Stepping over Shawna’s prone form curled into her own blankets, Dormael made his way to his sleeping cousin. Kneeling down next to D’Jenn’s peaceful form, he waited a moment and promptly shook him violently to wake him. D’Jenn awoke in a start, looking at Dormael with haunted and confused eyes.
“Hells, Dormael,” D’Jenn grumbled irascibly, “what in the name of Eindor is wrong with you? If there aren’t any Red Swords coming here you’re going to be dodging magic all morning, I swear it!”
“D’Jenn,” Dormael began solemnly, “I think Bethany is Blessed. I think she is magic sensitive.”
“Oh,” D’Jenn replied, “oh…well, then.” For the next couple of minutes the cousins just sat watching the youngling in her slumber, contemplating the events of the past couple of days. “Well, that explains a few things, then,” D’Jenn grumbled to his cousin as he got up to brew sweetpenny tea.
****
Chapter Nine
The Marked and the Blessed
“So, cousin, tell me about your discovery. What exactly makes you think that the youngling is Blessed?” D’Jenn asked Dormael over their unusually early cups of sweetpenny tea. Dormael blew the steam from his own cup as he contemplated how to answer his cousin. D’Jenn had an intensely inquisitive mind that dug the truth out of things, and he knew that nothing short of a detailed explanation would satisfy him.
Dormael was seated on the magically-warmed earth next to the small campfire that still cast flickering orange light over the snow in the predawn haze. D’Jenn was standing up next to his cousin, and both of them were wrapped in their voluminous Sevenlander cloaks to ward off the morning chill. Their breath slipped into the air like tiny puffs of smoke, and wisped away into the chill with each spoken word.
“Well, I told you already of the dream that we had, the dream that we shared,” Dormael answered him.
“Yes, but that could be explained by many things, coz. It could be that the armlet pulled you both into it. It may or may not have anything to do with the girl being magic sensitive,” D’Jenn offered matter-of-factly.
“That’s a good point, but I don’t believe it to be so,” Dormael insisted.
“Yes, coz, but why? I admit, the girl is strange, but there’s been little evidence to suggest that she has the spark.”
“Think about it, D’Jenn. Remember how the armlet’s power affected me, causing my magic to jump out of me, sending me to the brink of control?” Dormael explained, and D’Jenn only nodded his head in reply, “Then, when you came to Alton’s, you said that it affected you in a similar fashion, only you were able to shield yourself from it. I think that the reason it has the strange sort of…affinity…for me is that I wasn’t able to shield myself from it, and I still seem to be having trouble doing that. It seems to want to connect with me somehow, to show me something.
“It does the same with Bethany, only I think that over the past week or so it’s affinity for her has grown substantially. She seems to be able to commune with it, and almost to understand it. It wasn’t that the girl was somehow drawn into my dream; I believe that I was drawn into hers. She’s been having this dream for the past few days, D’Jenn. She’s been receiving its messages, cryptic as they are.
“Since Shawna carried it for many days before any of us knew about the thing, and for that matter lived with it in the same house for years, you would think that she would share some strange connection with it. She doesn’t; in fact, she has no idea what we’re trying to tell her when we explain it. The most she has gotten out of the thing is that it made her feel a little strange and afraid. It’s because Shawna isn’t Blessed, D’Jenn. That’s my theory on the matter.”
D’Jenn stood and listened to Dormael’s explanation with that intense expression on his face, rubbing his goatee. The sun just crested over the eastern horizon as he sat down next to Dormael in the dawn of the cold, winter day. It gilded the snow-carpeted land with dull golden light, and threw long shadows across the hills. D’Jenn drained his cup of tea and poured himself another before he spoke up to answer his cousin.
“This theory of yours would seem to explain the strange things that come from the girl’s mouth sometimes. Lucid dreaming is an early indicator of having the spark, after all. I’d like to have her do some of the exercises that we did as children at the Conclave, just to make sure you’re correct. It wouldn’t hurt. Have you told the girl of your suspicions?” D’Jenn asked him, and Dormael shook his head. “Good. I don’t think she needs to know about it just yet, and it may influence her one way or the other during her exercises. We need to let Shawna know, however, so she doesn’t throw another tantrum.” The cousins both giggled at the last comment, and enjoyed the rest of their tea in silence as they waited for their companions to awaken.
Shawna was the first to rise, stretching like a cat as she sat up and climbed nimbly from her blankets. She wrapped one of them around her as she came and sat down by D’Jenn, accepting the steaming cup of sweetpenny tea that he offered her. Her hair was still a shining black, though it was fading in some places back to her strawberry blonde and would require another treatment of the riverroot pulp that Nan had given her. It spilled like molten night shot with gold across the blanket that the girl had wrapped herself in. After a few sips from the warm cup of tea, she looked up at the two wizards and greeted them.
“Good morning, you two. Strange for you to be up so early, Dormael,” she spoke.
“Indeed it is, dear. I’ve had quite the strange night,” he replied, and leapt into the story of the dream and his theory about Bethany. When it was done, Shawna sat wide-eyed and gazed first at Bethany, and then back to the two wizards.
“So, my only question is: why not tell her?” Shawna asked, and D’Jenn replied to her quietly.
“We don’t want to confuse the youngling. She’s just starting to come out of her shell and shed the trauma that she experienced at the hands of Colonel Grant. We don’t want to add to her confusion and fear, and also we don’t want her to know what we’re looking for when we test her. It may cause her to try too hard and become frustrated if she fails. It’s better for her if she doesn’t understand what we’re doing.”
“I see,” sighed Shawna, taking another sip from her cup of tea, “on another matter, I was wondering if we had a few moments before we moved on today for you two to help me with something.” Dormael and D’Jenn looked at each other and shrugged, then nodded to the young woman.
“Good. Dormael, I noticed that you carry a quarterstaff, and D’Jenn, you carry a morningstar,” she observed, and the two wizards nodded to her, a little confused. “Well, is your hand in good enough condition to wield your weapon, Dormael?” Her question caught Dormael a bit off guard, and he flexed his right hand reflexively in response. It felt well enough to take a try at it, so he nodded again to the young woman.
“Well, I stretched my side this morning in my blankets, and it felt fine. I want to work with my swords this morning, but for that, I need sparring partners,” she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re up to it, dear? That wound you received was no small thing,” D’Jenn cautioned, and Shawna waved a dismissing hand in reply.
“If I don’t do something soon it’s just going to stiffen up. I need to exercise it, and I need to feel my blades in my hands again. Don’t worry about getting cut either, it’s part of the magic that the swords were made with; if I don’t intend to harm you, they won’t harm you. At least, not seriously…they may bruise you just a bit,” Shawna added with a challenging wink.
D’Jenn laughed a little as he shrugged his shoulders and then began to swing his right arm in large circles to loosen it up. Dormael shook his head and walked over to the pack horses where his and Shawna’s weapons were stored with the packs. Shuffling through a few bundles, he pulled his long oaken staff from them, and Shawna’s beautifully made twin blades. He handed Shawna her swords, who took them with an expression close to reverence, and walked off to the si
de a bit to twirl his staff around.
It was a well made quarterstaff, and it had carried him down many roads and seen him through more than a few scuffles. It wasn’t a particularly ornate weapon, nor was it completely simple. It was one head taller than Dormael exactly, and was made from a dark oak native to the northern Sevenlands. It was well polished and strong, and capped on each end with a steel ferrule that added a bit of strength to its swing, and helped to balance it. Dormael gripped it in the center, flexing the skin of his palms against the polished oak and digging his grip into the wood. It felt good to hold it again. It felt like home. Taking a few practice swings to loosen up, he looked to Shawna.
The girl had shed her blanket and tied back her hair to keep it from her face during the sparring match. She was wearing her light riding leathers, pants and a vest over a shirt of thick wool. Her neck was also wrapped in a scarf, but her attire was hardly what caught Dormael’s attention.
She had belted on her swords, and the scabbards were crossed behind her buttocks. It was a strange way to wear a sword, but then Shawna wielded short blades, and the wear of them didn’t seem to hinder her at all. Reaching behind her, one hand upright and the other reversed, she wrapped her hands around the hilts of her weapons.
Shawna drew the blades in one smooth motion, the swords giving a low hiss and a slight musical note as they came forth. Her eyes were closed in serenity as she thrust, then swung and thrust again, loosening up for the coming match. She performed each action slowly, with a fluid grace that belied her fiery attitude and made her seem a dancer in some macabre play. Dormael and D’Jenn both stopped their own preparations to observe the girl in surprised appreciation. Finally, Shawna abated her dance and opened her eyes to see the two wizards standing there gazing at her, and she raised an eyebrow.
“Did you two enjoy that?” she asked accusingly.
“Quite,” D’Jenn replied with an open smile on his face, and Shawna shot him an amused but reproachful look. D’Jenn held up a hand for a momentary pause and turned to walk to the pack horses. Reaching into one of his bags, he pulled out a pair of heavily armored gauntlets, and strapped them onto his hands and forearms over his woolen shirt. They were embossed black, and had the design of a marching dragon worked into them, though they were neither jeweled nor ornate in design.
Reaching to his right side, D’Jenn pulled his grim morningstar out of the loop on his belt where it hung. It was a menacing weapon, five hands in length and topped with a rounded head which was adorned with sharp spikes that poked out in every direction. The lower half of it was wrapped in dark leather, and there was another large spike set into the bottom of the weapon for a reverse blow if it was needed. Running one of his gauntleted hands over his weapon, D’Jenn opened his power and let a small bit of magic run across it.
“My weapon is not Infused as yours is, dear,” he explained to Shawna, “I’m putting some protection around it so that if it contacts anyone, they don’t get a spike in the gut for breakfast. That would ruin our day, now wouldn’t it?”
“Indeed,” laughed Dormael, “So how is this to take place? Every man for himself…sorry Shawna, just an expression, or are we going to square off one at a time…?”
“Both of you against me,” stated Shawna.
“Are you sure, dear? We did receive training with our weapons at the Conclave, you know,” D’Jenn cautioned.
“I am Marked, D’Jenn,” Shawna replied simply, “I am not being arrogant or overconfident, so don’t look at me like that. I am Island-trained. Come whenever you are ready.”
“So be it, then,” D’Jenn nodded, and all three raised their weapons in a makeshift salute.
“Ready?” asked Dormael.
“Ready,” whispered Shawna.
D’Jenn moved to Shawna’s rear, his morningstar held at a low ready and his left hand holding up his gauntlet in a defensive posture. Dormael moved around opposite D’Jenn, his staff twirling slow circles in front of his body, and his stance almost casual. Shawna reversed the grip on the blade in her left hand, and held the right one upright. She turned her body and put D’Jenn on her left and Dormael on her right with her blade tilted slightly in his direction. Her left blade she held horizontal to the ground, pointed at D’Jenn, but she did not otherwise appear to be observing him.
It was as if some silent marker was sounded, and both cousins sprang into action, Dormael’s staff coming from overhead at Shawna’s right, and D’Jenn moving in low on her left for a swing with his mace. Shawna at first appeared to be caught off guard, but at the last second she caught Dormael’s staff on the flat of her right blade and slipped it harmlessly off to the side as she lithely skipped in the opposite direction. With catlike speed she spun and planted a kick in Dormael’s back that sent him stumbling into his cousin, effectively fending off both attackers. D’Jenn grunted a bit as Dormael bumped into him, but both wizards got their feet in seconds and were once again at the ready, now facing Shawna from one side.
“Balance, Dormael. If you can’t stand, you can’t fight. If that is the extent of your training, boys, I dare say that this will be quite like babysitting children,” Shawna quipped, and both cousins laughed in good nature.
“That was just a test, my dear girl. I’ve got you all figured out now, don’t you worry. I’ll have you bent over my knee in no time at all,” Dormael shot back, his staff twirling a bit faster now.
“A wager then,” Shawna offered, “If either of you can touch me with your weapons, just touch me with them, you win. If not, then when we reach Borders you must act as my servants and follow my orders unquestioningly.”
“And what if we win? What do we get?” D’Jenn piped, gesturing at her with his morningstar.
“Whatever you please,” Shawna returned with a bemused grin on her pretty face.
“If we win, dear girl, you must dance in a skirt to a song in the common room of the next Inn. On a table,” Dormael declared, and D’Jenn laughed in appreciation, “None of that demure noblewoman attitude, either. You have to kick up your skirts like a common girl.”
“Done,” Shawna declared, “Now come, let’s get on with it.”
The next ten minutes were a flurry of blows, steel mace meeting sword, and sword meeting staff. Shawna spun before, around, and through the cousins in a beautiful dance of battle. Her blades sang through the air and turned every attack the wizards could make at the young woman with an ease that surprised and frustrated the two cousins immensely. Many times she tripped or kicked one of the two wizards, her feet not even seeming to move before they found their mark and deftly took one or both of the Sevenlanders out of the fight for a moment.
D’Jenn’s morningstar whipped through the air, whooshing as he swung it at her when he saw an opening, but just when he thought he had the girl, she danced away or slipped his blow to the side with one or both of her swords and tripped, kicked, elbowed him in the gut, or rapped his gauntlets with one of her blades. Dormael’s staff was a blur as he twirled it one way and then the other, attacking with both sides of it as he spun through the small battle. Shawna’s blade was there, however, knocking his staff away or turning it to the side as effortlessly as a mountain turns a river. The girl seemed impossible to hit, dancing cat-like as she flowed from one stance to another with the fluid grace of the wind.
Finally, Shawna went for the attack and pressed Dormael back, her swords striking first high and then low as he desperately tried to fend her off. It was taking both ends of his staff to defend against the girl, and she pressed him farther and farther back, giving D’Jenn an opening to come up behind her. Taking the bait, D’Jenn rushed her from behind, aiming a blow at her exposed back. Shawna feinted high at Dormael, causing him to raise his staff in defense just as D’Jenn came within range.
Entering a spin that seemed inhumanly quick, Shawna dropped low and brought her right blade across Dormael’s belly, and thrust her left one straight into D’Jenn’s chest, earning low grunts of surprise and pain from both wizard
s. The blows would surely bruise. Shawna stood from her kneeling position, and both wizards dropped their weapons to their waists, clearly and easily defeated.
“Well, boys,” Shawna said, taking a deep breath, “it appears as if I get to take the lead when we get to Borders.” Dormael and D’Jenn looked at each other, aghast at the girl’s talent with the blade. As Shawna sheathed her weapons, Dormael began to snicker, and D’Jenn joined in. Soon both cousins were laughing and shaking their heads in wonder. Shawna looked askance at them with one eyebrow raised in an incredulous expression, and stood facing them with her hands on her hips.
“Is there something comical about our sparring match, boys? Is another spanking in order here?” she challenged, a smirk passing across her face.
“No, dear, not at all,” Dormael asserted, leaning on his staff and breathing as if he had just run a mile, “we had underestimated you, obviously. It’s just a little surprising to be beaten so easily is all. You have great ability with your blades, Shawna. I salute you.” Dormael punched his right fist against the left side of his chest lightly, and D’Jenn mimicked the gesture and inclined his head with respect.
“Thank you,” Shawna replied, inclining her own head at the two wizards, “that means a lot, to hear it coming from you two.”
“I think it’s time you started wearing those blades again, dear. The time may come soon enough when we’ll need you. How is your wound?” D’Jenn asked, dropping his mace back into the loop on his wide belt.
“A little stiff, but otherwise its fine. It feels good to be moving about again like a normal person.”
“Well,” Dormael complimented, “normal is hardly the word I would use. I think we should repeat this sparring match every couple of nights or so. With D’Jenn and me fighting against you, we can only get better.” Shawna smiled and cast her gaze downward, slightly embarrassed by the compliment. Her pale face reddened, and she turned towards the camp once again.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 23