormael replied sarcastically. The conversation paused momentarily as the serving girl brought out Dormael’s wine and he closed her hand over a silver mark. She raised her eyebrows at him for a second, and then smiled. “Keep them coming until that runs out, dear. That’s a good girl,” Dormael winked at her, and she swept off to another table casting backwards glances at him as she went.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea to bed Walter’s daughter, coz. I think he may throw us out if you pulled a stunt like that,” D’Jenn commented, raising an eyebrow at his cousin.
“I wouldn’t do that, D’Jenn. I mean, I have more sense than that.”
“Not when it comes to winking eyes and swaying hips, you don’t.”
“Well, I have no argument for that. If I promise not to seduce the girl will you come out with your brooding thoughts?” Dormael asked, again with a twinge of sarcasm. D’Jenn sighed and began to say something, but at that precise moment Shawna sat down at the table beside Dormael. She had also bathed, and was wearing a simple riding dress of gray wool, but she wore it like the noblewoman she was. Her hair took on a lustrous sheen in the candlelight, and the distinct smell of wildflowers issued from somewhere on her body. Dormael was struck, and not for the first time, by how pretty a girl she
was. Her appearance had killed the conversation, though, and Dormael knew it would probably be tomorrow before he could get any more answers out of D’Jenn.
“Tell me, dear,” D’Jenn began, “where did you find the time to buy perfume in the past few weeks? It’s quite nice, surely, but I had no idea you had purchased some.”
“I haven’t. There’s a peddler outside selling this and that, and he gave me a sample of his wares. It’s not bad, really. I see, or smell rather, that you two gentlemen have washed,” she replied, wrinkling her nose.
“Where’s Bethany?” Dormael asked, looking around the common room for the little one.
“She’s outside with some local children. She’s not saying much, but she certainly is having a good time,” Shawna answered him, calling over the blue-eyed serving girl.
“You just left her outside? What if she runs off or something happens to her?” Dormael asked with an undertone of accusation.
“Who’s blathering like a midwife now, coz?” D’Jenn shot at him, and they all shared a laugh, Dormael going a little red in the face.
“She’s fine, Dormael. She’s playing, and she needs that right now. Every child needs other children to play with,” Shawna assured him.
“Well, I guess you’re right. I just worry about her a little bit, that’s all,” Dormael admitted, a little embarrassed.
“We all do, Dormael. We all do,” Shawna smiled and patted him on the back. The three companions sat at the table a little while longer as the sky outside slowly darkened to a clear blackness dotted with stars. After about an hour, Dormael and Shawna stepped foot outside and found Bethany playing with two other young girls about her age, skipping around in circles and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. Dormael’s heart tugged at him to see the little girl laughing, all traces of what had happened to her momentarily erased in this moment of happiness. It could have been the alcohol, but it was touching nonetheless to watch. Shawna noticed his expression, and laid her hand on his arm as D’Jenn joined the two of them on a bench outside the feast tent. Dormael had come outside to gather the youngling up, but changed his mind after observing her at play. There was no way he could pull her away from that, so the three of them sat on the bench and watched the girl, as they slowly sipped on more of the Stormcoast local wine.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 20