The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection

by D. W. Hawkins

  “You have brought war and destruction to my people,” the king said. “You come with the sword in one hand, the peace writ in the other, and expect us to bow and scrape at your magnanimity? Your words are cultured, but you stand there holding my own sword over my head, and the implication is clear. Do your worst, Emperor of all Galania—I will not cower for you.”

  Nalia’s eyes filled with tears. She felt a swell of emotions burn through her, pride and sorrow all mixed together. Her heart started to beat in her ears, and she smoothed her dress to hide the moment of weakness. She turned her eyes back to the ceremony, waiting for the moment that would destroy her family forever.

  Dargorin regarded the king for a moment, and nodded to himself. He took the sword by the cross-guard, and looked at the shimmering piece of ice that decorated the pommel. The assembled nobles all held their breath, and silence filled the room. Dargorin stepped forward, signaling the Red Swords guarding the king to step aside, and moved to stand before the hulking form of her father.

  “I did not come here to execute you, Vardic Arynthaal,” the emperor said. He took the sword by the hilt, and held it out to the king. Vardic looked down at the huge blade, his brows furrowing with confusion.

  “What is this?” Vardic said.

  “Take it, King Vardic,” Dargorin replied. “This sword belongs to you, to your line, to all of Thardin. Despite what you might have thought, I am not here to supplant you, nor to make you grovel at my feet. I have no need for such things.”

  Vardic regarded the man like he’d gone mad, but reached for the sword anyway. The emperor nodded as the sword passed from his hands to the king’s, and he dismissed the worried motions from the Red Swords arrayed around them. Nalia was stunned.

  What is his game?

  “The Galanian Empire is not in the business of stamping down those who would serve her with distinction, King Vardic Arynthaal. You and yours fought with honor, and distinguished yourselves on the battlefield. I have a great amount of respect for you, and your people. I come to add you to my fold, not to crush you beneath my heels.”

  “You seek empire,” the king replied, shaking his head in confusion. “Did you not crush Neleka beneath your heels? Shundovia? Were you not conducting a war of conquest against Moravia when you turned your armies against me?”

  “The Nelekans have retained their sovereignty,” Dargorin countered. “The Shundovians have seen more gold flowing though their ports than ever before. Those lands are more prosperous and peaceful than ever they were in the past, and the people are happy to be under the empire’s protection. Each was offered the same deal that I will offer you.”

  “And what is that?” Vardic snorted. “Abdicate the throne in favor of some Imperial governor? Clean out my treasury for the empire, and allow you to conscript my people for your wars?”

  “No,” Dargorin laughed. “Not at all. First—you will remain King of Thardin, with full hereditary rights according to your own laws of succession. You and your family will retain their ranks, and be given such respects within the entirety of the Galanian Empire, answerable only to me in my capacity as emperor. Second, you will tithe a small percentage of tax revenue to the empire at the turn of each season, and allow any Imperial citizen the freedom to pass your borders. You will adopt the Imperial Code of Law, discarding your own laws only where they conflict with Imperial writ. Next, you will allow the Galanian Empire leeway to build within your borders—schools, roads, and hospitals, which are the mainstays of Imperial livelihood. You and all your people will enjoy the rights and privileges granted to Imperial citizens, and be accorded the respect that comes with it.”

  “That’s all?” Vardic asked, suspicion plain on his face.

  “No,” Dargorin said. “You will choose four people to serve in the Imperial Senate. The Senate is a highly respected body in the empire, and holds a great deal of power. Two of these people cannot come from the ranks of your nobility—they must be commoners, you understand.”

  Whispers filled the room from the assembled nobles. Jaylenia gave Nalia an incredulous look, and Nalia was surprised enough to let her guard down and return it. Dargorin raised a hand to quell the disquiet, and waited as the whispering died down.

  Commoners? Nalia was confused at all of this. What game was this cultured conqueror playing?

  “If you do this,” Dargorin continued, raising his voice to be heard over the commotion, “you will lead your people into a new era. The empire is not a cruel mistress, King Vardic. We are the future. I said before that you could take your place beside me, not at my feet. We have been enemies, this is true, but it does not have to be that way. We can turn our blades to mutual enemies, to glories won together, instead of killing one another. Join me, and help me bring a new world to Alderak. Help me bring a better life to your people, and all people.”

  “No Thardish king has bent the knee to an outside conqueror since the day Ice Shard was forged,” Vardic said. “Not for thousands of years.”

  “Bending a knee is a small thing,” Dargorin said. “A moment, nothing more. You woke this morning as Vardic Arynthaal, King of Thardin—you can wake tomorrow as King of Thardin, and have all the power of the Galanian Empire behind you. I bend my knee every day. I bend it before the gods, before my people, before all the citizens of the empire. What is an emperor but a servant of those he protects?”

  Dargorin moved forward, and placed a hand on Vardic’s shoulder. The king was stunned, and regarded the young emperor with a confused look.

  “I will not demand your debasement,” the emperor said. “Only a simple oath. When it is over, you will have a place of honor at my side, and will retain everything you currently hold. You are not being kicked to your knees, King Vardic Arynthaal, but are being offered a hand by which to pull yourself—and all your people—to your feet. Choose.”

  Nalia’s heart beat against her ribs. She saw her father look around at the gathered nobility, at the emperor, and finally, to his family. Nalia wanted to scream at her father, to tell him the man was lying, that this couldn’t possibly be what he was after. She saw the look on her father’s face, though, and knew his decision before he ever moved.

  Vardic nodded, the defeat painted over his face. What choice did he have? Nalia suspected that if he refused, the emperor would just kill him and make the same offer to Aidan, then on down the line until someone capitulated. Nalia’s pride fell to the ground with her father’s knee.

  Dargorin smiled, and Thardin became part of the Galanian Empire.

  Cheers went up from the gathered nobles, though Nalia suspected their enthusiasm was feigned. Nalia could summon no strength to put on a brave face. Her thoughts were reserved for what would come next, and what all of this meant. She watched the emperor speaking with her father after he pulled Vardic to his feet, and ground her teeth at his friendly manner.

  Mark my words, gods in the Void, she thought. There will never be an end to this conflict—never.

  ***

  “You spoke with the shade of the Founder,” Lacelle said, shaking her head in wonder. “And he said there are more of these places, just as Lilliane’s Cabal suggested. I wonder what she’s going to say when I tell her.”

  D’Jenn sat cross-legged in an endless darkness, the necklace that Lilliane had made shining around his neck. Lacelle sat facing him, her own necklace gleaming into the shadow. Her voice echoed through the empty space, the only light coming from the glyphs in the infused jewelry.

  “Are you in Minsdurim?” D’Jenn asked. “It may be best to arrange to meet before you set sail to the east. These texts would be kept safer with you than anywhere else, and you’d make better use of them.”

  “We’re in a small town on the southern edge of Lake Horomund,” Lacelle replied. “Still a good distance from you. We should be sailing there tomorrow, given that the weather is good. That’s two days, maybe more. Even when we reach Minsdurim, we’ll be at least a week’s travel from you at the fastest pace. Perhaps we could wait fo
r you there, but I’m not sure how long I feel comfortable hiding in a major city, knowing that Victus is searching for us.”

  “I was thinking I’d travel to Minsdurim myself, and leave the texts with someone I trust. You can pick them up as you pass through.”

  “To whom would you trust such important artifacts?” Lacelle asked. D’Jenn could sense a mild undertone of offense in her attitude, but he could understand the reason for it.

  “A Master of Physical Studies at the Minsdurim Academy,” D’Jenn said. “His name is Turin. Don’t worry—I trust him, and I know he would do the utmost to preserve them.”

  “D’Jenn, what if he shows the texts to one of the other masters? Would that not leave a trail that Victus could follow?”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” D’Jenn said. “I told you—I trust him.”

  “Very well,” Lacelle said. “If you’re comfortable with it, I suppose I should endeavor to be so as well.”

  “How has your journey been so far? Are the armsmen you hired treating you well?”

  “They’re very professional,” Lacelle replied. “Though, with Lilliane and the soldiers as traveling companions, my ears are ringing from the myriad curses they all spew on a daily basis. Despite that, we are getting on well, and making good time.”

  “Good,” D’Jenn said. “No hints of pursuit from the Conclave?”

  “None that I would know how to recognize,” Lacelle shrugged. “I lay Wards over the camp every night. The armsmen were curious at my ministrations at first, but Lilliane told them that I’m overly religious and it’s part of my prayers. They took the explanation without question, and we haven’t had any problems.”

  “Just keep your eyes open,” D’Jenn said. “Anyone asking too many questions, strange occurrences, that sort of thing. If you feel uncomfortable, it’s best to flee first and question your actions later.”

  “As you say,” Lacelle nodded. “Let us speak of more important things. I’m tired, and we’re supposed to be departing early on the morrow.”

  “Very well,” D’Jenn said. “The thing I’m most concerned about is our next move. What do you recommend?”

  “Me?”

  “You were the one who supervised the allocation of all the research,” D’Jenn said.

  “Alright, I suppose the best place to begin is to figure out where the rest of the pieces may have gone. You said that this necromancer was not in possession of another piece?”

  “No. He would’ve used it against Dormael—against all of us, probably—if he could have, given what he was up against.”

  Lacelle shook her head. “Your cousin was a fool to don the artifact. I cannot help but think there will be repercussions for that down the road. All the warnings, even from the Founder himself, and he ignores them.”

  “Dormael has done many things,” D’Jenn said, irritation seeping through his tone before he could smooth it. “But I’m not sure if I blame him for that one. I don’t think he had much of a choice.”

  “The entire temple,” Lacelle said, a pensive look on her icy features, “just gone. When this is all over—if it’s ever done—I will have to journey to Orm and see the destruction for myself.”

  “If you wish,” D’Jenn said.

  “Did you see it done?”

  “Oh, aye,” D’Jenn nodded. “In a way. We were huddling behind a shield the entire time, and I had to link with Bethany and use her power to fuel the Ward. The whole damned hill went up like…I don’t even know what. Even the grass around the site was charred and ruined. I’ve never seen its like before, and I hope I never will again.”

  “The knowledge of centuries,” Lacelle said, affecting a deep sigh. “And what of the creature you encountered there? The Lurker, I mean.”

  “Buried with the rest of it, I imagine,” D’Jenn said. “There won’t be any more missing children, in any case.”

  “And what of the vilth? You’re certain he’s gone?”

  “As certain as I can be,” D’Jenn said. “The stone, once Dormael had melted it all into a solid mass, blocked my magical senses from penetrating it. I delved it for as long as was prudent, trying to pick up any hint of life below it. Trust me, though—nothing could have survived that. Nothing.”

  “I hope not,” Lacelle said, shuddering. “Would that Eldath doesn’t see another vilth for a thousand years.”

  “Inera is still out there,” D’Jenn said. “Given that Dormael killed Jureus in the mountains above Ishamael, and they were both connected to the one lying dead under the ruins of Orm, it’s probably safe to assume they weren’t his only apprentices.”

  “I’d forgotten about her,” Lacelle sighed. “I wonder where she is now.”

  “We’ll worry about it when she crosses our paths again,” D’Jenn said. “Let’s turn our attention to the other pieces of the Nar’doroc.”

  “Of course. In that case, I have a few leads that you might follow.”

  “Where?”

  “Shera, to start.”

  “Shera?” D’Jenn repeated. “That’s on the other end of the world. How strong is your lead?”

  “As strong as the rest of them, which means it’s based on conjecture and theory—but then, all of this was based on conjecture and theory. There’s no real way to know for sure until you follow the trail.”

  “What else do you have?”

  “Thardin. It’s possible that the Thardishmen took one as spoils during the Second Great War, and stored it in their Hall of Conquest at the Keep. There’s a record from a Sevenlander emissary sent there years ago that mentions a piece of jewelry, ancient in design, that sounded suspicious.”

  “Thardin is a war zone right now, and it’s also on the other side of the world,” D’Jenn said. “Before we knew there were more pieces of the Nar’doroc, Victus thought Dargorin was invading Thardin with the intention of securing Ice Shard.”

  “The sword of the Thardish Kings?” Lacelle said. “That would have been bad enough, but with what we know about the Nar’doroc, and the emperor’s interest in it, it’s probable that his goals have nothing to do with the sword.”

  “We’ll never beat him to that piece,” D’Jenn sighed. “Anything closer?”

  “Yes, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “I don’t like any of this,” D’Jenn said. “Doesn’t change anything.”

  Lacelle sighed, and gave him a level look. “The Gathan Mountains.”

  D’Jenn grimaced. The Gathan Mountains were the most dangerous region in all the Sevenlands. They were remote, rife with dangerous terrain, and inhabited only by packs of man-eating beasts called Garthorin. Sevenlanders that lived in the tribelands bordering the Gathan Mountains sent hunting parties into the passes to kill the things as a test of their prowess. Many of them never returned.

  “How can we be sure that one of the pieces made its way up there?” D’Jenn asked. “I don’t want to spend an entire season traipsing around the mountains on a fruitless search.”

  “I don’t blame you there,” Lacelle said. “And we can’t be sure—but then, we can’t be sure of anything.”

  D’Jenn sighed, and nodded. “Very well. Tell me more.”

  “Have you ever heard of Hamarin the Wanderer?”

  “No.”

  “He was a traveler,” Lacelle said, a distasteful expression coming over her face. “A self-styled adventurer, even. He wrote books about his wanderings, all of them full of wild stories and self-congratulation.”

  “You don’t like him,” D’Jenn said.

  “The man was a pompous ass, though he’s been gone for over fifty years,” Lacelle said. “He gave himself the title ‘Hamarin the Wanderer,’ if that gives you any idea about his attitude.”

  “I see.”

  “He mounted an expedition into the Gathan Mountains and wrote a book about it. In this book, he tells a peculiar tale about something he supposedly witnessed.”

  “What?”

  “Now, the man was notorious for fabricating thi
ngs wherever he went, so you must understand how reluctant I am to even mention this, but there are some elements to parts of his story that bear scrutiny. He wrote a passage about having witnessed a large pack of Garthorin paying homage to a crude effigy—leaving offerings of meat to it, that sort of thing. In the book, he said that there was a piece of jewelry either within the effigy, or attached to it.”

  “That sounds rather thin.”

  “That’s not all,” Lacelle said, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. “He traveled with a wizard from the Lesmiran School, and wrote that for days before and after they encountered this effigy, the wizard had unusual dreams about it. Something about the mountains falling into the ground, and all of Eldath trembling before him.”

  “It only knows ruination,” D’Jenn mused, straightening his beard. “That’s what Indalvian said about it. Maybe this Hamarin was telling the truth, after all.”

  “About this, maybe,” Lacelle said. “Not about other things, believe me. Read his book, you’ll see what I mean.”

  “Perhaps,” D’Jenn said. “The Gathan Mountains it is, then—unless you’ve got another lead that would be easier.”

  “Nothing easier,” Lacelle replied. “Nothing closer to you, either. I will keep working, but for now that’s all I’ve got.”

  D’Jenn nodded, and let out a long breath. The Gathan Mountains were far from anywhere he wished to go, but there was nothing for it. It would take at least a week to prepare for a long expedition, and everyone would need rest before undertaking such an arduous journey. At least in the Gathan Mountians it was unlikely that Victus would be able to find them. D’Jenn almost laughed at the thought that he was happy to trade a vengeful wizard for man-eating beasts, but he couldn’t summon the energy.

  “Alright—let’s make some plans, then.”

  ***

  Dormael took a deep breath, filling his chest with the sweet taste of tobacco. Insects chirped in the gloom, playing an accompaniment to the wind sweeping over the ordered fields around him. He held the breath at the top of his lungs, testing to see if his ribs would give a kick of pain for his efforts.