Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1)

by D. W. Hawkins

  At least it’s an actual building.

  “If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be leaving on an extended sea voyage some time in the next few days.” D’Jenn climbed from Mist’s saddle. “Aye, we’re going to bathe here. It will be the last bath any of us will get for a while—unless you’d like to take a dip in the Stormy Sea.”

  Shawna’s face twisted with reluctance. “I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t relish the thought of being surrounded with unwashed brutes day in and day out. The two of you smell awful when you don’t bathe.”

  Dormael scoffed. “We’re not that bad.”

  “Ask Bethany. We can tell the two of you apart by your stink.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about what you’re telling her,” Dormael grumbled as he climbed from his saddle and helped Bethany. “Did you tell her not to trust me?”

  “No.” Shawna shook her head. “I told her not to trust anything that comes out of your mouth.”

  “That’s the same thing.”

  “Sound advice, either way.” D’Jenn mounted the steps to the door. “Now—will you two stop flirting so we can get this done? Silence would be a gift from the gods.”

  Shawna looked horrified. “flirting?!”

  D’Jenn shot them a mischievous smile and ducked through the door before they could say anything else. Shawna stared at the place where he had been standing for a moment, her mouth hanging open in indignation. Dormael sighed and turned to his belongings, but he paused as Bethany tugged on the sleeve of his cloak. She bit her lip and gestured to him in the Hunter’s Tongue.

  Don’t worry, her hands said, I trust you anyway.

  Dormael smiled. You’re learning your lessons well. You’ve been paying attention.

  Bethany nodded, and everyone went inside.

  The innkeeper was an obsequious little man who hovered around Shawna, wringing his hands and dipping his liver-spotted head. His eyes darted constantly, never meeting Dormael’s direct gaze. A buzz of conversation came from a common room that had been built as an addition, so they were saved from any gawking as they paid for their rooms and headed upstairs.

  The moon was high by the time everyone made their way to the common room for dinner. Shawna had wrapped her hair—which had begun to shift back to its red-golden hue—in a dark shawl, and she wore both her blades to the table. She drew every eye in the room, and Dormael could tell it made her self-conscious. The crowd eyed her the way a pack of wolves might eye a deer before digging in.

  He and D’Jenn drew their share of dark glances. There was a fair number of Dannons in the room, and Dannons had an irrational hatred of Sevenlanders. Given that during the Second Great War, the Dannons had invaded the Sevenlands and raided the countryside, despoiling everything in their path, Dormael didn’t feel particularly cheery toward them, either. Dannons were tall, fair-skinned and lightly colored, but they were tough people. The frozen lands they called home hardened them into brutal warriors. Dormael returned their stares with bared teeth.

  “How long until this Hadrick Lucius springs his trap?” Shawna asked. “I’m growing tired of everyone staring at us.”

  “Any time now.” D’Jenn smiled. “We’ve been sitting here in plain sight for long enough. At least three different messengers have come and gone.”

  Dormael looked around the room. “They’re probably just getting everyone into position.”

  “How are we supposed to do this?” Shawna asked. “How am I supposed to do this?”

  “You’re not going to crumble on us now, are you?” D’Jenn said.

  “I’m not bloody crumbling! This is the first time I’ve ever…well, done whatever this is!”

  “You were fine with Fulgaar.” D’Jenn gave her a searching look.

  “I only watched.” Shawna turned her face aside in disgust. “Besides, it wasn’t like I had to face Fulgaar—not in the way we have to face this Lucius person. How am I supposed to face someone like that? Talk to them? I don’t even want him to look at me.”

  Dormael shrugged. “I have a trick that might help.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” Dormael nodded. “I call it the silence effect.”

  “Silence effect?”

  “Aye.” Dormael leaned closer. “Trust me on this one, it works. If you have no idea what to say, or just want to put someone off, just don’t say anything. Look at them, look right into their eyes, and just keep silent.”

  “And what will that do—make me look simple?”

  “Actually, it does work,” D’Jenn said. “People will assume all sorts of things about you from what you hold back. In conversation, in reputation…it works in all sorts of ways.”

  “Remember this, too—you’re not back on your father’s farm anymore,” Dormael said. “No one knows you here, Shawna.”

  “I know that.” Shawna gave the room an uncomfortable look. “I’m not some spoiled brat.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Dormael sighed. “I mean that you can be anyone you want out here. Hadrick Lucius doesn’t know you from any other woman on the street. Act as if you’re a force to be reckoned with, and he’ll treat you as such.”

  “Roll up your sleeves, flash your Marks around, and just stare at him.” D’Jenn nodded. “I’ll bet he treats you like a poisonous snake.”

  Shawna appeared to mull that over as another round of drinks came, and a commotion started at the far end of the room. A group of men pushed their way into the common room, shooting dark glances at the patrons. A few terse commands were spat, and the people who had been eating suddenly found somewhere else to be. The common room emptied with a clatter.

  Bethany stiffened, but Dormael calmed her with a hand on her shoulder. He summoned his Kai and let his magic seep into the room, opening his senses to the music of the ether. Dormael could almost feel the leather on Shawna’s weapons compressing as she tightened her grip on the hilts.

  Six men pushed their way through the throng of departing patrons, moving to surround the companions’ table. They kept their distance, making no move to subdue anyone, and watched with wary expressions. They were pale of skin with dark hair and light-colored eyes, wearing tunics in the fashion of Neleka—a country to the east of Cambrell that had been annexed by the Galanians years ago. Their hair was cropped short in military fashion, and each of them held their hands to the short, wicked swords for which the Nelekan Legions were famous. Dormael’s eyes flicked to Shawna, and he noticed her peering at the swords, too.

  Once the room was cleared and the guards in place, another man strode through the door. An unassuming man walked into the inn’s common room and regarded the companions with a grim expression. He had a hard face, one that seemed used to violence. He had a swordsman’s build and sported another Legion-style blade. He walked to the table and pulled out an empty chair between Dormael and D’Jenn.

  The air was thick with tension.

  “I think we can dispense with all pretenses here,” he said. “My name is Hadrick Lucius. I’m a man with interests around here. One of those interests is you.”

  “And here we are.” D’Jenn smiled. He poured himself a drink from the pitcher on the table and offered some to Hadrick. The Nelekan surprised Dormael by taking the proffered cup and joining the table in a silent toast. His eyes peered at them over the rim of his goblet as everyone drank.

  Hadrick sat his cup on the table. “Two days ago, I paid a substantial bounty for a group of people that sound remarkably like you. A girl, golden-haired and carrying a pair of swords, and a Sevenlander with a long, braided beard.”

  “That’s strange.” Dormael raised an eyebrow. “Cousin, do you know anything about this?”

  “Can’t say that I do.” D’Jenn shrugged.

  “There you have it, friend Hadrick.” Dormael smirked. “Sorry we couldn’t help with your problem.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. In fact, it’s probably best if you turned around and pissed off.” Dormael
leaned forward, showing the man his teeth. “I’m sure you’ve got something to do—somewhere else.”

  The Nelekan narrowed his eyes at Dormael. “No need to be insulting, Sevenlander. I’d hate for knives to get drawn and blood to start flying. That sort of thing wouldn’t go well for you, would it? A little courtesy might be in order.”

  “I think you’re forgetting something,” D’Jenn said. “Something that your bounty mentioned—something your pet Dannon found out the hard way.”

  Hadrick shot D’Jenn a cold glare. “You killed Fulgaar?”

  “I didn’t kill him.” D’Jenn shrugged. “I held him upside down over the edge of a seaside cliff and broke his legs. It’s hard to swim with shattered legs, and I tossed him pretty far out. I wouldn’t expect him for supper.”

  Hadrick narrowed his eyes. “Fulgaar had seven other trackers with him.”

  “Had.” Dormael nodded. “They didn’t last long against magic.”

  He let the words hang in the air and took another long pull from his goblet. The men in the room shifted around. Hadrick gave him a cold, flat stare.

  “So, the information in the bounty was true. You’re a sorcerer.”

  “I thought we weren’t insulting each other.” Dormael kept his eyes on Hadrick over the rim of his cup.

  Hadrick stared right back with a stony expression. “We can sit here and toss shit at each other until the moon sets, or we can dispense with this wordplay and get to the realities of the situation.”

  “Realities?” D’Jenn asked.

  “Aye.” Hadrick leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “For one, your long-bearded friend over there might be a sorcerer, and that’s a gods-damned fearsome thing. How fast can he get his curses off before one of my men puts a sword through his soft parts? That mace you’re wearing is wicked enough, but the wrong kind of weapon for a brawl in close quarters like this. You’ve no room to swing it, and there will be a Legion sword in your back before you can pull it from your belt.”

  Hadrick looked to Shawna. “Those pretty swords you’re wearing mean one of two things—either you’re overconfident, or overcompensating. The bounty also mentioned you took an arrow wound, and all the pretty swords on Eldath won’t save you from crumpling the first time someone bowls you into the floor and puts a foot in your ribs. The bounty is just for your body and your belongings, so you know.”

  Dormael let out a short, mocking laugh. “That’s a pretty picture you’ve painted.”

  “I usually enjoy insufferable types,” Hadrick said, “but I’ll make an exception for you. Gut wounds are painful, you know.”

  D’Jenn smiled. “You’re missing some key information.”

  “Do tell.” The muscles in Hadrick’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth.

  “First, the Lady Baroness is worth four of your men, even with one arm,” D’Jenn said. Hadrick’s eyes went to Shawna, who smiled and laid her arms on the table, baring the Marks of the Isle tattooed on her wrists. Hadrick’s expression changed from irritation to cautious surprise.

  “To continue,” D’Jenn said, “my mace is the last thing you should be worried about.”

  D’Jenn smiled and snapped his fingers, and Dormael felt his song whip into the room. The doors—both to the stairwell and to the kitchen—slammed shut with such violence they vibrated in their rickety frames. Hadrick’s men flinched but recovered their discipline in short order.

  They’re not easily cowed. Those are Legion men, unless I miss my guess.

  Hadrick smirked. “This does complicate things.”

  “Considerably.” Dormael smiled. “Maybe it’s time you took the advice I offered earlier. Piss off, friend. Find another arm to twist—this one is too much trouble.”

  Hadrick took a deep breath and a long pull from his goblet, polishing off the alcohol before pouring himself another. Dormael and D’Jenn shot each other confused glances. Hadrick narrowed his eyes at them as he raised his second cup.

  “I’m new to the bounty hunting business.” He took a careful sip. “The channels your warrant came through aren’t even mine—I took them from their previous owner. As such, I’m unsure of the way these things are normally done, so let me be straight with the three of you.”

  D’Jenn regarded him with a bland look. “Go on.”

  “Things have been…interesting…in Borders lately.”

  “We noticed,” Dormael muttered.

  “There’s been a shift in the balance of power here. I had a little dispute with the former lords of the city’s…ah…trade organizations.” Hadrick smiled. “I chased them out of town. They took what men remained to them and fled into the woods.”

  “So that’s why the palisade went up,” Dormael said.

  Hadrick nodded. “They’ve joined their little ragtag bands together and started raiding the surrounding hills. I might have run of the city, but the city is a gods-damned shit stew. I’ve got starving people, dying people, no food for the winter, and a bloody season on the horizon. What few farms brought food into the city have been burned by the syndicate leaders. I want you to understand my position. The people in this shit-hole are depending on me.

  “Your bounty promised a sum that I couldn’t scrape together in three years. With that sort of money, I could buy foodstuffs, supplies, maybe mercenaries to deal with this problem. Without it, people will die of exposure in the muddier parts of town. So, you see—there’s no way in all Six Hells I’m letting you walk out of here, sorcery or no.”

  So, he’s not quite a thief, after all. He cares about the people in this town.

  D’Jenn broke the silence. “You’re former Legion.”

  “The Bloody Eighteenth.” Hadrick smiled. “Did fourteen years, made First Order Centurion. Came here after the troubles.”

  “The troubles?” Dormael took a drink from his mug.

  Hadrick made a disgusted gesture. “The war with Galania. My service died with Neleka, when those bastards took her.”

  Dormael, D’Jenn, and Shawna all shared a surprised glance.

  “With Galania, you say?” Shawna startled Hadrick with the sound of her voice.

  “It’s the last war Neleka ever fought,” Hadrick grumbled. “Some of us left after the nobility surrendered to the Empire. They offered us clemency, of course, but we weren’t going to stay and fight for those bastards, like some pack of broken mutts.”

  “Odd, then,” Shawna said, “that you would find yourself in their employ after all this time.”

  Hadrick stiffened as if he’d been insulted.

  “Don’t you know who the warrant came from?” D’Jenn smiled.

  “In this line of work, you don’t ask those types of questions.”

  “It might interest you to know this time.” Dormael shrugged. “If I was a man who’d spent years trying to escape the Empire, I would want to know when they came sniffing around.”

  “I wasn’t escaping.” A note of anger entered Hadrick’s voice. “I wasn’t going to take a knee and swear to be a good little traitor, that’s all.”

  Dormael smiled. “Well, since you need that money for the bounty, would you like if I cleared a space in the floor so you can take that knee before we get started? You might as well make it official before you do the Empire’s dirty work.”

  He knew the comment would sting.

  Hadrick ground his teeth. He looked like he wanted to punch Dormael in the teeth, or perhaps rip his short sword from his side and come for him, magic be damned. The crack in his stony facade showed for just a moment before his bearing was back in place.

  “I don’t see much of a choice before me,” Hadrick growled. “I don’t have to like this, but it must be done. I’ll let you finish your drinks before we get started—I can give that much courtesy, despite your insults. A favor from one enemy of the Empire to another.”

  D’Jenn shrugged. “What if you did have a choice?”

  “What if the gods piss golden nectar on my head? What’s your point?” Hadrick shot ba
ck.

  “Your real problem is out there in the hills, raiding the farms that support this city.” D’Jenn gestured at the harbor. “If you find us passage across the sea—to the Sevenlands—we’ll deal with your problem. We’ll go out there and kill the leaders of the rival gangs ourselves, cut the head from the snake. We can’t give you money, but we might be able to save some of your farmers.”

  Hadrick peered at D’Jenn for a long time before he spoke. “Why are the Galanians after you? What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” Shawna’s voice was tight. “The Red Swords burned my home, killed my family. I killed a few of them in return, and they didn’t like that much. The only thing we’ve done to the Empire is defend ourselves from it.”

  “And you’ll kill the syndicate leaders?” Hadrick looked back to D’Jenn.

  “We’ll even do it tonight. Find us a ship, and you’ll be the only trade organization in town by morning.”

  Hadrick regarded D’Jenn for a long moment before letting out a deep breath. He looked to his men, who stood around the room in silent witness. No one spoke as Hadrick mulled over his decision.

  “If you can do this, if you can kill the bastards threatening my food supply, then fine. I’ll find your ship. The Baroness and the child will stay with me—as guests, mind you—to ensure you hold up your end of the deal. And I’ll need proof.”

  “Of course.” A wicked smile bloomed on D’Jenn’s face. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Fine.” Hadrick narrowed his eyes. “If you’re enemies of the Galanian Empire, you’re friends of Hadrick Lucius and the Eighteenth. Let’s have another round of drinks, and I’ll point you in the right direction.”

  ***

  Dormael turned his beak into the wind, filling his wings with the cold night air. His vision, heightened to the breathtaking clarity of the gyrfalcon, crawled over the land as it wheeled beneath him. He beat his wings, pulling himself into the higher reaches, where the strong winds flowed unfettered. The wind howled from the sea, and the harbor rolled with the chop. It wasn’t the easiest flight Dormael had ever attempted, but he was well experienced with flying.