“I think so, too. Has it tried to speak with you since last night? Have you heard its song today?”
“No,” Bethany said, and shifted her position beside him to try and snuggle closer, “but I know it’s there, waiting for me. Does it talk to me so much because I’m a wizard, like you?”
“Yes, I think so. I think that is why it also talks to me, sometimes.”
“Well, why doesn’t it talk to D’Jenn, to?” Bethany inquired.
“When D’Jenn and I first encountered it, before we met you, he was able to shield himself with magic. He was able to keep it from speaking to him, but I was not. I’ve never been as good at magic as D’Jenn is, and the armlet has sort of been able to break down my defenses whenever it wanted to. I think that it just recognizes me more is all. If D’Jenn were to talk to it, as we have, I think that it would recognize him, as well,” Dormael replied.
Bethany seemed to be satisfied with that, and she sank into silence once more. They sat for a little while longer; enjoying the beauty of the night before Dormael finally rose and took Bethany’s hand to help her up. She held onto his offered hand, and the two of them turned to walk back towards the camp, but were caught up short.
Four men stood in the bright moonlight on the road before them, barring their path back to their friends. They were dressed in rough leather armor, and Dormael caught the gleam of short sword hilts sticking up from wide belts that were strapped to their waists. Two of the men, the farthest to the left and right, held crossbows, one aimed at Dormael, the other trained on Bethany. Dormael felt Bethany’s hand tighten reflexively, and he pulled her small body behind his to shield her from the crossbows. His mood went immediately from relaxed ease to tense readiness and barely suppressed rage at the threat of harm to the little girl. His magic awakened, and it surged through him with deadly power, waiting for him to will his intent. He held it in check for now, waiting for one of the men to speak.
With the magic rushing through his being, his vision was immediately augmented, and details became more apparent as he tried to take in the scene to decide his best course of action. Their armor was not uniform, no two sets were alike. Their faces were the faces of hard men, indeed. One of the men stood slightly before the rest, with his arms crossed and a sneer twisting his scarred face. He was a big man, broad shouldered and blonde. His hair was long, and it hung in four large plaits to lie upon his shoulders. A Dannon, thought Dormael quickly, a Gods damned mercenary. The other three men were not Dannons, but a motley crew of Cambrellians, their slightly smaller stature and varied coloring belying their heritage.
Everyone stood as if frozen for a few moments, waiting for a move to be made. Dormael tried to take in as much of his surroundings as possible, looking for something that would give him some advantage over the situation. Out on the road a little further towards Borders, there was a mass of horses that stood obediently waiting for their riders to return. He counted eight of them, so where were the other four men? Cursing himself for letting them sneak up on them, Dormael tensed his magic for the confrontation, fearing for D’Jenn’s and Shawna’s safety.
“Make no move, savage,” the Dannon man spoke quietly, “or we’ll riddle you with bolts, and who knows what will happen to the young one when you’re dying?” Rage billowed up inside of Dormael at the plainly spoken threat. Bethany’s hand squeezed his own in fear, and he squeezed back reassuringly.
“Hurt the youngling, and you die,” Dormael almost whispered in rage, “turn your men around and forget you ever came upon us, and I’ll let you live. You have five seconds to decide.” The Dannon man laughed mockingly, and clapped one of his men on the shoulder signaling the others to join in. They did, but Dormael could tell that they were slightly fearful of his bravado in the face of such outweighed odds.
“You are outnumbered, Sevenlander. Even now, your friends are being rounded up. You are to come with us to Borders, and stand before my master. He humbly requests your presence,” the Dannon shot at him, “and he doesn’t take “no” for an answer.”
“Sadly, I’ll have to decline his…friendly invitation. You have two seconds left,” Dormael shot back. The Dannon mercenary’s face tightened with outrage, and he drew his short sword with a low hiss. With that gesture, his two seconds were gone. Dormael reached out with his magic.
The two crossbows flew from the hands of the two men standing on the end, and they both gave cries of surprise and fear. The rest of the men, including the Dannon, faltered and looked up to the crossbows which were now spinning in mid air between Dormael and the four men.
“Time’s up,” Dormael declared darkly. With that, the crossbows flew apart with splintering cracks and the sharp remains of them went flying at the men before him. Two of the men went down with chunks of sharp wood through their throats, their lifeblood spurting into the night and spilling onto the wet ground underneath. The Dannon and the other man held their arms up in defense. The move had saved their lives, but their arms were riddled with sharpened makeshift stakes that had flown with blinding speed to sink into their arms. The Cambrellian cursed in fear and ran for the horses, but the Dannon stayed his ground, regarding Dormael with a look of outrage and unveiled fear. He held his short sword ready, but it would do him little good against Dormael.
“You stay here,” he mockingly told the Dannon, and wrapped the man in his magic. The Dannon screamed wordlessly as the magic touched him, wrapping him in stasis so he couldn’t move. The man appeared to be frozen, standing with his sword held ready and blood leaking down his arms from the pieces of the crossbow which were still protruding from his wounds.
Dormael walked past him slowly and purposefully with Bethany in tow. The man who had bolted was almost to the horses, where he would undoubtedly try and make his escape. Dormael wouldn’t allow that; whomever had sent these men could not be informed that they had failed. Spotting a small rock lying on the ground in front of him, Dormael once again reached out with his magic.
The rock flew from the ground, spinning and white-hot. He sent it flying in a straight line at the man’s back. With a hissing thump, the rock sank into the man’s torso between his shoulder blades. He went down immediately, his legs going suddenly limp as he died instantly. With that man taken care of, Dormael moved in a low crouch toward the campsite, trying to make as little noise as possible. Bethany came along obediently, sensing the need for silence. Dormael silently blessed the girl’s intelligence and willpower. Sometimes it seemed to him that the youngling was made of stronger stuff than steel.
He came upon the camp just in time to see Shawna and D’Jenn finishing up a scuffle with four men who had obviously not caught them by surprise as Dormael and Bethany had been. Shawna’s blades were sliding through the night reflecting the moonlight like a pair of silvery spirits of death. She fought off two of the men as if she were fighting children. She knocked their blades to the side with ease, and entering a spin not unlike the one he had seen her perform during their sparring match, she decapitated one of the men, and cut deep into the other man’s side. The headless body of her assailant fell lifelessly to the ground, and the other man splayed onto the ground like a gutted animal. Dormael shielded Bethany’s eyes against the gore with his palm. She didn’t protest.
D’Jenn met a sword slash with one of his gauntleted forearms, and sparks flew from the armored appendage as the short blade was turned harmlessly away from his body. Taking advantage of the opening, D’Jenn smashed his left armored fist into the man’s face, crushing his nose, and spun around backwards to brain him with his morningstar. Blood splattered into the night with a sickening crunch as the man’s head gave like a juice-filled melon. He fell to the ground, dead before his knees hit the earth.
The second man facing D’Jenn had moved around to his back, thinking to slash at his unprotected side, but D’Jenn knew he was there. Dancing to the side and avoiding a careless thrust aimed at his lower back, D’Jenn’s eyes flashed brightly as his power awakened. Suddenly the man bloss
omed with a bright gout of orange flames. Screams of pure pain and horror flew up into the night from him, and D’Jenn’s expression was one of teeth-clenched anger. Placing both hands on his wicked mace, D’Jenn swung upwards at the man’s head. The screams suddenly stopped as the morningstar connected, and the flaming body flew a few feet across the campsite before it hit the ground, silently burning. The flames extinguished, leaving the smell of charred flesh hanging in the campsite.
Shawna did not sheathe her swords, but quickly surveyed their work and looked quickly to D’Jenn. D’Jenn was breathing deeply, trying to quell the excitement that so obviously ran through him like a torrent. Shawna’s expression grew fearful all of a sudden.
“Dormael and Bethany!” she exclaimed, turning at once to run toward the road, and D’Jenn moved to follow.
“We’re here, Shawna,” Dormael spoke up from his vantage point just outside of the firelight, “we’re alright. There were four men for us as well, but they didn’t anticipate that we could use magic.” Sheathing their weapons, D’Jenn and Shawna rushed over to them. Both of them looked to Bethany, who stood now trying not to look at the bodies that littered the campsite, and seeing that she was fine, turned their gazes back in Dormael’s direction.
“These men weren’t Red Swords,” D’Jenn spoke, “likely they were hired by someone who was paid by them to apprehend us. Eindor’s Eyes, Dormael, we should have been watching the sky for pigeons as we came north. They obviously got ahead of us.”
“Aye, they did at that. I did us a favor, though, and held onto one of the men. He’s out by the road,” Dormael replied, “we should find out all we can from him.”
“Indeed,” D’Jenn agreed. With an expression of anger and cold rage on his face, he walked out towards the road where Dormael indicated. The rest of the party followed him.
The Dannon stood as he had been left by Dormael at the edge of the cliff. His body was completely motionless, his short sword still grasped tightly in his right hand. As the companions reached the man, D’Jenn took in the scene around him. His eyes passed over the two dead men on the ground, large splinters of wood protruding from their necks, and took in the identical shafts of the ruined crossbow that were sticking in the Dannon man’s arms. He nodded in approval to Dormael but said nothing as he strode calmly around into the Dannon’s vision.
A wordless growl escaped the throat of the mercenary as D’Jenn regarded him with cold interest. He held his mace down at his side, still dripping with blood and bits of skin from the men he had just battered to death with it. Making sure that the frozen man watched him, D’Jenn shoved the head of the morningstar into a clump of clean snow to clean the gore from the spiked head. Then he looked up and nodded once to Dormael, and Dormael released the spell that held the man.
The Dannon involuntarily stumbled backwards and fell on his backside, struggling with his suddenly unsupported limbs to gain his footing. Finally getting his legs underneath him, the man stood slowly, grasping his blade as if it were a lifeline, and looked hatefully at everyone standing around him. He stood there like a caged wolf for a time, no one spoke, and he did not sheathe his blade. After a tense minute, D’Jenn finished cleaning his weapon and turned his cold blue eyes on the cornered man.
“Such a grave mistake, coming here and waylaying us,” D’Jenn commented idly, not moving a muscle, “It is a pity that all your men are dead, without a chance to enjoy what was surely a mere pittance of coin in payment.” The Dannon said nothing in return, only regarded D’Jenn with a wary and calculating gaze.
“I realize that you are not the one who gives the orders,” Dormael said coldly, “you are just a strong arm, a hired blade meant for a single and seemingly easy task. It seems that you weren’t warned well enough of the danger, here. Perhaps your master didn’t expect you to return from your little mission.”
“Tricks and lies, that’s all your entire race is good at, Sevenlanders,” the Dannon spat at them balefully, “You use witchcraft and sorcery against a man because you are afraid of good steel. I spit on the lot of you.”
“So the dog speaks, as well as licks his master’s boots,” Shawna mocked, “neat tricks for a dog.”
“It’s a good thing you have your sorcerers here with you, missy, or I’d teach you proper respect,” the Dannon shot back, “You certainly wouldn’t whore yourself to savages once you’d been under a real man.” Shawna’s face went rigid with indignation, and she strode forward. Dormael and D’Jenn made no move to stop her, and suddenly her hand connected with the man’s face with a resounding smack. She hit him hard enough to draw blood, but the man let no pain show on his face.
“Who is your master?” D’Jenn asked roughly, but the Dannon remained silent. “I’m going to ask you again, and if you continue to keep your mouth shut, I’m going to break your leg. Now, who is your master?” The Dannon mercenary sneered at D’Jenn, and spat on the earth in his direction. Dormael took a deep breath and shook his head. D’Jenn hefted his morningstar and moved toward the man purposefully.
“Wait,” Dormael spoke into the tense moment, halting the deed that was about to take place. D’Jenn looked at him askance, and Dormael indicated Bethany with a slight nod of his head. She was still standing at his side and grasping his hand with fearful anxiety. D’Jenn closed his eyes and nodded his assent, and Dormael turned away from the scene with Bethany trailing along behind him obediently.
When they had gotten a few steps away, a dome of opaque darkness fell over D’Jenn, Shawna, and the Dannon man, blocking sight and sound of what was going on inside. Dormael silently thanked his cousin for sparing Bethany the sight of torturing the information out of the Dannon. Saying nothing, he continued to lead the young girl toward the horses of the eight men who had died here tonight.
“They were going to kill us, weren’t they?” Bethany asked, her voice shaking slightly.
“No dear,” Dormael explained in a solemn tone, “but they were going to take us to someone who would have, for sure. I’m sorry you had to see all of this tonight, but it was necessary to keep us all safe.”
“I know.”
“Good, dear, good. Now, why don’t you search through their saddlebags? You may find something that will tell us who these men are, and I will do something about the…mess…around here.” Bethany nodded her understanding, and walked over to the horses, carefully stepping wide around the dead man that lay nearby with the rock stuck somewhere inside his back.
Dormael went around the bloody sight of the scuffle and cleaned up the bodies with his magic. One by one, they floated obediently off of the road and fell in an orderly line. There wasn’t much he could do about the blood that soaked into the earth; even trying to lift it out with magic would be a tedious task at best, so he let it lie where it was. As he was just finishing up with the bodies and the gore at the campsite, Bethany came trotting up with a heavy purse jingling in her small hands and a triumphant expression on her face.
“Look!” she exclaimed, and opened the purse to reveal a very large sum of golden Cambrellian minted coins. Dormael raised an eyebrow as he sifted through the mass of tinkling currency, wondering who could have come up with such a sum for a simple kidnapping. Without counting them outright, he guessed that there had to be over two hundred golden coins inside, an almost ludicrous amount.
“You smart little girl,” Dormael praised her, ruffling her braided hair, “this is curious, indeed.”
“That’s more gold than I’ve ever seen,” Bethany breathed in awe.
“Indeed it is, dear, its more gold than many people see in a lifetime,” Dormael agreed, and he reached inside and lifted a few of the bright yellow coins from the purse. Bethany’s eyes grew wide as he handed them down to her with a conspiratorial grin. “When we get into town, maybe we can buy you something nice. It’s the least this lot can do after the trouble they caused. Don’t let D’Jenn or Shawna know that I gave you that,” he said with a wink, and Bethany took the coins reverently and shoved them deep
into the pockets of her little dress, returning Dormael’s wink.
After her money was safely hidden, D’Jenn’s magical dome lifted suddenly. The Dannon was gone, as if he had never been there. D’Jenn looked around for a second, and seeing them standing there with the large purse, strode over to them purposefully. Shawna fell in behind him.
“Hadrick is the name of the man we’re looking for,” D’Jenn informed them, “He’s the one who ordered the kidnapping. From what we gathered, he’s the leader of the crime syndicate in Borders. Nothing happens in town without his say-so. These men were looking for us specifically, and had orders to bring the two of us and Shawna before this Hadrick. Bethany was not mentioned, and undoubtedly they didn’t know of her.”
“I see,” Dormael nodded, “and did the Dannon tell you anything else of interest?”
“No. He was a stout one, indeed. I gather, though, that he didn’t really know much about what was going on behind the scenes. That one was simply a hired sword, nothing more.”
“I think we should move on tonight,” Shawna observed, “we’re not sure if this was the only search party sent out to look for us, and I wouldn’t want to be caught on our laurels.” Dormael and D’Jenn both nodded their agreement with her, and then Dormael offered up the laden purse of gold.
“Bethany found this among the horses. It’s a bit much, wouldn’t you say?” he asked. D’Jenn took the purse in hand and took a quick glance at its contents, his eyes going slightly wider at the sum of money that lay inside. D’Jenn dipped one of his gauntleted hands into the purse and came out with a handful of the gold, letting some of it fall back into the purse.
“Whoever paid these men didn’t want mistakes made, and he wanted silence,” D’Jenn remarked quietly, “Either that, or he had planned to kill them as soon as they returned and take his gold back.”
“That confirms it, then,” Shawna declared, “this was no ordinary kidnapping. Hadrick must have been promised something fine indeed to have thrown so much gold about.”
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 26
