A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)

by Daniel Antoniazzi

  Two of the aquatic humans floated over to the newcomers, a man and a woman. They wore flowing robes that billowed in the watery breeze.

  “We never have visitors. Welcome to Benthos,” the man proclaimed in the Rone language. Of course, that was ridiculous, since the society who had dreamt up this place died off before the modern language of Rone existed. But in dreams, we do not speak in words. We share ideas.

  “You’ve never had visitors?” Landora asked. And she was also speaking in Rone, though without an accent or in stilted words. Duncan realized he was hearing what she meant to say, not the words she had used.

  “Only once,” the woman admitted. “But he has been here so long, we think of him as our brother.”

  “Flopson?” Duncan asked.

  “We know him only as the Crabby Hermit,” the man explained. “He likes to be left alone, on the edge of the city.”

  “Can you take us to him?”

  ---

  There was no real travel time. One moment, they were being greeted at the gates of Benthos, the next they were at the entrance to a cave. Again, Duncan noticed that some of the guards vanished, while others arrived. It was very hard to keep everyone focused.

  “I’m worried,” Landora whispered to Duncan. “With so many guards coming and going, at least one of them will end up dreaming alone. That means Grimsor can turn him, and that means he can find us.”

  “I know,” Duncan responded. “We just have to move fast.”

  They swam into the cave. Once inside, they could see that the cave had a sunroof, allowing a single beam of light straight into the middle of the room. Like a spotlight. The rest of the place was dark.

  “This is where we leave you,” the aquatic man said.

  “We do not wish to disturb the Hermit,” the woman added, and they both swam off. For a moment, nobody said anything.

  “Flopson,” Jareld called out.

  “Hey, Matey!” Corthos added, “Be you within these walls?”

  A gentle laugh echoed through the darkness.

  “Flopson?” a voice said, “What a silly name.”

  It was him. Jareld recognized the voice by its pitch and timber. But the way he spoke was alien to the historian. Flopson had never carried so much gravitas in his words.

  “But it is a name you go by,” Jareld called out. “Or at least, you did for a time.”

  “Once upon a time, we all had different names,” the voice that was Flopson said. “For once you were a worm, and once she was a star, and some of you have been the better part of a rock.”

  “I already took a philosophy class Flopson,” Jareld said. “How about you come out and face me?”

  “Only if you ask for me by name.”

  “I only know one name for you: Flopson.”

  “That is not my name.”

  “Then what is your name?”

  “No, no, no. I will not tell. That is a secret I have kept for many centuries.”

  “Very well,” Jareld said, pacing. “Perhaps I don’t know your name. But perhaps I know who you are.”

  “How can you know who I am without knowing my name?”

  “Name’s are just shorthand for a person. I’ll tell you a story. The long story...

  “You lived some two thousand years ago. On a continent far from Rone. And you knew a man named Johann Frost. And together, you faced the greatest evil the land has ever known. Together, you faced Grimsor.”

  The room quaked at the mention of the demon’s name.

  “Fool!” Flopson’s voice called from the darkness. “Do not utter his name. He is already looking for you. And looking for me. Calling to him only brings him closer.”

  Duncan ordered the guards to keep watch outside the cave. He told them not to engage with Grimsor, as they would be helpless against him, but to warn the others if he came close.

  “Sorry,” Jareld said. “But you’ve been hiding too long. He’s returned, and we have to fight him now.”

  “You can’t fight him,” Flopson called out. “He is indestructible. Your blades and arrows will bounce off him like droplets of water.”

  “Right,” Jareld said. “We can’t fight him. We can only trap him or banish him. And you succeeded at the first part. You and Frost trapped him. But then you needed time. Because the only power strong enough to banish him to the Abyss was time.”

  “Who has that kind of time to wait?” Flopson mused.

  “And you were left alone to carry the burden. Frost and all your other companions died. How did you learn to live so long?”

  “Good eating and exercise.”

  “Flopson, be serious.”

  “I can’t be serious. I’m insane. And I’m not Flopson.”

  “So some magic then? You and your peers could conjure demons and construct spells of epic strength. Immortality couldn’t be that far off.”

  “Immortality?!” Flopson’s voice mused. “No, my dear boy. Longevity. Perhaps I could have done either, but they both have their price. And the upgrade from Longevity to Immortality wasn’t worth the service fee.”

  “But there was still a price? Seeing your friends die? Outliving your children?”

  “My friends had already died. And I cannot have children. Or, at least, I haven’t been able to since my transformation. Believe me, I tried.”

  “Then the price was your mind...” Jareld concluded.

  “There you go!” the voice of Flopson rejoined. “Give the man a prize!”

  And he stepped into the light.

  It was Flopson. Or, at least, it was the body and face of the man some of them knew as Flopson. But he stood up straight. And he wore a brown robe, with a belt and boots. His hair was short and dark. But the mischievous smile was still plastered on his face.

  “I had to remember,” Flopson said. “I had to remember until it was time to forget. And they’ll let you remember, but you end up remembering everything. All of it. Two thousand years of names and places and things. I can tell you the order of moves of every chess game I’ve played, ever. I can tell you how many days I owned each pair of boots I’ve ever worn. And the human brain isn’t made for that.”

  Another rumble echoed through the room. Bigger, closer, and louder. Grimsor was close.

  “So now, if you want me to remember something, I’ll just have to tell you everything. EVERYTHING!”

  Flopson yelled, jumping in Jareld’s face. Jareld recoiled, instinctively. There was no mistaking the madness in his eyes.

  “When my mind began to slip, I hid a part of it here. Deep under the ocean. Waiting in a living dream. My waking body can’t comprehend everything he knows or does. He can only see one piece of the puzzle at a time. I had hoped to keep this part of my mind safe. Protected. Sane.”

  He started to laugh, the least comforting laugh in the history of mental breakdowns.

  “Looks like it didn’t work huh?!” he said, slapping Jareld on the shoulder, like he was delivering a punchline.

  “We need you to remember something,” Jareld said. “Just one thing. How do we defeat Grimsor?”

  “You can’t.”

  “You just said, we can banish him.”

  “Hypothetically. Suppositionally. Abstractly. Theoretically, you could indubitably endeavor to ostracize and extradite the offending hellion. But if you do, it will have to be without my help.”

  “How so?” Jareld pressed.

  “He’s here!” a guard yelled, as the lookout fled back into the room. Landora arranged everyone to bottleneck the entrance, hoping to give Jareld as much time as they possibly could.

  “Flopson! Tell me why you can’t help!”

  “We trusted in steel and blood. A spell works best if the energy is collected in two parts. We put one in the steel. We put the other in the blood. When the two meet, they will release the energy.”

  “So, what’s wrong? What steel? Who’s blood?”

  Rocks cracked over the entrance into the cave. Grimsor was punching his way in, breaking the ba
rrier wide enough for his massive frame.

  “The steel is easy,” Flopson said, as though nothing were happening, “The Saintskeep, silly. The Sword of Kings wasn’t meant to be the Sword of Kings. It was just a vessel. A magically imbued clump of metal.”

  The stones exploded into the cave, and there stood Grimsor, the fire on his horns burning despite the water. A stream of hissing steam bubbled up from the top of his head. Behind him, an army. Some of them his people. Some of them Rone and Turin soldiers. Men and women who had been in the dream.

  “Keep talking,” Jareld urged Flopson.

  “The blood is lost. The oldest son of the oldest son of, well, you get it. Etc. Etc. Rone. We picked him. A strong leader. His family ruled over the old continent. And when the people fled to the continent you now call home, we had to make sure his family survived. And he ‘discovered’ the sword again, with a little encouragement from yours truly.”

  “So if an heir of Rone the Great wields the Saintskeep, he can banish Grimsor?”

  “Stop saying his name.”

  “He’s already here.”

  “To answer your question, yes. If there were any male heirs left, he could stab Grimsor with the sword. It won’t kill him, but it will release the energy for the portal. Then you would need someone to shape the spell. Not hard. There’ll be plenty of energy. I always expected to do it myself but, you know...”

  “You’re insane?”

  “That’s the one!”

  Behind them, the battle was going very poorly, very quickly. Duncan’s soldiers were wiped out in seconds. Did they die? Wake up? He couldn’t be sure. The mages all attacked Grimsor, but even in the Dreamscape, his skin was impenetrable. There was no contending with him.

  “We have to wake up!” Duncan yelled to Landora. “We can’t do anything here.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Landora said. She swam back into the cave, aiming for the darkest, deepest corner. If she could will herself to dream, could she will herself awake? There was no way to know...

  ---

  Landora stumbled awake on the dais. Below her, Duncan and the others remained snoozing away. She ran to wake them up. She jostled Duncan...

  ---

  Duncan faded away from the dream, just as Grimsor was about to split him in half with his sword. Nuria panicked. Had Duncan just died? Woken up?

  Emily vanished. There was no time to think. Nuria fled back into the cave, to Jareld and Flopson. But then Jareld faded away. She froze, unsure of what to do next. The jester stood beside her...

  “What’s the matter, little girl?” Flopson asked, “Bad dream?”

  ---

  Landora sprinted down the corridor, legs pumping as fast as they could carry her. She was groggy, weary. It was almost worse to get a little sleep than it would have been to get none at all.

  She reached the balcony. She shook the Twins awake, one with each hand. She jostled Corthos...

  ---

  Nuria and Flopson backed further into the cave, watching as Xerxes, Xanathos, and Corthos all vanished, just as the others had. They were alone. And even though an army of enemies surrounded them, Grimsor stalked forward himself.

  “We meet again, little girl,” Grimsor’s voice echoed.

  “I take offense to being called a little girl,” Flopson said. Then added, “Oh, you meant her.”

  “I’ve met you before too, little man,” Grimsor taunted.

  “That’s better,” Flopson said. “Next time, if you’re not sure if I’m a man, just ask, and I’ll wag my genitals at you.”

  ---

  Duncan staggered through the halls. He had sent Landora to wake up the balcony, while he went to the mess hall to wake the last group. But it was a harder task than he had originally thought. Running, right after sleeping, right after not sleeping, right after running a battle, right after escaping a volcano, right after riding across the Turinheld, right after sailing down from Aceley... Not as easy as it might sound.

  He stumbled into the room to find many of the soldiers stirring. Some of them were still, and would never stir again. And there was Nuria...

  ---

  “Do not resist me now,” Grimsor said to Nuria. “You know I can cripple you with fear. Submit, and it will be without pain.”

  “I will not surrender,” she said. “I will destroy you.”

  “Yeah,” Flopson said, “What she said.”

  “How do you plan to defeat me? I am invincible.”

  Grimsor reached out his hand, closing in on Nuria...

  And then the room went dark. Something had blocked out the beam of light from the ceiling. It passed through the sunroof, and continued to descend. A human form. A woman.

  Vye.

  “Leave her alone,” Vye said as she landed on the sea floor. “This battle is between you and me.”

  “Witch!” Grimsor called. “You were defeated!”

  “No,” Vye said. “I was evaporated. Slight difference.”

  “Where have you been?” Nuria asked.

  “It’s not easy learning to exist as a non-corporeal entity,” Vye replied.

  “Listen, if you don’t need me here...” Nuria said.

  “Yeah, you should probably go.”

  And Nuria vanished. Vye turned to Flopson.

  “How about you?” she said.

  “I’ll stay here,” Flopson said. “I owe Grimsor one swift kick to the balls.”

  “He doesn’t have balls,” Vye pointed out.

  “Then I’ll just have to keep kicking until I hit something that hurts.”

  ---

  Nuria stirred awake. Duncan was elated to see her moving. He scooped her off the ground, hugging her.

  “Thank Halinor you’re alright,” Duncan said.

  “It was Vye,” she said. “She came to save me.”

  “In that case, thank Vye,” Duncan corrected.

  But the victory was short-lived. Landora came running in.

  “Duncan,” she said, “The enemy is back. They’re attacking the Castle again.”

  “Shit,” Duncan said. “Alright. Sound the alarms. Once more unto the beach, dear friends.”

  They ran out of the room to prepare the defenses.

  It was three-oh-five...

  Chapter 61: A Lesson In Fear

  There was no tidal wave this time.

  Grimsor had sailed his troops south, around the tip of the inlet, landing on the unguarded shores several miles from Anuen. His soldiers fell into rank and file and marched up to their target. This time, Grimsor would be there himself. There was no defeating him.

  But he wasn’t just with his army, on land. He was also in a dream. He was a creature of nightmares, and he could be in both places at once. Just as Vye had done in the first battle. He could fight on both fronts...

  ---

  “Insolent woman!” Grimsor called. “Your confidence is unfounded. I can destroy you here as easily as in the waking world.”

  “You never defeated Frost,” Vye pointed out.

  “He was a coward. He hid from me. But you come to face me. And now you die!”

  He struck forth, his serrated blade cutting through the water, closing in on Vye. She lifted her meager sword...

  And blocked.

  “This is not possible!” Grimsor said. “My weapon is superior. Nobody can withstand my attacks.”

  “It’s funny that you called Frost a coward,” Vye said, swinging her sword back at the towering beast, “Because I agree.”

  “But you do not disdain him for his cowardice?” Grimsor said, slicing across Vye’s body with his weapon. But Vye recoiled without a scratch.

  “No,” Vye said, “He did what he had to do. But now I have to do what I have to do. And I realized that you have never experienced fear.”

  “I am the master of fear!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Vye taunted him. “Sure, you can cause fear. But you don’t really know what it is.”

  She swung her sword at him, again and
again. He easily parried, but Grimsor wasn’t used to fighting anyone for more than one swing. Vye finished her barrage and continued...

  “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

  ---

  Grimsor made quick work of the south wall. Destroying castle walls was a piddly exercise for him. And with the stone destroyed, his army could march right in.

  Duncan scrambled as many soldiers as he could to the courtyard. But he knew the numbers were against him. His soldiers hadn’t slept, except for an exhausting five minutes of dreaming. His numbers were reduced. And the only advantage they had, that of being in a stone fortress, had been reduced to ashes in seconds.

  Jareld found him on the upper battlements, overlooking the demise of the city.

  “Jareld,” Duncan called out over the shouts and fighting below, “I hope you have a brilliant idea, because I’m all out.”

  “I have an idea,” Jareld said. “But you’re not going to call it brilliant once you’ve heard it.”

  “Well, how far away from brilliant is it?”

  “I need you to grab the Saintskeep, mount a horse, and charge up to Grimsor.”

  “You know, the stories about you never mentioned your sense of humor.”

  “I’m not done.”

  “Oh.”

  “Once you get to him, I need you to stab him, and then have Landora and the others open the Portal.”

  “You heard Flopson, in the dream?”

  “Yes.”

  “You heard that only the heir to the line of Kings can unleash the sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m just a guy.”

  “True. And I’ve never been a fan of the whole bloodlines-ruling-kingdoms thing. But I have reason to believe you are the heir to the Rone bloodline.”

  “What?!” Duncan objected. “My father is Lord Kelliwick. My mother is Lady Vivian, the third daughter of Lord Blaggathon. I have no connection to the Rones or the Deliems.”

  “I’ve met Lord Kelliwick,” Jareld said. “Very nice fellow. Funny. Terrible at math.”