Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Fall of House Llewan

  Lords, Swordswomen, and Fools

  A Conspiratorial Turn of Mind

  Stealing the Child

  No Use for Crying

  Quitting Sanctuary

  Dancing with the Fire

  The Frozen Flame

  Inconvenient Enemies

  A Tide of Blood

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Child of the Flames

  Book One of The Seven Signs

  2nd Revised Edition

  Copyright © 2019 Daniel Wesley Hawkins. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Published by Laconic Press. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. For all inquiries, contact [email protected], or visit our website at www.laconic.press.

  Laconic Press

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  Visit the author website: http://www.dwhawkins.com

  I dedicate this book to vanquished demons.

  It’s been a long battle. May you sleep forever.

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  The Fall of House Llewan

  Shawna blinked tears from her eyes and held her breath against the sorrow building in her chest. It writhed inside her, a storm of screams and rage and indignation, threatening to come bursting forth in a flood of agonized wailing. Her body was hot, her blood pounded in her ears. Nervous, fluttered breaths slipped through her clenched teeth, but that was all the noise she allowed herself to make.

  Her father lay bleeding in the chair across from hers, bound to its wooden frame with thin, knotted rope. Dolland Llewan’s face had always evoked quiet strength, but no longer. Now it was a swollen, bruised mockery of the face Shawna knew—like it wasn’t him, just an arrangement of features that barely resembled him. His graying hair was matted with blood, as was the beard that covered his swollen jaw. His head hung to the side, and blood sputtered from his lips with each labored breath.

  He’ll die if he doesn’t get help!

  Shawna had stopped sobbing nonsensical syllables sometime during the beating, but she hadn’t been able to stop the tears. Her chest was heaving, her heart pounded her ribs, but she’d at least stemmed the howling. Nothing had stopped the men from beating her father—neither threats nor pleas for mercy had been heeded. In the end, Shawna’s screams had earned only laughter from the men who’d arrived with the sunrise.

  Everyone is dead. My sisters, the household, everyone—dead, dead, dead.

  Shawna struggled against the ropes binding her to the chair, but they gave no more than they had the last hundred times she’d tested them. She balled her fists and continued to fight until her strength wore out, but the ropes only grew tighter. She tried to scoot to the table between her and her father but couldn’t get the necessary leverage.

  When the brigand returned, he would kill them both—she was sure of it.

  She heard the rest of the men inside the manor, ransacking everything in a methodical search for riches. In all her twenty-five springs, Shawna had never imagined something like this could happen. Her family’s estate lay on the fringes of Cambrell, but the kingdom had been peaceful for as long as anyone could remember. The king’s patrols visited her family’s barony several times each season, and there had never been any sort of trouble. The most excitement Shawna could remember was when refugees had come streaming out of Shundovia, fleeing the invasion of the Galanian Empire.

  The peace had been shattered with the dawn. Shawna closed her eyes at the memory of the morning’s frenzied events—flashing steel, screams for mercy, and spattered blood filled her mind. It had happened too fast for Shawna to do anything but stare in horror, and now almost everyone she loved lay dead or dying.

  “Shawna.” Her father coughed and raised his head. “Shawna?”

  “Father!” Shawna forced her voice around the lump in her throat. “I’m still here. I’m alright.”

  “Shawna, listen,” he sputtered around a mouthful of blood. “You have to listen to me.”

  “Alright.” Shawna glanced to the door. Sweat trickled down her neck.

  “These men—they’re going to kill you, dear.” He coughed low in his chest, the sound wet and heavy. “No matter what they tell you, you will not leave this house alive.”

  “Why are they here?” Shawna kept her voice low, eyes darting between her father and the closed door. “What were they asking about when they were—” Shawna closed her eyes. “When they were hitting you?”

  “I was contacted seasons ago by a collector of artifacts. A rich man. He made multiple offers to buy your mother’s armlet—the one she got as a wedding gift. He even threatened me once. I wouldn’t sell.” His shoulders slumped with the statement. “I should have just sold.”

  He grew quiet, chest fluttering with pained breaths. Shawna’s breath caught, and she leaned forward, searching his face for signs of life. After a moment, he struggled to raise his head.

  “You...you knew this was coming?” Shawna’s voice sounded colder than she’d intended.

  “No,” he grunted, spitting blood onto the floor. “I didn’t even know who the buyer was! I recognize these men, though. Their weapons, their accents—they’re Galanians, dear. Imperial Military!”

  Shawna gasped. “So, there’s an army coming?”

  “Doubtful.” Dolland shook his head. “These men are military, but they’re no normal scouting party. They know what they’re looking for. Someone powerful wants the armlet, Shawna! There’s no clear leader amongst them, though, so there have to be more of them coming. But you’ve got time, Shawna. You’ve got training enough to—”

  He sucked in a sharp breath and descended into a fit of wet coughing. Shawna wanted to rush to his side and wipe the blood from his face, but the ropes held her tight to the chair. His fit dragged on until Shawna was sure someone would come to check on him, but the door remained closed.

  Thank the gods for that.

  “Father?” Shawna waited for him to focus on her. “What do I do?”

  “You have to get free, Shawna.” His face twisted with pain. “You have to run. Take your mother’s armlet and go!”

  “Take the armlet?” Shawna gave him an angry, confused scowl. Why should she care about a piece of jewelry in the face of all this death?

  Dolland fought to hold back another
coughing fit. “There must be something important about it, Shawna! It always gave your mother an odd feeling. She had dreams about it, and so did—” He paused, his face a mask of anguish. “So did Lya. You take that thing and run, dear. Don’t let these bastards get their hands on it. If they find what they’re looking for, then everyone here has died for nothing! Do you understand? Do you want Lya and Anna to have died in vain?”

  Shawna rocked back from her sisters’ names, the sight of them lying in a bloody heap flashing through her mind. For a moment, she was furious with her father for using that against her, for forcing her to remember their lifeless gazes. The anger was swept away in the storm of other emotions in her chest, and she banished the memories with a deep breath.

  “I understand.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Where do I go?”

  “Ferolan.” Dolland shifted in his chair. “To your cousin. Warn the city, Shawna. Get word to the king!”

  The door slammed open before she could reply.

  The man who entered was grizzled, but not unkempt. He had hair the color of jet and wore a mail shirt over a dark gambeson. A longsword hung at his waist, flapping around his legs like an afterthought. Shawna noted the sword by reflex, but her eyes were locked to the dagger in his hand.

  The intruder smiled and toyed with the tip of his knife. “Now that you’ve had some time to think about your choices, we need to move this operation along.”

  “We don’t know what you want!” Shawna’s father watched the dagger with fearful eyes.

  The Galanian scoffed and walked toward Dolland, spinning the tip of the knife against his finger. Shawna wanted to scream, but fear seized her voice in an icy fist. The Galanian stopped in front of her father, and his smile took on a wolfish cast.

  “Last chance, old man. Where’s the artifact? Tell me, and I’ll let you and the girl walk away clean. No more blood—my mouth to the ears of the gods. Be reasonable. Tell me where it is.”

  You’re not leaving this house alive—Dolland’s words echoed in Shawna’s mind.

  Dolland shared a determined look with Shawna and glared at the Galanian. “Take your promises to the Void, and I’ll see you there!”

  Shawna wanted to grab the words and stuff them back in her father’s mouth. The Galanian chuckled and shook his head, an ugly smirk twisting his lips. He reversed the grip on his dagger and glanced once at Shawna. With a shrug, he turned back to her father.

  “Very well.”

  The Galanian slammed his dagger into her father’s chest. Dolland gave a short cry of pain and writhed in his bonds. His white shirt—already spattered with the blood from his beating—turned red in a dark, spreading stain.

  “NO!”

  Shawna struggled against her bindings to reach her father, but the ropes held her just as tightly as before. The Galanian stepped toward her and cuffed her across the jaw. Shawna’s sight dimmed as her head exploded with pain, and she lost a moment of time while her wits reasserted themselves. She vaguely felt her bonds being cut, and then her chair was kicked to the side, spilling her to the dusty floor.

  “Get up.” The Galanian reached down and tangled his hand into her hair, dirtying her red-golden locks with her father’s blood. Shawna tried to fight him off, but her movements were sluggish, her muscles weak. He yanked her from the floor and put his dagger to her throat.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen—you’re going to find the artifact, and I know you know what I mean. Don’t you?”

  Shawna nodded, but she jumped as the knife brushed the skin of her throat.

  “Good. Find me what I want, and I’ll let you live. If you get any stupid ideas like your father did, well…” The Galanian turned her so she could look upon her father’s corpse. “Your death will be slower than his. Understand?”

  Shawna only sobbed in reply, her eyes pinned to her father’s slack expression.

  “Move!” The Galanian prodded her through the door with his dagger.

  He marched her out of the kitchens and into the main hall. Her family’s furniture was tossed about, their heirlooms scattered over the floor. Shawna cried out as she was prodded past the bloodied corpse of her father’s chamberlain. He had been in his sixty-second spring and had lost his wife to the plague that took Shawna’s mother and older brother. His face was frozen in a look of horror, his hands clutched to a gaping wound in his chest.

  The dagger prodded her back. “Where’s the artifact? Where are headed?”

  Shawna gulped and took a steadying breath. “Upstairs.”

  A second Galanian came into sight as Shawna’s captor marched her toward the stairs. He scowled at her and rested a hand on his sword, eyes flicking over her body. Her captor pulled on her hair and stopped her in place.

  “Have you found anything?”

  “Trinkets, coin.” The second Galanian shook his head. “Nothing like what we’re looking for. There’s a lot of good horses outside, though.”

  “Have everything of value brought to this room. If it won’t fit in a chest and we can’t spend it, leave it where it lies.”

  “Yes, Corporal. And the girl? Sergeant Janks has one outside, but she’s not as pretty as this one.”

  Shawna’s skin crawled with disgust, and her hands shook.

  The Corporal was silent for a moment, but Shawna couldn’t see his face. “Tell the boys not to burn anything yet. The Colonel will want to set up here for the night, and I’ll not have the Lieutenant crawling up my arse because you lot can’t control yourselves. Shit rolls downhill, Pellim. Got it?”

  “Got it, Corporal.”

  “Good. We’ll be upstairs.”

  The Corporal prodded her toward the staircase and Shawna went without protest. Her limbs were numb as she climbed toward her family’s rooms. She heard screams from somewhere outside, and she recognized the voice of one of the kitchen girls. Shawna was nauseous at the thought of what these men may have in store for her.

  No matter what they tell you, you will not leave this house alive.

  The Galanian led her down the hallway on the upper level, toward her father’s suite at the end. The door was ajar, but the man still slammed her into it as they stepped inside, chuckling the way a half-stupid child would laugh as he ripped the limbs from a frog. It was more humiliating than painful, but the urge to launch herself at the man and rip his eyes out blossomed in Shawna’s chest.

  The Galanian grabbed her by the upper arms and tossed her into the floor. Shawna bit her tongue as she went down, but she refused to let the pain show on her face. The Corporal stepped into the room, his eyes roaming over its contents.

  It was a spacious suite—the largest in the manor—and decorated as any provincial lord’s home might be. Her father had a large covered bed festooned with white sheets, which had been the convention of her late mother. Dolland had never changed it in the wake of his wife’s death. He’d always said she’d be angry if he stopped paying tribute to her superstitions, and her ghost would come back to nag him from the Void.

  Shawna forced down a pang of sorrow before the Galanian could see it.

  A large fireplace stood on the far wall, while three windows looked out over the sunlit hills of her father’s pastures. The light streaming in through the windows fell upon the detritus scattered about the floor. The soldiers had already been in the room, but it hadn’t yet suffered their full attention. Shawna’s muscles burned—being tied to the chair in the kitchens had stiffened her.

  “We’re looking for a piece of jewelry.” The Galanian glared down at her. “One gifted to your mother by the King of Cambrell on her wedding day. Where is it?”

  “Her armlet.” Shawna was surprised by how steady her voice sounded.

  “Where is it? Tell me, and I’ll let you live.”

  No matter what they tell you, you will not leave this house alive.

  “Let me live? You’ll take what you want and leave this place?”

  “Tell me where it is, or you’ll end just like your father.” Th
e Galanian bared his teeth and gestured with the knife. “Tell me.”

  Shawna kept her eyes on him as she got to her feet. His hand tightened on the dagger, but he made no move toward her. Shawna nodded toward the table in the corner of the room, where a small clay pillar sat behind a trio of white candles.

  “It’s in the shrine.” Her stomach sank as the words passed her lips. “Her armlet—it’s inside the sculpture.”

  The Galanian gave her a considering look before his eyes shot to the pillar. The cylindrical sculpture was carved with religious symbols, and supported a plaster cast of a smooth, feminine face—Shawna’s mother. The local potter had made the sculpture, and it had been blessed by the Chaplain of her father’s largest village. Her father had sealed it himself after placing her mother’s favorite piece of jewelry inside. In the days following her death, the candles would frame the plaster cast of her face with soft light, making it glow in the darkness.

  Dolland had kept the candles burning night and day. They flickered back and forth in the dusty air, dancing to the noise of the manor being ransacked. Shawna had always imagined those flames to be the only light to point her mother’s way back from the Void, so strong and constant. Now, before the Galanian intruder, they seemed terribly fragile.

  The Corporal kept one eye on Shawna as he approached the shrine. He grimaced at the plaster mask and gave the entire display a look of disgust. Without so much as a pause for reverence, he smashed the pillar with the pommel of his dagger. The clay shattered and collapsed into a pile of broken shards. Shawna bit down on her tongue, stifling her anger at sight of the plaster mask lying cracked on the ground.

  The Galanian smiled, pulling a small silver box from the pile. “This is it. It has to be.”

  The Corporal opened the tiny latch, reaching inside the box with more care than he’d given the shrine. He pulled a dusty armlet into the light, an old thing made of sinuous bands of silver. A dark ruby was set into the center, held by tiny silver fingers. Its sweeping metal bands evoked flames in motion, their curves arranged in an eye-twisting design.