The City Under the Mountain (The Seven Signs Book 4)

by D. W. Hawkins

  “My womanhood would have nothing to do with it.” Nalia took a sip from the wine cup. “I would succeed because I have training and skills your generals do not. I believe I can end your Mala’kii problem without spending the lives of your men. What would it hurt to let me try?”

  Dargorin looked into his wine cup, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’ve not yet agreed to give you a position on my staff.”

  “Consider it a test, then.” Nalia finished her wine and sat the cup on the table. “Allow me the authority to negotiate with the Mala’kii. I will use my own people and send daily reports. If I’m successful, you shall know my worth. If not, I will leave camp and return to Thardin.”

  Dargorin sat his own cup on the table and regarded her with a stony expression. One of his fingers tapped a nervous rhythm as he thought. Nalia waited in silence, her heart fluttering in her ears.

  “You are not as I would have expected.” He picked up the wine and downed the rest in a single drink. “Lieutenant Hardin will remain your liaison. He will continue to make his reports to General Crammon, though I will be monitoring this situation closely.”

  Nalia tried to hide her relief. “Does this mean I have your leave to begin?”

  “You don’t have signatory power,” he said, holding up a finger. “The Mala’kii leader—this Maihdrim—must take the same oath of fealty I demand from any sovereign ruler.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you mustn’t interfere with military operations. Battlefield decisions take precedence in a time of war.”

  “Understood, Your Eminence.”

  Dargorin looked at her for another long moment. “You make a good case, Highness. I see wisdom in your arguments. I agree to your terms—if you succeed in brokering peace with the Mala’kii, you shall have your place on my staff.”

  Nalia smiled. “Thank you, Your Eminence. You will not be disappointed.”

  “I suspect not. I’ll have the necessary orders written up and sent to your people. Is there anything in particular you require?”

  Your head on a stake would be a good start.

  “Just one, Eminence. The Mala’kii prisoners—I’ll need them released into my care.”

  ***

  “Is there any news from home?” D’Jenn always found it odd that his voice echoed in this dark place. This plane of existence—if it could be called such—was a construct of the medallions Lilliane had constructed. Was the echo a product of his own fancy? Was it related to the place itself? Would the echo grow or lessen with distance?

  Gods, I’m tired. I’m getting distracted.

  Lacelle sat cross-legged before him, the amulet around her neck glowing with magical runes. The amulet looked regal on her statuesque features. D’Jenn had always thought Lacelle was a striking woman—cold, remote, and imposing. Her prim exterior hid a wise and compassionate heart beneath. D’Jenn respected her more each time they spoke.

  Lacelle gave him a pained smile. “I’m sorry, but no. My contacts are all scholars. I’m reluctant to contact them. All I hear are the same rumors that come through Ferolan’s port.”

  D’Jenn sighed and nodded his head. “It’s best if you don’t contact them. Assume Victus is watching them, or monitoring their messages.”

  “I don’t imagine you contacted me to hear the latest news from the harbor.”

  D’Jenn gave Lacelle a tired smile. “I didn’t. Dormael found something today. I wanted your opinion.”

  “Found something?”

  “A structure at the summit of a flat-topped mountain,” D’Jenn said. “Wasn’t there something about a flat-topped mountain in Hamarin’s book?”

  Lacelle narrowed her eyes. “It was mentioned as a landmark, yes. Though, according to his book, his expedition traveled past the mountain and into the valley beyond. There was nothing about a structure.”

  “What about a road leading up the side of the mountain? What of other roads through the region?”

  Lacelle’s brows drew together. “He mentions ruins here and there, but the Conclave has long known that ancient civilizations existed north of the Gathan boundary. There are a few specific instances in his book where he mentions pillars, or other strange rock formations he supposedly witnessed. His work has been regarded with a great deal of skepticism, you understand.”

  “We found a road a few days back, along with one of those pillars you’re talking about. Dormael says there were more of them near the structure. They had magical script carved into them.”

  “Magical script?”

  “Aye. The forms were different from anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “How?”

  D’Jenn hesitated, trying to find a way to describe them. “They were less like words than our own scripts, less like logical statements strung in a line. These were more like single pictures, each one meant to convey a complete spell.”

  “They were pictographs.” Lacelle leaned forward, an interested expression on her face. “The oldest known languages the Conclave has discovered were written this way—symbols rather than words. It was the Church Victorious that brought the earliest forms of our current writing system, so what you’ve found must predate their conquest.”

  “Do they all pull on your magic?”

  Lacelle gave him a confused look. “What do you mean by ‘pull’ on your magic?”

  “The symbols we found tickled our power—I can’t think of a better way to describe it. It was as if they might once have reacted on their own to the presence of magic, might have performed a function. For whatever reason—time or damage—they’ve stopped working. There’s still an echo, though—an echo of purpose.”

  Lacelle let out a long breath, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I’ve seen nothing like what you’re describing. When I speak of pictographs, I mean written languages, not spell-work.”

  “There’s more—the symbols Dormael found at the structure are still active.”

  Lacelle’s eyes widened. “Still active?”

  “Aye. He said there was a resonance in the air, something that interfered with his power. The way he described the arrangement of the pillars, the symbols carved in the stone—it’s magic, Lacelle.”

  Lacelle’s face took on an excited expression. “Are you certain? D’Jenn, this is…I mean, this is—”

  “I know.”

  “It’s been generations since someone discovered magic that predates the Founder!”

  “Aye.”

  “And it’s just sitting there? Who could have built it? Which parts of it were still active? Did Dormael recognize any—”

  “He didn’t know what it was.” D’Jenn held up a hand to forestall her line of questioning. “I understand the importance of it. In the meantime, we’re still surrounded by untamed wilderness and man-eating beasts. Can you tell me anything that would help?”

  Lacelle cooled her enthusiasm with a sigh. “Probably not. I studied an ancient civilization from the mountains north of Tept, but that’s far west of your intended path. They used pictographs as well, but nothing like what you’ve described.”

  “Whoever built the ruins we’ve found were sophisticated. They had roads, could build things on mountain summits. They had a system of magic.”

  “The civilization I studied—we call them the Terrace People because they built terraced farms on the hills—were quite sophisticated. They also had roads and trade and language. They built entire cities high in the mountains.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Lacelle shrugged. “Who can say? We don’t have enough evidence to determine that. Civilizations die, D’Jenn. We think their people interbred with the Teptians long ago and were assimilated into the ancient Vendon culture.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We see parallels in their history. Popular myths that have survived, repeated concepts, that sort of thing.”

  D’Jenn nodded. “That can’t be the case with these people—the ones who built the pillars, I mean. These spell-forms
are nothing like our own. They seem…well—”

  “What?”

  “They seem more advanced.”

  Lacelle sniffed. “Perhaps they were more advanced along their own progression, but it’s a mistake to think of history as an endless march from the primitive world to the enlightened one. I would have to see them for myself. Can you show me an example?”

  “I couldn’t memorize them. They were too complicated.”

  “Really?”

  D’Jenn nodded. “Even looking at them tricks the eye, makes them seem three-dimensional rather than two.”

  “That’s certainly strange. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “There was nothing in Hamarin’s book? Didn’t he travel with a wizard? That’s how he found this valley, right? That wizard’s dreams are the whole reason we’re here.”

  “Lorian Dovich,” Lacelle said. “That was the wizard’s name. He was a Lesmiran from the Mage Tower.”

  “And he mentions nothing of spell-work and ruins? If Hamarin’s expedition passed even close to the path we’re taking, he must have found something. I find it odd there’s no mention of them.”

  Lacelle’s face darkened. “Hamarin was a charlatan. He styled himself an adventurer, and perhaps he was, but his motives were more about plunder than exploration or scholarship. Do you know what he was searching for in the Gathan Mountains?”

  “Tirrin’s Lost Treasure?”

  “Gold,” Lacelle said. “There were rumors at the time that the land beyond the Gathan boundary was brimming with bounty. That the stream-beds were lined with gold, or that ancient peoples had buried hoards of riches in the mountains.”

  “I take it he never found his riches.”

  “No. Eight people died on his expedition, D’Jenn, and he never found his gold.”

  D’Jenn sighed. “Alright. I’m tired. If there’s nothing you can tell me, I apologize for pulling you out of bed.”

  “It’s almost dawn here, anyway. I would have risen soon enough.”

  “Right.”

  Lacelle gave him a pained smile. “I'm sorry I couldn't be more help. Part of me wishes I was there to see all of this with you.”

  “You wouldn’t want to be out here.”

  Lacelle smiled. “You’ll get no argument from me there. How are you all doing? How is little Bethany?” There was a glint in Lacelle’s eyes when she mentioned Bethany. D’Jenn took note of it, though he was unsure what it meant.

  “We’re still alive, even Bethany.”

  “How are her lessons coming along?”

  “Dormael has her catching pebbles out of the air with her Kai.”

  Lacelle’s face took on an irritated expression. “What is that supposed to accomplish?”

  “Bethany’s magic has gotten stronger—”

  “Stronger?” Lacelle hugged herself, though D’Jenn didn’t think she noticed the gesture. “So soon? That usually doesn’t happen until a child grows older.”

  “Regardless, it’s happened. She’s got so much power that when she catches the rocks, she cracks four out of five. She smashed the first few to dust.”

  “Gods—she has that much strength?”

  D’Jenn shrugged. “It’s normal for a kid not to know their own strength in the beginning. She’ll learn.”

  “Bethany is not most children.” Lacelle’s attitude put D’Jenn on edge. Why was the woman so concerned for Bethany? Was it her past as a Philosopher, her desire to teach?

  This is something deeper. Lacelle is frightened.

  “She’s Dormael’s responsibility, and he loves that girl. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. He’s reckless sometimes, but—”

  “I know he wouldn’t hurt her, that’s not what I mean. Don’t you think there’s anything odd about her?”

  “You mean her strength? Wizards all have different capacities for magic. It’s not as odd as all that.”

  “Not her strength, D’Jenn, it’s just—”

  “What?”

  Lacelle shuddered. “That night in the tunnels, with those things—that was the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced. Bethany, though…she wasn’t frightened. Scared for Lady Shawna, and startled by the sight of those living corpses, but she wasn’t terrified the way I would’ve expected. Not the way the rest of us were.”

  D’Jenn shrugged. “People deal with hardship in different ways. When Dormael and I were children, he’d laugh whenever he got into a fight. Used to irritate me, to be honest.”

  Lacelle sighed and shook her head. “That’s not what I mean, either. Forget I said anything, and please—don’t mention this to Dormael.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve already had the conversation with him. I suspect he would feel it was meddlesome for me to mention it to you.”

  “Alright. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to lie down for the evening.”

  “There is something,” Lacelle said, holding up a hand to forestall him. “Alton has reclaimed Shawna’s home. He wanted her permission to rebuild it.”

  D’Jenn raised his eyebrows. “That’s good. Shawna will be happy to hear it.”

  “Alton thinks the repairs will go well, but the horses are gone.”

  “I’ll tell her.” D’Jenn almost made to remove the amulet and sever his connection with Lacelle, but he remembered something at the last moment. “Oh—tell Alton that Shawna sends her love and Dormael sends his regards.”

  There—now he’ll quit asking me.

  Lacelle rolled her eyes. “Alton has said the same thing about Dormael a dozen times. The man is full of questions about everything. He did say to send his love to Shawna, though.”

  D’Jenn smiled. “Alton's a good man. He’s done a lot for us. I hope he’s not getting under your skin.”

  “Only sometimes.” Lacelle smiled and looked at her hands. D’Jenn was surprised to see spots of color rise to her cheeks.

  Oh, gods be damned. Not them, too.

  “Alright, Lacelle—I’m leaving.”

  “D’Jenn, wait—there's one more thing I should mention.”

  D’Jenn paused and gave Lacelle a questioning look.

  “The valley just north of you—the one you are about to cross? Most of those who perished on Hamarin’s expedition died in that valley. Hamarin referred to it as the Bone Thicket. It’s supposedly crawling with Garthorin.”

  D’Jenn grimaced. “How did Hamarin avoid them?”

  “He chose the narrowest stretch of land he could find between the mountain ranges and made a break for it,” she said. “There’s a river that runs through the center of the valley—”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “Apparently, the Garthorin wouldn’t cross the river,” Lacelle said. “I don’t know why—Hamarin never explains it. According to his story, the people who died were weak swimmers. Trust that as much as anything else that comes from his writing.”

  “Thanks. I’ll contact you again when we leave the Gathan Mountains.”

  “How long will that take?” Color rose to Lacelle’s cheeks again. “You know, just in case—”

  “In case we don’t make it?”

  “Yes,” Lacelle said. “It would be good to know when I should start worrying.”

  “A few weeks, perhaps. If you don’t hear from me by then, assume the worst.”

  Lacelle nodded. “Take care—all of you.”

  Lacelle’s form burst into a swirling cloud of glowing orange dust as she pulled the amulet from her neck. D’Jenn was left alone in the endless darkness to contemplate her words. It was silent and comfortable in the black expanse. After a few moments in the shadowed stillness, D’Jenn grabbed the amulet and pulled it from his neck.

  He sat upon a large rock overlooking the valley. D’Jenn could see the canopy of the forest Lacelle had mentioned, growing unchecked in the low ground along the path of river. Were there Gathorin there even now?

  There are Garthorin everywhere out here.

  The party was camped n
earby, but they had foregone a campfire, and D’Jenn could only see them because he had opened his Kai. Muttered conversation drifted to his ears, along with the sound of scattered laughter. The wind brought the smell of the horses to D’Jenn’s nose and set the woods to whispering in the valley. Thunder rumbled to the north while the distant clouds flashed with lightning.

  The rain will hit us tomorrow. We’ll want to be out of the passes when that happens.

  D’Jenn closed his eyes and sent his senses outward. He relaxed his mind and listened to the song of his surroundings. He tried to find signs of the Garthorin that Lacelle had warned about, but the valley floor was out of range of his senses. He would have to resort to Mind Flight to get a peek under the trees, and he was too tired to enact the spell. When a cold wind came from the north, bringing the smell of rain, D’Jenn relaxed the strain he was putting on his Kai.

  Just when he was about to close it, a warbling sound tickled the edge of his mind.

  D’Jenn sat up, his fatigue banished. He turned his senses in the direction of the noise, but the sound was gone before he could find it. D’Jenn swept the area again with his Kai but the noise had gone quiet.

  Was that what I thought it was?

  D’Jenn looked back to camp, where Dormael and Bethany sat in conversation with Shawna and Allen. If either of them had done magic, D’Jenn would have sensed it. Every wizard’s Kai played a distinct melody through the ether when they used magic, and D’Jenn knew the songs of his friends well.

  That was magic I heard—the melody of another wizard. I’m sure of it.

  There was only one explanation for the distant sound of magic usage. It was possible that another wizard might be in the valley for their own reasons, but that would be too much coincidence for D’Jenn’s taste. His eyes tried to pierce the canopy once again as he peered into the night. Dread pooled in his stomach.

  The Warlocks have found us.

  The Bone Thicket

  “Making fire isn’t so hard,” Dormael said. “You just have to understand something about it.”