Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1)

by D. W. Hawkins

  Shawna was so viciously tired of this bastard’s cultured words. She thought of her father, of the blood running down his shirt, trying his best to say one last thing to her. She remembered the look in his eyes.

  She drew that memory around her like armor.

  “Let me share the truth with you, woman.” Grant ducked behind his shield and stepped forward, his blade leveled in her direction. “You and your people are doomed. You might kill me, but I have the numbers. Your fight is admirable, but stupid.”

  “Gods above, don’t you ever shut your bloody mouth?”

  Shawna quick-stepped toward his shield and feinted with her right blade, forcing him backwards. He ducked behind the shield and stepped away, holding his sword ready. Shawna pressed, tapping his shield with her blades in a lazy attack, trying to keep the man on his heels.

  If I can make him stumble, he’s dead.

  Grant must have sensed what she was doing. He rolled away to her left and sent a parting slash at her torso. She slipped aside and readjusted her stance. His form was much better than the men under his command. Shawna showed him her teeth and slid his sword wide of her belly as he thrust. She skipped out of range of his shield as he tried to catch her with the rim.

  He pressed his attack, forcing her to parry his sword and slip away from his shield. Shawna tried a few counterattacks, but the man loomed over her when he was close, and the shield kept him well protected. He kept his legs out of range, and when she ducked low, he tried to trap her with his shield. Shawna kept his blade from getting close and stepped away, allowing him to back her into a corner. She feinted left and right, as if looking in vain for an exit, and backed closer to the railing.

  Grant took the bait, rushing to pin her against the rail with his shield.

  Shawna threw herself to the right, rolling away from his sword arm, and whipped out with one of her blades as she went. Her wrist gave a light tug and the Colonel grunted in surprise, but the slash couldn’t have done more than graze him. She came up and gained her feet as Grant pushed himself from the railing and took another defensive stance.

  “You’re quick.” He gestured to the shallow cut she had left across the side of his leg.

  “You’re not terribly slow.” Shawna smiled. “But you could be faster.”

  “We both know when I catch you, you’re dead.”

  “You seem to be taking your time getting it done.” Shawna settled into a guard position.

  Grant growled something unintelligible and came for her with his blade.

  ***

  Bethany huddled into the corner of D’Jenn’s cot, watching the door to the cabin with wide, fearful eyes. Her magic blazed inside her, a storm of noise with no sound. She could hear—or feel, she wasn’t sure—what Dormael and D’Jenn were doing up there. It was like listening to musicians trading flourishes of their skill. Bethany had no idea how to make sense of it, and she was too paralyzed to try.

  He was up there. She knew it.

  Her magic—her Kai, D’Jenn had said—sent her impressions of the people on deck. She would get a flash in her mind of the last burning emotions of a crewman, or the murderous intentions of a Red Sword. Bethany had felt Shawna—focused and bright—only moments before, and she had also felt the man she was fighting. Though her magic hadn’t awakened until recently, she couldn’t mistake the impression her power sent to her of him. He was a dark cloud, an inky darkness, gilded over with a golden face. He was the type to smile and show you kindness…but then his hands would come.

  She knew him like she knew the feeling of an empty stomach.

  When she’d realized who he was, she had drawn her knees to her chin and huddled into the corner. Her heart beat into her ears, and she couldn’t take her eyes from the door. Gnawing fear gripped her spine, and she was certain he would burst through the door at any moment. He would take her back with him, and this dream she had been living would be over.

  Bethany felt sick.

  “No,” she whispered, pulling her knees to her mouth and praying the door would stay shut. “Please, please, please no.”

  Nothing could hear her—she knew that. Bethany had heard people talk about the gods, and a kind old man had once told her stories about them, but she didn’t think they listened to little girls. She had tried so many times to talk to them, but they never listened.

  That kind old man died in the cold, so maybe they didn’t listen to him, either.

  Bethany calmed herself. D’Jenn and Dormael had spent a few days teaching her control. She could feel her magic all the time now, like a storm sleeping in her chest. She clenched her eyes shut—the effort of surrendering her view of the door was terrifying—and remembered the words D’Jenn said to her every time they did an exercise.

  “Close your eyes,” she whispered. That much, anyway, was done. “Think about your breathing. There is nothing in the world but your breath.”

  Her voice caught on the last word as something large tumbled to the deck outside, but she held her emotions tightly in check. She breathed in a steady rhythm, imagining her ears didn’t work. She filled her mind with the sound of her heart beating, and her shoulders relaxed. Bethany took an extra deep breath, holding her lungs as full as she could make them.

  Unbidden, the memory of the Colonel’s smell filled her mind.

  Bethany’s trance rocked, and she looked to the door as fear gripped her bones with a vengeance. She clenched her jaws together and breathed through her nose. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her magic quivered with nervous energy.

  Loose things in the room began to shake violently, sending the tiny cabin into a clatter. Bethany stiffened, and the movement caused the cacophony to rise as the shaking went from violent to chaotic. The door made a thumping noise as it pushed against the frame, as if a large, invisible beast were leaning its weight into it, trying to hold it closed.

  Bethany whimpered. I’m losing control!

  “Don’t,” she said, unsure of what else to do, “please, just don’t!”

  Her magic only intensified.

  Bethany crawled deeper into the corner, but she could only make herself so small. Shadows danced across the walls of the room as darkness closed in around her, and she squealed in fright. A slow creaking noise issued from the wood in the cabin, as if her magic was putting pressure on the entire ship. Tears came to her eyes, and her vision blurred with the wetness.

  Something strange came to her senses. Just on the edge of her hearing, a new song emerged from the din of noise. It was quiet, peaceful, and sweet in the way of a morning sunrise. It whispered into the room and danced with her magic, coaxing it down from the brink of eruption. The alien song—the one from the armlet—calmed her magic. Bethany’s power still raged through her, but it was manageable. She had the overwhelming urge to reach out to the alien song, to grasp to it like a rock in a raging flood.

  Bethany closed her eyes and reached.

  The violent shaking stopped as soon as she immersed herself in the song of the armlet. Warmth filled her arms and legs, it trickled into her chest. Every muscle in her body relaxed and she sighed despite the desperate situation. The heat was so good in the wake of the hard road she’d had for the last couple of weeks. The snow, the driving wind, the frigid sea, the fear—it all flowed away into the Void.

  When Bethany opened her eyes, she was holding the armlet in her hand.

  She gasped at the piece of jewelry in her hands. The warmth from the song clung to her like an invisible blanket, stifling her thoughts and actions. She gazed into the ruby.

  How did I get down here and open the box without knowing it?

  The armlet was beautiful. Bethany had thought so from the moment she’d first laid eyes on it. It had curving, delicate silver bands, and a ruby bigger than her balled fist. The gem was glowing, leaking fluttering, misty light into the air. Bethany stared into it, trying to force herself to put the thing back. Dormael and D’Jenn had been very clear on this—she was not to play with it.

&
nbsp; She tried to make herself move, but she couldn’t. She opened her mouth to tell her hands to drop the thing, but they wouldn’t listen. Panic blossomed again in Bethany’s chest, and the memories of the last time it had spoken filled her mind. Her magic tried to wrench away from the armlet’s power, and for a moment, there was a vicious, invisible wrestling match.

  The silver turned to liquid in her hands, grasping her arms in a cool, unbreakable grip. Bethany stumbled away from the chest and tried to throw the thing from her arm, but it clung there like a spider. She screamed in terror as it started to climb.

  ***

  Shawna danced to her rear, taking care to stay on her toes. Grant’s blade came at her from overhead, from the side, in a straight thrust, all with practiced, well-timed intensity. The man was no Blademaster, but he was close enough to make it a contest. Shawna turned his attacks aside and stayed out of his range. She’d left him with a long draw cut on his forearm to accompany the one on his leg, though it hadn’t gone deep enough to matter. The Red Sword commander was faster than she anticipated.

  Remember to breathe, girl.

  Shawna flowed with the rhythm of the fight. She kept Grant’s blade away from her and tried to find an opening for a good attack. The problem was the shield. The man was fast enough—and good enough—with his longsword that getting inside his guard would have been tough in a blade-to-blade match, but the shield made it nearly impossible. Each time Shawna thrust over the edge, or tried to force the shield aside, Grant would turn and threaten her with the blade. When she focused on the blade, he attacked with the shield.

  Her side ached like fire. There was a slight hesitation in her movements, and her strength was waning. The pitching ship made the fight harder on her body, and the activity taxed her. Shawna concentrated on keeping her muscles loose, but the pain was distracting. She struggled to keep the strain hidden from Grant, but she suspected he could tell. The man might be disgusting, but that didn’t mean he was blind.

  Remember to breathe.

  Shawna reversed her momentum and went on the attack, swiping at Grant with quick, deadly movements that put him on his heels. She licked out with her blades, thrusting at his eyes over the rim of his shield, and he ducked behind it to throw a counter-slash at her midsection. Shawna was ready for it.

  She slammed the man’s blade aside, moving to slip her other blade into his armpit, but something was off. The sword tumbled away without the slight bit of resistance she’d expected from the parry, and her arm went wide, throwing her off balance. Grant’s fist connected with her face, blurring her eyes as her nose exploded with pain. She cried out in surprise, but her breath left her throat as he planted a vicious boot in her wounded side. Shawna’s world went white with agony.

  When her vision refocused, she was lying beneath the Colonel, retching as her stomach heaved with pain. Her muscles stiffened as her body curled around her old wound, but Shawna fought the sensation as hard as she could. Master Severin had put her through pain enough to deal with it. She clenched her jaw and struggled to move.

  “It was apparent there was no way to beat you with the sword.” Grant smiled down at her through the pouring rain. “So, I used my fist.”

  Remember to breathe!

  Steel rustled as Grant moved above her.

  “You must know something, Baroness Llewan, before you die. In all my years in service to the Empire—and the years before—you have been my most worthy enemy. I’ll admit, part of me wants to beat you bloody, to wrap my hands around that pretty little throat and look into your eyes as I choke your life away. But I will make your death quick, and I’ll leave you with some dignity.”

  Shawna tried to rise, but he kicked her back down to the deck. Shawna’s side wrenched, and she hissed as she curled into a ball. She tried to move her legs, but her side was knotted with such pain that she could barely think.

  Move, woman!

  “You should know, however, that what happened here today means nothing. Your family dying, that was a fucking tragedy, but only to you. You’re just a stepping stone, dear girl. A step on my path to greater things—that’s the truth.”

  He kicked her again, and Shawna’s head went fuzzy with the pain.

  “The refined nobility of the old world—”

  He kicked her again. Tears came to Shawna’s eyes, and she fought the urge to vomit.

  “—leaching from the people beneath you as if they fucking owed you something!”

  He rolled her over with another kick, and rainwater poured into Shawna’s eyes. Her hands spasmed in pain, and her fingers brushed the hilt of one of her swords.

  “You’re a relic. The Empire is coming for the lot of you. At least you faced your end with some honor—for that, you can find a little solace on your trip to the Void.”

  The world came into stark focus.

  Every part of Shawna’s body urged her to move. Her hand tightened around her sword, and she summoned every bit of strength she had left, throwing herself into a final effort to cheat the gods of their victory. Grant’s sword jerked upward and came for her heart with deadly intent.

  Shawna moved, and her magical steel met his sword with a jarring, silvery note.

  Grant screamed, his blade tumbling away in the rain, clutching his hand back out of range. He tried to dance away from her, but Shawna was dedicated to her purpose. She screamed in pain as she rose against her knotted muscles, rolling to her feet and swinging her sword with the last bit of fight she could muster. Her blade sang a second time, and Shawna nearly dropped it as it gave a heavy tug.

  Grant tumbled to the ground, his leg giving way as Shawna severed it at the knee. Blood sprayed onto the deck, washed away by the rain. He wailed in agony as his back hit the ground, clutching at his bleeding stump. Shawna struggled to her feet, the sudden rush of strength leaking away like mist in the morning. She grabbed her second blade from the deck and took a deep breath as she let the rain wash down her face. She let Grant scream. He wasn’t so smug, less half of his leg.

  “I think,” she breathed, “I like you better this way.”

  He cursed something garbled and rolled away from her.

  Another Galanian appeared from nearby, coming upon the scene and skidding to a halt. He was a square-jawed man with officer’s knots on his shoulders. Shawna’s spirits fell as he brandished his sword. His eyes, though, slid back to where Grant lay on the ground.

  “Havram!” Grant tried to crawl away. “Kill the bitch! She’s half-dead already, Lieutenant! Kill her!”

  Havram looked back to Shawna with a guarded expression. He glanced a second time to Grant with the same hooded eyes. His face hardened, and he took a careful step backwards. He turned an unreadable expression on Shawna and gave her a short nod. As he was backing away, he spat on the deck in Grant’s direction.

  “Havram! Havram, help me! That’s an order, you gods-damned…Havram! Havram!” Grant clawed across the deck toward the retreating Galanian, bleeding like a sieve from his stump.

  A smile came to Shawna’s face.

  “You should know something, Colonel, before you die.” Her heart beat a cacophony in her ears, and her hands shivered. “I think you’re the lowest creature the gods ever shat into existence.”

  Grant sputtered something, but she ignored him.

  “You should know, too, that what you’ve done up to this point means nothing. You will die here with my sword in your skull, and I’ll dump your body over the side when your soul leaves for the Void. No one will care what happened to you, because you’re no one.”

  He tried to crawl away from her, but she moved forward and stabbed him through the hip. Her Master had taught her long ago that disabling the hips ended a struggle, and Grant gasped in pain as his body betrayed him. He jerked and twitched like a fool as he bled onto the deck.

  “You’re nothing.” Shawna loomed over him. “Just a stepping stone on my path to kill the rest of you worthless bastards. You’re the first weight of blood I owe the gods for what th
ey’ve stolen from me!”

  Shawna fell to her knees atop the Colonel and brought the hilt of one of her swords down hard on his nose. He gagged and sputtered as blood poured from it, but Shawna stilled his movement by placing one of her blade tips under his chin. She leaned over him, breathing hard through her nose.

  “Just get it over with, you—”

  Shawna ended his speech by sliding the tip of her blade into his jaw. “Be silent while I speak to the gods.”

  Grant’s eyes went wide with fear.

  Shawna leaned forward and whispered into his ear. “Look here, Aastinor! See this I offer you now! Take this enemy against my oath to you, and may you choke on the tide of blood to come!”

  Grant’s eyes filled with terror, but Shawna held his head steady with her free hand. She slid her sword up into his skull, taking care to be slow about it. He made a gurgling sound, his body kicking with wild desperation before he went limp. Shawna rode down his struggles with cold determination.

  The leader of the men who killed her family, who took everything she loved and burned her life to the ground, finally lay dead beneath her. He looked ridiculous as a mutilated corpse, even shameful. Shawna was numb as she stared at his sightless eyes.

  She struggled to her feet and let out a pained cry as the movement disturbed her wound. The battle lust had kept off most of the pain, but now it was settling in with a vengeance. Three Red Swords strode toward her after looking once at Dormael and D’Jenn, who tossed magic around the deck. Despair filled Shawna’s stomach as she watched them come.

  All that work, and I’m still going to die.

  Strange, red-tinted light filtered over the surface of the deck. The source was somewhere to the rear of the ship, near the companionway to their cabins. The Red Swords advancing on Shawna stopped short and stared toward the light.

  When she saw what was at the center of it, Shawna’s breath caught in her throat.

  ***

  Dormael punched out with his magic, sending a bolt of lightning slamming into a trio of Galanians trying to flank him. The electricity arced around him as the strike hit home, and the three Red Swords were blown from their feet. He spotted another one behind them, sword raised over a cowering member of Seacutter’s crew, and Dormael sent a second bolt screaming toward him. Charred spots marked the place where he died.