Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1)

by D. W. Hawkins

  The sky rumbled as the storm threw its fury at the sea. Dormael coaxed magic from the ether, sending it into the clouds and channeling the chaotic energies within. The storm was like a web of snarling motes of light, each playing a tone back to his Kai in a conflagration of sound. He sent tendrils of charged air whispering into the squall, tapping into that web of energy. Focusing his magic, he created a conduit around his body—a pathway for the energy to take.

  With his other arm, Dormael pointed a single, ominous finger at the approaching warship. He waited for the Galanian vessel to crest a large swell and rush down the other side, to a point where Seacutter sat higher in the water. The deck of the galleon pitched toward him, baring itself like a flower to the sun. Dormael pulled on the tendrils of magic, beckoning with a flash of energy to the roiling clouds above.

  Dormael called to the sky, and the storm responded with lightning.

  His entire body sang as the energy was released. The first strike flashed from the sky, rushed around the pathway he’d created, and slammed into the foredeck of the Galanian warship. It struck three times in quick succession, bright flashes of superheated air searing a path across the deck, directly through the forward ballista. The siege engine shattered into flaming splinters as the lightning carved through it, and the screams of the galleon’s crew resonated in Dormael’s Kai.

  He focused on the second ballista, sending the lightning in its direction. The clouds erupted with random strikes, and each one sliced into the deck, leaving charred destruction in its wake. The second ballista was destroyed much like the first, and Dormael abandoned his magical link to the sky. He collapsed into the bucket, breathing hard from the effort of using his power. His leg ached like fire, and he still had to climb back down.

  I can wait a few moments—the gods can give me that much.

  ***

  Shawna watched, blood running cold, as Dormael threw lightning at the oncoming ship. It was easy to forget how dangerous the man was. Charming smile and brash attitude aside, the fact that he could unleash such deadly forces with nothing more than a thought chilled her to her bones.

  Every time I think I’m used to these sorcerers, something changes my mind.

  She couldn’t imagine being on the other end of that lightning. It would be terrifying to run from something so alien, so unstoppable. Her thoughts went unbidden to the feeling she’d had when the Galanians had killed her family—that there had been some mistake, that this was all wrong and would somehow be set to rights. But there had been no justice. The crushing weight of reality fell on her shoulders instead, and despair came with it. Anger rose in her chest as she recalled the slaughter.

  Maybe those bastards deserve what comes to them, sorcery or steel.

  It wouldn’t be long before the Galanians were close enough for blades, and she planned to send more of them into the Void. They would be drops in the bucket against the weight of blood she owed the gods. Her hands itched to pull steel.

  “You’re eager,” D’Jenn said, his gaze on the approaching warship.

  “I just want this to come to its end.”

  “You won’t have long to wait. Have you ever fought at sea?”

  “This is only the second time I’ve been to sea.” Shawna held to a hand-line as the ship rocked. “Is it so different from fighting on land?”

  “Just watch your footing. The deck will be pitching about. They have to make sure you’re dead and get your armlet, so I assume they’re going to try and board us. They’ll come alongside and toss hooks on the deck. Cut them if you can, but don’t be underneath one when they come down. It isn’t pretty.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And don’t get yourself killed, Lady Baroness.” D’Jenn gave her a grudging sidelong glance. “You’re not half as bad as you could be.”

  “I’m…not quite sure if that’s a compliment.” She smirked, her stomach fluttering with a nervous chuckle. “But I’ll take it that way.”

  D’Jenn snickered and turned back to the railing. “We should find some cover. She’s almost close enough for—”

  He raised his hands suddenly, hissing in alarm. Two thunks sounded in front of Shawna’s face, and she started back in surprise. A pair of quivering arrows hovered in midair, the rainwater eddying around bubbles of blue light surrounding the shafts. Shawna caught D’Jenn’s eyes with a surprised look.

  “Arrows,” he finished. “Come on!”

  They rushed from the railing in the driving rain and ducked behind a capstan. D’Jenn shouted a warning, and the call was repeated around deck as arrows sliced out of the storm. A few stuck harmlessly into the deck, but more than one found a mark, downing sailors in sprays of blood. Mikael called orders, and crewmen moved to help the wounded.

  D’Jenn scowled at the approaching warship. “They’ll make the deck soon. I’m going to hit them with something before they get to us.”

  “Don’t get yourself killed.”

  D’Jenn answered her with a wink and slipped back onto the deck. Shawna rose to a crouch behind the capstan and readied herself to move. D’Jenn pulled his mace from his belt and gestured with his off-hand. The rain slid away from him, as if he was encased in an invisible bubble. Flashes of light winked across the bubble at random places—arrows glancing from the magical shell.

  Seacutter pitched as she rushed down the back of a swell, and the hulking galleon filled Shawna’s vision, coming along the port side. The sheer size of the thing was staggering up close, and as the two ships rose and fell with the ocean, the galleon loomed over the Orrisan trade ship. Men rushed back and forth along the railing of the warship, some of them gathering lengths of rope.

  D’Jenn strode toward the port railing, ignoring the arrows glancing from his shield. He gestured, and shards of ice formed in midair, hissing as they rushed toward the galleon. Screams cut through the deluge as the ice shards cut through faces and throats, sending sprays of blood into the rain. D’Jenn ducked away as hooks clattered to the deck. He deflected a few with his magic, but he couldn’t stop the assault on his own.

  Arrows cut through the air in a furious storm, and it was all D’Jenn could do to keep them off. Shawna was forced to duck behind the capstan as several missiles stuck into the wood nearby. Screams sounded through the thunder, and everything went silent for a moment. Shawna gritted her teeth, steeled her resolve, and glanced over the edge of the capstan.

  She was up in time to see a man clambering over Seacutter’s railing, and several more following in his wake. D’Jenn faced off with another, but Shawna paid him only a spare second of thought. Her heart beat with sudden intensity, and she raised into a fighting crouch. Her side throbbed with nervous pain. Her head was aching with the rhythm of her heart. Her hands shook, and she grasped her hilts to steady her emotions.

  There’s nowhere left to run. It’s time to face your fate.

  Shawna drew her blades and rose to her feet. If she was going to die today, then so be it. The gods would do what they willed, and all she could do was go screaming along for the ride. If death was her fate, she would take as many Galanians with her as she could.

  She took a deep breath and dashed into the fight.

  ***

  When Dormael peeked over the edge of the bucket, the Galanians were tightening their boarding ropes. The two ships were hugged together in the churning water, and the rigging threatened to tangle together. The storm raged around them, and Seacutter’s deck swarmed with fighting men.

  Cursing under his breath, Dormael slipped over the edge and grasped hold of the slick rigging. He summoned a barrier with his magic to keep stray arrows from his back and split his consciousness to enact his floating spell again. With his stomach in his throat, he started down the ropes.

  Arrows sliced into his shield, draining Dormael’s concentration. Dormael paused in his climb and turned toward the warship, searching for the offending archer. The galleon’s rigging loomed behind him, and a man stood on a platform halfway up a mast, w
inding a crossbow back in place. Dormael pulled the man’s legs out from under him with a quick rush of power. The Galanian tumbled into the rigging, screaming until he hit something that silenced him.

  Dormael steeled himself against the pain in his leg and kept climbing.

  He passed the crewman he’d evicted from the lookout and gave the man a fierce nod. The sailor favored him with a smile—or the best he could do, given the bolt clenched in his teeth—and took a shot across the distance separating the two ships. Dormael kept going.

  Halfway down, a shuddering crack went through the entire vessel. An ominous scraping noise sounded from the hull, and Dormael’s feet slipped from the ropes. Seacutter rocked hard to her starboard side, and the jarring motion ripped Dormael’s hands from the wet rigging. The floating spell allowed him an extra moment of panic as he tumbled from the ropes, D’Jenn’s warning echoing into his mind.

  He slammed hard into something lumpy, and his vision blossomed with stars as the breath left his chest. He bounced—the floating spell at work again—and slid to a halt somewhere on Seacutter’s deck. With a pained grunt, Dormael rolled to his side and looked around the deck.

  Two Galanian soldiers lay nearby. One of them was shaking the other, who was lying in a spreading pool of blood and gurgling into it. A blade protruded from beneath his body, lying at just the right angle to have cut his throat in the fall. Dormael let out a bemused chuckle as he climbed painfully to his feet.

  The second Galanian saw him move and rose to his feet in response, snatching a longsword from where he’d dropped it. He was wearing some form of leather armor, though his helmet had tumbled from his head in the fall. The soldier took one look at his fallen companion and turned an accusing stare on Dormael.

  “You killed my friend.”

  Dormael looked at the man like he was an idiot. “Aye, I did. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  “He was my friend,” the man repeated, brandishing his sword.

  “You said that already,” Dormael growled. “He was dumb enough to fall on his sword—clearly, that isn’t my fault.”

  The Galanian answered by coming at him with the longsword. Dormael gave him another flat look and tipped him into the sea with his magic. The man screamed as Dormael’s power ripped him from the deck and tossed him into the frothing water, but Dormael didn’t have time to enjoy his victory.

  Two more Galanians came screaming out of the rain, and Dormael slammed one into the other with so much force that he heard their bones crack as their weapons went tumbling away. A third came at him from behind, but Dormael ripped a discarded sword from the deck and slammed it through his torso, blowing him from his feet. A fourth man went down as he ran past, Dormael coaxing his very skin to catch fire. That one screamed in agony and cast himself into the sea.

  Dormael shifted his weight and cried out in pain as his injured leg betrayed him. He grabbed a hand-line to keep from crumpling to the deck and took a few deep breaths as he got his bearings. His leg was bleeding, the red soaking though his pants before being absorbed by the rain. The wound throbbed in time with his beating heart.

  D’Jenn’s song blasted through Dormael’s senses, and he could feel his cousin tossing death at their attackers nearby. The driving rain and wind was a cacophony in his ears, but Dormael caught the telltale sound of Shawna’s blades ringing, too. Men screamed, the sky rumbled with thunder, and the sea whispered its fury.

  Two more Red Swords came for him, screaming as they raised their swords. Dormael cut them down with flying shards of ice, but more came in their wake. Dormael laid about with his magic, sweeping some men from the deck and crushing others with his Kai. The Galanians spilled onto Seacutter’s deck, and Mikael’s men were being cut down in droves. They couldn’t go on losing men like that—the Galanians might be able to throw fighting men at them until they were exhausted, but Mikael’s men were all sailors, and necessary for crewing the ship.

  If something wasn’t done soon, even a victory would mean eventual death. Dormael didn’t relish the idea of winning the fight only to die afterward at sea. He steeled himself against his pain, pulled more power from his magic, and went to work.

  ***

  Remember to breathe, girl.

  Shawna slid a longsword wide of her shoulder and stepped into the blow, thrusting her blade into the eyes of the man behind it. He screamed and rocked back from her sword, but it was in and out of his eye socket before he could move. She stepped aside, letting the screaming man fall out of her field of focus, and met the attack of his comrade with a jarring downward parry. Her steel sang as the blades met, and the Galanian’s sword was knocked to the deck. His blood closely followed.

  She skipped to the side as the deck of the ship rolled, seeking a higher elevation on the shifting platform. D’Jenn’s earlier warnings about fighting at sea came to mind, but he had no cause for worry. Shawna’s master had made her run backwards, stand on her head, and do other ridiculous feats of agility. At the time, she had thought the endless exercises pointless.

  Today, she reveled in their familiarity.

  A grunt of effort alerted her to a man at her back, and she dove forward out of range, rolling to her feet and turning to face the attacker. He followed up and came on with a wild overhead slash. Shawna sprang forward, thrusting her blade through the man’s armpit. He gave a small gasp of surprise as his blade tumbled from his hand, and Shawna kicked him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling to the deck. Her side ached in protest, but she bit back the pain as best she could.

  Remember to breathe, girl.

  Two more went down after they rushed her, stumbling over each other as she tripped them up with a bit of basic footwork. She had barely pulled her sword from the back of one man’s neck before a third faced off with her, offering tentative thrusts. She knocked each aside with contemptuous ease and left a draw-cut on his arm as she disengaged. The man grimaced and glanced down at the wound.

  Never take your eyes from your enemy, fool. Shawna put a delicate cut across the Galanian’s eyes as a lesson. He stumbled away into the rain, clutching his face and screaming in agony.

  “Baroness!” A voice—cultured and deep—called out behind her. “Baroness Llewan!”

  She turned, raising her swords, and regarded the owner of the cultured baritone. He was a tall and imposing man with wide shoulders and a swordsman’s build. He was in the process of removing a helmet—something close-faced in a standard military style—and he carried a huge, round shield. His face was hard, expression one of tightly controlled anger, though his features were pleasant enough. He had a growth of gray stubble across his face, and his hair was the same shade, cropped close to his head.

  Shawna’s blood went cold. “Are you the one?”

  For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “If you mean ‘the one responsible’, then I suppose my answer would have to be a resounding yes.” The man eyed her with a face made of stone. “I am Colonel Rengard Grant. In service to the Emperor of Galania, I formally place you under arrest.”

  Shawna would have laughed, but she was consumed by cold anger. “We both know that’s a load of horseshit.”

  “Well,” Grant cracked a smirk, “horseshit has its place. That particular pile is now out of the way, wouldn’t you say? Why don’t we speak frankly?”

  “Oh, do me the courtesy, kind sir.” Shawna’s tone was as mocking as she could make it.

  Grant smiled. “You know why I’m here, Lady Baroness—the artifact. Give it to me, surrender to me, and I promise you every courtesy befitting a lady of your station. The Emperor will clothe you in wealth for all your days.”

  Shawna narrowed her eyes, unable to keep the pure disgust in her belly from twisting her face into a grimace. Her father’s words echoed again in her mind, the parting phrase with which he’d left her—a painfully relevant warning. This offer sounded much the same to her.

  No matter what they tell you, you will not leave here al
ive.

  “You murdered everyone I’ve ever loved.” The words came out hollower than she’d imagined they would. “You slaughtered innocents over…over what?! A piece of magical jewelry? This is what I think of your courtesy!”

  Shawna spat at the man’s feet.

  Grant sneered. “Quite unladylike.”

  “Fuck yourself!” The profanity tasted awkward, but freeing. “You can play at your Imperial courtesy all you like, but I’ve seen the true face of it. Your men, when they threatened to rape me. The bruises all over Bethany. The bodies of my family—those are the faces of your gods-damned courtesy!”

  Grant’s eye gave an involuntary twitch. “The child? The girl is here?”

  “You’ll die before you see her again.” Shawna’s body trembled with nervous energy. “If you’re quite done with this insipid wordplay, I’d like to get this over with.”

  Grant’s eyes narrowed, and he slapped the helmet back onto his head. “You’re not what I imagined—landed nobility, the blue bloods of the old world, courteous and aloof to a fault. instead what I find is a mouthy bitch, up to her neck in dangerous things. A pretty girl with a pair of pretty swords, playing at being a pretty little warrior.”

  “And I see a man too weak for a real woman,” Shawna spat, “so he hurts little girls instead.”

  Grant rocked back from the comment, though she couldn’t see his face through the helm.

  “Oh yes, I know all about your perversion. I might have given you the respect of an honored enemy otherwise, but that’s enough to change my mind. Your death will be slow, do you hear me? It will be painful.”

  Grant brandished his shield and drew a longsword from his side. “Very well. For what it’s worth, I never intended for any of this to happen. I would have enjoyed a spirited conversation with your father, perhaps a bit of dithering. My men were overzealous.”

  Overzealous?! You bastard!

  Shawna raised her swords. “Defend yourself or be cut down where you stand.”