A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)

by Daniel Antoniazzi

  “Your Majesty,” called a voice from the other side of the door, “Your Majesty, we must get you ready for Court today.”

  “It’s going to be another vine day, isn’t it?” Landos said, sighing.

  “Afraid so,” Sarah said, waving her hand to the balcony window.

  Landos had grown accustomed to slipping out Sarah’s window in the mornings. When the coast wasn’t clear into the hallways, he often had to scale down the vines to escape into the ante-room one floor down. He hadn’t done this much climbing since he was a boy in Hartstone Castle, sporting with the other servants around the court.

  A part of Landos was concerned with how easily he was able to climb out of Sarah’s chambers. What if an assassin wanted to get to the Queen? How poor were their defenses?

  But the days of assassinations were behind them. Six years ago, the Argosian War had started with a string of murders meant to cripple the Kingdom. Caught off-guard, the people of Rone almost fell to a vicious invasion from the north. From the Turin people. But Michael brought the Sword of Kings to the final battle, and the Rone survived. The Turin retreated, and some semblance of peace was restored.

  The last six years had been a stormy sea of negotiations and memorials, festivals and restorations. And raising Prince William. Landos wasn’t allowed to tell anybody that William was his son. Which was hard. William was a wonderful boy, and Landos was proud. How badly he wanted to proclaim to the world that the child was his. All of the accolades that people gave, all the praise that they attributed to William’s noble heritage...

  Landos wanted to correct them every time. But his pride had to give way to the Kingdom. William was only the Prince because everyone thought he was Michael’s son. If the truth came out, the Kingdom would be without an heir. Like it was during the Argosian War.

  Landos lowered himself onto the third-floor portico. He brushed himself off and slipped into the ante-room. After six years of this routine, he knew how to avoid being seen. Nobody was ever on the portico at that hour. Or in the courtyard below. Or in the ante-room.

  Except, by chance, today.

  Fortunately for Landos, the man occupying the room was the Baron Dubon Von Wrims, of Franconne. The Baron was not hard of hearing, nor nearsighted, but he was a very…distracted man. He would miss things as they happened right in front of him. It was hard to tell which way his eyes were looking through his bifocals. It was hard to see his expression through his puffy, orange beard. You never quite knew where you were with the Baron.

  He was staring at a large landscape painting; a depiction of the Battle of Hartstone. The Battle where Michael rescued the people of Rone. The Battle in which he died.

  “Good morning, Baron,” Landos piped up, secure that the Baron didn’t see how he had entered the room.

  “Magistrate, I did not hear you come in,” Dubon said. “It is good to see you zis fine morning. I trust you slept well. It was a pleasant evening, cool but not cold, hmm?”

  “It certainly was. This is the painting?”

  “Indeed!” the Baron’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I hope you do not mind. Zee official unveiling is zis very hour, with zee Queen. But as zee sun is coming up through that window, I was hoping to see it with full light.”

  “Of course, of course. And I’m glad I could share this moment with you.”

  For all of his comical and foreign ticks, the Baron’s story was actually quite sad. He had been at sea, six years ago, when the Argosian War began. He was studying foreign arts in faraway lands, and didn’t hear about the conflict until it was almost over. The Barony of Franconne was in the far north of the Kingdom of Rone, in Maethran. It, like the rest of the County, was utterly destroyed by the Turin invasion.

  The Baron wasn’t even halfway home when he got word that his wife and children had been murdered in the War. His lands razed, his Castle toppled. Even when the Rone won the war, there was nothing left to rebuild. He had nothing to return to.

  So he stayed abroad, traveling to other continents. He studied art and music, paying his way as an expert appraiser. He consulted for Kings and Sultans. He tried to forget his homeland, and all the loss he had suffered. He tried to forget the abandoned bodies of his children.

  But after five years at sea, he grew weary of his travels. He was homesick. He knew he couldn’t return to Franconne, which was now controlled by the Turin, but he wanted to start anew amongst the people who spoke his language and knew his customs. He wanted to come back to the Kingdom.

  He had arrived six months ago, and bought a manor house in the capital city of Anuen, less than a mile from the Castle. He met Landos during a formal function, where the two hit it off. After a few bottles of wine, the Baron Dubon von Wrims told his tale of sorrows...

  “But now,” he had concluded, “I have returned to my home. It is not zee home I grew up in, but I feel a sense of pride. Zis is my Country. Zis is where I belong.”

  Landos had also imbibed a considerable amount of wine...

  “Welcome back to Rone,” he said, extending a hand, as though he were the customs agent. They shared a laugh, even though nothing either of them had said was funny.

  “Zank you,” the Baron managed. Landos stifled another snicker. The Baron’s accent was the sort of thing you only heard in plays that tried to make fun of northerners. “I hear,” Dubon continued, “You are planning a dedication to zee Saint Michael, hmm?”

  “Indeed, the East Wing has been cleared out,” Landos explained, pointing north. “We want it on display for the Peace Festival.”

  “And you will have works of art on display, hmm?”

  “That’s the plan. Though so far we haven’t had a lot of luck tracking down artists.”

  “In zat case, I will commission works from zee great artists I have met in my travels around zee world.”

  “Are you sure, Baron? That’s a big responsibility...”

  “Please, Mister Magistrate... I have done nothing for zis Kingdom. I stayed away. I was a coward. And yet, when I come home, zere she is, waiting for me. If I could not help during zee War, at least I can help now.”

  “Baron, we all did what we had to do during the War. Nobody could blame you for staying away, after the loss you suffered. And certainly nobody would call you a coward.”

  The Baron finished his glass of wine in one, tremendous gulp. That he didn’t get any on his beard was a miracle.

  “It was not just zee cowardice. I must tell you somezing. A secret.”

  Landos leaned over the table, eager to hear the Baron’s confession.

  “I was in a tavern, far from home. I had only just heard zat my wife and children were...” his voice faded, lost in thought, “And a man came in, and started a fight with me. I have never been a violent man, Mister Magistrate. But zis man attacked me when I was at my most vulnerable. And I... It is too terrible to say.”

  “Baron,” Landos clasped his hand on Dubon’s shoulder, “Sometimes our sins hurt us more because they are also secrets. Please, if I can be of any help to you... Unburden yourself. I will not judge you or think less of you.”

  “You are a true friend,” the Baron nodded. “Indeed. I will tell you zee secret. Zis man who attacked me, just as I had suffered zis great loss, I killed him.”

  “He attacked you. You had to defend yourself.”

  “You are correct, perhaps. But I was angry. I wanted to kill him. Maybe I was in zee right by law. But I was not in my heart.” The Baron collected himself, dabbing his eyes with a crumpled kerchief. “You are right, Mister Magistrate. It is good to talk about zis.”

  “I’m glad I could help. And please, when we are just talking ourselves, call me Landos. And, you know what, we could use a world-renowned art appraiser to help us set up the Saint Michael dedication.”

  And the Baron did just that. He sent his servant, a tall, silent man named Krugg, on a voyage, where he collected Dubon’s favorite artists and had them all assembled at his estate. There, they worked tirelessly to create pa
intings, sculptures, banners, and murals, each celebrating the life and legacy of King Michael IV. The Lost King. Landos’ closest friend. Sarah’s husband. The subject of the painting that Landos was looking at that morning by the light of the rising sun.

  It was Krugg who entered the ante-room at that moment and whispered in the Baron’s ear. Landos had never heard Krugg’s voice, as the shy servant tended only to share news directly with Dubon. But Landos was still intimidated by the hulking man. He stood well over six feet and was built like a barrel. He always kept his hair short, and he always averted his bright green eyes from making contact with anyone but his master.

  “Krugg tells me zat zey are assembling in zee throne room for zee unveiling.”

  “Then we shouldn’t keep Her Majesty waiting.”

  Krugg wrapped the painting and hefted it over his shoulder, lugging it ahead of Landos and Dubon as they all headed for the throne room. When they arrived, it was quite crowded. Anyone who could find an excuse to be in the gallery had turned up, eager to witness the latest art exhibits for the Hall of Saint Michael.

  Krugg placed the painting on a tripod, ready for its unveiling. But now that they were here, Landos could only stare at the enormous crate in the corner of the room. The thing could have caged an elephant.

  After a short wait, the doors swung open, and the herald called, “Lords and Ladies, Her Majesty, Queen Sarah Rone.”

  Sarah flowed into the room, now in full, elegant regalia. Shimmering fabrics, highlighted with lace and bows, seemed a natural extension of her sheer, blonde hair. She had been transformed from a beautiful woman to a beautiful Queen. A subtle distinction, but one which Landos felt everyday.

  Because when he looked into her eyes, she wouldn’t recognize his gaze. As though she hadn’t seen him. He knew she loved him. And he loved her so much it scared him. But after a night of being their true selves, intimate, loving, and affectionate, they had to behave like strangers.

  The Queen ascended the pedestal, lowering herself into the second-most lavish seat on the dais. The more ornamented one, the King’s seat, had been empty for more than six years, and would be until Prince William was crowned. Three steps below the royal chairs was a plainer seat, meant for Landos, the High Magistrate. But he chose not to sit, and rather addressed the Queen as part of the crowd.

  “Your Majesty, you know the Baron Dubon Von Wrims, from Franconne.”

  “Of course,” she smiled, “Baron, I hear you have something to show us for the Peace Festival. Could you give us a peek?”

  “I would be honored, Your Majesty,” the Baron bowed. With a wave of his hand, Krugg pulled the ropes on the crate. His muscles tensed as, with one tug, he collapsed the side of the crate. It had been designed in such a way that with just that one move, the entire covering folded over, revealing a perfect marble representation of Michael Rone.

  The room fell to silence, beholding the majestic representation. On a pedestal of stone, a ten-foot-tall Michael stood, one foot planted on a rock, the Saintskeep raised above his head, a gesture of victory.

  “Your Majesty, Magistrate, Lords, Ladies, and gathered guests, may I present zee Statue of Saint Michael, meant to be zee centerpiece for your dedication. I have spoken with many people who knew King Michael, and many who were present during zee Battle of Hartstone. From zese many conversations, my sculptor was able to create a very exciting statue, I hope you will agree.”

  “The eyes…” Sarah gasped.

  “You have noticed,” the Baron said with a gleeful smirk. “Most of zee statue is comprised of normal marble, but for zee eyes, we added just a hint of emerald dust. Zey reflect zee light, and come alive.”

  “What about the sword?” Landos asked.

  “An excellent audience I have,” the Baron rejoined. “Zee other little trick is zee sword. It is not part of the sculpture. I commissioned a sword to be forged, as best as I could, to match zee descriptions of zee original Saintskeep. It is embedded in zee marble, but is made of steel, to stand apart.”

  “An excellent work!” the Queen said. “Lord von Wrims, you have done us a great honor by bringing these works of art into our home. I look forward to the Peace Festival, when we can share them with the public. I hope, on that day, you will be here to make the presentation yourself.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” The Baron said, bowing.

  Landos felt the hairs stick up in the back of his neck. Something about the Baron suddenly seemed wrong, but only for a passing moment. Something about his voice, or his accent… Something. He looked at Dubon, who must have been pursing his lips, because his beard was contorted into a strange shape.

  “Is something zee matter, Magistrate?” the Baron asked, and Landos almost laughed. Immediately, the ridiculousness of the man alleviated his concerns.

  “Nothing,” Landos said. “Everything is fine. Please, have your man Krugg show us the painting.”

  “Of course.”

  Landos smiled. The Baron was quite a character.

  Chapter 2: Things To Talk About When Sparring With The Countess

  So the Kingdom of Rone is subdivided into Duchies and Counties. And those Duchies and Counties are further divided into Baronies. With all those territories, and almost six-hundred years of history, there had been countless rulers. Some benevolent, some cruel. Some smart, some idiotic. They were an eclectic bunch. In all that time and in all those places, there was only one uniting feature for all of them: They all had a penis.

  Until six years ago.

  After the Argosian War, the County of Deliem was a mess. The final battle destroyed Castle Hartstone, the nerve center of the land. Twenty thousand dead, walls crumbled, earth scorched. But one thing seemed clear. Lady Julia Vye had won the war. She showed up on the battlefield with the head of the Turin leader. Nobody could claim to have contributed as much to the effort.

  So the County went to her. It just happened. There wasn’t a vote. There wasn’t a discussion. There wasn’t even a formal ceremony. Somebody started calling her, “The Countess,” and it stuck.

  A stranger to the Kingdom might find it unusual that nobody objected. Despite never having helped anyone make a good decision about anything, penises were the assumed sine qua non of leadership. But objecting to Countess Vye came with some risks. You see, she had trained with a Sword Master for four years, becoming the most fearsome warrior in the Kingdom. And that was before she also became the only person in Rone who could use magic.

  So there was Vye. In charge and unchallenged. But she had a problem. She was the absolute best fighter and wizard in the Kingdom, and she understood war enough to serve as a military advisor. But she really had no idea how to run an entire County. Especially not one in the shape Deliem was in when she inherited it.

  The County used to have an awesome staff. Count Michael had the mind of a leader. But he had died in the war. The High Lieutenant of Deliem was Landos, who was now serving as the High Magistrate of the Kingdom. The Castellen was dead. The Field Martial was dead. Even the fanatically loyal jester was missing.

  So Vye had to rebuild the castle and the staff from scratch. But she wanted to do it all in one move. She was just going to hire a High Lieutenant and let him take care of everything.

  She started with a man named Sir Noble. Excellent fighter, clear-minded, true-hearted. But all of that left him with the same skill set as Vye. He could lead a battle, but he couldn’t corral people to build faster. Eventually, Landos offered him a position as Captain of the Guard in the Capital, so he left.

  Her next hire was even worse. She reluctantly brought on a man named Harold Rutherford, who was the cousin of a man the Countess once knew, also named Harold Rutherford. She had hoped that incompetence wasn’t a family trait, as incompetence was the only thing she remembered about the previous Harold Rutherford.

  Unfortunately, the new Harold Rutherford, while a more pleasant person to talk to, was just as incapable of running the County as his predecessor. Harold made such a mess of the
reconstruction project that Vye assumed he was stealing money. But when she checked over the paperwork, she discovered it was just horrible management of resources. It would have been easier to steal the money than to mess it up this badly.

  Vye then had the fortune of meeting a young man named Duncan.

  The Peace with the Turin was still being negotiated at the time. In the early days of the Treaty, less than a month after the end of the war, Landos and the Queen always brought Vye along to the meetings. They didn’t want to be threatening. But they imagined the Turin would be a little intimidated by the woman who had killed their leader. Walk softly and carry the most fearsome warrior-wizard the land has ever known.

  It was in those early meetings that Vye first encountered Duncan. The Towers of Seneca had sent some of their best scholars to the peace negotiations, and the best of the best was Duncan. He understood the Turin language backwards and forwards. He was just supposed to help the leaders understand one another, but he was smart and proactive, and he ended up having a lot of influence on the early versions of the Treaty.

  Vye was impressed with Duncan. Because he wasn’t just smart and capable, he also seemed to be good at getting along with people. Tall, youthful, a thin beard, and a hell of an athlete. Maybe not the strongest or fastest, but always picked first for every sport. Maybe not the handsomest, but always surrounded by women. If people were magnets, he was a huge deposit of iron ore.

  So Vye planted a flag in him. She basically told Landos that when the early stages of the Peace Treaty were finalized, she was taking him home with her. And she hadn’t regretted it for a moment. His first order of business was rebuilding the Castle. Everyone assumed that, in order to fix his predecessor’s mistakes, he was either going to have to spend more money than he had or take twice as long as he was supposed to.

  Neither of those suppositions turned out to be true. The Castle came in under budget and was finished in two years. And it wasn’t a shoddy product. The Towers soared, the decor was stately, and the walls gleamed in the sunlight. So, how did he do it? Did he learn magic from Countess Vye?