So he locked Filerane away in the Tower of Goldmere. The secret prison. Everyone knew the former Turin Regent was rotting away somewhere, but only Landos and Sarah knew the actual location. The prison that nobody knew was a prison. The jail where the guards wore wax in their ears so the prisoners couldn’t divulge any secrets.
During the Peace Treaty negotiations, Landos offered up the release of Filerane as a bargaining chip. It was a dirty move. He knew the Turin didn’t want him. But they couldn’t outright say they didn’t want him. The symbolic release of their former ruler at the Peace Festival seemed to be a perfect olive branch.
So now they were going to give him back. And Landos and Sarah had to convince him to describe his stay in the Kingdom of Rone as a pleasant one. Landos was starting to think he should have just cut the man’s head off.
They knocked. One of Filerane’s attendants opened the door for them.
“Her Majesty, Queen Sarah, and the High Magistrate Landos,” the servant announced to Filerane.
“Ah, come in, come in,” Filerane waved them in. He was hunched over a tray of food the likes of which could have fed a small town. For a week. “Are you sure these clothes are right?” he asked, waving down to his purplish robes.
“They’re quite the style this season,” Sarah assured him.
“I guess you would know. I never understood Rone customs and fashions myself. And I’ve definitely been out of the loop recently. You know, in the solitary prison.”
“We came by to make sure you were comfortable,” Landos pressed on.
“After sleeping in a stone prison for five years, anything would seem comfortable.”
“We hope you understand,” Sarah smiled as she spoke, “That we needed to lock you away. And the fewer people who knew where, the better.”
“I’m sure you were doing what was best for you,” Filerane said, missing the point, “But I’m sure glad to see the sun again.”
“Is there anything else we can get you?” Landos said. “The Peace Festival is in three days.”
“If you could get your cooks to make that roast duck thing again,” Filerane inquired.
“Of course,” Sarah agreed.
“And don’t lock me up in that Tower again,” he smiled. Landos and Sarah returned the least comfortable smiles of their lives.
“Of course,” Landos agreed.
---
But it wasn’t until later, when Landos and Sarah were with Prince William, that Landos heard what he had said.
“Why did Filerane call his prison a Tower?” he asked Sarah. Sarah was kneeling beside William, who was bashing a couple of wooden knights against one another in a six-year-old’s approximation of a joust.
“It was a Tower,” Sarah replied.
“Mommy, look, Sir Noble wins again!”
“That’s wonderful, dear. Sir Noble is a great hero.”
“You were there, Mag’strate,” William recalled. “You were at the Battle of Hartstone. Did you see Sir Noble defeat Sandora?”
But Landos was lost in his thoughts. Pacing the room.
“Landos,” Sarah urged him to answer.
“I was there, my Prince,” Landos smiled at the boy. “But I didn’t see him fight Sandora. That fight happened at the breach on the north wall. I think I was clearing out of the courtyard at the time.”
“I wish I could have seen it. Or the time Lady Vye fought Argos!”
“He shouldn’t know it’s a Tower,” Landos said to Sarah. “I know he was locked in a Tower. But he should have been blindfolded going in. And he should have been blindfolded coming out. He should have thought it was just a regular dungeon.”
At that moment, the tutor came in to help William with his Atinlay. Sarah stood beside Landos, watching the lesson begin. They spoke in whispers.
“How can he know about the Tower?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know.”
“How many prisoners are still in Goldmere?”
“Just one.”
Landos didn’t need to name the prisoner. It was Jareld. The historian who had helped Michael find the Sword of Kings. The man who had helped rescue Sarah from the Great Wyrm. The only one who had figured out that Prince William was not the heir to King Michael.
“Oh dear,” Sarah held her hand to her lips. “What if he tells the Turin?”
“He will tell the Turin. What else is he going to tell them about his stay in our lovely Kingdom?”
“We have to move him,” Sarah said, referring to Jareld. “We can’t leave him there. Not if the Turin know about our prison.”
“That’s very, very risky,” Landos said. “We still don’t know how much Filerane knows. Or how he figured out he was in a Tower.”
Sarah watched her son recite the conjugations of the Atinlay past imperfect. His sweet little face. His little hands moving on their own as he counted through the different versions of the word. She remembered those hands. Those tiny little hands. How they gripped her finger when she put it in his palm.
“We can’t let him get out,” she said. It was the end of the discussion. It was an unspoken conclusion. Because there was only one course of action left, and Sarah had essentially washed her hands of it.
“I’ll get someone to take care of the situation,” Landos said. He bowed to the Prince, to the Queen, and swept out of the room. Conversing with Filerane was a chore. But ordering the death of one of the good guys, that was a task...
Chapter 6: Enemies
Duncan entered the infirmary. Nuria was moving from bedside to bedside, attending to the injured.
“Nuria?”
“Hi,” she said, pressing her hand against one of the guard’s legs. Her palm glowed blue, a cut sealing on his flesh.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“Nobody died,” she said. “Which is kind of a miracle. Cuts and bruises. Nothing I haven’t handled before.”
Duncan closed in on the girl. What he was about to say, he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“And the Countess?”
“That’s something I haven’t handled before.”
“How is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her anymore. At least, not that I can tell. I’ve healed her as much as I can. But she still won’t wake up.”
“Any ideas?”
“She probably used more magic in those ten minutes than she ever has in a single day. Even her, and the days she’s had. Maybe she just needs rest.”
Duncan paced the infirmary, helping one of the guards to his feet. Common wisdom in the Kingdom suggested that Michael had defeated Argos. But the scholars knew better. He knew better. Vye was the only one strong enough to have defeated him. And this attack seemed to be aimed at her. The two assailants hadn’t done anything else during their visit.
Which meant they were a new enemy. And it was an enemy who knew to attack their strongest soldier first. He had had the foresight to keep her survival a secret. Only he and Nuria knew Vye was still alive. She was recovering in Duncan’s quarters, which was, hopefully, the last place anyone would look for her. But he knew that this wasn’t a random attack. Somebody wanted her out of the picture.
“We need to warn Anuen,” Duncan concluded.
“The Countess can shadow us there when she wakes up.”
“But you can’t say when she’ll wake up?”
Nuria shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Are you kidding? You saved her life. Don’t be sorry. Ever. You’re a brave girl.”
Nuria smiled. Duncan’s approval felt good, even amidst the chaos of the day.
“So you’ll send a messenger?” she asked.
“No,” Duncan said. “I need to speak to the Magistrate myself. You say there’s nothing else you can do for the Countess?”
“No, Sir.”
“Nuria, please. You should call me Duncan.”
“OK.”
&
nbsp; “Luke Vye is coming up to the Castle. I’ll let him in on our secret. Let him know his sister is alive, but warn him to keep his mouth shut. As soon as he’s settled in, I’m leaving for the capital.”
“I’ll give him all the help he needs.”
“No, you won’t,” Duncan said. “Because I need you to come with me to Anuen.”
Chapter 7: The Silent Gods
Helios climbed the final steps to the peak of the hill. From atop the glorified mound of dirt, he was able to see the entirety of Losmourne Island. It wasn’t very large, after all. And it wasn’t very exciting. If it disappeared, the only people who would miss it were the ones who lived on it.
“Are you sure you can manage?” Selene asked as she joined him at the meager summit.
Helios realized he was rubbing the stump where his other hand used to be. Usually, growing back a limb would be a simple matter for such powerful mages. But he and Selene were tossing around a lot of death magic back at Hartstone, and so far, neither of them could regenerate his missing appendage.
“I’ll be fine,” he said to Selene. He didn’t need his hand to conjure his magic. It was just frustrating to not have it.
“We can wait, if you want time to recover,” Selene offered. The coldness in her voice matched the coldness of her pale, gray skin.
“No, we cannot wait. We have come too far and fought for too long. We are here now, and we will break the seal now.”
Helios wasn’t in charge. Neither was Selene. They were two lost lieutenants of a long-absent leader. They were so dedicated in purpose that they rarely feuded. But the subject of waiting was certain to make both of them irritable.
“Patience, Brother Sun,” Selene said. “We don’t want to lose our way at the very end.”
“I see it a differently, Sister Moon,” Helios retorted. “I say we have waited too long, and we don’t want to miss our chance.”
“Very well, we will proceed,” Selene relented. “But don’t slow me down.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
“Have you been speaking to the natives?”
“I did,” Helios said. “I appeared to them as their God of Fortunes, Benevolt. I warned them that disaster was coming.”
“A nice touch,” Selene said. “Did they pay heed?”
“Some of them did. But, of course, some were stubborn.”
“That is always the way with people. The very concept of home is more important to them than their own survival. And it’s never a hut, or a castle, or a fence that they fight over. It’s always just the abstract concept.”
“The same abstract concept cost us Argos,” Helios mused.
“I suppose you’re right. Though he did serve his purpose in the end.”
“It’s time. Let’s begin, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s,” Selene responded. Far too few words for what was about to happen.
In theory, the power of any given spell was determined by the strength of the caster or casters. The upper limit was the limit of their combined will. Even the most powerful mages couldn’t just do anything they wanted. They could only spend a certain amount of energy at a time.
But there was another element in play beyond just willpower. There was time. Rather than cast a spell all at once, a mage could begin to cast a spell, allow it to build up over time, and then finish it weeks later. Or months. Or years.
Or centuries...
The spell always had to be anchored to something. In this case, the Island of Losmourne. But it could be anything. It could be a hat, if that was your style. And once the initial casting was done, the spell just grew and grew. The latent energy swelled. Waiting to be released on the final casting, to accomplish whatever the caster wanted.
In this case, the sinking of the Island of Losmourne.
It wasn’t a particularly important island. It hosted a tribe of people who lived off the fruit trees. It wasn’t in a geographically interesting location, and was inconvenient for merchant ships to stop at, even if they had a reason to. It was only important because it was an island.
Helios and Selene began casting the spell. It would take them the better part of the afternoon, and they would be tired by the experience. They were channeling vast and terrible energies through their bodies, bringing to a full cadence a song that had started more than two thousand years ago.
And they would know. They were there.
Finally, after hours of chanting and gesturing, the spell was complete. For a moment, there was silence. Then, the ground began to shake. Trees were swallowed up as the land started to open up under them.
“We should be going,” Selene said.
“Indeed,” Helios said. Then, seeing something on the north shore, he added, “Look, they’re praying.”
Selene barely turned her neck enough to see the few remaining natives. They were all on the beach, burning certain herbs, shouting certain chants, speaking to the heavens.
“Their Gods will not hear them today,” Selene said, before stepping through the magic portal she had created. Helios sighed, looking upon the hapless people. Then, he followed Selene through the portal.
The Losmournians continued to pray as the entire island sank and was swallowed up by the foaming sea.
Chapter 8: Prisoner Number Four
The Warden was not a particularly good man. He did his job, sure, and he almost never went out of his way to hurt anyone. But he would never, under any circumstances, help anybody, whether it was out of his way or not. Still, he didn’t like the message he had received from the Magistrate.
After decades of managing the secret prison, the Tower at Goldmere, Landos was asking him to shutter the place for good. In all those years, the Warden had kept the place running like clockwork. Guards had come and gone, but none knew the full meaning of the place. Travelers had passed by the Tower for years, and none ever suspected there was anything sinister there.
Sure, some of the prisoners had died under his watch. Three suicides, which was probably to be expected from such conditions. Two more of old age. Another two from sickness. And one had recently been released. The Warden never asked questions, but he couldn’t help but notice that the released man was Turin. They’d never had a Turin prisoner before. Not in his forty years on the job. But, then again, they’d never released a prisoner before.
And now the letter from Landos was telling the Warden that his services were no longer required. He was to release the remaining guards and servants. He was to empty the stockpiles and store rooms. Sell the horses. And, of course, before he left, he had to “take care of” the last prisoner.
The Warden didn’t like to stick his nose in things, but he did remember that Prisoner Number Four had been brought to him on the night the Unity Treaty was signed. He also couldn’t help but notice that he was the only prisoner ever to have a visitor. The Queen had showed up, some six years ago now, to visit this prisoner. She was pregnant at the time...
The Warden would have liked some answers, but that wasn’t his job. That wasn’t what Landos had paid him for. The instructions were actually very explicit. Under no circumstances was the Warden to allow Prisoner Number Four to speak to him. He had to “take care of the problem” without exchanging words. Whatever this guy had done, the Warden figured it must have been bad.
So, the Warden descended into the dungeon, keys in hand. The protocol had always been to stuff wax in your ears when feeding the prisoners. Whether it was the Warden or one of his guards, they were supposed to block up their ears so the prisoners couldn’t spread lies and rumors. Or worse, the truth.
But the Warden hated putting wax in his ears. And he figured, if he moved quickly enough, this wouldn’t take long. Feeding a prisoner, or collecting his bowl afterwards, always took longer than you wanted it to. But stabbing someone shouldn’t take long at all.
He arrived at the door outside cell number four. He scanned inside the prison, using the faint torchlight from down the corridor. There, in the dark and dingy corne
r, a man lay slumbering. His beard was full and wild. His nails grimy and jagged. His face was darkened by a muddy concoction of sweat and dirt. This man’s spirit had broken long ago.
The Warden slipped the key in the lock, turning it gently. But the gears hadn’t been engaged in years. He had to force the tumblers to get any traction. At the jiggling of the key ring, the prisoner stirred awake and rubbed his eyes. He clearly wasn’t anticipating any danger, rising at a casual pace.
“Is it feeding time already?” he said to himself, groggily standing up.
The Warden jammed at the lock, fighting with the rusted mechanism, and finally opened the gate. The prisoner then noticed that the Warden was hurrying, and had drawn a knife.
“Wait!” the prisoner said. “No! Wait, you have to listen to me!”
But the Warden was fast and strong. He grabbed the prisoner by the jaw to silence him, and in the same motion, forced his head up to expose his neck. He stabbed his knife into the prisoner’s jugular. The prisoner started to gargle, trying still to explain something, but the Warden stabbed again.
Now the prisoner’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, though he continued to have convulsions. The Warden had heard about people making amazing recoveries from incredible wounds, and with the emergence of magical healing in the Kingdom, he wanted to be sure. He stabbed the prisoner’s scant torso another eight times, until he was sure the job was done.
He covered the body with a blanket. The guards would drag the body upstairs, and they’d burn his remains, blanket and all, under cover of night.
Chapter 9: Summer Vacation
Twenty years ago…
Michael stepped out of the carriage and stretched his legs. It had been a long journey. He was finishing his sixth year at the Towers of Seneca, and as he had every year since enrolling, he was coming home for the summer. The Castle Hartstone, the capital of the County of Deliem. His Father’s domain.
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