Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1)

by D. W. Hawkins

Dormael took a deep breath. “I was having an argument with my father. I was eight, I think. I got to yelling and pitching a fit about something, I don’t remember what, when the tree in the yard burst into flame. Damned thing burnt right to cinders. You should have seen the look on my father’s face.”

  Dormael smiled, but Shawna looked horrified.

  “For me it was different,” D’Jenn said. “I could hear it for a long time before I knew what it was. The world sounded different, it sang to me. I kept it to myself for a long time.”

  “But they don’t kill wizards where you’re from.” Shawna raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  D’Jenn shrugged. “Sometimes it’s fun to have a secret between you and the world. It was my secret to tell, so I kept it for awhile.”

  Shawna mulled that over in silence, so Dormael took the cue to break camp. The wind picked up while they readied to leave, bringing a sharp chill. They left the camp for the company of the highland road and headed north.

  The hills stretched around them like a folded blanket of brown grasses, interspersed with islands of green shrubbery and stunted trees. The wind whipped through the landscape, launching the grass into a constant whisper. The ocean was a bluish haze on the western horizon, and the air still had the salty tang of the sea.

  As the day wore into afternoon, the road turned away from the jagged coastline. Scattered trees began to appear, stunted limbs bare for the winter, and by the late afternoon the party was riding through the edge of a light forest. Dead leaves littered the ground, having lost their color weeks gone, though Dormael did spot a few evergreens in the distance. The trees cut the worst chill from the wind, and Dormael was able to lower the hood of his cloak and take in a little sunlight.

  Shawna rode up on his right side and matched pace with Horse. “So, you said there are wizards in Lesmira with a mission to round up these children in Alderak. How many different types are there? What’s your mission, or whatever you call it?”

  Dormael looked to D’Jenn for support, and D’Jenn’s hands flashed in the Hunter’s Tongue.

  May as well tell her. We’re going to be traveling together for a while, so let’s extend some trust, he signed. You’re doing the talking. Remember the rule.

  Dormael rolled his eyes and turned back to Shawna. “I’m not sure how the Lesmirans do it, but at the Conclave, there are different choices you can make. The most common is a path to becoming a Hedge Wizard. You do a lot of natural sciences, healing arts, that sort of thing. Hedge Wizards help their communities with farming, healing, teaching—things like that.”

  Shawna nodded. “What else?”

  “Well, there are Infusers—wizards who make things. They’re the types who would have made your swords. It’s not widely studied at the Conclave, but the Lesmirans are supposed to be good at it. I’ve never gone for it myself, but D’Jenn has studied a little infusion.”

  D’Jenn was silent.

  “There are the Scouts—the ones we talked about earlier. In the west, they’re more like traveling teachers. They go around gathering younglings who can use magic and bring them back to the Conclave. They’re given free room and board everywhere.”

  “Here in the east, the Scouts are more like bounty hunters,” D’Jenn said. “Half the time they have to rescue the children from angry townsfolk. Sometimes they have to track them after they’ve ran away from their homes. Sometimes they have to find a kid who’s killed with his power and put him down.”

  Shawna glanced between them. “You two don’t look like traveling teachers.”

  Dormael shook his head, smiling. “I suppose not. There are two more kinds of wizards at the Conclave. The Philosophers—”

  “Who are too impressed with themselves, apparently.” Shawna smirked.

  Dormael chuckled. “Indeed. D’Jenn and I are from the last Discipline. We’re what’s known as Warlocks. We’re trained to fight with magic, trained in stealth and survival. We’re trained with weapons.”

  “So, it is true!” Shawna peered at Dormael as if she’d found him hiding under a rock. “People always said the Conclave had a network of spies, and sorcerers trained to kill with magic. I can’t believe it’s true.”

  “We’re not spies,” D’Jenn said. “We don’t care for state secrets unless they affect the Conclave. When something involving magic happens—say, a rogue wizard kills a bunch of innocents, or some minor nobleman starts using a dangerous infused item—that’s where we come in.”

  “Like when the Galanian Emperor attacks a foreign barony in search of something magical?” Shawna raised an eyebrow.

  “Precisely.”

  “So…so why weren’t you aware he was searching for magical things in the first place?” Shawna’s voice thickened. “How were you unaware of my mother’s armlet?”

  “Shawna,” Dormael said, “the Conclave can’t be everywhere at once. Especially on the other side of the Stormy Sea, where it’s death to be a wizard in the first place. How could anyone have known?”

  “I understand, it’s just hard to swallow.” Shawna grimaced. “My whole family, everyone I’ve ever known—gone. All over this stupid piece of jewelry.”

  “The gods love their tragedy.” D’Jenn shook his head. “The good thing is that now we know. The Galanians made a mistake when they came after you.”

  “There’s nothing good about this.” Shawna’s expression darkened. “But you’re right about the second part. They’ll pay for what they’ve done.”

  “You bring up a good point, though,” D’Jenn said. “I wonder where the Emperor learned of your mother’s armlet. Maybe Dormael and I are behind on things, but if he’s gathering infused items, I’d hope someone at the Conclave would know about it.”

  “It’s new to me.” Dormael shrugged. “The last I heard about the Galanian Empire was when they attacked Old Shundov and put the castle to the sword. It surprised me when it happened.”

  “Why would it surprise you?” An edge formed on Shawna’s tone. “Dargorin obviously has no scruples where slaughter is concerned.”

  “At the time, it seemed out of character. I remember the conquest of Neleka—I was there, in fact. It was civilized, as wars of conquest go.”

  “Civilized?” Shawna gave him a dangerous look.

  “It was.” Dormael shrugged. “They fought a few battles, but the takeover was easy for the Empire. There was no slaughter at Fal-Nelek, no sacking of towns, no horror stories from the countryside. There were a few arrests, if I remember, but the Galanian Emperor allowed the Nelekans to keep their state mostly intact. Any who opposed the Empire could leave—no hangings, no purges. Something changed at Shundov.”

  “You sound quite impressed by them,” Shawna said.

  “That’s not what I mean. You know what happenes during a war—cities are sacked, there’s looting, there’s widespread killing.” Dormael shook his head. “In Neleka, things were civilized. That’s why the slaughter at Shundov surprised me.”

  “What were you doing in Neleka during the Galanian invasion?”

  There was an involuntary pang in Dormael’s chest. “Visiting a friend.”

  “And is your friend impressed with the Galanians, too?”

  “No.” Dormael sighed. “She died during the war.”

  Dormael kicked Horse ahead of the party, leaving Shawna behind.

  ***

  Shawna turned a flat look on D’Jenn as Dormael rode away. “What was that about?”

  D’Jenn gave her a sideways glance and stayed silent. She kept looking at him, waiting for an explanation. Finally, with an irritated breath, he spoke.

  “Dormael had a friend in Neleka before the invasion.”

  Shawna sighed. “You’re just repeating what he said.”

  “I am.”

  “Was she special to him, then?”

  It would have been hard to imagine a sorcerer taking a lover, but Dormael had been shooting covert—and overt—glances at her since she’d met him. Shawna had been e
xposed to such things before. She had been of a suitable marrying age for quite a few springs, and she’d fielded a few suitors in her time. She had long been able to tell the difference between a harmless glance and a dangerous leer.

  Dormael played the uncaring rogue, but there were moments where an actual person peeked through his flippant façade. D’Jenn, on the other hand, seemed more grounded—though she could tell her very presence irritated him.

  D’Jenn sighed through his nose. “Aye, he cared about her.”

  “At least he’s almost human.”

  D’Jenn gave her a sidelong glance. “He’s not the type to explore his feelings, but after she disappeared, he disappeared. I think he was looking for her. When he came back, he wouldn’t speak of her. Wouldn’t have me speak of her, either.”

  “What happened to her?”

  D’Jenn shifted the reins in his hands. “She was a wizard. Some rare few children who have the spark come to terms with it on their own, and she was one of those. Had some cabin in the forest near the city of Fal-Nelek. I don’t know what happened to her, but I can guess.”

  “Guess, then.”

  D’Jenn gave her an all-suffering glance. “Wars are chaos, no matter how civilized Dormael said the invasion was. Even if the fighting never reached her doorstep, things may have devolved in the region. There would have been refugees fleeing the Galanian border towns. She was living in hiding, so she might have been outed as a magic user during the chaos. A group of refugees might have come along, found her cabin, and killed her. Who knows? If Dormael ever found out, he never mentioned it to me.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Inera, but I wouldn’t mention it to Dormael.”

  Shawna nodded and the two of them rode on in silence. She stared at Dormael’s back for awhile, wondering about the mysterious woman. He didn’t seem to hold the same weight in his heart as she did—a burning fire in her chest, a desire for blood. Perhaps his wounds were too old to be so raw.

  Shawna sighed and let Charlotte fall behind in line. Guilt twisted in her belly—it always did when she loosened her tongue in anger. It wasn’t proper to act so peevish, even if she was emotional. It wouldn’t do to throw away her honor because the gods had given her hardship. She might apologize later—he had saved her life, after all—but she could let him sulk for a little while. Perhaps it would deter him from ogling her backside the next time she stretched in the morning.

  Something told her it wouldn’t be enough.

  ***

  Dormael spotted a likely campsite to the east side of the road just after the sun touched the horizon. It was a clearing around a ready-made firepit, complete with stumps arrayed in a circle, their tops rounded smooth from the weight of untold numbers of travelers. It was probably maintained on some sort of honor system.

  Cambrell is almost sickeningly civilized.

  Dormael turned Horse toward the clearing without speaking, and his companions followed. Before long, Dormael found himself warming his freezing hands by a glowing fire and puffing on his pipe as he let the soreness escape his backside. It had been too long since Dormael had spent time in the saddle.

  Bethany lounged with her head against his shoulder, staring into the flames. It was too cold to speak, so Dormael offered silent company to her instead. Bethany didn’t seem to mind.

  D’Jenn rummaged around in his saddlebags, and Shawna came trudging over sit across the fire from Dormael. He gave her a wan smile and returned to staring into the flames. His desire for speech grew smaller.

  “I didn’t mean to pry earlier.” Shawna winced. “About your lover, I mean.”

  “My lover?” Dormael snorted. “You weren’t. It’s nothing.”

  “Still, I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

  “I’m not angry, just tired from the ride.” Dormael held up his hand to forestall any more words. “My backside is slowly turning to cured leather.”

  “Can’t you just magic that sort of thing away?”

  “No.” Dormael shook his head. “Healing with magic isn’t easy. Otherwise we’d have just wiggled our fingers at you, and no more arrow wound.”

  “I thought you were holding out.” Shawna smirked. “Maybe I’d have to pay you with my firstborn son, or the sorrow of the downtrodden.”

  “I’ll take the sorrow of the downtrodden any day.” D’Jenn tromped to the fire, depositing various cooking implements on the ground. “Who wants to deal with a squalling babe all day, right young one?” D’Jenn threw a mock punch at Bethany, who fended him off with a playful swat and a nervous smile.

  “Well, my father had a cure for saddlesoreness.” Shawna smiled. “He told me about it when I was a girl.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. We raised horses, you know. You learn all sorts of things, growing up around them.”

  “What’s the cure?”

  “A tougher ass and less whining.” Shawna smirked.

  “I said something similar.” D’Jenn laughed. “See, cousin? Wisdom of the ages.”

  “Stunning revelations abound.” Dormael snorted and huddled deeper in his cloak.

  D’Jenn stoked the fire. “How long is the ride to Borders from here?”

  “Around a week, maybe.” Shawna scooted closer to the flames. “That’s just a guess, though. I’ve never actually been there. No one goes to Borders if they can help it.”

  “Is it really that bad?” Dormael blew on his hands.

  “It’s a hole in the coastline full of smugglers and thieves,” Shawna said. “It’s a cesspool.”

  “I’ve been in a few cesspools in my time.” Dormael shrugged. “They’re not all bad.”

  Shawna sniffed. “I’m sure you have been.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.” Shawna fixed him with a flat look.

  “I think there’s a village, maybe two days up the road,” D’Jenn said. “If we keep a good pace, we might make it in time for the festival.”

  Bethany perked up. “Festival?”

  Dormael turned a surprised glance on the girl, who cowered from his look in embarrassment. He nudged her with his elbow in apology and wiped the surprise from his face.

  “The Festival of Frost, little one,” he clarified. “The day after tomorrow is the Winter Solstice. The Festival should last from noon on the Solstice to noon the next day.”

  Bethany cleared her throat, eyeing the rest of the companions with nervous glances. “Will there be food?”

  “There’s always food at a Solstice.” Shawna smiled. “Enough to fill your belly three times.”

  “Food, drink, dancing. There might even be games,” Dormael said.

  Bethany cracked a diffident smile. “Then we should hurry. Food is worth it.”

  “Our wise little leader has spoken.” D’Jenn winked at Bethany. She settled deeper into her cloak in answer and returned to staring into the fire.

  Dormael snapped his fingers. “Bethany, do you know how to read?”

  She looked up and shook her head.

  “Well, it’s high time you learned, little one. While D’Jenn cooks, I’ll teach you how to write your name. Sound good?”

  Bethany nodded.

  “Alright, then.” Dormael grabbed a stick and scribbled a few lines in the dirt. “This is the first letter of your name…”

  Bethany listened and piped in whenever Dormael asked her a question, and before the food was done, she was scrawling her name in the dirt with dexterous fingers. It warmed him to see her smile, though a wild look still harbored in the fringes of her expressions. They ate in silence until the cold sent everyone to their blankets.

  The next day was clear and utterly devoid of warmth.

  Dormael spent parts of the ride allowing Bethany to lead Horse and shooting his consciousness into the morning to do a little mind-flight. The road, which meandered near the coastline, was clear of travelers in both directions. The clear, blue sky coupled with the absence of movement made the world su
rreal to Dormael, as if he and his friends rode through some winter-locked wasteland with only the cold for company.

  The forest grew thicker as they made their way north. Evergreens peppered the woods, standing out in rebellion of the season. The afternoon took on the early twilight of the deep woods, painting the road with somber colors. When he opened his Kai for a sweep with his magical senses, it resonated with a pleasant hum coming from the forest.

  D’Jenn must have sensed it as well—he turned his mount from the road toward an overgrown game trail. Dormael followed, signaling for Shawna to come with him. She regarded them both with a cautious glance, but she clucked to her massive horse and followed him into the woods.

  The going was slow, as the horses had trouble navigating the trail, but Dormael gasped as they broke into a clearing. An old wooden cabin sat in the center. The roof had long ago fallen in, and vegetation grew through the windows.

  Near the cabin was a firepit, complete with a bricked enclosure and an iron grill. Smooth stones sat neatly around the pit, with rusted tools stacked beside them. All along the clearing were ancient trees, their limbs intertwined as if they had agreed to shield this place from the outside. The whole area vibrated with magic.

  “What is this place?” Shawna broke the warm silence. “How did you know of it?”

  “I didn’t.” D’Jenn stared around at the trees. “But I could feel it.”

  “Magic?” A strange note entered Shawna’s voice.

  “The whole place is singing with it.” D’Jenn shot her an evil smile. “Don’t worry, it won’t kill you.”

  “What does it…what does it feel like?”

  Bethany smiled. “Like a warm buzz all over your body.”

  D’Jenn gave Bethany a sharp glance.

  Dormael climbed from the saddle and helped Bethany down after him. Shawna saw them dismounting and regarded him with what Dormael could only describe as white-faced terror. She shot incredulous glances between Dormael and D’Jenn.

  “Wait—we’re going to stay here?”

  “Aren’t we?” Dormael looked to D’Jenn for support. D’Jenn only smiled and dismounted to explore the clearing.

  “Well…didn’t you say there was magic here?” Shawna shivered. “That this place is…well, you know.”