And then emerged the new Regent of the Turin people. Rajani was a tall, beautiful woman, wearing a flowing silver and laurel green gown. Her skin was mocha-colored, her dark brown eyes reflected the night sky, and her raven black hair cascaded down to her shoulders, glistening with a thin silver line of the moon’s light.
Rajani represented the newer, younger movement amongst the Turin, to find peace and harmony where before there was hatred and war. Rajani had been the unanimous choice to lead them. She was generous and benevolent, but also a proud citizen of the Turinheld. She was pureblood. As Turin as they could get. And because she started her reign on the first day of May, six months earlier than the usual elections, she was called by many, “The Queen of May.” The Turin didn’t have royalty, per se, but this was a term of affection.
Unfortunately for the visiting Rone, they didn’t get to experience her winning smile or her renowned charm. Because she had just been woken up two hours before dawn. She scanned over the diplomatic party. She recognized Duncan.
“Master Duncan, it is agreeable to see you again,” she began. Then she yawned. “Though you’ve come at a very odd hour.”
Orlean whispered a translation for the other Rone, but Duncan plowed ahead in the Turin language, as Rajani didn’t speak his language, “Regent, we apologize for coming at such an hour, and unannounced. Believe me, if the situation could have been avoided, it would have been.”
“Since I am coming to the Peace Festival in only a few days, I imagine the situation must be urgent for you to break protocol.”
“We have been attacked by two very powerful magic-users.”
“I hope you are not here to accuse the Turin-Guarde.”
“On the contrary, we are certain they were not Turin. We are, to be frank, outclassed. And in the dark. We were hoping we could consult with your most learned mages, to see if they can give us any insight.”
Rajani glanced at the group of foreigners once more.
“I notice,” she said, “that Countess Vye isn’t with you.”
“She’s not,” Duncan admitted, “She was the focus of the attack, and died from the assault.”
Orlean finished the translation, and only then realized what he had heard. Rajani sat upon the stone floor, waving for Duncan and the others to do the same. She took a moment, considering her response.
“You take quite a risk,” she said, “admitting that the Countess is dead. You must know that her presence in your Kingdom is an enormous...deterrent to foreign attacks.”
“And I hope, Regent, that you recognize the trust I place with you by such a confession. I am putting my faith in the Peace we have worked so hard to negotiate.”
“I will honor that Peace, as I have always planned to do. But I cannot guarantee that the more conservative element in the Turinheld won’t take glee in this news. And suddenly the Kingdom of Rone doesn’t seem so impenetrable.”
“In that case, I trust not only the Peace we have worked for, but your leadership over your people. To be sure such thoughts don’t gain traction.”
“I will not announce the Countess’ death until after the Peace Festival,” the Regent agreed. “And I will do what I can to justify your faith. In the meantime, I will send you to speak to the leader of the Turin-Guarde.”
“Thank you,” Duncan answered.
“Don’t thank me yet,” the Regent warned. “I’m practiced in diplomacy. The Turin-Guarde might still hold a grudge.”
Chapter 13: Loss
Emily Brimford waited alone in the Council Room. Landos had called an emergency meeting, and she was first to arrive. She sat in her usual seat, one to the left of the Magistrate. As the representative for the largest territory in the Kingdom, she was allowed to sit closest to the head of the table.
Emily Brimford was born Emily Rone, the third daughter of King Vincent Rone. Then she married Lord Timothy Brimford, and her name changed to Emily Brimford. Then, King Vincent died, along with his two sons and oldest daughter. So, they made Emily the Queen, and renamed her Emily Rone. Then, because of a clerical correction to the lineage of the Royal Family, King Vincent turned out to just be a guy named Vincent.
So, Emily abdicated the throne, having no real claim to it anymore. And even though Timothy had died in the War, she returned to Duke Brimford, and begged her Father-In-Law to adopt her back into the family. So she once again became Emily Brimford.
She had been sixteen when the Argosian War went down, but before it was called the Argosian War, it was just thought of as a series of assassinations. The vicious Turin had descended upon the Rone with magically enhanced killers, the Turin-Sen, and had destroyed Emily’s life. Her father, mother, sister, and two brothers all killed at their hands. Her entire family, gone. Her childhood wiped away.
She missed her sister, Helena, most of all. She had nobody to share those memories with anymore. She had to carry all the little secrets, the small victories, the frustrations, the gossip. She had a whole vocabulary of in-jokes that nobody in the world would get.
Even after the War, her life never quite returned to normal. She became involved with her tutor, Master Jareld from the Towers of Seneca. Maybe the affair began as a cathartic release from the War, but it soon became something much deeper.
But even that had been ripped away from her. Only two months after becoming intimate with Jareld, he had been killed by bandits. Emily found it strange that she felt the same sense of loss for Jareld as she did for Helena, but she did.
And she couldn’t explain it, but even now, staring out the window in the Council Room, she thought of Jareld. Just for a moment. And a single tear fell down her cheek. She brushed her eyes, startled to find a man looking at her from across the chamber.
“Ahem,” a man cleared his throat at the doorway, “My apologies, My Lady.”
“No, it’s alright,” she said, clearing her own throat, “Come in.”
“I did not mean to disturb you,” the man said with a strange accent, “I was looking for zee Magistrate.”
“He should be here any moment now,” Emily said.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, bowing, “I am zee Baron Dubon von Wrims, from Franconne.”
“Lady Emily Brimford,” she said.
“Are you alright, My Lady?” he asked. “Shall I send for some tea?”
“I’m fine, Baron,” she said smiling, “But thank you.”
The Baron sat cornerwise from her and leaned over the table, to speak in a whisper, “Were you zinking of somebody dear to you?”
“Yes. But he died a long time ago.”
“I, too, know what it is like to lose somebody. When zee War happened, everyzing was taken from me. My accomplishments seemed to be for nothing, as I no longer had my family and friends to share zem with.”
“My family was lost as well.”
“Of course, of course,” the Baron said, slapping his forehead, “Zee King. Zee Queen. Your siblings. You are Emily Brimford, you say, but you were once Emily Rone.”
“There was someone else. There was a man I loved. I only had a short time with him, but I miss him almost as much.”
“I, too, lost zee one I love. Zee War did terrible zings to us all.”
“And so it seems it might again,” Landos called out, bursting into the room. Right on his tail was James Avonshire, Emily’s chief political rival. The Avonshires and the Brimfords, the two most powerful families in the Kingdom, had always bickered and skirmished. Emily and James were cordial with one another, but whenever one pressed an advantage, the other fought back.
The rest of the Council filtered in by ones and twos, until every seat was filled. Landos was about to call the meeting to order when he saw the Baron was still there.
“Baron,” Landos said, “I don’t think you’re on the Council.”
“Zis is correct,” the Baron responded, “But I wanted to deliver to you a message. My man Krugg sent a note by pigeon. He delivered Duncan and his friends to zee Turinheld yesterday mo
rning. He will return to Anuen in two days time.”
“Good,” Landos agreed. “Why don’t you join us today. We’re going to have plenty of work to go around. James, have we found a way to increase security for the Festival.”
“I’ve done all I can, based on Sir Noble’s suggestions. But, Magistrate, I’m starting to think this is all a bad idea. We should cancel the festivities. There’s no way to prepare for every contingency. In light of the attack on Countess Vye...”
“The Turin aren’t responsible for that attack,” Emily countered, “And they could be our allies in this fight.”
“Do you really expect the Turin to become our allies?” James challenged.
“No,” Emily admitted, “But we don’t have a lot of options, do we?”
Chapter 14: Johann Frost
The first question seemed so obvious, Vye was almost embarrassed to ask it.
“Where are we?” she asked.
She could tell they were hiking up the side of a mountain, and that they were in the middle of a vast mountain range. It was night, and the full moon illuminated the snow-capped peeks in all directions. But Vye had no context for where those mountains were located. She couldn’t even be sure what continent they were on.
“It’s unimportant,” said the man who had brought her here. The man who had been very vague in her dreams was now just a man. Or rather, a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard, wrapped in a midnight blue robe, who trundled ahead of her in the snow. But his simplistic appearance only served to make her second question seem even more mundane.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Johann Frost,” the man said, speaking over his shoulder as they wound their way up the cliffside. “I’m sure you have many questions. But we need to get you hidden. Afterwards, I will answer your questions. All of them, as best I can.”
Vye felt these were reasonable terms from a man who had just saved her life. They walked in silence for some time, until finally they reached the summit, and Frost scoured the ground on the narrow plateau.
“It’s easier to find in the daylight,” he said, “But I thought we should get here at night. Better cover.”
“Also, we probably didn’t have much choice, did we?” Vye offered as a mild joke, but Frost didn’t seem to care what she had said.
“If you tell me what we’re looking for, I can help,” Vye said, kicking her legs up and pacing to and fro, fighting off the encroaching cold.
“No, you won’t be able to find it. Not yet.”
“I’ve surprised people in the past with--”
“Found it!”
Frost waved his hand over a flat rock on the ground while making some sort of incantation. As he chanted, a symbol starting to glow in a soft blue-white light on the rock itself. Finally, instead of just a gentle pulsing, it flashed quickly, then disappeared.
“I’ve unlocked the door,” Frost said, “But it will only last a minute. Help me move this rock.”
Frost and Vye moved the slate aside, revealing a ladder heading straight down a vertical tunnel. Frost, not waiting to be a gentlemen, went first. Vye followed behind as they plunged into the darkness. Before she ran out of ladder, though, a light starting shining below her. She hopped off the bottom rung to see Frost, holding his palm up. A small light floated inches above his hand, illuminating the corridor in all directions. The fork in this road had about twelve prongs. Easy to get lost in.
“This way,” Frost said, and struck off in one of the indistinguishable directions.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me anything now?” Vye said.
“Bits and pieces,” Frost said, “But I’ll need time and some help to give you the whole story.”
“I didn’t know there was a story,” Vye commented as Frost chose one of several forking passages.
“Oh, there’s a story, alright.”
“Am I a character in this story?”
“You’re the last character in the story.”
This left Vye dumbfounded enough that she didn’t respond. She just followed silently as Frost chose yet another fork in the winding passage.
“Alright, I’ll tell you just a few of the more salient points,” Frost said, not facing her, but always striding deeper into the tunnels. “You may not have realized it, but you have access to an incredibly powerful magic that many of your friends cannot master.”
“Well, I sort of learned it by accident. And as for my friends, I’ve started to train someone to use it.”
“Well, I’m going to have to correct you on two points. First, you didn’t learn it by accident. It was given to you as part of a very, very old plan. Second, you haven’t trained anyone to use it. You’ve trained someone to use a very small part of it.”
“My pupil can do many of the same things I can do.”
“Ah, I didn’t say you had learned every part of the power.”
“I see.”
“Also, who learned each power faster, you or your student?”
“I did.”
“By just a small margin?”
Vye’s mind started to race. She was just realizing that she had learned the Shadow Travel in about an hour, whereas even with her training Nuria for five years, she still wasn’t ready for that. Sure, Nuria was thinking about things in new and different ways, but there were some fundamental things that Vye had picked up much faster. She had never given it much thought before.
“No,” Vye finally answered. “By a considerable margin.”
“As I said, you were given this power as the result of a long-incubating plan, and you haven’t mastered all the parts of it. That’s why I’m here.”
“I guess it’s a dumb question, but, why me?”
“The short answer is because you died.”
“But I just did that, like, I don’t know, a few days ago. I learned magic six years ago.”
“Which is why you probably need the long answer. Ah, we’re here.”
They had finally stepped out of the narrow corridors and into a wider room. Frost snapped his fingers, leaving his index finger pointing at a fireplace, and the small light shot into the hearth. The logs in the fireplace burst into a warm glow. The room was homely. Paneled in dark wood, with cushions surrounding the fireplace, and a rug that really brought the place together.
“You never answered my first question,” Vye pointed out.
“Where are we?” Frost said, “That’s not important. Well, it’s important, but also part of the longer version of the story. In the meantime, I must check on some things. Make yourself comfortable. There’s a tea kettle over there, if you’re thirsty. I’ll be back shortly.”
He turned and swept out of the room, leaving Vye in the cozy alcove. She sat on one of the pillows, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle...
Chapter 15: Domestic Threats
The horses slowed as Orlean led Duncan and the others up the slope to the Lunapera, the Crest of the Moon, the holy place where the Turin-Guarde studied their magic. Duncan had read about it, heard tales of it from Vye, and seen paintings of it, but it was truly magnificent to see the the view. From the peak, you could look over the forest below, with the Moon illuminating the treetops.
And, waiting at the very edge of the cliff, sitting cross-legged, was Eric. Duncan noticed that unlike most Turin men, he wore his hair short, in the style of the Rone. Of course, Duncan also remembered that Eric had spent five years in Anuen before the War, spying for the Turin.
“Orlean,” he said, eyes closed, in meditation, “What brings you to the mountaintop at this hour?”
“I thought we would have to wake you,” Orlean said, dismounting. Duncan signaled for the others to do the same, though they all stood back, behind their Turin guide.
“I would have woken at the sound of your horses anyway,” Eric rejoined. “But I have been up for many hours now.”
“I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy,” Orlean said, nodding to the sitting Turin-Guarde.
; “My labors are done in my mind,” Eric answered. “Something has been astir for the past week or so. And it is at night that I can sense it strongest.”
“We have visitors,” Orlean announced. “From the Kingdom.”
At this, Eric opened his eyes and turned his head. He slipped to his feet, as though falling upwards. Duncan stood perfectly still as the tall Turin mage stepped forward and examined the three travelers. He stopped at Sir Noble.
“You are Sir David Noble,” Eric said, now in the Rone language. “You bested one of our company.”
“One of your former company,” Orlean corrected.
“Yes, yes, the old company. The Turin-Sen. Nonetheless, Sandora was worthy of that old company. And this Ronish brute defeated her.”
“Brutality is not unique to the Rone,” Noble retorted. Duncan pressed his hand on Noble’s shoulder. Insulting the Turin didn’t seem like the best move.
“Perhaps,” Eric agreed, “Still, Sandora trained for years with sword and spell. How did you defeat her?”
“I have also been highly trained,” Noble said, “But if you want an honest answer, I got lucky.”
Eric laughed. But it was the least comforting laugh Duncan had ever heard.
“Lucky?” Eric mused, “The best training, powers beyond what the Rone could imagine, meticulous planning by Argos, and our plans were ruined by a lucky stroke of your sword? Is that your argument?”
“That’s enough, Eric,” Orlean interjected.
“No, it isn’t. The Regent seeks peace, and I will defend that peace to the best of my ability. But this man skewered Sandora on the end of a lance and planted her in the grounds of Hartstone during the final battle. Her body was defiled by the Rone soldiers. She was used as a banner of victory. So if he is visiting me on MY MOUNTAIN--” he shouted those words, pointing to the ground for emphasis, “--then I will ask him as many questions as I please.”
A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals) Page 8