The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  Allen moved in as the thing’s feet hit the walkway, driving it back with cuts aimed at its glowing eyes. Dormael moved in to support him on the other side, threatening it with his spear when it tried to slip aside from his brother. For a brief, glorious moment Dormael thought they had the thing pinned down, and it would soon be carved to pieces.

  The creature, though, went on the offensive.

  It swiped Allen’s saber aside with the flick of one of its claws, and wrapped the other around his buckler. Allen gave a cry of rage as the creature jerked him aside by the shield, flinging him down the walkway. He tumbled away, his weapons clinking on the stone. Dormael stabbed the thing through the side with his spear when it turned its attention away, but the creature paid the wound little mind as it turned back to him. It swiped a long set of claws at Dormael’s face, and the only thing that saved him from being maimed was the fact that his heel had slipped on the stone, and he was already falling.

  The creature jerked his spear out of its side and dropped it on the stone. It made an odd screeching noise, and reached down to wrap a hand around Dormael’s throat. Dormael felt a spike of fear stab into his heart, and he kicked at the creatures knees, trying to scramble away. His feet connected, bringing the cloth-wrapped thing down on top of him.

  It smelled like an open grave.

  Dormael reached to his side and whipped a stiletto from his belt, punching it into the thing’s ribs as he tried to scramble free. The creature gave little physical reaction as the knife sank in. It raised itself from Dormael’s body and looked down at him, shining red pin-points narrowing. It turned its head to the side and sniffled, like a dog about to chomp down on a meal. The hand around his throat tightened, and Dormael was filled with the sudden, sickening fear that he was going to be eaten.

  Allen’s saber chopped down into its shoulder with a fleshy thump, and the creature uttered a kettle-like screech of pain. It arched its back, trying to reach behind and pull the saber out of its collarbone. Allen let out another scream of rage, and chopped through the creature’s leg with one of his short swords, having abandoned the saber in the creature’s shoulder. It squealed in rage as it buckled to the stone, and Dormael thought he saw black mist leak from the severed stump. When the leg hit the walkway, it crackled, hissed, and changed into something that looked like salt.

  What are these gods-damned things?!

  Dormael scrambled out of the way and lashed out with his magic, putting every bit of power he could muster against the creature that was even now trying to rise. He held it to the stone, though it struggled to get up and attack him. Dormael felt his magic sliding away from the thing, threatening to give way at any moment.

  “Get it!” Dormael screamed. “Kill the fucking thing!”

  Allen obliged him. He chopped down with his thick-bladed short sword, severing the creature’s head in a series of brutal cuts. It screamed with every blow, clawed hands pawing at the air, but unable to block. Once the head came off, its body crackled and disintegrated—just as the leg had.

  A mournful croon came from the shadows under the kettles.

  “I forgot about the other one,” Allen said, grimacing as he wiped the salty substance from his hand. He reached down and helped Dormael to his feet, and then retrieved his weapons. Dormael picked up his spear, and shoved the stiletto back into its sheath.

  “We need a better way to do this,” Dormael said, eyes darting through the darkness. The creature hadn’t shown itself. “That one almost got me.”

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” Allen said. “If I hadn’t been there, you’d have been skewered.”

  “My magic doesn’t work on them,” Dormael said. “At least, not as well as it should.”

  “I noticed,” Allen said. “Maybe if we—”

  A loud, metallic clang cut off Allen’s words, and the brothers turned to see the second, smaller creature leaping down on them from one of the bronze globes. Dormael moved away from his brother, just as Allen leapt in the other direction, and the monster landed on the walkway where they had been standing, claws digging furrows into the stone as it slid to a stop. It keened in rage.

  Allen attacked it from behind, saber cutting quick, circular arcs through the air. The creature slipped aside, moving like an eel as it dodged around the saber in a contemptuous dance. Dormael wasn’t sure if the things had intelligence—Hells, he didn’t even know what the things were—but it almost looked as if it was taunting his brother.

  Dormael moved in with his spear, threatening the creature as it tried to dodge his brother’s swipes with the curved sword. He choked out on the haft and slashed at the monster’s legs with the blade, trying his best to trip the thing up. It was too damned fast.

  The thing moved with an alien, unnatural grace. Allen’s saber cut a deadly arc at its eyes, while Dormael’s spear descended on an ankle. The creature swayed just out of reach of the saber, while slipping its leg wide of Dormael’s spear simultaneously. No matter what they did, it stayed one step ahead of them—a breath away from being cut, but dancing along that edge with a cold, contemptuous air.

  It snatched the haft of Dormael’s spear, moving so fast that he had no time to react. It jerked the weapon out of his hands and shoved it back into his chest cross-wise, knocking the breath from Dormael’s chest. Dormael felt his feet leave the stone as he flew backwards, spear tumbling through the air with him. His head struck the walkway enough to jam his teeth down on his tongue. He tasted blood in his mouth, and stars appeared before his eyes.

  Another huddled, stinking form appeared above him, and hands clamped around his throat. He had a bare moment to notice the dead, glazed eyes that regarded him, and the pallid flesh that had long since begun to rot. Dormael tossed his arm up in an instinctual motion, throwing his shoulder over the thing’s arm and rolling away. He was able to break its choke, but the thing continued to come at him, clawing at his clothing for purchase. Dormael scrambled away from it in terror, swatting away its hands as he tried to scoot to his feet.

  Two more sets of hands grabbed him by the shoulders of his mesavai, dragging him back to the stone. More hands, ripping at his right arm. Dormael kicked his feet, panic rising in his chest. The sight of Jev came once again to his memory, ripped apart by those creatures.

  Corpses, he realized. Animated corpses!

  Screaming, he lashed out with his Kai. A wave of violent force swept out from him, pushing everything away. Dormael scrambled to his feet and summoned a ball of flame, super-heating the air with a muted thump. The light illuminated the slack faces of corpses all around him, the ones on their feet running toward him at full speed.

  Dormael swept out with the flame, pouring magic out in wide, sweeping arcs. The liquid fire stuck to every corpse it touched, burning through flesh, bone, and cloth with supernatural speed. Those who made it close enough were crushed to the walkway, Dormael’s magic coming down on them like the heel of a giant boot. He yelled something unintelligible, rage and fear powering his magic as he laid about with the fire. Before long, all the corpses he could see were burning.

  Dormael gestured, bringing his spear back to his hands, and turned back to help his brother.

  Allen was spinning with the red-eyed creature, dancing an intricate, brutal series of steps. Claws slashed at the air, drawing sparks from Allen’s saber as he turned them aside. Allen knocked other swipes away from him with his buckler, staying just ahead of the thing’s claws at every turn. Dormael would never have been able to move that fast. His brother couldn’t keep it up forever, though—of that, Dormael was sure.

  He hefted his spear and sprinted back toward the action, splitting his consciousness as he ran. He reached the fight and waded in, scoring a glancing slice on the creature’s shoulder while its back was turned. It uttered a high-pitched growl and made to slash at him, but was forced to turn and defend itself from Allen instead. The creature prowled aside from them, disengaging to regard them both with its head cocked to the side. Allen took the opportu
nity to abandon his buckler.

  “Damned thing was getting in my way,” he growled, holding his saber out at the prowling, swaying creature. “Any idea how to kill this thing?”

  “I need you stick something in it,” Dormael said, coming to a realization.

  “That’s the way you kill lots of things, brother,” Allen said. “I was hoping for more.”

  “I mean you need to get something stuck in it—like in its breastbone, or its skull. Somewhere it will stick,” Dormael clarified.

  Allen nodded, and flourished his sword.

  “I’ll put something right through the bastard’s eye, if that’s what it takes.”

  “Good,” Dormael nodded. “Because until you do—”

  “Incoming!” Allen hissed, cutting him off.

  Dormael crouched, hefting his spear to meet the creature’s charge. It darted toward them, trying to get them to separate and break apart. Dormael and Allen, though, kept their backs to where Shawna and Bethany crouched with the Philosophers. They met the monster’s attacks, just able to keep it at bay as they backpedaled. It came at them with renewed ferocity, the damned thing too fast by half.

  Dormael had an idea, though. Part of his epiphany was thanks to D’Jenn, who had saved his life from the Cultist in that dark, rainy alleyway in Gameritus. His words were ringing through Dormael’s head.

  If you can’t use magic on them, then just throw things at them.

  If he couldn’t cast magic on the creature, then perhaps he could just cast magic at it.

  Dormael whispered his power around the thing, thickening the air through which it moved. The creature snarled in outrage as it realized what was happening, and it began to slow down. The fight became less desperate, and hope kindled to life in Dormael’s chest. Allen snarled in excitement as the rhythm of the fight shifted, and his blade licked out with renewed purpose. His saber scored a glancing cut along the side of the creature’s thigh, then another on its ankle when it tried to slip out of range. The monster screamed in indignation.

  Dormael snarled and waded further into the fight, thrusting at the creature to drive it toward his brother’s whirling saber attacks. The thickened air slowed its reactions by just enough to make the fight winnable, but the thing still possessed unnatural speed and agility. It moved in amazing, disgusting ways.

  The creature turned its full attention on Dormael, lashing out at his throat with a long, delicate slice. Dormael threw himself backwards, whipping out a circular parry with his spear. The attack, though, had been a ruse, and the parry met nothing but air. Dormael slipped as he backpedaled, the attempted parry putting him off-balance enough to fall. The creature let out a triumphant screech, and pounced.

  The damned thing feinted, he realized as he fell. It has intelligence after all.

  Dormael threw up his hands and poured more power into the air-thickening spell, but it was no use. The creature crashed into him, driving him down to the stone. Dormael panicked, pushing against the monster as hard as he could with his Kai, which raised its body into the air. Dormael brought up a quick shield, which saved his life as the creature’s claws glanced from it. It slashed at his throat, trying to bash through his shield with its magic-resistant claws. Dormael’s magic pushed upward, his power sliding off the thing’s skin like water around a boulder.

  Allen’s arm snaked around the thin neck of the creature, wrenching back on its head. It screamed and thrashed about, but Allen had mounted its back, and the strange shape of its body wouldn’t allow for it to reach him. With his other hand, Allen shoved a long dagger into its eye socket, burying it to the hilt. The monster screeched in agony.

  “Now!” Allen screamed, leaping away from the creature and rolling clear.

  Dormael smiled, and seized the dagger in his Kai.

  The beast howled in rage as Dormael lifted it from the walkway. The dagger was wedged deep into its skull, and stuck fast into the bone. Dormael used his magic to shove it even deeper, eliciting another pained screech from the creature. It kicked its short, distended feet, and thrashed with its arms. It clawed at the dagger, but its fingers were deformed, and could find no purchase on the weapon in order to pull it out. It fought so hard that Dormael thought it would rip its own head to pieces.

  “What are you waiting for?” Allen asked. “Kill it!”

  Dormael didn’t hesitate any longer. He pushed against the dagger with all his magical might, and slammed the creature into the nearest boiling kettle. It hit so hard that a dent formed in the shell, but Dormael pushed down on the globe and crushed it around the beast, trapping it in a prison of warped bronze. The metal squealed as Dormael manipulated it, and water poured out of the backside, where it had cracked open. He could feel the creature inside fighting, even as he crushed the metal against its body.

  Once the creature was trapped, he pounded the globe with lightning.

  The electricity struck with a violent crack, then hummed as it jumped between the globes in the boiling room, lighting the entire scene in bright, white flashes. Dormael screamed and hit the thing again, then again, and poured all the power he could into each bolt. The room flashed, sparks flew from the boilers, and magic hummed around him. When it was over, the only sound was the water pouring from the crack in the damaged globe.

  Dormael waited, watching the globe for any signs of movement. Allen came up beside him, saber held at the ready. They both stared up at where the creature had been crushed, waiting for something to happen. None of these creatures had died correctly, and Dormael wanted to be sure of this one.

  Moments passed in silence.

  “I told you,” Allen finally said, letting the tip of his saber relax.

  “Told me what?”

  “That I would stick something in that bastard’s eye,” Allen smiled. “I told you I’d do it, and I did it. I just wanted to point that out.”

  “I guess you did, at that. What do you want, a medal?”

  “From you?” Allen said. “Worthless. No—I just wanted to point it out to you, that’s all. You can buy me a drink at the next pub.”

  “I fried the bloody thing with lightning,” Dormael said. “How about you buy me a drink?”

  “Right, but you didn’t have to get close to do that,” Allen said, gesturing at the ruined globe. “I had to climb on that thing’s back. Do you think it smelled any better up close?”

  “It’s not my fault you can’t use magic.”

  “It’s your fault you’re not as good a warrior as me—that’s what I’m trying to say. You owe me a drink.”

  “No.”

  “You can’t argue.”

  “I am.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Seems like I’m doing it.”

  “What were those things?” Shawna said, coming up behind them.

  Dormael turned, feeling a load of relief at the sight of Bethany. She ran up and wrapped his waist in a fierce hug, which he returned. He pushed the hair back out of her face, looking her up and down until he was satisfied she wasn’t hurt.

  “I don’t know,” Dormael said, looking back to Shawna. “I’ve never seen them before.”

  “They were dead bodies,” Bethany said. “I saw them. Dead as rocks. Dead as dirt.”

  “The work of a vilth,” Lacelle said, gliding up. Lilliane came huffing in her wake, but Dormael didn’t see Torins. When no one offered any information, Dormael chose not to ask.

  “The two big ones—they were corpses, too, I think,” Allen said. “Certainly smelled like it.”

  “Do you know anything about vilthinum?” Dormael asked, turning to Lacelle.

  She shook her head. “I’ve only read a few stories, and I don’t remember much. It’s not exactly my area of expertise.”

  “I don’t care to stick around here and learn more about them,” Shawna said. “We should keep moving, get to the surface before more of those things show up.”

  “I agree,” Allen said.

  “Let’s get moving, then,” Dormael said.
“Find the next turn, and let’s leave this place behind.”

  Everyone nodded and began gathering their things together. The remains of Jev and Torins—what little was left—were laid out on the stone, stripped of anything useful, and piled as neatly as possible. Even for Dormael, it was a sickening sight. Lacelle left a pair of copper marks over each of their eyes before turning to follow everyone deeper into the sewers, once again holding her magical light aloft.

  Dormael watched her go, and gave her a tight-lipped smile as she passed by. He waited for a few moments, watching the dark opening that led back toward the Conclave. It yawned before him, offering nothing but silence and shadow. He gritted his teeth, shoving down a sharp spike of worry for D’Jenn, and put his spear over his shoulder.

  He’ll catch up, he told himself. He always does.

  Turning, he left the boiling room in shadow, and followed his friends out of the tunnels.

  Epilogue

  “If you’re sleep-deprived, can you still use your magic?” Shawna whispered.

  Dormael almost jumped out of his skin. He had been staring off in the direction of the river, listening for any sounds other than the distant gurgle of water, and the swish of wind through the grasses. There had been nothing. Only the darkness, and the wind.

  “I should go back,” Dormael said. “Look for him. He’d look for me.”

  “Maybe,” Shawna said, coming up to sit beside him. She let out a long breath and settled against his shoulder, letting her hair tickle his face. “You know what he’d tell you to do, though.”

  “Not to look for him.”

  “And he’d be right.”

  “I know.”