Did you help her escape, Havram? I saw that look in your eyes.
“There’s something interesting going on.” Havram stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. “We’ve received the reports from the docks. That ship they had requested sank in its berth, and the sails caught fire.”
“Yes.” Grant scowled. “Those gods-damned bells were ringing for half the night.”
“One of the men from the quay said some of his comrades were pulled into the water, as if something invisible had come out of the harbor and jerked them under.”
Grant turned a raised eyebrow on Havram. “Go on.”
“Not long after, the Baroness appears at the North Gate, leads our men on a chase, and just disappears around a corner. It’s more than a little odd, sir.”
“The flames, the ship, the disappearance,” Grant mused. “This mysterious Sevenlander we heard about—you think he’s a sorcerer?”
“It sounds like a definite possibility at this point, sir. Ships don’t just break open at anchor and sink to the bottom of the harbor. They certainly don’t just catch fire on their own.”
“And you think the appearance of the woman was done with magic?”
“I think so, sir.”
Grant looked out the window. “The westerners are known for their tolerance of sorcery. They celebrate it, even—or so I’ve read. I believe you’re right, Lieutenant. Quite perceptive. Ferun!”
Ferun stiffened. “Sir!”
“Find one of Lindesholm’s servants and bring me a map of the countryside. Quickly, now!”
“Yes, sir!” Ferun’s footsteps faded into the hallway as the man went to his task.
“So, Lieutenant,” Grant said as Ferun left the room. “Do you think the Baroness is still in the city?”
“I don’t, sir.”
“Why not?”
“We know they were trying to find passage over the Stormy Sea. If the Baroness appearing at the gate was a trick of sorcery—an illusion, perhaps—its intended purpose was clearly to get our men to abandon their posts.”
“So our quarry could slip out when they did.” Grant nodded. He wanted to put his head in his hands and scream with frustration, but he contented himself with a cleansing sigh. The officer never shows weakness before his subordinates.
“Sir, if I may suggest—there is one place we can go to learn their destination.”
“This Alton Dersham, you mean.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grant rubbed his chin in thought. He was already operating outside the bounds of his original orders. This was supposed to have been a secret mission, something the Emperor could explain away, or deny completely. Externalities were already stacked high, and dragging another Cambrellian nobleman from his home and putting him to the question was probably too far.
“I’ll think on that, Lieutenant. For now, let’s see what we can figure out on our own. We’re flapping in the wind, and I hate being at the mercy of events. I rather prefer to control them.”
“Of course, sir.” Havram nodded.
Ferun returned with a map of Cambrell and spread it out on Grant’s desk. Grant dismissed the man with a curt nod, and Ferun retreated into the hallway. Grant gestured Havram over to the table, and the two of them leaned over the map.
“What do you know of Cambrell, Havram?”
“Not much, sir. Just general knowledge, so to speak.”
Grant ran his finger over the coastline north of Ferolan. “This entire section of land is supposed to be unusable for ships. Sheer cliffs, no natural harbors, that sort of thing. All the way up to here.” He moved his finger to a dot on the map—a town called Borders.
“What do we know of it, sir?”
“Nothing, but we can ask the Earl.” Grant peered at the bay around Borders, which was decorated with representations of whirlpools. “If she means to sail from there, she’ll have to go wide of the Maelstrom Field.”
“Unless this sorcerer can do something.” Havram shrugged when Grant scowled at him. “I don’t know what powers sorcerers wield, sir.”
Grant sighed and nodded. “We’re not trained to fight sorcerers, Havram. I’ve never seen a sorcerer. I’ve seen some magical items before—mostly curiosities. Nothing like this.”
“My grandmother told stories of the Conclave.” Havram stared at the map, though his gaze was focused elsewhere. “Her parents remembered the aftermath. They were children during the Second Great War.”
Grant shuddered. “The last thing I want to do is deal with the bloody Conclave of fucking Wizards. We cannot allow the Baroness to escape to the west. If she leaves Alderak, we will never get our hands on her. How did she fall in with a sorcerer, of all people?”
“Her family may have been sympathizers. There are rumors about the Conclave, sir.”
“Rumors, Havram?”
Havram’s face twisted with reluctance. “Just things people have been saying for years, sir. Nothing you probably haven’t already heard yourself.”
“Speak up, Lieutenant. You’re not standing here looking over this map with me because of your chiseled jaw and pleasant demeanor.”
Havram showed the barest hint of a smile. “Yes, sir. People say the Conclave has a network of spies, sir. They’re supported by sympathizers—locals who don’t see the danger sorcery presents.”
“Ah, yes. I think I may have heard that somewhere before.” Grant waved the rumors away. “It’s beyond my concern. What is my concern is the Baroness. We have to prepare, to cut off her routes of escape.”
“Yes, sir. What are your orders?”
“I’ll need to draft some letters. First, I’ll have a message to send back to our ship. Second, I’ll need you to talk to the Earl’s chamberlain, ask the man if he has any pigeons that know the way to Borders. I’ll write the King of Cambrell on the off chance she goes there, though I doubt it I’ll have a lot of letters to send today, Havram.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have the men prepare for sea deployment. We’ll be taking to sea as soon as our galleon enters the harbor.”
“We will, sir?”
“Yes. This coastline along the north side of Cambrell is all craggy highlands. It will be cold, and the winter snows will soon be upon them. She has a long ride ahead of her, but we don’t have to slog through the snow in pursuit. All we need to do is catch her ship when it leaves the port at Borders and apprehend her on the sea. There’s no one to see what happens out there, and we can turn around and head for Shundov as soon as we have her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work today, Havram. Very perceptive with the sorcery. Keep this up, and you’ll do well here.”
Havram’s expression remained unreadable. “Thank you, sir.”
“Fall to purpose, Lieutenant. And have the servants send something up from the kitchens. I’m starving.”
Havram disappeared through the doorway and shut it behind him. Grant once again turned to the window. The day was bright, and by the frost lining the edges of the window, it was going to be cold. Grant hoped the Baroness was feeling the full brunt of it. She had been a thorn in his side since this entire thing had started.
No more, Baroness Llewan. You’ll be at my mercy soon.
***
Dormael awoke to the dull ache in his right shoulder.
His hand itched under its protective wrappings, and his toes were cold as all Six Hells. Every bit of his body was sore. Levering himself out of his bedroll with his good arm, he climbed from his blankets and looked toward the fire.
D’Jenn stoked the campfire, watching a steaming pot hanging from a spit. The pleasant odor of Sweetpenny tea wafted from it, and Dormael’s mouth watered. Grunting as he moved his tired muscles, Dormael trudged over to sit next to his cousin.
“Morning,” D’Jenn grunted. Dormael nodded.
Bethany and Shawna lay tucked into their blankets, still huddled together where everyone had slept. The ride had been hard on Shawna. By the time they’d stopped—well int
o the early hours of the morning—her face had been drawn with pain. Dormael had awakened his Kai and fed her body some of his magical energy, though it probably hadn’t done much good.
Bethany had slept like a stone, though she’d kicked her feet and muttered all through the night. Judging from the bags under D’Jenn’s eyes, Dormael wasn’t the only one to have been on the wrong side of Bethany’s dreams. The child rolled in her blankets and poked Shawna with an elbow, muttering something under her breath.
Given where they had found the girl, Dormael could allow Bethany her nightmares. If there was any good in the world, they would go away with time. Her bruises were fading, but the hidden scars would need healing, too.
“We should start moving as soon as we can.” D’Jenn’s breath misted in the cold morning air. “I’m not so sure Colonel Grant hasn’t figured out where we’ve gone, and chances are he’s sending out search parties as we speak.”
Dormael sighed. “Let’s give it a few minutes. I haven’t ridden in a while, and my arse is chafed something fierce.”
“Have some of this.” D’Jenn smiled as he dipped out a cup of the steaming Sweetpenny tea. “Toughen your arse up. We’ve got a long way to go.”
Dormael accepted the tea, a flat look on his face. “They’d have been here already if they were going to give chase.” Dormael took a short pull from the cup. “The Galanians don’t seem the type to just let things go.”
“It is odd we didn’t have them after us right away.” D’Jenn nodded. “I expected our ploy to work well enough to get out of the city, but I expected them to come after us, too. I put down some wards around the camp to warn us of anyone approaching, but they never woke me. It doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Maybe Shawna’s plan worked better than we thought.” Dormael shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I did a little mind-flight this morning when I awoke, but I didn’t see any signs of pursuit. I don’t like it.”
“You’d rather they were following us?”
D’Jenn sniffed. “I’d rather they were predictable. Unpredictable enemies aren’t good things to have at your back—or not at your back, as it were.”
“If they come, we’ll take them.” Dormael took another drink. “If they’re dumb enough to attack trained wizards, they’re dumb enough to get killed.”
“Hubris.” D’Jenn elbowed Dormael in the ribs. “All that brute strength you have makes you careless. An arrow through the heart will kill you as soundly as another man.”
“True enough, coz.” Dormael smirked. “The arrows have to get past the magic first, though.”
“There are children in every village who can take a rabbit with a sling.” D’Jenn smiled. “Remember how good your brother was with a sling when we were children? A boy of eight springs could kill you. All he’d have to do is hit you when you weren’t looking.”
“Now you’re just being deliberately obtuse.”
“Oh, forgive me, great wizard.” D’Jenn rolled his eyes. “I’d hate to draw your ire. My cousin, wrath of the gods.”
“Stop doing that,” Dormael grunted.
“What?”
“That ‘my cousin’ thing. You’re about to draw my ire, alright.”
“Just what I’ve been afraid of our entire lives.” D’Jenn took a slow sip of tea.
“How long has it been since you were in a fistfight? Probably too long.”
“If you’re going to fight,” Shawna’s voice piped up from her bedroll, “can you do it quietly? The rest of us are trying to sleep.”
Dormael smiled at D’Jenn and mimed Shawna’s words with a mocking expression.
“I saw that, Dormael.”
Shawna climbed from her bedroll, wincing and holding her side. She stretched her body, forcing herself into as many interesting positions as she could. Dormael smiled when D’Jenn caught him watching. Shawna either didn’t see him or chose to ignore him. When she was done, she trudged over to the campfire, bringing her blanket with her.
“What are you drinking? It smells nice.”
D’Jenn dipped a cup into the pot and handed it to her. “It’s called Sweetpenny tea.”
“Hopefully it will stave off this cold.” Shawna pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I hadn’t realized how windy it was up here.”
Dormael shivered even as she spoke the words. There were few trees this close to Ferolan, and the sea wind blew unchecked across the hills of the Cambrellian coastline. Dormael huddled deeper into his blanket.
Shawna took a tentative sip. “That’s good. Where does it come from?”
“Back home.” Dormael smiled. “It’s made from a flower native to the Sevenlands.”
“We get it from Dormael’s mother.”
“Your mother?” Shawna gave Dormael a surprised glance.
“We all have them,” Dormael said. “Why? What’s that look on your face about?”
“It’s just strange.” Shawna shrugged. “I grew up hearing all kinds of stories. You never hear about the evil sorcerer’s mother.”
“Oh, of course.” D’Jenn snorted. “What stories? What did they say? Wizards are born deep in the bowels of the earth? We only come out of our caves to steal young women from villages?”
Dormael laughed. “Wait, I’ve got one—we’re born when the stars mate with the moon, and we fall to Eldath as old men and live our lives backwards. Every time we use magic, we regress toward childhood, and one day we’ll all end as infants!”
“We all worship Saarnok, the Lord of Bones.”
Dormael wiggled his fingers. “We commune with evil spirits who help us in our trickery.”
“We draw our power from the sorrow of the downtrodden.” D’Jenn raised his eyebrows. “Though, in my case, that might be true.”
“I get it, that’s enough.” Shawna sighed. “Though I have heard the one about evil spirits.”
Dormael smiled. “Now you know the reason we’re here. Bethany’s really an ancient wizard, and you’re the girl we stole from the village. Off to the cave we go.”
D’Jenn chuckled, but Shawna looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“I didn’t say I believed those stories.” She shook her head. “Just that I’d always heard them growing up. And now I’m sitting here with two of you, and you’re talking about your mother. It’s strange, that’s all.”
“It’s not so strange.” Dormael shrugged. “You have a talent—the sword. Magic is like that. It’s a skill, that’s all. It’s not evil—it’s just there. Simple.”
“It’s not simple.” Shawna looked at him in disbelief. “Anyone can pick up a sword and learn to use it. A sword is just a thing—a tool.”
Dormael sighed and looked to D’Jenn for help, but D’Jenn took a sip from his tea and returned a bland look. His hand flashed the Hunter’s Tongue sign for remember. Dormael ground his teeth.
I forgot about his bloody rule.
“Some wizards are born with an innate connection to magic. We can’t deny it any more than our arms or legs. It will come out no matter what, and if you don’t train the skill to use it, it can be deadly—to you, and to everyone around you.” Dormael shrugged. “But magic is there whether you can hear it or not. It’s in the air, the dirt, everywhere. It’s in you right now—you just can’t hear it.”
“That’s…not something I wanted to know.” Shawna pulled her blanket tighter. “What did you mean by some wizards? There are different kinds?”
Dormael nodded. “Anyone can learn to use magic. It takes a lot of training, but plenty of people do it. At the Conclave, they’re called the Learned.”
Shawna scoffed. “I thought you had to be born with it.”
“Plenty do it with training and dedication.” D’Jenn glanced up from the teapot. “The same thing it took to earn your Mark.”
“It took a lot of pain to earn my Mark.” Shawna smiled. “The first year I trained—really trained—I think everyone had an incredulous expression permanently etched on their faces, and I had wel
ts permanently etched everywhere else.”
“You discipline the body for the sword,” D’Jenn said, “you discipline the mind for magic.”
“Where does it come from?”
“Who knows?” Dormael shrugged. “Maybe it was a gift from Eindor, like it says in the Song of Creation. The Philosophers call it the Song of the Gods—they say it’s the leftover energy from the forging of the world, the very echoes of existence. They’ve always been too impressed with themselves, if you ask me.”
Bethany climbed from her blankets and interrupted the discussion, plopping down between Dormael and D’Jenn. Dormael finished his tea, dipped another cup, and handed it to Bethany. He took the opportunity to leave the conversation and started handing out food.
Shawna had more questions as soon as he came back to the fire.
“If anyone can learn to use magic, why doesn’t everyone?”
Dormael sighed. “It’s not something you can just pick up on your own. It has to be taught.”
“In Alderak, you’re likely to be killed for even trying. Imagine what it’s like for the Blessed here in Alderak—those like us, born with the spark.” D’Jenn looked at Shawna, his expression unreadable. “Imagine you’re thirteen, and suddenly, strange things are happening to you. Maybe you start a fire without realizing it, maybe you move something because you’re angry.”
“You’ll get a hangman’s noose around here.” Dormael smiled at Shawna. “This is a civilized place. It’s like that in the Empire, too. In Thardin, they’ll take your head. They used to burn people at the stake in Shundovia, before the war.”
D’Jenn nodded. “If you’re that kid from some no-name village in Thardin, or Shundovia, you’ve got a lot to worry about. Most of those kids end up dead, but some run away. There are wizards here in the east whose sole mission is to seek them out and bring them to the Mage Tower in Lesmira, where they can be educated.”
Shawna chewed on her ration of dried meat. “It’s not like that everywhere. Sometimes they’re just sent to Lesmira.”
D’Jenn scoffed. “Sometimes.”
“How was it for the two of you when you learned you had the spark?”
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 18