A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)

by Daniel Antoniazzi

  “Landora! Nuria! Get out of here!” Eric shouted.

  Landora helped Nuria to her feet, racing to the Gate. Once they were clear, he could see his true enemy. Not the volcano, but Helios, who, with the power of the fire of the sun, had urged the mountain to explode. The evil mage hovered high in the air, summoning a storm of lava from the bowels of the earth.

  Eric knew he was out of time. But he also knew Helios was in deep concentration. He would never be more vulnerable.

  “Archers!” Eric shouted, pointing up at the hovering mage, “Shoot him out of the sky.”

  The ground shook. The fiery rain stormed down on everyone. But there were still more than a hundred archers, and they had still been practicing for years. They shot a volley up at Helios. He ignored them. Arrows had never hurt him before. Why would they hurt him now?

  But the Turin archers hadn’t used their regular arrows. They always carried one flammable arrow in their fletchers. Usually, someone would have to walk around with a torch to light all the points. But the volcano made it much easier. As each arrow rose into the thick, heated air, they blazed to light.

  Now Helios knew he was in trouble. He put up his defenses, preparing to deflect the burning ammunition. But Eric had counted on that. He knew that a hundred flaming arrows would distract his enemy. Eric sent a jet of magma flying at Helios’ head from the other direction.

  Helios deflected the arrows with one hand, holding up his magical barrier as best he could. He stretched out his other hand, instinctively hoping to deflect the stream of fiery death...

  And that’s when he remembered he didn’t have another hand. It was the limb Vye had severed. The one he had never bothered to replace.

  The slag torrent connected with Helios. He had survived two thousand years as a villainous mage. He had waited patiently, honing his skills, until he could release his Master. He had brought Grimsor back to this world, hoping to share in the spoils of the coming war.

  But instead, he was turned to ashes and scattered in the currents of the blazing heat.

  Eric smiled at his enemy’s demise, even though the Gate was now closed. He collapsed to the ground, utterly spent. And then the ground below him cracked open, and he was swallowed into the gaping maw of the hungry fire.

  ---

  Duncan helped Landora to her feet, relieved to see Nuria cradled under her protective arms. The Gate closed behind her and the smoke faded away.

  “We made it!” Landora shouted.

  “Not quite yet,” Duncan warned.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, but didn’t need him to answer. Because she saw it. The Tidal Wave that was rising over Anuen. A hundred feet high and climbing. And on the crest of the waves, just behind the crushing surge, Grimsor’s invasion fleet.

  “We have to evacuate the city!” Nuria cried out.

  “It’s too late,” Duncan said, “That wave will kill everyone for miles and miles.”

  Even the Council, standing awake on the parapet of the Castle, was frozen. What could they do? The fate of Anuen was sealed. They were all destined for a watery grave...

  Chapter 54: The Spring Festival

  Nineteen Years Ago...

  It had been a year since Michael’s parents had returned to Hartstone. Michael and his father had entered a truce. A detente. Civility during meals and formal events. Complete isolation at all other times. Even sailing to Ralsean, they managed to avoid each other entirely except for supper.

  The Stormbearer was taking Michael, his parents, and members of the court to the Spring Festival, an event Count Ralsean failed to make annual. Still it was enjoyable. Bards singing tales, dancers in flamboyant decor, even Flopson was there, entertaining the children. Michael stopped to enjoy the show. Landos stepped up beside him.

  “Thanks for letting me into the painting,” Landos said.

  “You deserved it,” Michael said. “How’s our clown doing?”

  “Pretty good, I gotta say,” Landos replied.

  At the moment, Flopson was juggling a bevy of colored balls in front of a small crowd of children.

  “I can’t find the blue one,” he proclaimed. Every time he said it, the kids would shout out, “There it is!” But as soon as they did, it would disappear again, and Flopson would look at them, brow furrowed, “Where? I don’t see it.” And they would laugh.

  “Somebody must have stolen it,” the juggler said. “Who took my blue balls?”

  At this, the adults all giggled. The kids, not getting the joke, really, laughed instead at the man’s crumpled face, who seemed to be looking very hard for his lost ball.

  “Did you take my blue ball?” the juggler asked of Gareth Vye, the oldest of the Vye brothers.

  “No,” he protested, staunchly.

  “How about you?” the juggler asked, approaching an awkward young girl. She was eleven, at best. Gawky. Like she hadn’t quite grown into her body yet. “What’s your name?”

  “Sarah” she mumbled, as though she was embarrassed to have a name. Michael then identified her as the youngest of Count Ralsean’s children.

  “You didn’t take my ball, did you?” the juggler asked, sweetly.

  “No,” the girl said, as though offended by the accusation.

  “Do you know who did?”

  “Why would I know?”

  “Let me tell you a secret,” Flopson said and leaned in to whisper in Sarah’s ear. Michael was astounded that he kept juggling the rest of his balls while doing all that leaning and whispering.

  “No he didn’t,” Sarah objected, red-faced at being the center of so much attention.

  “I think he did,” Flopson said, then turned sternly to Michael. His expression was very odd, as though he really were a master inquisitor, the illusion only broken by his ridiculous garb and juggling.

  “So you think, just because you’re going to rule all of Deliem, that you can take my blue ball?”

  Michael didn’t know what Flopson was getting at, but he decided to play along.

  “That’s ridiculous, I didn’t--”

  “Sarah thinks you did,” the jester continued. He winked at the girl, then turned sternly back to Michael.

  “Let me see something,” he said, and leaned in closer. “Open your mouth.”

  Michael looked from side to side, then opened his mouth. Flopson leaned in, now juggling all the balls with his left hand while his right hand produced an eye glass. He peered into Michael’s mouth.

  He then suddenly leaned back and coughed, “Had a bit of the garlic bread today, did we?”

  This garnered a laugh from everyone, including Michael.

  “Now, I think I see the problem,” the jester said. “I’m just going to need you to open your mouth one more time…and…” the man reached his hand into Michael’s mouth. Michael suddenly felt that his mouth was full, and the jester removed a blue juggling ball, “…there we have it!”

  The audience applauded as the jester added the blue ball back to the mix. “Thank you, thank you! My name is Flopson, the Magnificent, but you can just call me Magnificent, if that’s easier to remember.” Another slight chuckle. “And now, a reward for the girl who helped me find my missing ball.”

  Flopson continued to juggle, non-stop, until he was next to Sarah again. Then, he caught each ball, one by one, until only the blue ball was left in the air. Faster than the eye could see, he reached up with his free hand and nabbed the ball, but when his hand came to a rest, it was instead holding a little rose.

  “This is for you,” Flopson said. “Remember, when you’re older, that I was the first one to give you a rose.” Flopson winked, the audience awwwwed, and the show continued. Sarah smiled. And she had a pretty smile, even at that age. Michael and Landos weren’t paying attention to her. Not in that way. But that was where that smile was born.

  Flopson put away his gear as the crowd dispersed. Michael and Landos approached the jester, clapping their own personal applause.

  “Well done,” Michael said. “H
ow did you get so good at those tricks?”

  “Practice,” was all Flopson could say.

  “Must have been a lot of practice,” Landos commented.

  “You have no idea,” Flopson said, skewing slightly darker than his usual sense of humor. But he quickly righted the ship. “Your Mom also helped me get really good at handling my balls.”

  “Very funny,” Landos sneered, but it was all in good fun.

  “Looks like you have a visitor,” Flopson said to Michael, and with a flick of his eyes, he pointed over Michael’s shoulder.

  Michael turned around to see Lady Vivian. She was heavier than he remembered. And her bosom, already the subject of many conversations around Castle Hartstone, was somehow even more pronounced now. Of course, the small boy she held in her arms might have explained all that.

  Michael tried desperately to gauge the boy’s height and weight. How old was that child? Two months? Four? Five? Michael realized he had no idea what a baby looked like at any given age.

  “I just wanted to say that he really enjoyed your show,” Vivian told Flopson, referring to what was clearly her son. Never had an infant so taken after his mother in appearance as this kid.

  “Thank you,” Flopson rejoined, “And I would love to enjoy this show...” he continued, referring to the impending reunion between Michael and Vivian, “But I think I’ll leave you two alone.”

  And with that, he and Landos traipsed off to join any festivity that was miles away from there.

  “How are you?” Michael asked.

  “He’s not yours,” Vivian said, almost too quickly. “If you were wondering.”

  “I was,” Michael said. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Vivian said. “He’s only two months old. I don’t know if you know how all that stuff works, but he couldn’t--”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Michael said. “I went to the Academy. I know how...that stuff works.”

  “How’s your father?” Vivian asked, just before realizing it was the wrong question to ask. “Never mind. I don’t even really want to know.”

  “I umm...” Michael said, “I haven’t really been... I haven’t heard any news from Arwall. Who’s the... Who did you marry, in the end?”

  “Lord Kelliwick,” she blurted out, as though proud. “He’s a good man. Terrible at math, but he’s funny. And he’s really good at not being an asshole.”

  Michael nodded. He deserved that one.

  “Well, sorry about that. About being really good at being an asshole.”

  The boy in her arms tugged at her nose, as though that was his newest toy and he wanted it all for himself.

  “What’s that?” Vivian said, in the silly voice we all use when speaking to infants, “You want my nose? But you already have a nose. What are you going to do with a second nose, huh? Huh?”

  And then she smothered the child with kisses. And Michael smiled, because whatever else he was feeling, he could tell that Vivian loved this child, and that she would be an excellent mother.

  “Anyway,” Michael said. “It’s good to see you. You look great.”

  “Oh, please, I’m fat and old.”

  “You’re beautiful. Anyone says otherwise, I want you to send me a message, and I’ll come over and beat them up.”

  “I could beat you up,” Vivian retorted, but she smiled.

  “Well, I’ll hire someone to beat them up, anyway.”

  “Thanks.”

  For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, not knowing what to say. In their world, it was as likely as not that this would be the last time they would see each other. And there might have been nothing left to say, but how could anyone ever be sure?

  “Well, I should get back to my father,” Michael said, knowing that was the wrong thing to say.

  “Yeah, I have to go,” Vivian said, ignoring his gaffe. They smiled awkwardly, and turned to leave.

  As Vivian strolled off, she cooed at her child, smiling with a secret, “Thank Halinor he doesn’t know the difference between a two month old and a four month old, does he? No he doesn’t. No he doesn’t.” The baby tugged at her hair, as though it was even more novel than her nose.

  “Let go of Mommy’s hair,” Vivian said, gently removing his clutched fingers from her head. “Don’t worry, Duncan, you’ll have hair soon enough.”

  Chapter 55: The Goddess of Storms

  The wind whipped through Duncan’s hair. He felt the mist spray across the beach. The western horizon was gone, blocked by the tidal wave. He thought they had rescued the Turin army. Or most of it anyway. Yet all they had managed was to delay their deaths. Now they would perish on the shores of Anuen, wiped away with the angry sea...

  Of course, they wouldn’t be alone. The Rone army turned their backs to the sea when they saw the Turin army appear. The Rone thought they were betrayed again. They thought the Turin had arrived to block their retreat. Even a moment of consideration and they would have noticed that the Turin were going to suffer the same fate. But the fear had eaten away their will to consider anything.

  Duncan charged to the top of the nearest dune, hoping to be seen by as many as he could.

  “They’re not here to fight you!” he shouted, but his words were drowned out by the roaring sea.

  Nuria turned to Landora.

  “I need you to knock me out again!”

  “Now!?”

  “Yes!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There’s only one way--”

  And Landora knocked her out. She knew they didn’t have much time. The tsunami had started to lower. All of that potential energy, held so high above the city, was about to come crashing down...

  ---

  “Vye!” Nuria shouted. She was running through the Castle Hartstone. She hoped that Vye was sleeping at the moment. She hoped she could find her mentor.

  “Vye! We need you! Now!”

  Nuria ran through the corridors, but realized she wasn’t in the Castle Hartstone she knew and loved. Was it the House of Vye? No, Nuria had been there, too. She would have recognized it. This was the old Hartstone. The one from before the War.

  “Where are you!?” Nuria called out, scrambling through the unfamiliar halls. She ran up the stairs, to the balconies. She ran to the depths of the castle. To the forge...

  “There you are,” Nuria said. “What are you doing down here?”

  Vye was reclined on a chair, her fingers pinching her sinuses, as though she were fending off a headache.

  “An old friend used to live just under the forge,” Vye said. “I came here to think.”

  “This isn’t even the right Castle.”

  Vye looked around.

  “Huh? You’re right. Sorry, I’m exhausted. And I just found out some really...weird news.”

  “Well, look, we have a problem, and we need your help.”

  “What is it?”

  “A tsunami is about to wipe out Anuen. Armies from both the Rone and Turin are there. We’re out of time and out of options. You have to do something.”

  Vye sat up.

  “Fuck,” was all she managed.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Master Eric of the Turin-Guarde died. Vye, you’re the only one who can do anything.”

  “I have nothing left.”

  “You’ve been sleeping for weeks.”

  “And all that time, my mind was racing. Learning. Hiding. I’ve held up a falling tower, been stabbed in the back by my brother, and communed with the dead. I can try to teach you...”

  “There’s no time for teaching...”

  Indeed, even as they spoke, a light drizzle swept across the room. Even in the basement, below layers of imaginary stone, the water fluttered horizontally across the room, as though carried by a strong wind.

  “What’s going on?” Vye asked.

  “The water is coming. Even in this dream, I’m feeling it on my face. We’re all about to die. You have to s
ave us.”

  Vye stood up. Every muscle ached. Every ounce of her soul moaned. Even if she wanted to help, did she have anything left to give?

  “OK, I’m coming to save you,” Vye said. “Or at least I’m going to try. Show me where you are.”

  “What?” Nuria was confused.

  “Show me where you are, in real life, right now. If I can anchor myself in this dream, it’ll take less time and energy once I wake up.”

  Nuria imagined the beach where she knew her body was resting. She remembered the view she had, the position of the Castle relative to her. The direction of the Rone army and the Turin army. She made the picture as clear as she could.

  “Alright, I’m coming to you,” Vye said, “But this is important. You have to find Flopson.”

  “Who?”

  “Just ask anybody older than you. Flopson. The jester. He knows how to defeat Grimsor. And we need to find him. Now!”

  The wind kicked up, the rain pecking away at their faces. The cold woke them--

  ---

  Nuria snapped upright. Duncan helped her to her feet as a smoking door opened on the ledge beside her. And there was Vye. Still wrapped in bandages. Still recovering. But there.

  “Countess,” Duncan said, “Good to see you on your feet.”

  “Remember it well,” Vye said, “Because I don’t know how many more times that’s going to be the case.”

  She beheld the wall of water. The impending destruction of the capital and all those who lived in it. There was no way. Not a chance. She could not possibly contend with such a mighty force.

  But she sure as hell could try.

  She held out her left hand. The one she always used for her magic. The one with the veins of necrotic death crawling down her arm. The one in the gauntlet. She wasn’t even trying to do anything yet. She was just taking the ocean’s temperature. Feeling out the magical essence of the tidal wave.

  It was Selene. She recognized it right away. If she had time to think about it, it would have made sense. Helios, whose power was over the sun and fire, had set off the volcano. But Selene, whose power was that of the Moon, could change the tides of the ocean. And boy was she changing the tide here.