Alton grimaced. “I’m out of practice.”
“Happens to all of us.” Dormael took a sip from the glass, smiling at the woody taste of the firewine. “This is good. Don’t think I’ve had a flavor quite like it.”
“It’s strong.” Alton took a cultured sip and swirled the glass. “Made with some sort of new process. It’s a mystery to me, but the final product is quite enjoyable.”
They made light conversation as Alton set up another game. The conversation ended once the game commenced, and they continued to play for a time, trading wins and losses. Dormael pulled out a pipe after their fifth game and offered to share his tobacco with Alton. Once the bowls were packed, they leaned back in their chairs and sipped from the firewine.
Alton narrowed his eyes. “I would be interested to know what you think happened to my cousin. You were the one who found her, and given your interesting turn of mind, I’d like to hear your theory.”
“Are you sure you want to know?” Dormael regarded the man through narrowed eyes.
“I’m not a man to shy from serious conversation, Dormael.” Alton gave him a tight smile. “Indulge me, if you would.”
“Well, first there are some things I’d need to know about her background.”
“Ask away. We weren’t very close growing up, but we were friendly. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“You said her father was a Baron, correct? I’d wonder how many enemies the man accrued during his lifetime.”
“None that I’d know of.” Alton shrugged. “He cornered the market on thoroughbred horses throughout most of northern Alderak. Perhaps a business competitor? Their family is old, and Dolland Llewan wasn’t a social climber. He was country nobility. His barony is nearly in Shundovia, for Evmir’s sake.”
“What used to be Shundovia, you mean.” Dormael held up a finger. “It’s part of the Galanian Empire now.”
Alton grimaced. “I try not to think about that.”
“So the Baron was no courtier. No political aspirations and no enemies.” Dormael toyed with his beard. “What of his lands? Are they prone to banditry? Especially valuable?”
“No.” Alton shook his head. “In fact, the Llewans helped manage the influx of refugees during the Galanian invasion of Shundovia. After the war, though, they all went back home. It’s been quiet ever since.”
“Until last night.”
“Until last night.” Alton nodded. “Still, there hasn’t been a peep out of the south since the end of the war in Shundovia.”
“Could she have been transporting some horses? Perhaps driving a few to market, or to a prospective buyer?” Dormael shrugged. “Horses are valuable. Maybe it was wrangling, and not everyday banditry.”
“I suppose that’s possible. I don’t know much about the mechanics of their business.” Alton shook his head. “Still, Dolland would have hired guardsmen for that. He wouldn’t have let his eldest daughter arm herself and lead the caravan. Shawna competed in small, local tourneys. She wasn’t known for being an adventurer.”
Dormael sighed and looked at the stones board.
“We should know more when your men return. Nothing about this adds up to a simple explanation. She had no conceivable reason to be on the road as she was, alone or not, given her status. A noble lady in armor with an arrow in her back…my instincts tell me you should keep her a secret for now.”
“Why?” Alton blew a cloud of bluish smoke toward the window.
Dormael took a pull from the pipe. “Regardless of how it happened, someone tried to kill her. If it was a highway brigand, then you’ve lost nothing in waiting to alert the gentry of what happened to her. However, if this wasn’t a robbery, it had to have been someone who doesn’t fear the reprisal of the Cambrellian establishment.”
“But what reason would this unnamed party have for attacking the Llewans?”
Dormael shrugged. “Powerful people move in powerful ways. Land, wealth, influence—any of these are reasons for you nobles to poke daggers in each others’ backs.”
Alton smirked and blew a puff of smoke through his nose. “True enough. That sort of thing happens more in the capital than in the country, though. Dolland was as wealthy as any country noble, but no one wants a barony on the edge of the kingdom.”
“Could be a small move in a larger strategy, but you have a point. Still, if this unnamed powerful person knows she got away and lived, they would also know she’d have considerable pull with the authorities. They’ve either got to come after her or face the judgment of the kingdom. You can’t lay claim to a barony with a living Baroness, unless my interpretation of your laws is wrong.”
Alton’s brows drew down as he tapped the edge of his pipe on the table. “It just doesn’t make sense. They didn’t have enemies—at least, none willing to kill Shawna.”
“In my experience, people don’t take up the sword because they have too many friends.” Dormael took another sip from his glass. “And there are plenty of people out there willing to kill for what they want.”
Alton raised an eyebrow. “Is that another thing you just picked up on the road?”
“Something like that.” Dormael kept a nonchalant smile on his face, but prickles of discomfort ran through his stomach. Alton was clearly a shrewd man—anyone who had the mind to amass so much wealth and prestige was not to be discounted. Saying too much could be dangerous.
I need to learn to keep my fool mouth shut.
“What is it you do?” Alton took a hit from his pipe. “For money, I mean.”
“Never enough.” Dormael took a long pull from the firewine.
“Very well.” Alton’s eyes narrowed. “I will allow you your secrets for now. They may become tiresome, or inconvenient, in the future. We should be clear on that.”
“There aren’t any great secrets.” Dormael sighed. “Just a lot of bad decisions. You might say that I’ve done a lot of different things because I’ve never been able to make one of them work.”
“And some of those things involved plotting and an unhealthy number of blades.” Alton smirked. “And a guitar, apparently. That’s something you don’t see every day.”
Dormael spent the rest of the night fencing with Alton’s questions. He was artful with his interrogation, and he tolerated Dormael’s secrecy with amusement. They played stones until the game lost its interest, and Dormael stumbled toward his rooms and collapsed atop his blankets.
Shawna’s recovery went slowly in the following days, and she remained in an intermittent state of unconsciousness. Her wound had taken an infection, and it was unknown if she would recover. Alton had the local healer stop by daily to change her dressings, administer medicines, and check on her progress, but there was little more she could do.
Dormael visited her when he was in the mood for contemplation. He plucked quiet melodies on his guitar and listened to her energy with his Kai. Sometimes he shared his magical power with her, hoping to bolster her strength. Magic could do little to heal the body, and Dormael had doubts his efforts had any real effect. The mysterious force from the night of her appearance was silent, though Dormael listened for it every day.
He mulled over the reason his magic would react to her with such vigor. It had never happened to him before. Magic had a certain resonance with the world, and sometimes odd things could evoke a response from a wizard’s Kai. His power coming so violently awake on its own, however, had never happened to another wizard to Dormael’s knowledge.
As the days wore on, Dormael grew more anxious. He had come to Ferolan in anticipation of meeting with his cousin and traveling to Tauravon for the Festival of Frost. Shawna’s predicament—and the problem with Dormael’s magic—had changed everything. His cousin would be expecting him, and Dormael had no word of what happened.
It won’t hurt to get an another opinion about my Kai.
He left his room and found Alton in his study, poring over a ledger with a graying man who had a stiff, proper manner and a perpetual frown on his face. The o
lder man had a red embroidered coat and polished shoes. He stiffened when Dormael came into the study and regarded him with a look of disdain.
“Lord Dersham.” Dormael bowed, shooting an uncertain glance between the two men. “I didn’t know you were indisposed. I’ll come back later.”
“Nonsense, Dormael. I was only seeing to a small matter of business. Durham,” he said, motioning to the man at his side, “this is Dormael, an associate from the Sevenlands. Dormael, this is the Baronet Durham Keeting of the Ferolan Logistics Consortium.”
Keeting put a wrinkled hand to his nose. “Lord Dersham, you would honestly associate with a Sevenlander?”
Alton scowled at Keeting. “You are a guest in my home, Durham, as is Dormael. However you feel, you will conduct yourself accordingly. Honor demands no less.”
Keeting scoffed. “My Lord, you would throw your reputation on the coals for one of them? Everyone knows what they are, what they do.”
Dormael chuckled under his breath, which reddened Keeting’s face.
“I would see guests in my home treated with respect.” Alton put his hands on the table. “Dormael is an honorable man. Can you say the same?”
“You would question my honor?” Keeting raised his chin.
“I believe I just did.”
Keeting sniffed and gave Dormael a disgusted look. He turned and gathered a stack of papers from the desk, moving in snippy, tight little motions. Once his belongings were secure, he stiffened and gave Alton a cold glare.
“The Logistics Consortium will hear of this. They may find it problematic to store any goods that may have come from unsavory alliances.”
Keeting left the room with a final sniff for Dormael.
Dormael sighed as the door slammed shut. “Apologies for that. I hope I didn’t ruin something just there.”
Alton rubbed his temples. “Durham is an unrepentant ass, but the Logistics Consortium controls most of the storehouses in Ferolan. Doubtless he will try and cause me no end of irritation.”
“How so?”
“I run a shipping business, Dormael. I need their floorspace for goods in transit. I’ll handle it, though. What did you want?”
Dormael winced. “I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you. I was planning on meeting my cousin here before I found Shawna. We were going to head to Tauravon for the Solstice. That’s obviously not going to happen now, but he may be able to help figure out what happened to Shawna.”
Alton raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“He’s shrewd and well-traveled.” Dormael shrugged. “He should be on his way here anyway, since we’d planned on meeting. I wanted to ask for a bit more of your hospitality.”
“You want me to prepare a room for him?” Alton nodded, a pensive frown on his face. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt, though I don’t know what else he could do. I assume you trust him?”
Dormael scoffed. “Of course.”
“You earned a lot of trust by bringing Shawna here.” Alton’s face drew into a thoughtful frown. “I’ve enjoyed our conversations, and I wasn’t lying to Keeting—I think you’re an honorable man. If you really think your cousin can help, I’ll have Nan prepare a room. When is he supposed to arrive?”
“Today, most likely.”
Alton nodded, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. I’ll be indisposed for most of the day but call on me this evening. I want to meet your cousin, and we’ll discuss Shawna’s situation.”
Dormael gave a quick bow and walked out the door, leaving Alton to his business. He would have waited until nightfall to contact D’Jenn but he needed some insight. He made his way back to his room and moved to look out the window.
With his face in the sun, Dormael closed his eyes and opened his Kai, feeling the torrent of magic rush into him. He pulled magic up from the ether—the invisible plane from which it came—and pushed his senses out the window, carrying a reserve of power with them. While his body channeled power, his mind could roam great distances, especially on a clear day. There were limits to mind-flight, but for the purpose of simple communication, it was a powerful tool.
It was also fun as all Six Hells.
Dormael flew low over the docks, slowing to take in the view of the ships rocking in the harbor. From his height, the masts looked like trees jutting from the bay, and the city spread out beneath him in the cool winter sunlight. Though his body stood in the window back at Alton’s manor, his mind soared northward over the rocky coast of Cambrell. He did a few twists in mid-air, relishing the excitement, and pushed his speed to its limit. He turned to the east in a long, lazy circle, and followed a wide road headed northeast toward the heart of the kingdom.
D’Jenn had to be somewhere close to Ferolan. He would have been coming from the north, or perhaps the northeast, on the road from Arla, the Cambrellian capital. Dormael had kept communication to a minimum during his haitus, but he trusted D’Jenn more than anyone on Eldath, and had made an exception for him. During Dormael’s absence, D’Jenn had his own business to attend, and had apparently been traveling all over northern Alderak.
Dormael sent a magical pulse through the air, searching for his cousin’s song in the ether. If D’Jenn was using magic, even a small amount to keep warm, his Kai would resonate with the pulse. Something buzzed farther down the road—a whisper of harmony, like a distant pair of ephemeral instruments playing in unison—and Dormael focused on the sound. Like a bird with a target in its sight, Dormael sped toward the resonance.
Dormael found his cousin trudging through the cold winter morning. D’Jenn was half a head taller than Dormael, with paler skin and piercing blue eyes. He had long auburn hair, though it was stuffed into the cowl of a black Sevenlander cloak, and a beard on his chin of the same color. D’Jenn wore a heavier version of the cloak than Dormael did, with a mantle embroidered with silver thread in swirling patterns.
A rucksack bobbed on D’Jenn’s back, and an ugly mace was stuck through his belt. It was spiked and heavy, the metal dark and pitted. Dormael had always thought it looked odd, like something meant to crack rocks rather than skulls. Beneath D’Jenn’s rucksack swung a Doomba—a traditional Sevenlander drum.
Dormael lowered his consciousness to the ground in front of D’Jenn and formed the image of himself in his mind. Using his magic, he infused that image to make it substantial, producing the illusion of his body standing in the road before D’Jenn. As his mind took control of the illusory simulacrum with a feeling akin to donning a jacket, he bowed and favored his cousin with a wry smile.
“I thought I felt your song in the air.” D’Jenn smiled, dropping his packs at the side of the road. He balled his right fist over his heart and bowed to Dormael, who returned the gesture. He would have embraced his cousin, but his illusion was no more substantial than a gust of wind. “What brings you? I’ll be in Ferolan this evening. Are you playing around?”
“Playing?” Dormael scoffed. “You know me better than that. This is serious.”
“I do know you, and I’m sure you’ve been flying over the sea turning very serious loops in mid-air.” D’Jenn raised an eyebrow. “You’re not drunk, are you?”
“Not as of yet.” Dormael smiled. “But it’s early. There’s still time for that.”
“Aye, still time yet.” D’Jenn smiled. “Are you ready for the Solstice? You didn’t forget to get us horses, did you?”
Dormael winced. “About the trip, D’Jenn—something has happened.”
D’Jenn gave him a long, flat look. He sighed and tromped to the side of the road, rummaging around in his voluminous dark cloak. He produced a pipe carved in the semblance of a serpent, sat down on an overturned log, and started packing a bowl.
“We’ve been planning this trip for an entire season.” D’Jenn lit the pipe with a flash of his power and took a long pull. “I’ve been ducking Victus’s messages for weeks. He’s been leaving word at every drop in Alderak, so I know it’s important, whatever it is. I’m blowing him off for this—the D
eacon of our Discipline.”
“I know.” Dormael sighed.
“This was your idea.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Think of the spectacle, the food, the women—those were your words to me.” D’Jenn shook his head. “Let me guess what happened—you got arrested?”
“Why do you always assume I’ve been arrested?”
D’Jenn rolled his eyes. “Is it the city dungeons, or have you gotten yourself abducted by a street gang, or something? Can’t you break yourself out?”
“I wasn’t arrested.” Dormael chuckled, shaking his head. “I didn’t buy any horses, but that’s another story. I need to ask you something. Your magic—has it ever awakened on its own? Perhaps in response to something else?”
D’Jenn furrowed his brows, his smile replaced with a guarded look.
“No. What are you talking about?”
Dormael’s guts tightened at the look D’Jenn gave him, but he gritted his teeth and launched into the story. He told him about the night he found Shawna, about the strange resonance from something in her possession. D’Jenn listened to the entire tale with a thoughtful, troubled expression. When Dormael had finished the telling, D’Jenn’s face took on a grim cast.
“The girl—Shawna. Has she said anything?”
Dormael shook his head. “She’s still unconscious. She’s been fighting off an infection since I found her, and whatever magical thing she has is still in her saddlebags.”
D’Jenn gave a slow nod. “And you’ve been hanging around, watching over her. Is she pretty?”
“I suppose so. Why?”
“No reason.” D’Jenn smirked.
“That’s not the reason, D’Jenn.” Dormael rolled his eyes. “The magic, remember?”
“Of course, the magic.” D’Jenn’s tone was flat. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with a pretty face. Nothing like the tavern girl in Moravia with the overbearing boss, or the one in Mistfall whose husband never loved her. Nothing like those.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being ridiculous?” D’Jenn scoffed. “You’re the one ruining our entire trip for this one girl. Take the infused thing, whatever it is, and get on with it. I want to be heading to Lesmira in the morning.”
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 7
