Regan didn't reply.
“What's a Dannon doing south of the steppe?” Dormael asked, using the dialogue to ready an attack with his magic.
“Tracking down a bitch and her pet sorcerer,” he smiled. “Now, we're going to take the child into our care. As long as you and your friends play nicely, she won't be harmed. Test me, and the first thing I'll do when I hear any noise out of you is cut her pretty throat. Understand?”
So this was a kidnapping, and not a robbery. Dormael's mind raced, trying to figure out what the Dannon had revealed in his idle statements. If he had been sent to track down Shawna and her “pet sorcerer”, then it could only mean that Grant had gotten ahead of them somehow. Dormael and D'Jenn had both been watching the south since they had left Ferolan, and had found no signs of pursuit. These men had to be from Borders, or the surrounding area, and that meant that word had traveled ahead of Dormael and his friends.
“I understand,” Dormael said.
He didn't so much as twitch, nor take his eyes from those of the massive northern brute. Dormael turned his attention inward, letting his Kai sense the world around him in a storm of noise. The air was tense, filled with the anticipation of violence. Dormael could feel the racing heartbeats of the Cambrellians, could hear the muscles in their jaws tightening as they clenched their teeth together. He sensed the light, eager tension of fingers tightening on triggers.
Dormael reached out with his magic and flipped the crossbow bolts right out of their channels, turning them in midair to face back at their wielders.
“Funny thing about crossbows,” Dormael smiled. “You can just take the bolts out.”
“Take them!” snarled the Dannon, but Dormael was ready for them.
He lashed out with his power, shattering the wooden crossbows one after the other. Great cracking noises sounded into the night, and the Cambrellians shied away from the chaos. Bethany squealed at the sudden noise, and he could feel her clutching to his cloak as the splinters flew around them. Dormael gestured again, sending the sharpened pieces of wood flying into the men. They bit into faces and necks, slicing deep.
The Dannon whipped a short sword from his belt and came for Dormael, but Dormael wrapped him in the grip of his Kai and held him in place. The man snarled something unintelligible, but Dormael ignored him. The entire thing was over in seconds, and the only sound was the gurgling of the dying Cambrellians. Bloood steamed in the night, melting the snow away.
Shouts rang out from the direction of camp, and the smile on the Dannon's face told Dormael his friends were in danger. He gave the northman a scathing glare, and dragged Bethany back in the direction of their campfire. He left the Dannon wrapped in his power, frozen in place.
Halfway there he saw a bright flare of light, and wild screams erupted as it grew in intensity. In a few moments a man ran out of the trees, screeching in pain as flames crawled over his body. Dormael winced and shoved Bethany behind him, then killed the man by twisting his neck with his Kai. D'Jenn's song was raging through the night, and Dormael guessed where the fire had come from. Clutching Bethany's hand, he dragged her farther into the trees.
He got there just in time to catch Shawna pulling one of her swords from the armpit of one attacker, and D'Jenn taking care of another downed man with his mace. Two more corpses lay bleeding amongst the remains of their campsite, but the night went silent as Shawna's blade slid free of the last one.
She made to speak, but let out a relieved breath when she saw Dormael and Bethany. “You're alive!”
“Aye. There's four more like these on the other side of the road. I left one of them alive,” he said.
D'Jenn rose from his bloody work. “Good. Let's go see what he has to say for himself.” He regarded something wedged onto the end of his morningstar and swung it out to the side, trying to get it off. He caught Bethany watching, and cleaned the weapon in a snowbank instead. He gave them a shrug, then started for the road. “Come on.”
They found the northman where Dormael had left him, stiff and staring daggers into the cold sea wind. D'Jenn stepped around where the Dannon could see him, and looked the man up and down. Finally, he stepped back and gestured for Dormael to loose his magical grip on the man.
The Dannon fell into the snow, snarling as he came loose from the spell.
“Imagine our surprise when your friends came snarling out of the night,” D'Jenn smiled down at the Dannon. “Imagine theirs, right before they lost their lives.”
“If it's begging you're looking for, you won't get it out of me, sorcerer,” the northman spat. “My mother sang my blood-song when I became a man. You won't have my soul.”
“What's he talking about?” Shawna asked, tilting her head sideways.
“He thinks I'm going to steal his soul, no doubt,” D'Jenn smirked. “As for the rest, who knows? Some backwater superstition from the steppes, I'm guessing. Maybe something his mother whispered to him while they lay together.”
The northman snarled and tried to scramble to his feet, but D'Jenn raised his hand and Dormael felt his power lash out, sending the Dannon back into the snow.
“Don't get up. If you get up, there will be pain. Understood?” D'Jenn asked.
The northman only stared.
“You should have just killed him,” Shawna sighed. “He isn't going to talk.”
“Oh, he'll talk,” D'Jenn said, keeping his eyes on the Dannon. “There will be a bit of screaming first, maybe a spot of cursing, begging the gods for salvation. Talking will follow soon after.”
Dormael thought Shawna's face went a little white, but she didn't open her mouth. She crossed her arms and took a deep breath, but gave D'Jenn a grim nod. Her hand fell to the hilt of one of her swords, as if touching it gave her some comfort, but that was all the emotion she betrayed.
A few days ago the woman couldn't handle a bawdy joke, now she's ready for torture?
Dormael peered into Shawna's face, trying to catch some hint as to her state of mind. Her expression was resolute—grim, but resolute. He thought of saying something, but stopped himself. Shawna was no child, and his urge to protect her was misguided. The bruising she had given him during their sparring match was proof enough that the woman could handle herself.
The corpses back at camp were proof, too, he realized.
“Just keep it quiet, and be quick,” Dormael said, nodding down at Bethany when D'Jenn looked to him. “We'll clean up the mess, see if they have anything worth keeping.”
D'Jenn nodded, then gestured above his head. A blur formed around the three of them—D'Jenn, Shawna, and the northman—then coalesced into an opaque dome of blackness. Dormael waited a moment, but no sound came from within.
Bethany almost startled him when she spoke up. “Do we...do we have to move those?” She pointed to one of the corpses, crumpled into a pile of disturbed, bloody snow.
“I'll take care of those, little one,” Dormael sighed. “You look around and see if they dropped anything. Are you alright?”
Bethany nodded, then shambled away before Dormael could say anything more. He watched her cast around in the snow for a few moments, wondering what was on the girl's mind. When no insights came, he turned and started moving the corpses with his power. It didn't take long to pile the bodies in the sparse woods and burn them with a flash of magical fire. The men had left their horses just down the hill, and Dormael corralled them together. He was watching the fires burn the bodies down to a crisp when Bethany tugged on the hem of his cloak.
“What is it, dear?”
“Look!” she breathed, proffering a bulging leather purse. Dormael took it, and opened the snaps to reveal a fortune in silver Cambrellian marks. He reached into the purse and pulled out a handful of the coins just to make sure they were all silver, and let out a surprised breath when he confirmed it.
“Where did you find this?” he asked, favoring her with a smile.
“In one of their saddlebags,” Bethany smiled. “I found some string, too.”
Dormael flipped one of the coins in the air toward the girl, and Bethany snatched it.
“Here. Keep that, maybe we can find you something nice soon. Don't tell anyone, though,” he smiled, giving her a wink. Bethany's eyes brightened and she tucked the coin away into the folds of her winter cloak, nodding her agreement.
D'Jenn and Shawna came walking out of the night a few moments later. The Dannon was nowhere to be seen. Dormael searched Shawna's face for some hint of emotion, but if it was there, she was keeping it locked behind a tight-jawed mask. Dormael tossed the purse to D'Jenn, who caught it out of the air and regarded Dormael with a surprised look once he realized what he was holding.
“Eindor's bloody eye,” D'Jenn smiled. “Where did you find this?”
“Bethany found it,” Dormael said, motioning to the youngling.
“On one of their horses,” she beamed.
D'Jenn smiled and fished a silver mark from the purse, handing it over to Bethany. “Here. Keep this, maybe you can buy something nice.” Bethany grinned and accepted the coin, shooting Dormael a conspiratorial glance. He winked at the girl as she stuffed the second coin into her cloak.
“That must be what he meant,” Shawna said, looking down at the money. “He said they got paid double.”
“Double?” Dormael asked.
“On account of there being magic involved,” D'Jenn said. “Our former friend's name was Fulgaar. He was a tracker, a bounty hunter operating out of Borders.”
“Since when do bounties get paid up front?” Dormael asked.
D'Jenn shrugged. “When the quarry is this important, I guess. This dangerous, maybe. They knew about Shawna, knew about you. Didn't expect me, though.”
“So the Red Swords have outflanked us, after all,” Dormael said.
“We should have expected it,” D'Jenn said. “There's no way we could have stopped every messenger bird in the sky from flying to Borders, anyway. No sense in crying over it now.”
“Borders is practically run by smugglers and crime syndicates,” Shawna said. “They'll know as soon as we enter the town. We'll have eyes on us from the moment we step foot inside the walls.”
“Fulgaar got our contract from a man named Hadrick Lucius,” D'Jenn said. “Apparently he's the top man in the Borders underworld—everything in and out gets his scrutiny, his official stamp. Fulgaar was just a hired hand, though. He couldn't tell us much.”
“So Borders is just a trap,” Dormael cursed, kicking at the snow in frustration. “Our avenues of escape are closing around us.”
“I don't think so,” D'Jenn shook his head. “If this Hadrick Lucius is just a local tough, he won't speak the same language as the Red Swords.”
“What do you mean?” Shawna asked.
“He'll be open to all sorts of bribery,” D'Jenn explained. “The leader of any crime syndicate is a businessman at heart. Lucius could probably give two golden shits about you, me, or the Galanian Empire. What he wants is money, or something just as good.”
“And you think you can negotiate with him?” Shawna asked.
“I think we don't have much of a choice,” D'Jenn grunted. “We have to get over the sea, and Borders is our last hope until spring. Maybe we can offer him something.”
“And if you can't?” Shawna asked.
“Then we threaten him. Threats can be powerful motivators, especially if you make them sound good,” D'Jenn smiled.
“I still say it's a trap,” Dormael said.
“It's only a trap if you don't know about it,” D'Jenn said. “Come on, let's finish up here and get some rest. I'm going to lay down some wards around camp tonight. I don't want to be surprised like that again.”
“Agreed,” Dormael nodded.
“Tomorrow we're up and riding before the sun,” D'Jenn said. “And much more carefully than before.”
“We should make Borders soon,” Shawna said. “I'm not certain on the distance, but the sea has been getting closer and closer to the road for a bit, now. Once we turn more to the east we'll be very close.”
“Let's hope that's tomorrow,” D'Jenn said. “Good night all.”
Everyone murmured their agreement and sought their blankets. The smell of the burnt bodies lingered in the air for a short time before Dormael fell asleep. The cold helped to keep it down, but it was the kind of stink that hung around long after its source had been exhausted.
Luckily for Dormael, he was too tired to care much about the smell.
***
Grant's eyes fluttered open, leading his hazy mind back to wakefulness like a horse pulling a cart. His cabin was dark, though bars of moonlight filtered in through two portholes built into the hull. The ship creaked around him as it rolled in the swell, and odd things made bumping noises in the darkness. His nose was full of scents of the sea.
Something was giving him an odd feeling. He reached his hands to his face, scratching at the short beard he had cultivated. He blinked his eyes, trying to drink in the light to pierce the shadows of the cabin, but they blurred instead of focusing.
“Colonel,” a rasping voice uttered from the shadows.
Grant's chest went cold with fear. He knew that voice, knew the man behind it. Grant was not a man that succumbed to terror very often, but he could make an exception in the case of this man.
The voice came from the Cloaked Man—the emperor's pet sorcerer, Maaz.
Grant raised from his bunk, shooting his eyes around the room. He was unarmored and unarmed, and didn't want to face the bastard without the benefit of his weapons. He knew that they wouldn't help him against the Cloaked Man, though—his magic was too powerful. Still, the comfort was something he would have welcomed.
A piece of shadow deepened in the corner of the room, and a tall, thin figure stepped out of it. He was cloaked in a black robe, and spoke from deep within the cowl of a hood. Grant had seen something of the man's skin before, though, and knew it to be covered with a web of geometrical scars that appeared to have been carved into it. He hid it well, but every once in a while a hand would peek out, or his chin would flash in the light. It gave Grant the chills to look upon it.
“I see you, Colonel. Oddly, I don't sense the presence of the artifact. Why is that?” Maaz rasped, the question hanging in the air between them like a knife hovering over Grant's throat.
“The Baron Llewan's daughter escaped, taking the artifact with her,” Grant said, having to clear his throat to keep his voice from squeaking. “We're pursuing her now. She'll be ours soon enough.”
A moment passed in silence, Maaz's eyes reflecting the moonlight like twin pinpricks in the darkness of his hood. Grant had never liked the emperor's advisor, or whatever he was. The man gave him the jitters. All sorcerers did, but this one was something different. Grant had the distinct feeling that the man was sizing him up for a spit.
“Colonel,” Maaz hissed, making the word sound somehow condescending, “I thought you were the cream of the crop, the very epitome of the Galanian officer, the shining example of genteel brutality. I thought we had a gods-damned deal.”
“We still do,” Grant snarled, tensing himself for whatever the man might do. He had no idea if the sorcerer was even really in the cabin with him, or using his magic to speak to him from afar. Grant knew nothing of magic and its fell workings. “Nothing has changed. As I said, she'll be ours soon enough, and I'll sail back into Shundov Harbor with the armlet in tow.”
“You'd best hope that's true, Colonel. The emperor would be most displeased if you failed in this. And the girl? You've not dropped her to the bottom of the sea?”
Grant froze. “Ah..the girl. She escaped.”
The room grew colder, though Grant wasn't sure if it was his imagination, or the sorcerer's power.
“She escaped,” Maaz repeated, his rasping voice going flat.
“In Ferolan. Two of the castle guards disappeared the same night, so I assume they aided in her flight.”
“And why would they do that, Colonel?” Maaz asked,
his voice still flat. He stood completely still in the shadows, regarding Grant with unmoving eyes. It reminded him of a snake sizing up a mouse for its throat.
“I don't know. I was indisposed. We searched for her, but...she was gone. Disappeared.”
“Disappeared,” Maaz repeated again. He moved for the first time, stepping from the shadows to pace around the small cabin. Grant watched him as if he were a rabid dog. “Colonel, if there is one thing that displeases me more than anything else, it's ineptitude. Stupidity. Utter uselessness.”
Grant bristled. “I'm not—,” he started, but Maaz waved his hand, and Grant's voice was simply gone. He spoke, felt the vibrations, but nothing came out of his throat.
“I left the girl with you because I could not carry her where I was going. I was assured that you would care for her, and return her to Shundovia once your mission was complete. Why did she run, Colonel? Why would the girl try to escape?”
Grant's chest was cold with the truth of the matter.
Because I beat her, he wanted to say.
Because I touched her.
I couldn't help myself.
“I don't know,” was what came out of his mouth.
Maaz scoffed. “Colonel, do you remember the deal we made?”
“Yes,” Grant breathed, his heart beating into his ears.
“You work for me, do my bidding in all things. In return, I allow you to speak with your daughter. What was her name?” Maaz asked, as if he didn't remember. Grant didn't believe him for a second.
“Geraldine.”
Her name was a knife to his heart.
“Little Geraldine,” Maaz sighed. “So young, so innocent when she passed. How old was she?”
“Nine,” Grant hissed, gritting his teeth. He didn't like having his daughter's name come out of Maaz's mouth.
“Nine,” Maaz said, turning suddenly to face the colonel. “I know what happened to her, you know. I have ways of knowing things, Colonel, and I know what you did to her.”
Grant's stomach felt like a block of ice. “I did nothing to her.”
“Liar,” Maaz said, and the word echoed in the confines of the shadowy cabin. Doubtless it was some trick of Maaz's magic, but knowing it didn't make Grant any less fearful. “I spoke with her, you know. It takes time to call up a soul from the Void, Colonel. It takes multiple tries, preparation. Little Geraldine told me a very strange tale.”
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 29
