A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)

by Daniel Antoniazzi

  “It is a miracle I survived my encounter with it,” Landora spoke again. “It is a wonder that Argos could have done the same.”

  “There is more to Argos than we ever knew,” Rajani admitted. “I’m realizing that more every day.”

  “Who are his parents?” Duncan asked.

  Rajani, Eric, and Landora all turned to him, a look of confusion plastered across all their faces.

  “He was very old when I knew him,” Eric said. “No doubt his parents had died long ago.”

  “But surely he spoke of them,” Duncan continued. “Or of his brothers, sisters... Cousins. Anyone?”

  “He was a very private man,” Eric said.

  “Are you sure he is even from the Turin Mountains?” Duncan dared to ask.

  “That’s ridiculous. Of course he was Turin,” Eric scolded Duncan.

  “You yourself lived amongst the Rone for five years,” Duncan pointed to Eric. “You fooled everyone into thinking you were of our race.”

  “That was five years, and it wasn’t easy. Argos lived among us for as long as I can remember. Since I was a child. That’s almost forty years.”

  “Eric, calm yourself,” Rajani said. “We are speculating, and out of our element. Duncan, Landora, you think you know where to go next?”

  Landora explained that they would go to Aceley, far in the north, to seek the source of Argos’ power, however dangerous that might be. Eric agreed to Shadow them over, as soon as they had rested, eaten, and dressed appropriately.

  ---

  Duncan and Sir Noble scoured the armory. Rajani had permitted them to take anything they felt they needed for their quest. Duncan was eyeing a well-balanced sabre. Sir Noble inspected some of the blades, but found them all inferior to his personal sword.

  Landora entered the room, heading straight for the longswords. She glanced sideways at Noble.

  “You shouldn’t wear that when we go north,” she said of his scale armor.

  “Why not?”

  “The metal will not do well in the cold.”

  “The Regent is giving us all wool cloaks,” Duncan interjected.

  “Still, leather will protect you nearly as well, and it will move better in the cold. And probably keep you warmer still.”

  “I will consider it,” Noble said, before stomping off, leaving the Turin weapons behind.

  “I was trying to be helpful,” Landora protested in her own language, comparing several swords side-by-side.

  “I know,” Duncan said. “He’s just used to doing things a certain way.”

  “You call him ‘Noble.’ Which is your word for ‘high-born?’”

  “That’s his name, yes.”

  “And it is also your word for ‘valiant?’” Landora asked, selecting a longsword with an ivory handle.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, which is he?”

  “I have to wonder why you’re asking.”

  Landora matched her new sword with a proper sheath. She then took Duncan’s blade from his hand.

  “You don’t want this one,” Landora said, moving along the wall to find a better match for him. “I have practiced with it. The handle comes loose.”

  “Landora,” Duncan pressed. “Why are you asking about Sir Noble?”

  “It is hard,” she admitted. “My sister and I were very close. When Sandora died, my family spoke curses at the people of Rone. And when we heard the legend of Sir Noble... At the time I didn’t know your language, so I didn’t know what the word meant... But when I did learn, it confused me. The man who killed my sister... My dear, sweet Sandora, who taught me to use a sword, who trained at my side when we were younger...”

  Landora lost her train of thought, staring off at the pile of weapons. She selected a sturdy broadsword and handed it to Duncan.

  “This is heavier than I’m used to,” Duncan protested, handing it back. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Landora threw the sword back on the pile, sifting through the other options. “Is he high-born or valiant?”

  “He is valiant,” Duncan said, “Or what passes for valiant amongst my people.”

  “You understand, don’t you?” she said, staring into his eyes. “How that is hard for me to hear. That my sister, who was good in my eyes, that her death is celebrated?”

  And Duncan could see her pain. For though she maintained her ever-stoic demeanor, a part of her cried out. A part of her reached through her stern expression and her cold brown eyes and demanded to be heard.

  “I understand,” Duncan admitted. “Let me tell you a story. About Countess Vye.”

  “You knew her?”

  “I worked for her. And she told me about her final encounter with Argos. About when she killed him. I hope you don’t mind hearing the tale.”

  “I hate Argos. He has besmirched the reputation of the Turin people.”

  “Well, Vye was fighting him, right at the Lunapera, and she said she had a chance to kill him. A chance to end the bloody conflict he had started.”

  “And so she did. I know the tale.”

  “Well, this is a part she doesn’t often speak of, and very few know. In order to kill him, she had to reach into the dark recess of her magic. Very likely the same source that Argos was using himself, and had taught the other Turin-Sen. She said for that moment, she became a creature of vengeance. She didn’t recognize her own mind, she was so filled with rage.”

  “We are all overcome with emotion sometimes.”

  “But Countess Vye was the best of us. And even she wasn’t proud of how she defeated her worst enemy.”

  “I see your point.”

  Landora selected a longsword from the pile, testing its balance and handing it to Duncan.

  “Try this one.”

  Duncan swung it around a few times with a satisfying whistle cutting through the air. Perfect.

  “I like this one,” Duncan commented, “Even though I never trained with the longsword.”

  “Well, that one was specially made. It’s my old practice sword. Balanced for me when I was younger.”

  “How much younger?”

  “Nine summers old,” Landora commented. “So, about right for your skill set.”

  And the corner of her lips curled up into a smirk. Duncan nodded.

  “Sounds right.”

  ---

  And so Duncan, Landora, Noble, and Nuria stood on the second balcony, wool coverings over their clothes, packs with food and water on their backs. Eric and Rajani met them there. The Turin procession would be leaving from the very same spot less than an hour later.

  “I will open the Shadow door to Aceley,” Eric explained. “Because I am not familiar with the area, I am placing you on the docks outside their largest city, which was the only place I could scry from here.”

  “We are ready to depart,” Landora called.

  Eric chanted, and slowly a line of smoke rose from the ground. It expanded, forming a full circle. When the portal was stable, Landora stepped through, followed by Nuria and Noble. Duncan took a deep breath, ready to face the dangers that awaited him...

  And he stepped through.

  Chapter 26: The Peace Festival

  Emily Brimford was surprised to find the Baron Dubon von Wrims already on the Terrace. She had expected, at this early hour of the morning, to find only solitude. But for some reason, she was glad to find him there. His presence comforted her.

  “Good morning, Baron,” Emily said.

  “Good morning, My Lady,” he answered, though his voice seemed a bit low. He cleared his throat. “My apologies,” he added. “Zis early in the morning…”

  “Of course,” Emily said, wondering if he had just been crying.

  “What brings you out here in zee morning mists?” he added in his normal voice a moment later.

  “I just like this part of the Castle,” she said. “When I was a girl, I would stand on the edge and pretend I was out on an adventure, out at sea.”


  “I have never much liked boats myself,” the Baron said.

  “You’ve done so much traveling,” Emily pointed out.

  “Indeed, but only to escape my grief. Under normal circumstances, I would have been happier in my house.”

  “Grief does strange things to us all.”

  “If I am not intruding…” the Baron began. “Is it grief zat brings you out here?”

  “A little,” Emily said. “Also just nostalgia.”

  “You’re zinking of your brothers and sisters.”

  “And someone else.”

  “Ah, yes, zee man you mentioned. But you said zat was since zee Argosian War. And you are such a beautiful, young woman. Certainly ozzer men have courted you since.”

  “You’re too kind,” she said, blushing. “Yes, some men have tried to court me. But I was married for two years to a man I didn’t love before the War. And after the War, I found the man I had hoped to be with forever. And then he was taken from me. I just wasn’t receptive to other men’s advances.”

  “Oh, my poor dear,” the Baron said, coming up to her and patting her on the cheek. “You cannot live in such a state. For so many years. If zis man was such a one as you say, he would not wish you to be alone for his sake. He would want you to move on. Live your own life.”

  “I can’t,” Emily said, her voice cracking. “It’s so fucking unfair.”

  “I know,” the Baron said, hugging her. She hugged him back tightly, letting out a cascade of tears. “It is not fair,” the Baron said, patting her back. “But we still have lives to lead.”

  The sun peeked over the horizon, glinting over the edge of the Terrace, which really did give the impression of floating over the open sea. Emily and the Baron held their embrace for several minutes, just letting the comfort of each others’ arms do all the communicating they needed to do.

  Finally, Emily pulled out of the hug, her eyes watering but spent. She did not pull away though, and stayed in the Baron’s grasp. She looked into his eyes. The Baron, best she could remember, was about forty, but his eyes looked so young at the moment. The Baron felt young again, because he was looking into Emily’s eyes.

  They kissed, as they were required to do by the pain they were each feeling. Grief piled upon grief was confused with tenderness, and their lips locked with such desperation that, if either of them weren’t in the kiss, they would have advised the other against it. But then their lips discovered something else. Something other than grief or desperation. Something more elemental.

  Emily suddenly pulled away.

  “My Lady,” the Baron said, his face aghast, “I have offended you. My apologies.”

  “No,” Emily said, touching her lips.

  “What is wrong, My Lady?” the Baron said.

  “I don’t know,” she said, staring at the Baron. “But…”

  She caught Landos out of the corner of her eye, and in perfect synchronization, she and the Baron stepped apart and faced him. Landos cared little for the affairs of his castle, his own being the only exception.

  “The Council is meeting before the delegates arrive from the Turinheld,” Landos said. “Baron, you should join us in the greeting party.”

  Emily and the Baron pretended to be comfortable with the situation as they both returned to business, following Landos into the halls of the Castle.

  ---

  It had all been prepared in advance.

  The Queen stood front and center. Emily and James Avonshire to her left. Landos to her right. Vye was meant to be at his right, to even things out, but she was widely considered dead at the moment. Guards stood nearby but not at a threatening distance.

  Would they meet in front of the Queen’s pavilion? No. That would make the Rone seem too grand compared to the Turin. So they would meet in the jousting fields. But the barriers had been removed. The grounds cleaned and seeded. Arrangements of flowers added to give the decor a little flair.

  The smoking door would open to the south, so that the Regent, when she stepped through, would be facing her hosts. She was allowed to send Guards in first, per the arrangement. This was a Peace Festival, but the Turin felt no need to send the Regent in first through a blind door.

  Upon arrival, the Rone would play a traditional Turin melody, followed by the fanfare of the Queen. Landos would then present Queen Sarah to the Turin, and Orlean would present the Regent to the Rone. Even though the two had met many times before, while negotiating these very terms.

  Once the formal introductions were made and the crowd cheered, they were finally allowed to break script and speak like human beings.

  “Shall we adjourn to the banquet table?” Sarah said, “I will introduce you to the Prince, the future of our Kingdom.”

  “Lead the way,” the Regent waved her arms.

  ---

  The luncheon was uneventful, save that the Turin couldn’t understand why they needed so many pieces of silverware. Afterwards, they proceeded to the Hall of Saint Michael, to appreciate the many works of art. The Baron took the lead in the presentation.

  “And zis is a painting of zee Battle of Hartstone,” he waved the company over to the mural.

  “I see many Turin soldiers dying in that representation,” Eric commented.

  “Indeed,” the Baron replied, “As many did. But, if you would care to count, I made it a point with my artist zat’za same number of Rone and Turin soldiers would be depicted as dying. To show zee loss on both sides.”

  “A very enlightened approach,” Rajani commented.

  “Though not really fair, is it?” Sarah said under her breath.

  “What’s that, Your Majesty?” Rajani turned to her counterpart.

  “It’s just that you guys slaughtered a lot of our people, didn’t you?” Sarah spoke clearer now. “Soldiers, yes, but also our women and children. We lost three times as many as the Turin on that day.”

  “Your Majesty, it is in the spirit of Peace that we come here--” Rajani began, before Sarah cut her off.

  “It’s easy to have a spirit of Peace when you don’t have so many dead to bury.”

  “We lost many of our own in that War. And we are not proud of our aggression.”

  “Yet you still associate with those that started that War,” Sarah retorted, looking at Eric. “You didn’t think I knew, did you. You were the scribe, right here in Anuen, leading up to the War. A spy.”

  “Your Majesty,” Landos stepped forward.

  “No, let him answer,” Sarah insisted.

  “I was a spy amongst your people before the War,” Eric said. “And I did kill in the name of Argos, who I notice you did not represent in the painting...”

  “People tell me he was not in zee Battle at zee end,” Dubon commented.

  “Your Majesty,” Landos stepped between Sarah and the Turin delegation, facing her now. “Queen Sarah, are you feeling alright?”

  He looked into her eyes, trying with only an expression to show that he was, for this one brief second, her lover and not her servant. But the eyes that looked back at him were cold and distant. They showed no recognition of him. And it wasn’t like in the mornings, when she averted her gaze, to avoid giving their love away. It was as though no love had ever passed between them.

  “I am feeling a little faint,” Sarah admitted. “Perhaps I have become overexcited. My Apologies, Regent.”

  “Of course,” Rajani responded.

  “Lady Emily,” Landos waved to her, “Will you escort our guests to their quarters? Take some time to rest and situate yourselves. Our porters will fetch you for the banquet tonight.”

  “Of course,” Emily nodded. “Please, follow me this way.”

  Landos had some of the guards escort Sarah back to her chambers, to get some rest. Landos let everyone filter out of the room except for Dubon.

  “Baron,” Landos whispered to his compatriot, “I fear something is wrong with the Queen.”

  “How do you mean?” Dubon leaned in, keeping their voices to a minim
um.

  “I can’t be sure. We’ve prepared for this meeting for months. Years, really. I find it strange that she would have such a lapse in decorum.”

  “You and zee Queen are good friends, yes?”

  “Well, naturally, having been through so much together...”

  “I have noticed zis. Zat she is usually comforted by you. You make a good team.”

  “Thank you. I suppose that’s true, but...”

  “So, speak to her on the matter. She will open up to you.”

  Landos contemplated this advice. Seemed simple, though perhaps that also made it right.

  “I’m not sure,” Landos stammered, “Our friendship has been...strained lately.”

  “Why so?”

  “Baron, I trust you, and I know you mean well, but there really are things I can’t tell you. Secrets that go beyond me.”

  “But if you cannot tell me, and you cannot tell zee Queen, who do you tell?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Here is an idea. When I traveled abroad, I wrote many letters to my wife and children. But I never delivered zem. And zen I learned zat she had died. My little ones too. But I kept writing zee letters. And when I killed zat man, I wrote a letter to my wife. And found redemption, even zough she would never read it.”

  “These secrets, I can’t have them lying around. They are very, very dangerous.”

  “Zen here is what we will do. When everyone is settled, come to my quarters. I have good parchment, yes, for my records. You can write a letter zere. Write to zee Queen, as your friend. And zen we will burn zee letter in zee fireplace immediately after. How is zat, hmm?”

  “Thank you, Baron,” Landos nodded. “Even if you can’t read what I write, it is comforting to have a friend like you. Someone who won’t judge me.”

  “Of course.”

  The Baron shuffled away. Landos turned back to the Statue of Saint Michael. The glittering eyes of the marble face gleamed down on him. He almost felt like Michael was there, watching him. Judging him.

  “I’m sorry,” Landos whispered to the Statue. Then he felt ridiculous. And he left.

  Chapter 27: The Army of Grimsor