The Forlorn Dagger Trilogy Box Set

by Jaxon Reed

  He said, “It troubles me that something called the Shadow Council is involved in this. Stealing something for personal gain is one thing. Stealing something for evil purposes is quite another.”

  “What’s the difference?” Margwen said. “Self-centeredness is evil, is it not? The Scriptures say living for others is righteous. Living completely for yourself is wrong.”

  “I would say, Your Majesty, everybody is self-centered to one degree or another. We’re all evil, in that way. But when evil is allowed to flourish and seeks to harm as many people as possible . . . that is where I draw the line, personally. It’s one thing to take gold from a man. I admit I’ve done quite a bit of that in my lifetime, although far less so these days. But it’s quite another to enslave entire kingdoms to the tyranny of power-mad wizards. No offense to present company, I hope.”

  A sort of tension seemed to slide out of the room with his remarks. Deedles opened her eyes and stared at him for a moment. Then she closed them again. Something unspoken seemed to pass between the cat and Darkstone.

  Darkstone said, “You’re right in that Greystone and I, and most of the other wizards, have no desire to take over kingdoms or enslave people. I think it’s safe to say your motives and ours are mostly in alignment.

  “We would solicit your help in a certain delicate matter. Naturally, you will understand that I must caution you . . . if you seek to double-cross us in this matter I will not rest until you have suffered an excruciatingly painful death.”

  Despite himself, Stin chuckled at her words. He said, “Fair enough. I would expect no less. You have my word, as much as you can trust it, that I will do what I can if this ‘delicate matter’ will help set things straight so far as the Forlorn Dagger is concerned.”

  She nodded, assured of his honesty.

  She said, “I have a plan that will allow you to help us. Today we set a trap for the Shadow Council, and it worked to an extent. We were able to capture Endrick and the blade. Unfortunately, we snared no one else. We kept an eye on the entire area and Quartzstone never showed. Nor did anyone else acting suspiciously or showing signs of affiliation with the Shadow Council.”

  Greystone said, “We think maybe it’s because our trap used magic.”

  “The trap used a lot of magic,” Darkstone agreed. “And it worked until Endrick made his move with the dagger. We think members of the Shadow Council noticed the magic and held back. That, or they simply waited to see if Endrick’s efforts would bear fruit. Perhaps they trusted the dagger would eliminate the magical threat, not realizing that was part of our plan to begin with.”

  She paused and took a breath, then let it out slowly.

  For a moment, Stin reflected on how young the wizard looked. But she had a sort of dark beauty that belied her years. She had seen death and suffering on a scale few thrice her age would ever see. Her eyes betrayed a deeper knowledge than others, as well as a firm sense of her place in the world.

  She interrupted his thoughts and said, “We’d like to set another trap with no magic this time. Just the dagger. We want you to take it to the people who hired you to retrieve it.”

  Stin looked at each person in turn. He said, “You’d like me to deliver the Forlorn Dagger to the Thieves’ League?”

  Greystone said, “That’s right. We want you to take it to Coral and give it to them directly. We strongly suspect Windthorn is on the Shadow Council. Fulfill the task you’ve been assigned, and we’ll track the dagger and see what happens next.”

  “How can you track the dagger? You can’t put a spell on it.”

  “We have our ways,” Greystone said. “Sometimes you can follow things that absorb magic by watching where the ‘hole’ goes. But don’t worry about that. All you need to be concerned with is carrying it to Coral. Go and fulfill your obligations. We’ll take it from there.”

  Stin took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Then he released it slowly. He met the eyes of everyone in the room, one by one. Even the blind cat stared back at him.

  He said, “Alright. I can do that.”

  -+-

  Stin walked back into the Royal Otter late that afternoon, close to suppertime. Kirt ran to greet him with a hug. Stin smiled, and patted the boy’s head.

  He said, “You seem to have grown some on this trip. I swear you’re a hand taller.”

  “And you have the dagger again,” Kirt said.

  Stin’s surprise registered in his voice. He said, “What makes you say that?”

  “I could feel my magic draining as soon as I touched you.”

  “Is that so? And what is your magic, anyway? What does it involve? What can it do?”

  Kirt shrugged and looked away. He said, “I’m not even sure how to express it in words, yet.”

  Now Stin felt genuinely curious. Before he could pry, Bellasondra approached them.

  She said, “Well? What did the King of Emerald want with you?”

  Stin said, “The King and Queen, and two wizards for that matter, wish me to deliver the Forlorn Dagger to my employer in Coral.”

  “They do?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s odd. So they just handed it over to you?”

  He nodded again, frowning at the skepticism in her tone.

  She said, “Why?”

  Stin said, “We’ll discuss it on the way. Right now let’s get something to eat. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

  -+-

  In the worst, most decrepit part of Kathar, wind blew trash through the streets under the setting sun. In the large empty great room of an abandoned townhome, a mouse skittered across the dusty floor. It paused, rearing up on its hind legs, and sniffed the air inquisitively.

  The wind made its way through cracks in the wall, sending drafts of air puffing and blustering inside. A solitary oil lamp hanging near the door flickered in the sudden breeze, then died. What little light had been cast inside the dilapidated structure vanished along with it.

  Darkness spread, filling every nook and cranny, seeping like thick liquid into all the corners and cracks in the walls.

  The mouse darted for a crevice in the floorboards, wiggling through the tight space before the gloom overtook it.

  When inky blackness prevailed in the room, had the mouse remained it would have seen the faint golden glow of a hazy transport globe forming, then soft stirrings in the air as person after person apparated into the room, stepping quickly into darkness.

  Quartzstone came in last, and the globe winked out behind him taking its dim light with it. He cast a spell on his eyes so he could see in the dark. He nodded, though the others could not see him.

  He said, “So, this meeting begins.”

  “Are you going to tell us how your grand plan failed, Wizard?”

  He smiled contemptuously at the woman making the remark, even though she could not see his expression and therefore appreciate his unspoken contempt. Her efforts at applying just the right measure of condescension doubtless endeared her to some on the council while embittering others.

  Fortunately, he did not have to spend much time with her this evening. And the lady owed him for a deathspell he recently conjured on her behalf.

  “Suffice it to say, Lady Leddia, that we were fooled. The marriage ceremony was a complete fake, with incredibly realistic representations of all the kingdom’s nobility. It was actually quite a good deception.”

  It was a brilliant deception, he thought. He had never seen that level of detail given to so many facsimiles before. Not all at once. That the battlemaiden had been able to pull it off . . . but she was no longer a battlemaiden, was she? She had evidently passed the trials and claimed the darkstone as her own. Her power must be incredible by now.

  This bothered him, the notion that their former leader was dead and his mystic stone was now in the hands of the enemy. But what really gnawed on the periphery of terror was the thought of just how realistic Princess Mita’s spell had been.

  He had been watching, disg
uised and at a safe distance. He watched Endrick trek through the city, and how he entered the line for the lesser nobility. How he followed everyone inside at a slight distance so no one would notice the dagger’s influence. How this played into the hands of the enemy, since he never came close to anyone and the facsimiles did not disintegrate while he waited in the line.

  Then soldiers stormed the cathedral and Endrick was led out bound and under guard. Another set of soldiers marched off to the palace carrying the dagger with them. Quartzstone had quietly disappeared in the crowd, disappointed and dejected.

  “What should worry you more, Wizard, is not the quality of the deception” Leddia said. “It’s the fact that they were expecting us.”

  Quartzstone said, “We expected them to be prepared. We know that Helsik betrayed our presence to them, and paid the price. We knew when the Cloud of Death took him that he shared our secrets with Trant and therefore Greystone. That is why we sent Endrick into the wedding alone. It was a precautionary measure.”

  “I think the wizards are much stronger, and smarter, than you give them credit for, Quartzstone.”

  “Perhaps, Lady Leddia, perhaps.”

  Quartzstone sighed, growing tired of the exchange.

  He said, “However, one of our original players who we put in motion some time back has just made a move that might be in our favor.”

  He cast a simple spell, showing an image of the palace gates, with a man walking out. It looked like something a hawk would see from the air, and indeed that is precisely where the scene originated. Everyone watched, the spell casting off light that illuminated the hidden room.

  “And who is that supposed to be?”

  “That, Lady Leddia, is Stin of Coral, our thief. This is him leaving Emerald Castle while carrying the Forlorn Dagger.”

  Stunned silence greeted Quartstone’s remarks as everyone continued staring at the image.

  Leddia said, “How do you know he is carrying the dagger?”

  “There are ways. We can measure a person’s magic. Stin walked in with his normal ability. Walking out, he was powerless.

  “Now, I admit to making some logical conclusions. We set our man on this quest some time ago. I can only presume he is fulfilling his end of the obligation.”

  “Unless it’s another trap,” Leddia said.

  “Correct. However, even if it is we will allow it to proceed. The dagger needs to be transported without magic, by necessity. Let us follow our thief and see where he goes. If he deviates from a direct course back to Coral, we will intercept and kill him.

  “But if he continues on the quest we set him on . . . since he has entered the palace and successfully obtained the Forlorn Dagger by deception or otherwise . . . we will allow him to return it to Coral City. At that time, we will move forward with the rest of our plan.”

  -+-

  Thanden fluttered through the window into the royal chambers in Emerald Palace. Endrick should be here somewhere, although he was not entirely certain where.

  His glow seemed rather weak at the moment. He flew erratically, zigzagging around the room. He flew into the wall with a solid Thump! and fell down to the floor, temporarily knocked out.

  A moment later he stood and shook his head, trying to clear it. He frowned up at the wall and shook an angry fist at it.

  Behind him, he heard a loud Hiss!

  His eyebrows shot up, and he slowly turned around and looked up at the source of the sound. There, on the room’s table, Deedles crouched, staring angrily down at him.

  Thanden gulped nervously, the sound filling the quiet room. He grinned at Deedles and waved, sheepishly.

  The cat jumped from the table, lightning fast, and caught the little sprite in her claws. Thanden shrieked in pain and horror. Deedles’s teeth sunk into his neck. She ripped out his throat.

  Thanden’s putrid green aura dimmed as his blood spewed out on the floor in a tiny stream.

  Chapter 13

  The final guest departed at last from the Finero family home. Two days had passed since Phanissa and Bartimo’s wedding. Two days had passed since the deaths of Finero and Ermina. The bodies had been taken back to Refugio to lie in state at the large manor. Everyone from the wedding paid their respects, with many wondering privately how Phanissa could possibly cope. What was meant to be a joyous occasion had turned into a day of horrible tragedy.

  The constabulary initiated an inquiry. There were many witnesses, and the details of the events were straightforward. Obviously an evil spell had been cast on the pavilion dais to occur at noon, killing whoever stood in the spot traditionally reserved for newlyweds at the moment refracted light hit the stage.

  Bartimo and Phanissa answered truthfully when the constables questioned them separately, as to why they were not on the dais at that time. Phanissa had gone to change. Bartimo delayed them in a moment of passion. In truth, nobody should have been on the stage at the moment of the spell if they were not going to be there. No one could have guessed Finero and Ermina would stand in their stead. It seemed abundantly obvious the trap was meant for the newlyweds, not the older couple. Bartimo and Phanissa were quickly ruled out of suspicion.

  One name did surface in the constables’ investigation. Lady Leddia of House Palento had made public threats against Bartimo for passing over her daughter and proposing marriage to Phanissa instead. When the constables knocked on the Palento family’s door, however, Tisha claimed her mother was on a trip to Coral City. Indeed, checking at the docks the constables found Leddia on the passenger manifest of the express ship Foambreaker, which sailed before the wedding.

  Tisha was advised not to travel outside the city and to contact the constables in the event she received word from her mother. Following that, the investigation stalled. There was little else to go on.

  Today, Bartimo and Phanissa held funeral services on the cliff behind the house. A priest said a few words, then family friends lowered the coffins down in the holes they had dug, taking turns shoveling dirt until Finero and Ermina were buried. Their graves faced the sea.

  As they shook arms and hugged and cried with all the guests lined up on the way out, the Speaker of the Hall of Commerce leaned in and murmured to the couple in a voice only they could hear.

  He said, “When you have time maybe tomorrow, come by my office. As husband and wife, you are now in charge of House Finero, and all its holdings.”

  Laws in Refugio, a nation of commerce, were slightly different than other lands. Entire families were often involved in business together. Married couples held joint ownership under the laws governing the Ageless Isles. The husband retained the titular head of the family, but women’s property rights were recognized, too. Thus, ownership of family concerns fell in part to wives, who could inherit holdings in their entirety if widowed.

  Bartimo and Phanissa found themselves suddenly in charge of the Finero family’s considerable assets. Not that it made them feel any better . . .

  Eventually all the guests parted and the servants retreated inside, leaving the couple alone. Phanissa walked back to the fresh graves, Bartimo following. He draped an arm around her shoulder as they gazed down at the disturbed soil, twin oblong mounds pointing toward the edge of the cliff and the water beyond.

  They would need the services of a monument maker, Bartimo thought. They would erect a stone marking the dual graves. He made a mental note to ask somebody next time he went to Market Square. He had never had to bury anyone before, and he felt unsure who to inquire after. He had only been a child when his own parents died, and he had not had to take care of such details.

  He looked down at Phanissa, and watched tears trickle down her cheeks. This moment, he thought, this terrible moment, seemed too much to bear. And he was at fault. If only he had not proposed marriage. If only he had not gone back with her to the dressing room. If only he had allowed them to proceed to the reception under the pavilion in a timely manner.

  His mistakes compounded upon themselves, each one leading
to another until finally resulting in the deaths of people he cared about. And misery for someone he cared for the most.

  He squeezed her shoulder, and his heart ached with grief.

  “I am so, so sorry. I should not have delayed us. We could have done something. We could have prevented their deaths. It’s all my fault, and I am so sorry.”

  Phanissa shook her head, rejecting his apology and effort to claim responsibility at the same time.

  She said, “You heard what the constables said. A chronosigil appeared before the cloud descended on them. Whoever was standing in that spot at that time was going to die. This is not your doing. It’s not our doing. It’s not your fault. It’s not their fault.”

  Bartimo said nothing for a long while. Together he stood with her, holding her shoulder, as they stared down at the graves.

  When he spoke again, it was in calm, measured tones. He was afraid his voice would crack, and he took pains to prevent that from happening. But he found it difficult.

  “Ever since my own parents died, I have wanted to start a family of my own. I dreamed of marrying into one of the great families of Refugio to do so. I desperately wanted to marry you, but I also wanted to marry into House Finero. I wanted with all my heart to be a part of this great family. Out of all the ones I knew, this family was the very best, led by your father and mother.

  “I was beginning to see Finero as my father, and Ermina as my mother. I hoped to get to know them better with time. To bring them grandbabies, making their family larger and greater along with our own. I wanted to gain from their wisdom, and ask their advice about all our ventures in the years ahead.”

  He paused, looking down at the graves.

  “Now all that is gone. And the very day that should have brought everyone so much happiness has turned into a day of mourning. We’ve been robbed. Their lives were stolen. We’ve lost your parents . . . our parents . . . and we’ll never have an anniversary without remembering what happened to them.”