He turned to find a pair of Red Swords close to his back, and he pushed them from their feet with a gesture. D’Jenn waded through the fight nearby, keeping several spells going and laying about with his morningstar. His Kai sang a desperate song through the ether.
Red Swords swarmed the deck, killing everything in sight.
Dormael seized one of the men he’d knocked to the deck with his magic, eliciting a frightened yelp. He threw the Galanian over the deck so hard that his bones cracked when he landed amongst a group of his friends. The second fallen Galanian was thrown into two others who were trying to flank D’Jenn. His cousin brought down four more by turning the rain against them, sending the droplets screaming into their face until they backed over the railing. The sea pulled them down and they disappeared.
“We’ve got to cut the boarding ropes!” D’Jenn screamed into the storm.
Dormael ran his eyes down the port side of the ship, grimacing at the number of lines from the galleon. Another Red Sword braved the distance every moment, and Mikael’s men weren’t putting up much of a fight. They were brave and tough, but they were no match for Galanian soldiers.
“If you keep them off my flank, I can take out the lines!” Dormael yelled.
“Just try not to break our ship in the process.” D’Jenn reached out with his Kai and wrapped Dormael in protective magic. He paused to center his concentration and gave Dormael a nod.
More Red Swords came out of the rain, and Dormael turned his attention to them, if only to get them out of the way. He sent slivers of ice whistling through the air toward them, bringing them down in sprays of blood. By the time he turned his attention back to the boarding ropes, a strange noise was lilting through the air.
D’Jenn’s magic went tense, and Dormael’s followed an instant later. D’Jenn shot him a grim look, and Dormael’s eyes went wide. He had listened to that alien crooning before, and he knew exactly from where it came.
The armlet was awake.
Dormael’s heart fluttered with fear. He turned toward the entrance to the companionway and trained his eyes on the door. The armlet’s song approached like a peal of thunder.
The door burst open, spilling red light onto the deck. It was a stark contrast to the darkened cast of the sky, and it blinded Dormael with its sudden brilliance. Bethany came up the stairs, though her feet never touched the wood beneath her. Her eyes were wide, expression one of pure terror. She seemed to have no control over her body, because her movements seemed at odds with the expression on her face.
The armlet had changed, forming itself to the girl’s body in a wild, decorative pattern. It had its silver tendrils wrapped around Bethany, all the way from her jawline to her left elbow. The giant ruby rested over her shoulder, blazing with the jarring red light.
Bethany floated a hand’s distance from the surface of the deck, hovering in the arms of the armlet’s power. Her head moved around as she took in the scene, and her fingers twitched as if she was plucking an invisible instrument. Her eyes, though, betrayed the storm of emotion happening inside.
Everyone on deck paused to look in her direction, and the fighting came to a complete standstill. In Dormael’s magical senses, the world was on fire with sensations. He was stunned to immobility.
One of the men nearest to Bethany moved toward the girl, brandishing his longsword. Dormael summoned his magic to defend her, but Bethany was faster. Her manner changed, her expression going vacant, and her eyes shot to the man as he raised his sword for a strike.
Bethany’s eyes flashed the color of a campfire, and the man exploded into bright flames. He didn’t have time to scream before his body was burnt beyond recognition, and two men standing nearby went up seconds later. Bethany turned her empty, glowing eyes on the galleon looming over Seacutter’s port side and raised her tiny hands.
Every sail on the galleon went up at once, and the rain did nothing to stop the blaze.
Chaos broke out on the deck as men fled in terror. Red Swords flung their weapons and headed for the railing or climbed onto the boarding lines and clawed their way back toward the galleon. Bethany turned her eyes on them and spread her arms to the side. Flickering motes of light fizzled out from the aura surrounding her, rushing into the deluge and hissing when they were struck by the rain. They flew in haphazard lines around the deck, ducking through the rigging and zipping past defenseless crewmen.
Dormael watched in horror. The whole ship is going up in flames!
The certainty of death sat in his guts like a cold, black stone.
One of the motes touched one of the Red Swords, and he flashed into bright flames. Half a moment later, a second, then a third. Galanians started going up like torches, and the scramble to leave the ship reached a fever pitch. Men went for the side like ants escaping a flood.
D’Jenn’s voice cut through the chaos. “Dormael!”
D’Jenn gestured at the boarding lines, and they dissolved under the power of his magic. One by one they came apart, falling into black dust that was swept away by the storm. The ships listed as the lines gave away in sequence, and a great shudder came from below as the hulls scraped together. Men were still burning, and some of them fell between the two ships, screaming in agony.
Dormael reached out with his Kai and took hold of the warring ships with his magic. His power drained as he tried to wrest control of them from the sea, an effort which turned out to be futile. Dormael pulled back from the effort with practiced difficulty—reversing one’s commitment to a spell was dangerous.
“Dormael!” D’Jenn’s face was tight with fear. “Hurry!”
Refocusing his efforts, Dormael seized the prow of the Galanian ship in his Kai and planted his feet on the pitching deck. With one last effort of magic, he pushed against the bow of the looming galleon, bracing his power against Seacutter’s hull. The drain on his Kai was immediate, and Dormael fought off a wave of dizziness as he taxed the limits of his magic.
The wood of both ships gave a creaking protest, but the galleon’s nose was pushed away from Seacutter’s hull. The massive warship dipped down the side of a swell, and the sea rushed between the two ships as she listed away. Dormael watched, eyes unblinking, as the warship drifted away in the churning sea, sails burning against the rain. The storm filled his ears as the last Galanian fell into the water, and Seacutter was free.
No one said a word, and not a cheer went up.
Dormael moved toward Bethany, who was watching the last soldier burn to death as he ran for the water. She turned her empty, flame-filled eyes on Dormael, and a moment of icy terror filled his veins. What did the girl see?
Will she burn me, too?
She crumpled instead, the light around her winking out. Dormael grunted in pain and increased his pace, the quick movements jarring his wounded leg. D’Jenn beat him to Bethany’s side and gathered the girl into his arms. Her head lulled to the side, and her eyes fluttered shut. The armlet was around her upper arm, but it was once again to its normal size—half again too large for Bethany. The gem sparkled with a low, fell light. The song crooned in a contented tone, vibrating the ether with its voice.
Dormael shared a grim look with D’Jenn.
Shawna came up behind Dormael. “What in the Six Hells was that?”
Dormael was startled by the sight of her. She was splattered with blood, and though the rain must have washed most of it away, gore still clung to her in every place it could. She had a pained grimace on her face, and she moved like she had fallen down a flight of stairs.
“That was your mother’s armlet,” Dormael replied.
Shawna nodded and glanced around at Seacutter’s crew. “Let’s get her out of the rain. We need to get her out of sight.”
Dormael followed her gaze to the frightened gazes of the sailors. Some of the crew was crawling through the rigging or moving to help downed companions. Others stood in rapt silence, staring at Bethany’s inert form.
D’Jenn hefted Bethany’s body and moved for the compani
onway. Shawna followed him inside, refusing Dormael’s offer for support. It was just as well—his leg throbbed, and he was feeling faint. He wouldn’t have been much support.
Dormael stayed on deck and offered as much magical support to Mikael as he could. The ship was still battered, and the storm was just as treacherous as it had been before. They were anything but safe, even with the threat of the Galanian ship neutralized. Dormael checked the horizon and couldn’t find the warship’s burning sails through the storm.
Mikael wasn’t happy about the outcome, but anytime men were lost in combat, it was a bitter leaf to chew. Dormael promised to repay him as best they could, and the man was as satisfied as he could be, given the situation. Countryman or not, Dormael made sure they were still on good terms before he crawled back to their cabins. The last thing he wanted was an angry crew pulling them from their cots and tossing them in the sea.
He found D’Jenn alone in their cabin sitting cross-legged and staring down at the armlet.
“It’s quiet now,” he said. “It’s still singing, but it’s as if…it’s like a cat, after it’s gorged on a fat mouse.”
“I know.” Dormael sighed. “I felt it, right before she fainted. Where is she?”
“Lying down with Shawna. She wouldn’t leave Bethany alone, and I wasn’t going to argue with her. Shawna needed her moment alone, too.”
“Do you think Bethany will be alright?”
D’Jenn sighed and took a moment in replying. “I’m no healer, Dormael, no Hedge Wizard. I don’t know. She seems to be asleep, but she may never wake. She might wake up, but her mind could be gone. There’s no way for me to know.”
“You could just say ‘aye’ next time,” Dormael muttered.
D’Jenn shook his head. “This thing, Dormael…it’s like nothing in the world.”
“I know.” Dormael regarded the armlet in D’Jenn’s lap. “It’s gods-damned powerful.”
“Not just that, cousin.” D’Jenn gave him a grim look. “This thing is a separate power from our own, something no one has seen before. It communicates, and now we know it can do things completely on its own—things more complicated than tricks with the campfire. Things that kill. You know what that means.”
Dormael looked down at the artifact, trying to swallow the bile rising to the back of his throat. The armlet’s ruby sparkled in the low light, twinkling as the song warbled in contented slumber. The screams of the burning Red Swords filled Dormael’s mind, and he tore his gaze away from it. It was a moment before he cleared his throat and spoke.
“I know.” Dormael sat against the cabin wall. “The gods-damned thing is a weapon.”
Epilogue
Shawna sat bundled at the rear of the ship, huddled into a corner and gazing over the expanse of the Stormy Sea. It had been days since the encounter with the Red Swords with no sign of pursuit on the horizon. Shawna still came and looked every day.
She clutched the lock of her mother’s hair in one hand, letting it flutter in the wind. It was more golden than Shawna’s own color but close enough that the relation was unmistakeable. Loosening her grip, she held the bundle of hair up into the wind.
She teetered on the edge of letting the hair fall into the sea, but she clutched it tight in the last instant. Part of her wanted to let it go, perhaps as some theatrical gesture to commemorate the end of her old life. It was a bit macabre, but the Shawna Llewan of old deserved a funeral. She was just as dead as if Grant had killed her during the assault, instead of the other way around.
The memory of his last moments flashed through her mind, and she shivered. It had been the first time she had killed someone so…intimately. The other men she had cut down had been obstacles more than anything else, but Grant had mattered. She had wanted him dead.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the gray melancholy filling her after taking his life certainly hadn’t been it. Heroes in the old songs were always filled with righteous glee in the wake of their victories, but Shawna wasn’t so sure of herself. Grant had deserved his death, but the sight of his corpse had done little to soothe Shawna’s grief.
That didn’t mean, though, that it had done nothing. She could still hear his screams of agony when she’d cut off his leg, and every time the sound filled the corridors of her memory, it brought a wicked smile to her face. Anytime she looked at Bethany, she was vindicated.
The girl had cried all night after Shawna told her the Colonel was dead, huddling against Shawna like a frightened deer. She didn’t say anything or try to explain her feelings, she just cried herself to sleep and disappeared before morning. Bethany had been withdrawn since that night, but back on the road to normality.
There’s nothing normal about traveling with Sevenlanders.
She wouldn’t be rid of those two anytime soon. Half of their journey was still ahead of them, and she had no idea what would happen once they made the safety of the Conclave. The thought of visiting the Conclave still filled Shawna with trepidation, but less now than before the fight at sea. One could only be exposed to so much sorcery before it became commonplace.
Well, it became almost commonplace.
Shawna felt beginnings of friendship with the Sevenlanders. It was a grudging thing, and slow to bloom, but she had grown used to their coarseness and disregard for tact. She was even starting to see humor in the way they acted, like they were a pair of teenage boys who couldn’t help but cause trouble. They certainly needed someone to look after them.
What else would she do? She could reinstate her claim, but by the time she was able to make it back to Cambrell, her home would be a ruined husk. Farmers from the barony would have looted the place, and Shawna had scattered the horses to the winds. She would have nothing but a claim.
Alton would probably see to the place, or he’d at least keep her inheritance intact. The thought of going home after everything she’d seen made her feel empty. Shawna loved her home, but she couldn’t go back for a long time. She wasn’t the same girl who had fled its burning remnants.
She was the woman who had repaid the gods for its destruction.
Why not stay with the wizards for awhile? Once this business with her mother’s armlet was done, she could decide what to do next. Dormael said her services as a mercenary could net mountains of riches, and she could even garner fame if she so wished. She’d considered the idea, but she dismissed it after awhile. Glory wasn’t what she wanted, and if it was excitement she needed, she had found enough of that to last until the gods returned. She had a feeling more would find her before she left the company of the two Sevenlanders.
They had at least another twenty days at sea, but probably more because of the damage to the ship. There was plenty of time on the journey to make her decision, and time enough after to find the best path. She looked at the hair clutched in her hand and stuffed it back through her belt. A reminder of where she came from couldn’t hurt, wherever her journey led.
She considered finding one of the Sevenlanders and bothering them for conversation. D’Jenn, though, always acted as if she was interrupting the most important brooding episode of his life, even though every day was an episode of brooding for D’Jenn. Dormael couldn’t help but flirt and sneak glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, but it wasn’t as irritating as it used to be. It was fun to try and make him uncomfortable sometimes, and he was completely off balance when she turned the tables on him.
She had been spending a good bit of time with Dormael, as the pain of their wounds kept them both abed. He’d even taught her to play tavern dice, which was fun enough after a fashion. Games of chance had never held much attraction for her, though men were crazy for the things. Dormael was no exception, as interesting as he was otherwise. He wasn’t bad looking, either, even with that stupid beard.
My mother always said never to trust the pretty ones.
Perhaps she could stay where she was. All the Sevenlanders could talk about was the armlet and what they would do once they made it to Is
hamael. Shawna didn’t feel like planning or engaging in long conversations about strategy. She felt bleak, as if the victory they’d pulled from the teeth of the Red Swords was just the first in a long series of conflicts. The day was clear, but the memory of the storm was fresh in her mind, and the silence was pregnant with future peril.
Shawna let out a breath and stared into the wind. Whatever comes, I’ll be ready.
***
Maarkov knew his brother was going to kill the poor bastard at his desk. Maaz had a real gift for corpse-making. Everything the bastard touched, passed, or saw had a strange way of ending up dead.
“I don’t know what you expected me to do,” pleaded the sea captain. “The attack was risky enough in the storm as it was, and there was no way I could follow after they burned my ship. She was crippled! They turned sorcery on my ship! Sorcery! How is a man supposed to deal with that?”
“Sorcery, was it?” Maaz cocked his head to the side in a slow, dry movement. The expression looked more like a reptile regarding its future meal than a human considering an argument. The reptilian likeness was close to the truth. His brother had lost his human qualities long ago.
“They opened up the sky and threw lightning at us! All my sails went up at the same time, and in a driving storm, too. Nothing normal about that, by the gods.” The captain made a sign to ward off evil.
“Indeed,” Maaz said in an ingratiating tone. He was wrapped in a deep, hooded cloak, and he’d wound a scarf around his mouth to hide the rest of his face. Only his eyes regarded the captain across the desk from him, and those were as dead as a corpse. Maarkov had no doubt that Maaz’s teeth would be showing in a wide, friendly grin. It would be a lie, though.
Maaz’s smiles had nothing to do with happiness.
Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Page 32
