Alton’s jaw clenched, a worried expression on his face. “I certainly hope not.”
“The Empire has barely solidified its hold on Shundovia, but they’ve been conquering for a long time.” D’Jenn shrugged. “If the King’s men patrol Shawna’s barony—and you say it’s a backwater—then certainly they’ve been watching the southern border. Everyone has been watching the Empire.”
“A shrewd commander could move a force into the country.” Dormael shrugged. “Transport them by sea, put ashore in the dark. It’s been done before, and Cambrell isn’t known for its martial prowess.”
Alton gave Dormael a pained look.
“Sorry.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” D’Jenn held up a hand. “A bodkin arrow isn’t enough to say there’s an army in the hills. We can go into the city tomorrow. We’ll ask around, see if we hear any rumors. Until your cousin wakes, there’s not much else we can do.”
Alton nodded. “It’s getting late. I’ve got things to attend in the morning. We’ll continue this conversation soon. D’Jenn, I’m honored to have you in my home. I’m sure your cousin will accompany you back to your room.”
D’Jenn nodded. “Thanks for putting me up, and for putting up with my cousin.”
“Your cousin saved mine.” Alton smiled. “Good night, gentlemen.”
Dormael and D’Jenn excused themselves, leaving Alton to sit by his fireplace. Dormael signaled for D’Jenn to follow and walked toward the guest wing of the manor. The halls were quiet, with most of the staff having left for the day, and they encountered no one between the guest wing and Alton’s study.
They moved down the stairs to the second floor, where Shawna’s room was located. Muffled singing came from inside the room, and Dormael signaled D’Jenn to stay quiet. D’Jenn rolled his eyes and stepped to the side of the door. Dormael gave D’Jenn a rude gesture—his fist with his pinky extended—and opened the door.
Shawna lay in a large bed, her body covered with heavy blankets. Her face was wan, lips pale, and her hair was wet around her forehead. Nan sat in a chair at the bedside, knitting as she hummed a pleasant melody. She looked up as Dormael entered the room.
“Dormael—good to see you, lad.” Nan smiled. “Have you come to check on the poor dear before turning in?”
“Yes, how is she?”
Before Nan could reply, Dormael opened his Kai and brushed a whisper of magic across her mind. Her eyes fluttered, her head tottered to her chest, and her knitting needles went limp. D’Jenn ducked into the room and shut the door behind him, turning to look down at Shawna.
Dormael felt a tingling sensation along his arms and legs—the physical reaction to a nearby wizard using magic. D’Jenn’s song whispered through the ether, playing his own unique melody to Dormael’s senses. D’Jenn extended a hand in Shawna’s direction, and Dormael heard his cousin’s magic flitting over Shawna’s body, poking at her with curiosity.
“Careful.” Dormael glanced at the door. “I don’t want her to wake up and start screaming or something. She needs to heal.”
D’Jenn snorted. “I know what I’m doing.”
D’Jenn lowered his hand, and his Kai went silent. He turned to a wardrobe sitting at the side of the room. Shawna’s bags rested inside, save for her swords, which were propped against the wall beside it. D’Jenn made a surprised noise and walked to the wardrobe.
He bent and picked up one of the swords, glancing at Shawna’s sleeping form. He drew the blade, which rang with a low, musical tone as it came free. The steel was unnaturally smooth, and the candlelight reflected from its surface with a subtle glow.
“Incredible,” D’Jenn said. “This is an amazing job of infusion. It’s not just a sword with a power source worked into the hilt for trivial effect—even the steel was spell-forged.”
Dormael nodded. “I’ve never been much of an Infuser, but I could tell they were superb. You don’t just pick these up at your local smithy. They must’ve cost a bloody fortune.”
“Three fortunes, maybe.” D’Jenn slid the sword back into its scabbard and placed it against the wall with its twin. “Still—these aren’t the source of your mysterious magical disturbance.”
“No.” Dormael shook his head. “Whatever that is, it’s likely in her bags. Go ahead—rummage through them. She’s only fighting for her life. Nothing wrong with invading her privacy, right?”
D’Jenn scowled at him. A long moment of silence passed while D’Jenn looked between Shawna’s inert form and the wardrobe against the wall. Finally, he let out a frustrated breath and shook his head.
“No.” D’Jenn grimaced. “It wouldn’t be right. Alton has shown us hospitality, too, and we’d be wronging him as well.”
“Right. And you don’t want to do it now that you’ve seen her and put a face to the name.” Dormael smiled. “Makes you feel bad to see her lying there, doesn’t it?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Of course not. You’re not human, after all.”
D’Jenn smirked and shook his head. “Fuck yourself, cousin.”
Nan stirred, muttering something under her breath. D’Jenn glanced between Dormael and Shawna, an unreadable expression on his face, and turned to leave. When D’Jenn was gone, Dormael walked back around to the other side of Shawna’s bed and turned to the sleeping old woman.
With a silent effort of will, Dormael brushed his power across Nan’s mind once more. The old woman gave a start and looked up at him. She blinked her eyes, a confused look on her face, and glanced around the room.
“Nan? I was asking you how she was doing,” Dormael said.
“Oh—right.” Nan cleared her throat and sat up in her chair. “I’m so sorry, I do apologize. I must be exhausted.”
Dormael smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Nan chuckled. “You’d best not. I’ll have your bathwater drawn from the sea.”
“How’s Shawna?”
Nan sighed and rose from her chair, moving to a bedside table. She took a cloth from a basin full of water and moved to Shawna’s side, wetting the sleeping girl’s lips. Nan shook her head, a worried expression on her face, and looked back to Dormael.
“She’s fighting as best she can. There’s little I can do for the poor dear, but the healer says she’ll probably pull through if she’s still breathing.” Nan put a concerned hand to Shawna’s brow. “The fever’s gone, but I still worry. All we can do is keep her comfortable and pray to the gods. They must have a reason for keeping her here. I try to remind them of that in my prayers every day. Best you do, too, young man.”
Dormael smiled. “I’ll do that. Good night, Nan. You should head to bed soon. You look exhausted.”
Nan waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll sleep when I can. Good night, Dormael.”
Dormael found D’Jenn waiting in the hall and led him back toward the third floor, where Alton had boarded them. They passed Lyssa on their way to their rooms, who was checking the few candles left burning in the hall. Once they made their rooms, D’Jenn turned to his door and let out a long sigh.
“We’ll head into the city tomorrow, see if we can find some information.”
Dormael smirked. “See? I told you this was important.”
“We’ll see.” D’Jenn shook his head. “Sleep well, Dormael.”
“You too.”
D’Jenn slipped inside his room and closed the door behind him. Dormael sought his own blankets, his mind occupied with dark thoughts. The bodkin-tipped arrow, the strange power his magic had encountered, the odd circumstances surrounding Shawna’s appearance—the possibilities swarmed through Dormael’s mind as he drifted to sleep.
He dreamed he was made of fire, and everything burned under his touch.
A Conspiratorial Turn of Mind
The morning dawned bright and cool.
D’Jenn wasn’t hungry, so instead of going to the dining hall for breakfast with Alton, Dormael sent a servant to let him know he and D’Je
nn were headed into the city. Leaving their weapons in their rooms—save for a few daggers Dormael kept hidden—the two Sevenlanders set out into the morning.
Alton’s manor was surrounded by a walled yard, the view of the street blocked by manicured trees and bushes. The front gate was made of iron, and had his name worked into the stylized bars. D’Jenn shook his head at the gate, but Dormael only shrugged. His family had a similar thing—an arch carved with the family name built over the path to the homestead.
The usual rush and hubbub of Ferolan was quieter in the Merchant’s District than in other parts of the city. Most of the crowd were well-dressed citizens hurrying to some unknown place, sometimes with guards carrying large chests in their wake. They passed a caravan staging to leave, with workmen and families crawling on every wagon. People passed with respectful nods, and few of them were armed.
As they rounded a bend, the city spread out before them. Ferolan had been built in a small valley in the middle of a vast coastal highland. Most of Cambrell’s coast was rocky and unusable for ships, and Ferolan boasted the only port in the kingdom. The city occupied the harbor and the cliffs above, like a crowded garden in a seaside depression.
The web-work of buildings and streets was tucked into the hills in charming, orderly rows, but a walk through the city meant going either uphill or down—there was no middle ground in Ferolan. The streets, at least, were paved with cobblestones, so they wouldn’t have to slog through mud. The Merchant’s District was high on the northern end of the valley, which meant most of the morning would be a downhill hike.
Dormael led D’Jenn toward the harbor down winding streets and long stairs connecting one rise to another. They passed from the Merchant’s District to poorer residential areas, and dodged their way through a teeming market, where the buzz of the city was in full spectacle. Hawkers stood on crates in the street, promising everything fom curing oils to fine fabrics.
Cambrellians were generally polite people, but the Sevenlanders still attracted their share of dark looks as they walked the streets. One pair of scowling youths followed them down three separate turns, caressing knives worn at their belts. D’Jenn scowled the whole time the boys followed them and spat when they finally turned away.
“Bloody superstitious fools.” D’Jenn shook his head. “I’ve been in Alderak too long. I’m tired of always looking over my shoulder.”
“They think we’re all evil sorcerers.” Dormael snorted. “Best to let idiots pass unmolested. Come on—the harbor is just a few streets down.”
Dormael led D’Jenn onward, to a winding street bordering the harbor. Buildings were crowded along the street, standing two and three stories high. Colorful signs hung outside the various establishments, some depicting frothing cups or ships on the sea. Other signs had women painted on them, and some of them had carvings to give the exaggerated girls in the pictures more depth. There were bright pennants hanging from windows, and even murals decorating a few walls.
“Welcome to Whiskey Row.” Dormael smiled and spread his arms wide. “There’s nothing but inns, alehouses, and brothels on this street. Leave it to the Cambrellians to provide every service a sea-weary sailor could want right here in the harbor.”
“A sea-weary sailor,” D’Jenn said, nodding to a man in an embroidered coat being tossed from the door of a building nearby, “or a rich local looking for fun.”
Dormael glanced at the man D’Jenn was watching. He was picking himself up from the street, shouting at another, larger man who stood in the doorway. A pair of girls crowded the door behind him, shouting curses back at the well-dressed fellow outside.
Dormael shook his head and laughed. “Come on. Let’s find a place to get a drink.”
As Dormael turned to continue down the street, a man bowled into him, knocking him into D’Jenn. They kept their feet, but the offending man had fallen to the cobblestones with a pained curse. He was an older, balding fellow with bleary eyes and rumpled clothes. A clay tankard lay near his outstretched hand, shattered to pieces on the ground. Liquid had spilled from it, and the smell of alcohol wafted from the puddle.
Dormael sighed and offered the old man a hand. “You alright, friend?”
“Fine.” The old codger blinked and took Dormael’s hand. “Just fine.”
Dormael helped the man to his feet and brushed some dirt from his clothing. His tunic was ripped and stained with blood. His eye was swollen, as was the opposite side of his lip. The old man swayed as Dormael let him go, waving a drunken hand in a thankful gesture.
D’Jenn winced. “Gods, old man. Who worked you over?”
The old fellow made a noise between a hiccup and a chuckle. “Who? Oh, I’ll tell you who, young man. I’ll tell you.”
Dormael smiled. “Do you even remember?”
“Yes.” The old man favored Dormael with a bleary scowl. “It was the damned Galanians. City Watch, too.”
Dormael shared a surprised look with D’Jenn.
“What?” The old man took a threatening step forward. “You think I’m a liar? You calling me a liar?”
“I’m not calling you anything.” Dormael pushed the swaying man a step back. “Just tell us what happened.”
The old man glowered for a moment but finally scoffed and gestured up the street. “Last night the damned City Watch comes in the Fish Head, kicking over tables, causing a damned ruckus. They got these two bastards with them, armed to the teeth and wearing surcoats. Everybody gets real quiet, see? There isn’t a soul in Cambrell who doesn’t know the look of a Galanian. These boys were killers. Soldiers, I’m saying.”
D’Jenn raised an eyebrow. “Soldiers? Are you sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure.” The old man scowled at D’Jenn. “Are you calling me a liar now?”
“No.” D’Jenn returned his scowl with a flat stare.
“They were wearing standards.” The old man gestured at his chest. “Like a flag, see? That’s for soldiers and knights, big armies and the like. You think I’m stupid?”
Dormael sighed. “What did they want?”
“What?” The old drunk glanced around the street, spotted his broken tankard, and grimaced. “What did who want?”
“The Galanians.”
“They were looking for some girl.” He shrugged. “Said she was a criminal, killed somebody important or something. Gave out descriptions of her. I told those bastards if they wanted a girl, there was plenty of them upstairs who would do whatever you please for a few copper marks.”
D’Jenn nodded. “That’s when they had their little conversation with you.”
“I thought it was funny.” The old man swayed. “Everybody else did, too. That’s what pissed them off—everyone laughed at them. Next thing you know, the City Watch pulls me into the street, and they all go to beating on me—Galanians and City Watch both!”
Dormael winced. “What did they say about the girl?”
“The girl? Who gives a golden shit about the girl? We got Imperials inside the walls! They already did this!” The man gestured at his face. “This is just the beginning! Just you wait, young man. Just you wait.”
“Alright, friend.” Dormael held up his hands and took a step back. “You should get home. Have someone see to your face.”
“Just you wait.” The old man shook his finger at the two of them. “I’m not a damned liar.”
The old man turned and swayed down Whiskey Row, muttering under his breath.
Dormael raised his eyebrow at D’Jenn, who grimaced and gestured down the street. They continued past the inns and alehouses, dodging the people clogging the road. Dormael examined each sign and mural until they found a three-story building with a smiling fish head painted over the door. The smell of cooking food wafted from inside, but there were also half-dressed women lounging in the windows of the upper levels. They stared at the street with uninterested expressions and ignored the Sevenlanders as they approached.
Dormael gave D’Jenn a shrug and went through the door.
&n
bsp; There was a surprising number of guests seated at the common room tables, despite the hour. A haze hung in the air, adding a smoky note to the smells of spices and woodchips. Dormael and D’Jenn attracted a few scowls when the entered and sat at the bar, but the quiet buzz of conversation was unchanged.
A slim, older brunette approached from the other end of the bar, putting a fist to her mouth to stifle a yawn. She snatched a pair of mugs, wiped them with a rag, and raised an eyebrow.
“Fancy an ale, gentlemen?”
“Two.” D’Jenn slid a silver mark across the bar. The barkeep raised her eyebrows, but grabbed the coin and secreted it away. She dipped the mugs into a barrel behind the bar and brought them over. A suspicious look was in her eyes as she plopped them in front of D’Jenn.
“You’re a strange pair, aren’t you?” Her eyes flicked over the pair of them. “Where do you come from?”
“Orris.” D’Jenn gave her a tight smile. “Came over on a trading ship this morning.”
Dormael leaned on the bar. “We’re off to see Tauravon. We heard it’s the wonder of all Eldath.”
The brunette scoffed. “I’ve never been there, but I wish I could go with you. The Great River City—it sounds beautiful. My daughter’s there—at least that’s what my son says. Ran off with a drover a few years back.”
“That’s…unfortunate.” Dormael took a pull from his tankard. “Of course, now we’re worried about making the trip. We’ve heard some nasty rumors.”
“Rumors?”
D’Jenn glanced around and leaned closer. “Galanians. Imperial soldiers, right here in the city. Some people are saying there’s an army out there.”
The barkeep nodded. “I know what you’re talking about. I’ve seen them myself.”
“You’ve seen them?” Dormael shared a glance with D’Jenn. “Where?”
“Right here in my establishment.” She gestured around at the building. “There were just two of them, though. It weren’t no army, I’ll tell you that. They had the City Watch with them, too, and a fancy proclamation from the Earl.”
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 9
