The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “Well,” he hedged, trying to recover, “there have always been rumors, but there are always rumors.”

  “Oh, yes—he spurned me, and that’s why I hate him so much,” she smiled. “Or I went behind his back with another man, and that’s why he hates me so much. Stay silent on something, and people fill in the blanks you leave with their imaginations. It is the nature of things, I suppose.”

  “Did you ever tell him?” Dormael asked. “That you loved him, I mean.”

  “We were inseparable,” Lacelle said, another wistful smile creeping onto her face. “After that, we sat in the back of the room together and threw things at other students. He was…I don’t know. He was my first love, my first everything. The first person to stand up for me, the first to treat me with actual respect.”

  “What happened?”

  Lacelle let out a long breath. “The Warlocks happened, of course. Victus had a strong gift, and was wickedly smart—he was that way even then, when we were just becoming full wizards. He wanted to be a Hedge Wizard at one time, you know. He always said that he wanted to move to Orris, enjoy the beaches, and help people grow their crops and birth their children.”

  “What?”

  That didn’t sound like Victus at all.

  “Oh, yes. He was very interested in communities, and people,” she said. “And he loved the beach. We traveled there sometimes, back in those days. Victus would have pitched a tent on the beach and stayed there for the rest of his life.” Her eyes darkened. “Then, the old Deacon of the Warlocks started spending time with him. He convinced Victus to try out for the Warlocks, if only for the challenge. Victus always did love a challenge.”

  “It’s exciting,” Dormael said, eliciting a look from the Deacon of Philosophers. “It’s easy to get addicted to the nature of it all. I couldn’t imagine my life any other way, now that I’m a Warlock—former Warlock, I guess.” A black feeling twisted in his guts at the thought.

  “I suppose I can understand,” Lacelle said. “It was fine at first. I decided to join the Philosophers, and stay in Ishamael. I couldn’t imagine my life without Victus, so staying seemed to be the right choice. Victus, though…he just changed.”

  “How?”

  “He just…I’m not sure. He started to look at things differently. He’d spend days brooding in silence, his mind somewhere else. He got angrier, sharper. The world ate away at him, like the ocean at the beaches he used to love. Then, he just disappeared for an entire season. He didn’t say anything, didn’t warn me, sent no letters. When he came back, he had changed. Something in him had darkened, I don’t know what. And the rest of the Warlocks, they just closed ranks around him. That’s the way you all are, you know—bloody insular, bloody secretive. I’ve always hated it.” Dormael could hear the emotion in her voice.

  “I’m…sorry.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that.

  “No, you’re not,” Lacelle sighed, giving him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, maybe just to allow some of these thoughts out of my skull. Maybe…listen, Dormael—I know how this ends. I’ve watched him for years, for longer than the two of you have been alive, probably. I just…I just wanted you to know that he’s not evil, that he’s…I don’t know—”

  “I know,” Dormael said, cutting her off. “I understand.”

  “Does your cousin understand?” Lacelle asked. “I…I noticed that he had left. I was there, I heard what he said to the Mekai. I know where he’s gone.”

  “He understands,” Dormael said. “Nobody wanted this, Deacon. We all have to survive.”

  “Just call me Lacelle,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m not a deacon anymore.”

  Dormael nodded and took her hand.

  “I’m not happy about the circumstances, but I’m glad you’re with us,” he said. “It will probably take me a long time to stop calling you ‘Deacon’, though.”

  “Fair enough,” Lacelle said, smiling.

  They walked in silence for awhile. Time meant nothing in the endless maze of tunnels, intersections, and rivers of pungent slime. Bethany held her nose and made gagging noises whenever they passed through one of the sewer tunnels. The hum of magic was ever-present, and it kept the effluvia moving to its next destination, while also doing something about the air circulation—though it did nothing about the smell. If Dormael had designed the thing, he would have thought to do something about the stink.

  Dormael understood the way the system worked, if not the magic at play beneath the surface. The waste was collected on the upper levels, washed through a series of churning rooms that separated the waste from the water. At that point, the water would drain to a deeper level where the process was repeated. Dormael couldn’t remember how many times the water was filtered, but he knew that at some point in the process, more magical filters had been slapped in place.

  The lowest level was said to house giant cauldrons that boiled the filtered water on magical braziers. Dormael had never been down there, nor did he know anyone who had been, but he had heard stories about it growing up. It was supposed to be the lowest chamber built into the tunnels.

  The Mekai’s escape route led them deeper into the sewer. Sometimes the path followed a spiraling stairway, and sometimes a wide, curving ramp, but it always went downward. Lacelle’s light held the shadows at bay, but the halls felt more ancient the deeper they went. The conversation went from hushed tones to complete silence, and each footfall echoed off of the stone around them.

  Dormael began to jump at every sound. Once, he even hoisted his spear at the darkness behind them, making Lacelle jump so hard that her light flashed in reaction. There had been nothing, but Dormael couldn’t shake the dread that had latched its claws into his shoulders. Even Jev, Lilliane, and Torins were quiet.

  The hum of old magic moved against Dormael’s senses like noises heard from underwater. The spell that had run the sewer system had been operating since antiquity, quietly rendering drinkable water from an entire city’s worth of waste. Most of the people living above never appreciated just how ancient these tunnels were. Dormael hadn’t either, until tonight.

  “Dormael!” Shawna called from ahead of them, her voice echoing from the stone. “Come see this!”

  Dormael and Lacelle shared a look, then rushed ahead to where Shawna and Allen had been walking with Bethany. The three of them winced at Lacelle’s magical light, which the woman toned down with a muttered apology. They stood framed by a wide doorway cut into the stone, and it took Dormael a moment to realize that there was a low, orange light coming from the room beyond. He closed his eyes for a few seconds to relax them, then opened them when he could see farther into the darkness.

  The room beyond the tunnel was vast—so vast, in fact, that Dormael couldn’t see the other side. Dormael walked into the enormous room, onto a walkway that was raised above the floor. He went to the edge of the path and looked down, trying to gauge the distance to the floor below. It wasn’t high enough to kill a man if he fell from the walkway, but certainly high enough to break his legs when he hit.

  Spaced in even rows along the floor were pillars, and on those pillars were huge globes made of bronze. Glowing sinuous lines carved paths along the globes’ surfaces, and it took Dormael a moment to realize that they were hot. The globes were giant, magical kettles. They stood like monoliths, their shapes disappearing into the vastness of the chamber.

  “This must be the mythical boiling level,” Dormael said.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Lacelle smiled. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Nor I.”

  “The boiling level,” Shawna muttered, looking around at the towering globes. “I see. That’s why it’s so hot in here.”

  “This is supposed to be the lowest chamber under the city,” Torins said. “We’re under the river now. Amazing. The gods are good for having shown us this sight.”

  “I agree, and all,” Lilliane huffed, “but I’m about to blo
ody sweat myself to death over here. Can we get moving?”

  “I think the sweating is probably good for you,” Jev said. “Maybe you should stay down here, Lilliane. No one would ever look for you here, and you’d make a perfect cave beast.”

  “Jev, do you really want me to hold you down and make you cry in front of all these people?” Lilliane asked. “I wonder what that steely-eyed Warlock would say, were he to see you blubbering like a fool because a fat girl had twisted your nipples off.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Torins said.

  “You’d have to catch me first, Lilliane,” Jev shot back. “I don’t know if your hooves can get enough traction on this walkway.”

  “Traction, is it?” Lilliane asked, reaching over to punch Jev in the leg. Jev squealed in pain as the girl hit him right in the meat of his thigh, making his leg give out. He sprawled onto the walkway with all his gear, clutching his leg in a grand melodramatic performance.

  “You are such a bitch, Lilliane,” Jev growled.

  Dormael busted out laughing. He couldn’t help it—the sight of Jev rolling around on the walkway hit him with just the right amount of emotional spin, and the laughter began flowing out. Before long, everyone was sharing a laugh at Jev’s expense. Jev glared daggers at everyone else, but that only made it worse.

  “Alright,” Dormael said, gesturing for everyone to calm down. “We should get moving.”

  “If Jev can walk, that is,” Allen said, giving Jev a wide grin. “I don’t know, though—maybe we should just take the entire leg, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Dormael said. “I don’t think the boy will make it another step on that leg.”

  “We’re in agreement, then?” Shawna said, sauntering up between the two of them. “Do you two want to hold him down while I take the leg, or should Allen take the leg while Dormael and I hold him down?”

  “I gave D’Jenn my only good axe,” Allen said, “so it will have to be you, Shawna.”

  “My swords are probably the best tool to get it done, anyway.”

  “Lady Baroness,” Lilliane asked, “would you mind if I did the honors? I’ve been dreaming about a day like this for so, so long.”

  “I hate all of you,” Jev clipped, gathering his things as he rose to his feet. Everyone snickered at his comments, and helped him get his belongings together. Bethany walked up and handed him an odd piece of something from his pack, then took a meaningful look at his leg. She rolled her eyes and turned away, eliciting another round of laughter from the group. Jev put himself back together and started limping down the walkway ahead of them.

  Bethany trotted up and tugged at Allen’s wrist.

  “I’ll race you!”

  “Race me to where, girl? You run on ahead, I’ll catch up,” he replied.

  “Stay close,” Dormael said, pushing a bit of hair from her eyes. “Don’t get too far from the light.”

  “I won’t,” she sighed.

  Bethany took off down the walkway at a run, slapping Jev on the leg as she went by. The man made a squealing noise and swatted at the girl, but Bethany was too nimble for the awkward, limping youth. She skipped backwards in front of him, taunting as she went, before turning and gaining a good lead on him. Jev limped along like his legs were going to give out.

  “Let’s go find the next symbol, figure out which way to go,” Lacelle said, gesturing at Lilliane and Torins. The two of them nodded and followed her down the walkway, Lilliane throwing another mock-punch at Jev as she went by. Shawna turned to Dormael and Allen as the rest of the party made their way down the path.

  “Do you think D’Jenn is alright?” she asked. Dormael shared a look with Allen.

  “I hope so,” Dormael sighed. “D’Jenn is cunning, but so is Victus. D’Jenn has gotten out of a hundred things that were worse than this. We’ll see him by morning, I’m sure of it.”

  The problem was that he wasn’t sure of it. Anxiety was twisting around in his stomach like a rat looking for a way out. All he could do, though, was keep moving. Even if D’Jenn never came back, all he could do was keep moving.

  “Shawna!” Bethany called from down the walkway. “Come see this!”

  “Calm down, I’m coming,” she replied. Shawna shared a brief look with Allen and Dormael, then jogged down the path in Bethany’s direction. Allen sighed and gave Dormael an opaque look.

  “Did you suspect any of this was going to happen when you recruited me?” he asked.

  “No. I had a bad feeling, but this…no.”

  “Do you think our family is in danger? Tell me the truth. Will your deacon go after the homestead?”

  Dormael shook his head.

  “Victus is ruthless, but that’s always been his style. It’s the way he trained us. He would never hesitate to make a tough decision if it gained him something, but he’s not petty. He wouldn’t go after them to settle a score with us.”

  “What about to draw you out?”

  Dormael took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh.

  “He’s got more to worry about with managing things here,” Dormael said. He and Allen began to walk toward the others, but strolled along to allow some privacy. Even so, they passed Jev and left the man to struggle along. “If it’s clear to Victus that the Mekai knows his plans, he’ll have to work quickly to secure his power. He may send a Warlock or two out to find us, maybe to kill us, but he won’t be able to divert much attention until things have settled for him here. We’ve got some time before his focus will be on us.”

  “I don’t even like the thought of one of you bastards after me,” Allen said. “Dormael—do I have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life?”

  “I don’t think so,” Dormael said, feeling a surge of guilt for having landed his brother in this plot alongside him. “I’m sorry about this, brother. Truly sorry. But no—I think if you laid low for a while, and got as far from us as possible, then you would be fine.”

  “And you? Do you have to worry for the rest of your life?”

  Dormael felt his jaw muscles clench.

  “Yes. Until…until I don’t know when. Yes.”

  Allen let out a long sigh.

  “Well,” he said, laying a hand on Dormael’s shoulder, “I hope that we can stay at inns on this trip. I mean, we’ll be keeping low and all, I’m sure, but I would like to bathe every now and then, brother. I can’t let the ladies see me in anything less than ‘glorious’. It’s good for enemies, too.”

  “Cleaning yourself is good for your enemies?”

  “Not the act of bathing, no. But, if you show your enemies your best side—and, really this is only true in my case—it gives them something to aspire to.”

  “And then, you kill them.”

  “But in that short span of time, Dormael, they’re inspired,” Allen smiled.

  Dormael started to laugh. His brother had always been able to do that, ever since they were children. The laughter banished the anxious feeling—or softened it, anyway. He felt a smile settle onto his face.

  Just then, a cry rang out behind them. It was high-pitched and piercing, like something a giant bird of prey might utter as it swooped down to snatch a baby from its mother. It touched something primal in Dormael, and before he knew it, he had dropped his pack and spun around, clutching his spear in a white-knuckled grip. He heard the swish of steel as Allen yanked his own weapons free.

  A pair of odd forms crouched in the shadowy doorway. Dormael couldn’t see much about them, but something about their posture marked them as predators. Perhaps it was the way the pair of them moved, like wolves, or hunting cats. They were wrapped in dark, rotten cloth, with scarves over their heads that revealed nothing but a pair of burning pin-points of red light. Chills ran down Dormael’s spine at the sight of them, and he felt certain that the two creatures were staring right at him.

  “Jev!” Allen shouted. “Jev!”

  The boy stood frozen, staring behind him in shock. The sound of his name snapped hi
m out of his trance, though, and he dropped his packs and started shuffling away from the two creatures as fast as his bruised leg would carry him. Dormael felt a sudden spike of fear.

  “Come on, Jev!” Dormael yelled. “Hurry up!”

  The two creatures both stiffened at the sound of his voice, like a pair of pointer hounds with a target. One of them was larger than the other, as if the second one was juvenile. They filled him with the same sort of instinctual revulsion as the Taker had.

  The things didn’t move as Jev scurried away from them, whimpering like a frightened animal. Other things rushed from the shadows behind the two crouching creatures, though, taking to the walkway and leaping over the sides in a mad rush. They disappeared into the shadows under the kettles, and Dormael pulled his Kai awake. He couldn’t tell what the things were, but they looked like people—enraged, very quick people.

  “Bethany! Shawna!” Dormael screamed, turning his gaze in their direction. “Run!”

  ***

  D’Jenn pushed aside a grate, and pulled himself up onto the edge of the Bruising Stretch, being careful to keep silent. He crawled like a shadow from the hole, and used his magic to put the grate back in place. It went down with a low, metallic clunk.

  He could feel the bracer around his arm—the piece of infused armor he’d taken from the dead Cultist in Soirus-Gamerit—sputtering as it resisted the pull of the Mekai’s spell. D’Jenn could feel the Mekai’s magic coming up from the ground like a creeping, whispering haze. The bracer didn’t completely shield him from it, but it disrupted the energies enough so that D’Jenn could use his own magic to resist it. It made a low, discordant note on the edge of his senses.

  The Bruising Stretch was a wide, white space of flat paving stones, reflecting the moonlight with cold indifference. It was strange to see it so deserted, though D’Jenn had certainly seen it so before. Perhaps it was the mood that made him feel that the sight was so surreal. It was the mood that clutched at his heart, raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and bent his ear to every little sound.

  There wasn’t a soul in sight.