“It’s a good thing, too,” Dormael nodded. “You pulled me out of the fire.”
“You might have beaten him,” D’Jenn smiled. “He’d probably have cut you pretty good, though.”
“How did you use magic on him without getting Splintered like me?”
“It’s simple. If you can’t use magic on them, then just throw things at them. Flying Rock, Dormael—it’s the first thing we learn for a reason.”
Dormael couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
“This still doesn’t answer any of our questions, though. How would they know anything about us? About Shawna?” D’Jenn went on. “I think the empire is still trying to reach us.”
“It does look that way,” Dormael said. “None of our old enemies would know a damned thing about Shawna. It bothers me that the empire can do this—try and interfere in Conclave business right here in the Sevenlands. With everything that Administrator told me, this is all starting to paint a suspicious picture.”
“Perhaps,” D’Jenn said. “But then, perhaps not. We know why the empire wants Shawna—wants what she carries, anyway. I’m not so sure about the rest of it.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Dormael sighed.
“Sooner rather than later. We’re leaving tonight. Let’s get back to the Kneeling Mare and pack our things,” D’Jenn said.
Dormael wanted to protest, but he knew D’Jenn was right. If they stayed where they were, chances were high that the dead Cultist’s friend would return with reinforcements. The companions might wake up to find themselves surrounded by hostiles, and followed into the countryside. If they left tonight, they would at least have a good chance of escaping an ambush.
“What about him?” Dormael asked, indicating the dead man with his chin.
“Leave him,” D’Jenn sighed. “The inhabitants of this part of the city will pick him cleaner than carrion eaters. He’ll be gone before we’re back to the inn.”
Dormael nodded, and followed his cousin into the rain-soaked darkness.
If the empire could reach them here, even through third parties, then the safety of home was nebulous at best. He didn’t like the thought of Galanians employing killers on the streets of a Sevenlander city, but he knew there was little he could do about it. All of Eldath seemed to be falling apart. The Cult of Aeglar had come to Soirus-Gamerit, the empire had agents working within Sevenlander borders, and a piece of armor had Splintered Dormael’s magic. Wizards were apparently returning to the Conclave like birds on a migration, and an ancient weapon of immense power rode in a little silver box in Shawna’s saddlebags.
Dormael had the feeling that things would get worse before they would get better.
The Nature of Heat
Dormael was soaked to his bones. Their leave-taking of Gameritus had been tense, but otherwise uneventful. D’Jenn had insisted on haste, though no signs of pursuit had followed them. They had stopped to camp only after the gray haze of dawn could be seen over the eastern horizon, and huddled in a copse of trees far back from the road. A few hours of fitful sleep later, the drizzle from the night before had grown into a cold, unforgiving downpour.
The land north of Gameritus was a sodden expanse of rolling foothills, though without the wavy grasses that marked the land closer to Mistfall. The southwestern part of Soirus-Gamerit was characterized by scrub brush and stone. The hills frequently revealed hidden caves, massive boulders peeking from the ground, or burbling creeks that meandered through the maze of the lowlands. The trees were all low and stunted, and the layer of dirt over the ground was thin, where it was present at all. The environment forced the companions to slow down, lest they turn the ankles of one of their mounts. The hills hid them from pursuers, but likewise hid pursuers from them.
By the second evening out from Gameritus, there had been no sign of the Cult of Aeglar. The Cult had started as a religious order, but had long ago morphed into something more militaristic. They followed the god Aeglar, the Trickster, but their religious traditions were widely unknown. Dormael had never had the displeasure of reading any of the holy texts that the Cult of Aeglar used to justify its existence, so he wasn’t sure what their dogma said. In practice, they were infamous for kidnapping wizards, who were never seen or heard from again. It didn’t take a scholar to know what was going on.
Dormael was certain that he could deal with anything the Cult could throw at him—infused armor or not—but he wondered what would happen if the Cult found out about Bethany. What if, by some twist of fate, they got their hands on the girl? Would they show leniency to a child? Would they kill her, regardless of her age, simply for having Eindor’s Blessing? Dormael tried to keep those thoughts from entering his mind, but try as he might, they kept returning.
He vowed to make sure that would never happen if he saw those Cultists again. He entertained thoughts of taking to the skies, seeking out where the Cult was hiding, and destroying them before they could hurt anyone else. Dormael almost broached the subject with D’Jenn, but thought better of it. Dormael was certain that inhabitation was sparse between this part of Soirus-Gamerit and the highlands that were still days to the north. They still had a long way to travel, and it was probably better not to invite trouble. If something happened out in the wild, and Bethany had to run, she would be lost in the wilderness.
They found a gigantic slab of rock sticking from the side of a hill on the fourth afternoon, and decided to take advantage of the shelter it provided. The deluge showed no signs of letting up, and everyone was keen to get out of the rain. The road had become nothing more than a little-used trail, and picking over the rough terrain had taken a toll on the horses. Even Shawna’s thoroughbred beast was showing signs of fatigue.
The rocky overhang provided enough shelter for everyone to find a place to dry out, even the horses. Dormael staked out a corner away from everyone else, and removed all of his clothing, save for his pants. He laid everything out on a rock that he dragged over with his magic, and sat down to dry out. The air was frigid, but days in this abominable weather had deadened him to it. He perched on a rock to keep his feet out of the mud, and closed his eyes to meditate.
He sensed Shawna coming before she made herself known. Dormael kept his eyes closed and pretended not to notice her standing nearby. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to have any sort of talk with her—not because he was afraid, but more because he was tired. Being soaked and chilled to the bones didn’t leave him in a pleasant sort of mood.
“Is there room for two?” she asked.
Dormael opened his eyes, and let out a breath. “Of course.”
He scooted to the side of the rock and indicated a spot beside him. Shawna picked her way over and sat down, being careful not to step in anything too muddy. She rubbed against him on accident, and Dormael became aware of how tightly her wet clothing clung to her skin. She had doffed her armor, and the wetness left little to the imagination.
He concentrated on keeping his eyes above her collarbones.
“Can’t you do some magic, maybe warm this rock a bit? It’s miserable,” she said, a tentative smirk trying to sneak onto her face.
Dormael sighed, relaxing shoulders that he hadn’t realized were tense.
“I suppose I could do something like that.” He closed his eyes and let his Kai sink into the rock, pouring the smallest amount of heat into the stone. It grew warm beneath him, and his body let out an involuntary shudder.
Shawna let out a long sigh. “If I was a wizard, I would never be uncomfortable.”
Dormael snorted. “People always say that.”
“Is it not true? Couldn’t you just go around being warm and cozy wherever you went?”
“I could, yes,” Dormael nodded. “But using magic isn’t easy, Shawna. It’s not like I can just ask the rock to be nice and heat up for me. You could walk around everywhere on your hands if you wanted to, but you don’t do it, do you?”
“My Master used to make me stand on my hands all the time,” Shawna said.
“I think you’d be surprised at my hand-walking abilities, Dormael.”
“That’s not the point,” Dormael smiled.
“Well what’s the point, then? How are you heating up the rock, for instance?” she asked.
“Do you really want to know, or are you trying to trying to irk me?”
“Tell me,” Shawna said. “I want to know.”
“First you have to understand something about heat.”
“Understand something about heat? Done.”
“Done?”
“Heat is fairly easy to understand, Dormael.”
“Is it, wise one? Please, explain it to me, then. How would you heat up the rock?”
Shawna gave him a long, flat look. “It’s warm.”
“What a stunning revelation, Shawna. Why is it warm? How does that work?”
“Ask the gods,” Shawna shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” Dormael smiled. “Heat is the first kind of energy we’re taught to use at the Conclave. Learn to control heat—at least, to a certain degree—and you can do a lot of things. Make fire. Make ice.”
“Make ice?” Shawna asked.
“Cold is just the absence of heat,” Dormael smiled. “There’s no such thing as cold.”
“Tell that to my arms and legs,” Shawna said. “They’ll call you a liar.”
Dormael just shook his head. He took a deep breath and sat for a moment, enjoying the warmth. Finally, Shawna turned to him and gave him a sheepish look.
“Come here. Let me see your face,” she said. Dormael gave her a skeptical glance, but didn’t flinch away as she took his chin in her hand. She turned him gently back and forth, regarding her handiwork with a grimace on her face. “I got you pretty good.”
“That you did,” he sighed. “Not the worst thing to ever happen to me, though.”
“Is it broken?” she asked. She poked at it, and smiled at him when he winced in pain.
“No,” he grumbled. “No thanks to you.”
“I’d say it was thanks to me, actually,” she smiled.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to apologize, or if you came over here to gloat.”
“I wouldn’t gloat, Dormael. Maybe I hit you a little hard, maybe I regret that. I wouldn’t gloat, though.”
“Maybe you did,” Dormael sighed. He paused a moment, grimaced, and forced himself to keep talking. “I can see why you were angry, though. I’ve had worse than a swollen nose in tavern brawls, Shawna. It’s nothing we need to speak about. We’re friends, right?”
“Right,” she smiled, her posture relaxing.
“Good. That’s the one punch you get for free, then. The next time I’ll hit you back,” he smiled.
“You wouldn’t punch me like that,” she said, waving a dismissive hand.
“Maybe not,” he smiled. “I might use magic, though. Remember what I said earlier about the absence of heat?”
Dormael pulled some of the heat out of the rock, and let it get just on the verge of freezing. Shawna pulled in a sharp breath through her teeth and stiffened, shooting him an evil look. Dormael winked at her, then poured the heat slowly back into the stone.
“Point taken,” she said. She paused, and gave him a searching glance. “Your friend disappeared back in Gameritus. Was I the reason for that?”
“I doubt it,” Dormael said. “She comes and goes on a whim.”
Dormael had a feeling, though, that Shawna was on to the truth of it.
“I can’t say I was sad to see her go,” Shawna shrugged.
“I think you made your point,” he said. “I just wonder why it was necessary to punch me, too.”
“You got in the way,” Shawna replied, her cheeks going a little red. “I was angry.”
“That’s not why,” he shook his head. “You’re not the type to lash out like that. Why?”
Shawna narrowed her eyes at him, and then let out a long sigh.
“Maybe it’s juvenile, Dormael, but it angered me that after…after everything we’ve all been through together, you rose to defend your snippy little friend instead of calling her down.”
Guilt twisted in Dormael’s guts. Truth be told, he had ruminated on the same thing in quiet moments.
“I know it seems like I was defending her, but I wasn’t,” he said. She looked at him. “I just wanted to calm you down. Seylia can be…difficult. She’s like that with everyone. I know she was wrong, everyone knew she was wrong.”
“You were afraid I was going to attack her,” Shawna said, a smile perking up the corners of her mouth.
“You did have bare steel in your hand,” Dormael smiled. “It didn’t feel like a foolish assumption at the time.”
“Do you regret it?” she asked.
Dormael took a deep breath and sighed. “I do. Can we just sign the peace accords now, and stop talking about it?”
“Yes, for the love of the gods,” D’Jenn piped up from the other side of the campsite.
“For the love of the gods,” Bethany repeated.
Shawna rolled her eyes in their direction, but settled down into silence. She sat close to him for a while, soaking up the heat of his magic. Dormael felt as if a huge weight had lifted from his shoulders. This was closer to the way things had been on the ship, after the fight with the Galanians. He and Shawna had spent long hours together, laid up with painful wounds in the same cabin. He hadn’t realized how much he had grown to enjoy her company, and how much their little spat had bothered him.
She leaned against his shoulder and stared out into the rain-soaked hills, her wet hair lying over his arm. Her clothing felt thin, and he was acutely aware of how supple she felt against him.
He banished those thoughts and poured a bit more heat into the rock.
“I think we’ve gotten away from the Cult,” Shawna said.
“They’ll be moving just as slow as we are in this weather,” Dormael nodded. “At least the gods are doing that much for us.”
“The gods are fickle,” Shawna said, her tone taking on a haunting quality all of a sudden. “Take your attention away for a tiny moment, and they’ll turn your world upside down. Best not to invite their attention at all.”
“Are you the devout type? Do you think the gods are really there?”
“I’m not overly religious, Dormael. But…it’s hard to deny them, with everything that has happened.”
Dormael turned to look at her, but she was staring out into the rain. The comment made him think of the armlet’s dream, the scene with the gods stretching the woman over the altar. The memory of it sucked the good mood out of his chest.
“We need to talk tonight, after we eat.”
“I thought we were talking now,” Shawna said.
“I don’t mean you and me,” Dormael said. “I mean all of us.”
“Why?”
“Your armlet,” Dormael sighed. “It sent me another dream.”
***
“You say they were…stretching a woman over the altar?” D’Jenn asked.
“Odd,” Shawna said.
“I’m fairly sure they were supposed to be the gods. The two men—they looked like Evmir and Eindor, or what the stories always said about them, anyway,” Dormael said.
“There it is, then,” D’Jenn said. “Did the gods resemble what you thought they would look like? If so, I’d wonder at the veracity of this dream. Might be your mind playing tricks on you.”
“Or the armlet playing tricks on him,” Shawna said. “Maybe the armlet can sort of…get inside your head, muck around with your thoughts. Maybe it knew what sort of pictures that would fool him into believing it was the gods.”
Dormael rubbed at his temples. This conversation was beginning to make his head hurt. He had explained various parts of this dream to them over and over, and he was long past ready to seek his bedroll. Bethany was already snoring, wrapped up in her blankets nearby. He glanced over at her with envy growing in his heart.
“The thing I’m wondering,” Dorm
ael said, interrupting another long argument on religion, “is why the thing keeps showing these dreams to me. Where is this place? One thing that has remained the same in both dreams is the setting. These hills, and this ancient shrine. I keep having the overwhelming impression that this is a real place.”
“How do you know that?” D’Jenn asked.
“I don’t,” Dormael admitted. “It’s just one of those gut feelings.”
“Well…have any ideas, then?” D’Jenn asked.
“No,” Dormael sighed. “Rolling, grassy hills. Mountains in the distance. Could be anywhere, I guess.”
“Not anywhere,” D’Jenn said. “Think about it. There are only so many mountain ranges in the world.”
“He has a point,” Shawna said. “And of those mountains, how many are next to grasslands?”
“What about the mountains that border the Dannon steppe and the frozen north?” D’Jenn asked.
Dormael shook his head. “It wasn’t the steppe, I’m sure of that. The steppe is damn near frozen itself.”
“What about the Thardish Mountains?” Shawna asked. “They run all the way from Thardin to southern Galania. There are grasslands on both sides of them.”
“I suppose that could be it,” Dormael shrugged.
“So that’s one possibility,” D’Jenn said. “It wouldn’t be the Sheran Mountains—they’re surrounded by the jungle. The Rashardian mountains have a desert on one side and lots of farmland on the other. What about the Gathan Mountains?”
“It could have been the Gathan Mountains,” Dormael nodded. “There’s a lot of grassland in Farra-Jerra, and Duadan.”
“So, we know it could either be on one continent, or another,” Shawna muttered. “We’ve really narrowed it down.”
“There’s a definite theme to these dreams,” D’Jenn said. “The first one you described to us—the one you had back in Alderak—there was this temple, and the ivy.”
“Yes,” Dormael nodded.
“And now, the ivy is associated with this woman—the one that the gods were sacrificing,” D’Jenn said. “In your last dream, you said the ivy did something strange.”
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 48
