“I was one of three that was sent to find you. The other two left on horseback yesterday; one to the east and the other to the south. I do not know what other measures the Deacon has taken to find you, but know this: he will find you, eventually. He’s very close to the fruition of his plans, Dormael. Once that happens…you will probably be coined.”
“I expected as much,” Dormael said. He’d tried to sound nonchalant about it, but he couldn’t keep a small quiver of fear from his voice.
“I will not warn you as to whom the other two Warlocks are that are after you, but I will tell you that they aren’t very good at changing forms, and horrible at flying. I tracked you down from the sky, but they will most likely be on horseback. I cannot say any more, old friend.”
“I would say I understand, Jarek, but I don’t. I thank you, anyway.”
“I regret the way this is turning out, Dormael. No matter what happens in the future, know that I am still your friend, in my heart.”
Dormael felt a bitter stab of regret. “Must it be this way, Jarek?”
“Yes.”
“What will you do, then?” Dormael asked, looking up at his large friend.
“I think I will find evidence of your passage to the west. I think I will follow it for a week before I realize that the trail is cold. I think that I will forget that this conversation ever took place, Dormael. It is the most that I can do,” Jarek replied, looking off to the west.
“Are you sure you couldn’t just keep heading west?”
“I’m sorry my friend. My honor can only allow so many lies. Besides, Victus would find out – you know this. The next time we meet, things may be violent between us. At least I can give you these next ten days, though. Be vigilant, my old friend. If you see me again, do not hesitate. Rest assured, I will not.”
With that, the two of them traded wary nods, and Jarek took up his staff and rucksack and turned to the west. He did not look back at Dormael, nor did he acknowledge anyone else in the group. When he crested the top of a nearby hill, Dormael saw him jump into the air and blur into the form of a great eagle. The bird faded into the distance to the west, leaving Dormael feeling strangely hollow and angry.
****
“That should give us a few days to get pretty far upriver,” D’Jenn commented a few hours later, over the low fire that he’d built. He idly stirred the Traveler’s Stew that he and Dormael had prepared and watched Allen walk around with Bethany on his shoulders, telling her stories and making her laugh. Dormael nodded and inhaled deeply from his tobacco pipe.
They had made camp this evening on the leeward side of a rocky outcropping that stuck from the backside of a hill like a bone emerging from the skin of the earth. D’Jenn had made the fire at the point where the rocks created a shelter from the wind and from prying eyes in the direction of Ishamael, and had quickly began preparing the stew. Dormael had pitched in silently, chopping vegetables with one of the knives he hid about his person.
He hadn’t felt much like talking since his encounter with Jarek. He’d been able to believe that Victus’s Warlocks were all faceless traitors before that. Now the truth was driven home. His friends and comrades would be trying to kill him. And he would have to defend himself against them. He may even have to kill them.
“Dormael?” D’Jenn called to him.
“Hmm?” Dormael replied, taking another long pull from his pipe.
“I asked you if you wanted to read anymore of the documents that the Mekai gave to us. We could discuss them while we eat.”
Dormael shrugged noncommittally, his eyes turning once again to Bethany and Allen.
He was promptly hit in the chest by the remains of a carrot.
“Hey! What was that for?” he snapped, turning surprised eyes to D’Jenn.
“Has the Shaman’s Leaf dulled your wits today? You’ve been moody since this morning, coz. What in the Six Hells is wrong with you?” D’Jenn asked, an irritated tone ringing in his voice.
Dormael sighed and picked up the carrot, tossing it aside. “I’ve just been thinking, D’Jenn. That’s all.”
“Thinking.”
“Yes.”
“Thinking of what, Dormael? Would you terribly mind sharing your deep contemplations with the rest of us? It isn’t as if we’re all in the same situation, after all.” D’Jenn’s voice practically dripped sarcasm.
Dormael started to snicker, then let the laugh die before it could gain momentum. “I’ve been thinking that our situation has become more dangerous.”
“Indeed it has.”
“I’ve been thinking that our friends are quickly becoming our enemies.”
“Agreed.”
“And I’ve been thinking that we should train Bethany. We should train her as a Warlock.”
D’Jenn grew silent at that. Dormael looked back to where his adopted daughter rode on Allen’s shoulders, pointing at things and asking questions. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from this distance, but he could clearly see the two of them laughing. He was glad that she got to share those little moments. They would become scarcer in the future.
“Dormael,” D’Jenn sighed, “What you’re suggesting…it’s dangerous.”
“I know, cousin. Don’t you think I’ve thought about that? My concern is that it’s more dangerous to her to leave her unprepared.”
“You’re talking about teaching a young girl to use magic – and a strong gift for it, at that – to kill. You’re putting the power into her hands before she has the proper understanding and experience to counter it.”
“I’ve thought about that, D’Jenn. And I know. But what if something happens to her again, like what had happened in the tunnels? What if, Gods forbid, the Vilth comes after her? I won’t leave her helpless when it’s possible for me to do something about it.”
D’Jenn raised his eyebrows, “I’d hardly call her helpless. She did, after all, leave the burnt corpse of a Warlock behind her. And have you forgotten about the bandit that she…liquefied…back in the Runemian Mountains? She’s dangerous enough without giving her training.”
“She was defending herself both times –,” Dormael started, but D’Jenn held up a hand and spoke over him.
“I know, Dormael. I’m not condemning her. I’m only saying that we can teach her other things that will help her without giving her the knowledge she needs to toss fire around. We can teach her to resist mental attacks. We can teach her to Splinter spells. We can teach her shields and form shifting, though I doubt her mind is ready for the last. Those four things alone will do more to help her than all the explosions of flame and lightning could ever do,” D’Jenn said. He emphasized every point by slapping his fist into his palm, and when he had completed his comments he stared at the stew as if it had offended him.
Dormael sighed and looked off to the west, where the sun was setting, staining the horizon with a spill of orange and purple. He took a deep breath and mulled D’Jenn’s comments over, gritting his teeth. His cousin was probably right. Of the two of them, D’Jenn was by far the more level-headed and logical one. Perhaps Dormael was just letting his emotions get the better of him.
“What has gotten into you, Dormael? You brood. You have nightmares – don’t deny it, I’ve heard you thrashing about in your sleep. You’ve got this desperation about you…I don’t know how to help you, cousin, but I can tell that something is bothering you. I know you’re keeping something from me, Dormael. I don’t know what it is, but you know you can tell me. Before we brought the armlet to Ishamael you would have never considered teaching the girl to kill with her gift. You would have found the idea reprehensible. What is happening with you?”
“Perhaps I’ve just had the wool lifted from my eyes, D’Jenn. The world is a dangerous place,” he replied, sighing.
D’Jenn gazed toward Allen and Bethany before he answered, “The world has always been a dangerous place. But if you teach that little girl to kill, you’ll steal something from her. She’s just barely begun to wi
n her innocence back. Don’t take it from her again, cousin.”
The words stung. Dormael suddenly felt embarrassed and angry, as if D’Jenn were comparing him to the Red Sword Colonel – the man they’d taken Bethany from. He was angry with himself for thinking it, and at the same time he wanted to punch his cousin for the comparison.
But D’Jenn was right.
Dormael sighed, defeated. His shoulders slumped and he looked to his daughter again, watching her laugh as Allen spun her about in the tall grass. Then he imagined that same face contorted in anger, using her Kai to take someone’s life. He banished that thought as soon as it appeared.
“Splintering – we’ll teach her that first. Shielding will come next. I don’t think her mind is ready to start with mental defenses, yet. She needs to learn more discipline before she’ll be able to begin that training,” Dormael said.
D’Jenn let out a sigh of relief, “I’m glad you saw reason on this, coz.”
“Indeed,” Dormael replied.
“Are you going to share with me the secret you’re keeping?”
Dormael sighed again, and debated letting D’Jenn know about Tamasis. He could offer insight that was sorely needed, but something clamped his mouth firmly shut. For some reason, he felt that waiting was the better option. He couldn’t think of a valid reason why, but he thought it would be easier if he just kept Tamasis to himself for a little while longer.
D’Jenn sighed and turned back to stirring the stew. “Suit yourself,” he said.
Dormael grunted and climbed to his feet. He needed to get away from D’Jenn’s scrutinizing gaze for a moment, so he climbed to the top of the dusty rock face and walked toward the south for a short way. Finding a low hill, he sat upon the apex and gazed off to the west, where Jarek had departed.
The wind blew in from the east and ruffled his short hair, bringing with it the smells of the river. The sky turned a sullen pink as the sun sank lower behind the western horizon, painting the land in hues of gray, brown, and muted green. Dormael sighed, trying to mull over the events of the past week.
“Your thoughts are very troubled today.”
The voice startled him, and he hissed and summoned his Kai before he’d realized what he was doing. Tamasis sat beside him, mimicking his seating position perfectly. His glowing green eyes gazed off into the west, and he had a serene expression on his face. He wore that same dark robe, and was still barefoot. Dormael felt cold surprise to see him here.
“Are you here…really here? In the flesh?” Dormael whispered, looking back toward the camp to see if anyone was watching.
“No. This form is simply a projection of your mind. Your friends cannot see me, nor will they hear me.”
Dormael sighed in relief and settled back onto the grassy hill.
“I thought you were running from those things,” he grumbled.
“I was. I have eluded them. The Wardens will not find me again for some time,” Tamasis replied.
“Can they come here, into this world? Will your presence bring them here the way that they invaded the armlet’s dream? I do not want you to endanger my friends just by your mere presence,” Dormael asked.
“I am not entirely sure. I do not believe they were created to be a part of this world.”
“Created? Created by whom?”
“The same beings who created my prison, obviously,” Tamasis replied calmly. Dormael waited for more, but when the entity did not elaborate, Dormael let out an all-suffering breath and looked to the sky before speaking again.
“Yes, but who created your prison, and these Wardens?”
Tamasis furrowed his brow. The expression was so exaggerated that it almost made Dormael laugh. Every time Tamasis made any sort of facial expression, it always seemed as if he were forcing it, somehow.
“I do not know as of yet. I will remember, though. I will remember, and when I do…,” Tamasis said, narrowing those bright green eyes. Dormael felt chills at the comment, and the emotion was somehow entwined with Tamasis’s own anger, a feeling that spanned into an endless depth. It almost took Dormael’s breath away, and his mind reeled from the flood of sensation.
“Stop that,” Dormael said, his eyes clenched against the pain that started to send shocks through his skull, “you’re hurting me.”
“I am sorry.” The flood of emotion ceased so suddenly that Dormael felt dizzied by it.
“We’ve got to speak about this idea of you taking up residence in my head,” Dormael grumbled, rubbing his eyes to banish the headache that was quickly spreading dull throbs of pain along his temples.
“We do?”
“Yes. Every time we do this, something new comes along that makes me dislike the idea,” Dormael said.
“It is not an idea. It is a fact, yes?”
“Yes, yes, it’s a fact – will you focus, please?”
“Focus upon what? You are confusing me,” Tamasis said, tilting his head.
“I’m confusing you? That’s just hilarious, really.”
“I am failing to see the humor.”
“Will you be quiet for a second and let me think?” Dormael said, a little louder than he’d planned.
“Dormael?” Shawna’s voice called from behind him, “Who are you talking to?”
Dormael froze. Tamasis was gone, just as abruptly as he’d appeared. He was left alone on the hill, his hands to his head. He tried to come up with something fast, but his head was hurting so bad that his mind just came up blank. He turned slowly to look at the noblewoman.
She was standing a few links behind him, regarding him with a cautious, suspicious expression. Her hair was still braided, but she’d doffed her battle kit and now wore a loose-fitting white shirt with the sleeves bunched up at her elbows and the top two or three laces of the neck undone. It hung loose over the pants that she usually wore on the road, tight fitting leather breeches with laces tied up the outsides of her shapely legs. Dormael couldn’t help but admire her for a second – which didn’t help him come up with anything near to a believable explanation for his behavior.
“I was just thinking aloud,” he shrugged, “Sometimes I just need to be alone, Shawna.”
“I see,” she said, regarding him with that suspicious look. He could tell she didn’t believe him.
“What’s on your mind, Shawna?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
She sighed and continued the rest of the way up the hill, folded those pretty legs, and sat down beside him. Their knees touched slightly when she sat, but she didn’t shy from him, so Dormael didn’t make the moment any more awkward by pulling away himself or pointing it out. She took a deep breath and looked at him before replying.
“I’m worried for you, Dormael. You seem so distant lately. After everything that’s happened…I just wanted to know if you wanted to talk about it,” she said. She seemed embarrassed to say it. Dormael let out an inward sigh at the question. Why was everyone so damned concerned with the state of his mind?
Oh no, I’m just fine. I was only tortured by my ex-lover, failed to protect my daughter who had to kill someone to defend herself, chased by necromancers and demons from some netherworld, forced out of my home and outlawed by my own mentor, and I just happen to be sharing my every thought with something I know absolutely nothing about. Oh, I’m feeling just grand.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Well, if you need to talk…,” she offered, leaving the rest unsaid. Dormael smiled and nodded at her, and she took his hand and squeezed it. Her hand was warm, and it actually felt nice to touch her. She had the calluses of someone who regularly wielded a sword, and though it felt odd on such a small, pretty hand, Dormael didn’t find it uncomfortable or strange.
He bumped her shoulder with his own, a playful and friendly gesture, and she smiled back at him. They shared a quiet moment, watching the sunset and enjoying each other’s company, and after a minute Shawna interlaced her fingers with his and started idly tracing the veins on the back of his hand. She d
idn’t seem to notice the gesture, but Dormael was suddenly very aware of her, and the way she leaned comfortably against him.
“You never did tell me what you were talking about yesterday,” she said, looking down at their intertwined hands.
“No,” he said, “I didn’t.” His heart sped up. She smelled like wildflowers. When had she found the time to bathe?
“Are you going to?” she asked, still not looking up at him.
“I…,” he started, then changed his mind, “Do you really not remember?”
There. It was out, now. He’d started the conversation.
She smirked at their hands, still not looking up at him. “Remember what, Dormael?”
She did remember. She’d just been torturing him this entire time. Dormael suddenly felt like the biggest fool in the entire world. He felt cold tingles of embarrassment and excitement run through him like tiny insects crawling over his skin and through his chest.
He snorted and looked back off to the west, where the sun had set and twilight had begun to turn to full dark. He wanted to laugh in relief and frustration. He wanted to scream just to release the tension that had built in him over the past few days. He looked back at Shawna, and she was looking up at him, biting her lower lip and smiling ever so slightly.
He wanted to tumble the girl right here on the hill, and to the Six Hells with the consequences.
Before he could convince himself not to, he reached up and grabbed the nape of Shawna’s neck and pulled her into him, kissing her with every bit of need he had in his body. She let out a surprised, heavy breath out through her nose and pushed herself awkwardly against him. They rocked backward together, and before Dormael could react she’d pushed him back onto the soft grass and climbed over him, her lips seeking his and her body pressing hard into him.
Her hands wound into his hair, pulling at it and gathering it into small fistfuls as she pulled his entire head into the kiss. His own hands slipped under her shirt, and she let out a little gasp as his cold hands touched the warm skin over her hips and slipped slowly up her ribs, grasping at her sides as he tried to feel every inch of her. Her hips pressed against his, and he groaned deep in his throat in pleasure. She bit his lower lip and Dormael grabbed handfuls of her shirt and began to pull it over her head.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 79