A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)

by Daniel Antoniazzi

  “You escaped two years ago...” Emily said, her voice even and fierce.

  “I couldn’t come to you. You understand that, right? I had a mission. I had to stop Landos first. Then I could return to you. But not before. I had to be a Man of the Kingdom.”

  “King Michael used that same expression.”

  “I was borrowing. Emily, I know all this is confusing, but can’t we just be together again?”

  “I just got over you. The Baron convinced me to get over you. I mean you convinced me... You get it, right?”

  “I just wanted to kiss you.”

  “No, that’s not it. You lied to me.”

  “I was playing a part.”

  “I never would have imagined you were capable of that level of deception. Part of what I loved about you was how honest you were.”

  “Honesty took me away from you,” Jareld said. “I couldn’t defeat Landos the way I used to be.”

  “I need time to think, Jareld. I’ve missed you for so long and I didn’t want to get over you, because missing you and loving you were the purest things I’ve ever felt. But finding out that you’ve become a manipulative prick is worse than finding your corpse.”

  “I’m sorry. I had to.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you. But even if you’re right... I’ve been dreaming, too, Jareld. For six years. I imagined that you would come riding up to the Castle one day. You were bruised and cut, and your hair was a mess, but you had just fought your way free of some brigands, or pirates, or something, and thank Halinor you were alive. And in my dreams you kissed me with such passion that you were knighted for that alone, and we were married and went off to live in the country, in a little house with a balcony overlooking the bay. Or sometimes fields of grass.

  “You are not the same man who appears in my dreams. I don’t know if I can love this version of you.”

  “I’m still me. Emily, please believe one thing. Whatever else has changed about me, I love you as much now as I ever have. And I’ll never hurt you.”

  “You already have,” Emily said, but her voice was cracking. “You should get to work. I’ll see you at the Council Meeting.”

  And she rushed out the broken door, not wanting to break down completely in front of him. Jareld was still for a moment. He had come so far, and overcome so much, and only now worried that his priorities might not have been set right.

  He reached for his parchment. He did have work to do. And once again, he had to put aside his feelings for Emily to get the job done.

  Chapter 42: A Memory of Fire

  Duncan, Landora, and Nuria entered the cave.

  The layout was familiar, though larger in scale. A pedestal in the center of the room, under a hole in the ceiling. Arcane symbols decorated every surface, from the walls to the edges of the steps.

  Landora felt a flash of fire in her brain. An echo, a memory of her encounter in the temple in the Turinheld. This was the place. There was no doubt. But it should have been more powerful. It should have been more dangerous. Yet even Duncan was able to keep his feet in here.

  “What are these symbols?” Nuria asked. “We saw something like this in the forest.”

  “It’s an ancient language,” Duncan said, “I recognize some of the characters. But it hasn’t been written or spoken in thousands of years.”

  “Can you read any of it?” Landora asked.

  “I can guess,” he knelt at one side of the pedestal, scanning over the strange symbols. He was drawing on a single class in ancient languages to try to read it. It was like playing charades with a drunk man.

  “OK, so this line says, ‘The Prince is dead,’ or possibly, ‘Then the Prince died.’ There are a couple of words I don’t know... Then it’s talking about a tomb, or a grave. In a distant land. And then the stone is cracked here--”

  “It’s cracked on all four sides,” Landora said. “Look. Each side of the pedestal has lettering. And they’re all broken.”

  “These cracks are old,” Duncan observed. “Except for the east side. This is less than a week old.”

  “It’s a prison,” Landora said.

  “What?” Duncan turned to her.

  “Nuria, run your hand along the crack in the stone,” Landora said. Nuria did so, and her eyes flashed open.

  “She’s right,” Nuria said. “These words... In the ancient language... They’re seals. Or they were. They’ve been broken.”

  “Whoever I saw,” Landora continued, “When I stepped on the pedestal in the Turinheld. The... creature. The beast. It was made of fire. Or at least that’s how it seemed in my mind. He was trapped here. And now he’s gone.”

  “What does the newest seal say?” Nuria asked.

  Duncan moved to the next engraving, “I can’t make it all out. It says something like, ‘The island sinks’ or, ‘Then the island sank.”

  “Sunk,” Landora corrected

  “Sanked?” Nuria tried.

  “Sank,” Duncan repeated, and then he realized. “Losmourne...”

  “The island?” Landora asked. “What of it?”

  “Just before we left Anuen, there were whispers that the island had disappeared. I chalked it up to drunk sailors starting a rumor. But if it’s true...”

  Duncan paced around the cave. Even if the writing wasn’t in a forgotten language, he could tell it was old. Older than the Kingdom of Rone. Possibly from before the people of Rone even came to their continent. And somebody had gone through the trouble of locking up this fearsome thing in this cave.

  And somebody else had gone through the trouble of letting it out. The same somebody (or somebodies) who attacked Vye in Deliem. Because Vye would be the only one who could stop it.

  Duncan knelt at the base of the dais. There was one character, written in the same language. Larger, bolder. An important symbol.

  “What does it say?” Nuria asked.

  “There’s no good translation. It represents half a thought. Or an unfinished phrase. Like it’s building to something.” And after a moment of thought, he added, “Landora, I need you to step onto the pedestal.”

  Landora glared at Duncan in disbelief.

  “I made that mistake once,” she protested, “And that was from a thousand miles away.”

  “I’m hoping that this creature is now a thousand miles away,” Duncan said. “And he was here for thousands of years. He must have left some kind of...magical residue. Something you could glean something from.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Landora said again.

  “She’s right,” Nuria said. “I could barely get her out last time. I’ll do it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Duncan dismissed her.

  “Landora is more powerful than I am,” Nuria explained. “If I get in trouble, she has a better chance of getting me out than I have of getting her out.”

  “You’re just a kid,” Duncan said.

  “You decided that Sir Noble could die because saving Landora was more important,” Nuria faced off against him. At this, Landora glanced at Duncan, but neither had a chance to say anything, “Now I’m telling you that it’s more important for Landora to stay back.”

  “Fine,” Duncan said. “But we’re taking some precautions.”

  They tied a harness around Nuria’s torso, a sturdy rope hooked to the back. Duncan held that rope tight, ready to yank her away at a moment’s notice. Landora stood at the ready, hoping to render whatever help she could to whomever needed it.

  And Nuria stepped onto the pedestal...

  ---

  The fire was everywhere. It was a familiar flame. A sharp, stinging memory. It was the same power that attacked Vye in Hartstone. The same one Landora struggled against in Argos’ temple in the Turinheld. It was strong and it was everywhere.

  But it was also faded. It was painful and difficult to endure, but it wasn’t as concentrated as it had been before. Like the leg of a table that rested in the same spot in the same dusty room for decades, when it was finally removed, it
left an impression. A clean square on the floorboards. There was clarity, but no power.

  But there were still eyes. And they were still looking at Nuria. She scoured the world of fire to seek it out. The creature. The being that had terrorized them. And there it was, searching her mind. And Nuria realized the door swung both ways. If it could look into her mind...

  She glared back at the monster, focusing on the fire in its eyes. She searched behind its eyes, trying to read the book it kept hidden there. She found sights and sounds, memories and dreams gathered over thousands of years, from places near and far. Lands and times forgotten, reborn for a glimpse of this demon’s remembrance.

  But one moment stood out to Nuria. A pivotal point in the landscape of his life. Before this moment, the world was a vast and unforgiving fire. After this point, the creature’s memories felt more like Nuria’s world. There was a moment of transition. When he went through a portal. A gateway...

  Nuria focused on that memory. She relived it, through his eyes, a hundred times in the blink of an eye. She studied it, examined it, collected small hints and clues each time. This was the answer. This was what he most remembered. And what he most feared...

  ---

  Nuria woke in the cold snow, just outside the cave. Landora and Duncan were looking her over.

  “What happened?” she mumbled.

  “You were writhing in pain,” Duncan said. “So we pulled you out.”

  “Your skin was burning up. We thought the cold might help you recover,” Landora explained.

  “Are you alright?” Duncan asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” Nuria said.

  “Did you see anything?” Duncan asked.

  “I know what we have to do to defeat this thing,” Nuria declared.

  “What?” Landora asked.

  “We have to open a portal,” Nuria said, “And send it back to the Abyss.”

  “And how do we do that?” Duncan asked.

  “That...” Nuria said, “I don’t know.”

  Chapter 43: Things to Talk About When Dining With the Queen

  The Council meeting went well. Jareld came in with his proposal, and everybody agreed to the terms. They seemed radical. They sounded preposterous. But they were fair, and they made sense, and nobody could deny that the Kingdom would be better off with them than they had been before.

  The Council would appoint a new High Magistrate. This person would have the authority of the King in all domestic issues, but would need the Council to approve any major changes in taxes or in declarations of war. The Magistrate would serve for exactly one year, and then, the Kingdom of Rone would hold elections for the new King.

  That took hours of debate. Nobody liked the idea of commoners voting for a King. The King was appointed by divine right. Bloodlines and all that. But Jareld pointed out that the bloodline of the Kings had dissolved. All that was left was for them to look forward.

  It wasn’t the most egalitarian election system ever. Only those who held the rank of Knight or higher got a vote. What’s more, Knights only got one vote, but Barons got three, Counts five, and Dukes eight. Like the Turin, they would hold elections once every ten years.

  Jareld declared that because he was the one who wrote the document, he would be ineligible to be the new Magistrate or to be elected King. Also, whoever was appointed as the Magistrate would be ineligible to become the King. These failsafes were there to prevent anyone from grabbing power.

  “Why are you doing this to yourself?” James Avonshire asked during the meeting. “We would probably all have voted you in as the Magistrate.”

  “He’s trying to appear modest,” Emily said, her tone flat. And the veiled insult ringing loud and clear.

  “On the contrary,” Jareld said. “If I become the magistrate, my legacy will last for one year. If I write the document that dictates how our land is governed for generations to come, my legacy will last for centuries.”

  The Council approved Jareld’s plan. They would meet the following morning to decide who would be the new Magistrate. But in the meantime, there was a formal brunch to attend, the end of the Peace Festival. The Council would be expected, and they had to come up with an excuse for Landos’ absence. Fast.

  ---

  The Turin were already asking questions, since they had heard a commotion that morning. Guards and Council Members running around the Castle, doors being knocked over with statues. The Turin didn’t know what kind of trouble they were in, so they sent most of their delegation back to the Turinheld, just to be safe. Only the Regent, Master Eric, and Orlean remained in Anuen. But they demanded to know what had happened.

  Emily was the one who came up with the answer: Landos had fallen over, breaking his leg very badly. Unfortunately, he had been behind a locked door when this happened, so they had to break into the room to get to him. They apologized for the confusion.

  “It seems silly now, doesn’t it?” she said to the Regent. “We should have sent someone to tell you what happened. We were just so caught up in the emergency that it never occurred to us.”

  “It is quite alright,” the Regent responded, translated through Orlean. “I hope he is resting.”

  “He is,” Emily lied, “And they said he should not be disturbed. So we apologize for his absence. The Baron von Wrims will take his seat at the table.”

  “Is the Queen still planning to attend?” the Regent demanded.

  “Of course,” Emily snapped back, a little too quickly for her own taste. In truth, she was uncomfortable about the Queen being at the brunch. Emily and James were the ones who went up to Sarah’s room to tell her about Landos’ death. And she barely responded. The Prince cried, and Sarah comforted him. But there was no emotion in Sarah’s eyes.

  Emily supposed that the Queen was mourning in her own way. That perhaps she wanted to put on a strong face. To do her crying in private. But it didn’t...feel right. Sarah didn’t respond with shock or denial. She simply nodded.

  The Queen had also not been on her best behavior during the Peace Festival. Emily was sure something was wrong. But so many things were wrong, and Emily had so much on her mind, that the danger didn’t register. The Turin delegation would be leaving in a few hours. Once they were out of Anuen, then Emily, and Sarah for that matter, could deal with the mess.

  Emily thought the worst part of the brunch would be seeing Jareld dressed up as the Baron. Bad enough they were hiding the death of the Magistrate. Bad enough they were keeping up the charade that Prince William was of the Royal Bloodline. Now the Council had to pretend Jareld was Count von Wrims, even though they all knew that man was dead.

  But Jareld’s disguise wasn’t the worst part of the brunch...

  ---

  “Her Majesty, Queen Sarah Rone,” the herald announced.

  Sarah felt herself walk into the Dining Hall. It had taken three hours to dress her. It was supposed to look effortless, but it wasn’t. A shimmering white gown with a flower on the shoulder. Her hair up in stylish design. Sarah didn’t know why she was dressed in white. But she knew it had to be white. For some reason.

  She felt her feet carry her up to the main table. Raised on a platform, so that the entire Hall could see her sitting beside the Regent. Symbolically eating a meal together at the end of a Peace Festival. That image would carry the people of Rone into a future where there were no wars between their peoples.

  But Sarah knew something was wrong. For days, she had been watching a performance. A play in which the main character was her own body. But Sarah didn’t know what that character was going to do next. It was a puppet show. Somebody was letting her watch. A voyeur on her own life.

  She had insulted the Regent and the Turin people during the visit to the Hall of Saint Michael. She had heard that Landos was dead, but could not cry. Not only could she not cry, she was having trouble feeling anything. His death should have destroyed her. And instead she sat at the main table in the Dining Hall, waiting to see what she would do next.

&nbs
p; “Regent,” she said, “Today is our last meal as a part of this Festival. But I hope there are many to come in the future of our friendship.”

  That was right. That was part of the script. Part of the script that Landos and Duncan and Rajani and everyone had worked out. Sarah wanted to say that, even though she had no control over the words. But it wasn’t her will that made her say it. It was...something else.

  “Your Majesty,” Rajani said in her own language, as Orlean translated, “Vengeance is mine.”

  And the Regent lifted the steak knife and stabbed the Queen in the heart.

  Sarah saw Rajani’s hand move to the knife. She saw the Regent stand and turn. She saw the knife coming down on her chest. But for some reason, Sarah couldn’t move. She was frozen. Paralyzed. Whatever was making her act the way she was acting, say the things she had said, it also stole her ability to defend herself.

  The Regent had no expression on her face. Sarah stared up at the Turin woman as the knife came down again and again, shredding her dress and her skin. Sarah pleaded with her eyes, since her arms and legs would not make any move to shield her body. And Sarah could see in Rajani’s eyes that the Turin leader was in the same position. Someone or something had taken her body. And only the two of them knew.

  As the blood splattered over both Sarah and Rajani, over the porcelain plates, and the starched-white napkins, Sarah’s mind came back to her. But her body was so far gone, she couldn’t move anymore. So all she could do was spend her last breath on one word...

  “Michael...”

  Chapter 44: The Apology

  Twenty Years Ago...

  Michael went down to the docks when he heard Lady Vivian was leaving the city. He rode his horse up to her carriage. A valet was getting her bags and a young dockhand was helping them load her things on a yacht. She saw Michael and turned away, averting her eyes as an insult.

  “Lady Vivian,” Michael called, “Where are you going?”