The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection by D.W. Hawkins

Author:D.W. Hawkins [Hawkins, D.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Laconic Press, LLC
Published: 2018-01-31T22:00:00+00:00

***

D’Jenn sat with his legs crossed, his body relaxed, and his mind as quiet as he could make it.

It was nigh impossible since the meeting with Victus. Something about all the information he had absorbed tickled at his mind, hinted at a pattern he was not seeing. Victus had said it himself during their conversation.

They’re not trained to see the patterns, he’d said, they don’t recognize the knife in the dark.

Those words tumbled over and over in D’Jenn’s mind. Victus had been lying during the meeting—or, at least, he had been hiding something. Body language couldn’t reveal a lie, but one could deduce when a subject was distressed over their words. Victus had clearly been distressed, though for what reason, D’Jenn had yet to understand.

Vera’s note sat in a nearby cabinet, weighing on his mind. His sorrow at her death was coloring everything. Dormael had escaped, probably to mourn in his own way, and that left D’Jenn to brood on his own. Maybe his emotions were the reason nothing seemed right to him, maybe that’s why he felt so suspicious of everything. Perhaps it was simple melancholy.

The urge to read her letter was a terrible thing.

He calmed his stormy thoughts and sank into a deeper state, where his emotions were nothing but a whisper at the edge of his consciousness. His magic was roiling at the center of his being, but he let it sleep for now. At the present moment, it was his mind that he needed, not his magic.

D’Jenn thought of all the players at the table. The Galanian Emperor, whose motivations, other than power for power’s sake, could not be deduced with what D’Jenn knew of him. He was an incomplete picture, a puzzle with missing pieces. He might be able to tell what some of the man’s motivations had been in some situations, but divining his entire strategy from those disparate events was nigh impossible. Until he could get a fuller picture of the man, he could not make any effective predictions about his intentions, except to continue pursuing the armlet. If Victus’s theory was correct, then the armlet was only the beginning.

The Mekai’s motivations were clear enough. D’Jenn had sensed something from him in the War Room during the meeting…mistrust? Anxiety? He’d never seen the man speak with the slightest amount of anger. On the subject of the Galanian persecution of Sevenlanders, though, he had loosened his emotional control. The controversy over the rumor was simmering throughout the Conclave—though every time D’Jenn heard the story from a new set of lips, it became more gruesome and villainous. The Mekai saw himself as the protector of the Conclave’s laws, and the conventions established by hundreds of years of tradition. His motivations were sincere, and predictable.

It was Victus that D’Jenn couldn’t reconcile. He knew the man, trusted the man, yet there was something that kept bringing the problem back around in D’Jenn’s mind. He had lied—but why? The Deacon of the Warlocks was one of the most powerful and dangerous men in all of Eldath.

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