A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)

by Daniel Antoniazzi

  A silence settled over the gathering. In the dead of night, Eric’s shouts had sounded deafening.

  “Master Eric,” Duncan stepped forward, “My name is Duncan, and I am in charge of my people here. Forgive me for bringing Sir Noble to this meeting. It was my doing, not the Queen’s, and certainly not Noble’s choice. And I would not have done so if I had known how much his presence would hurt you.”

  “Hurt?” Eric mocked, “You think it’s easy to hurt me?”

  “No. But I think we have anyway,” Duncan tried, “And you must know that Sandora herself committed many atrocities that would render Sir Noble’s actions tame by comparison.”

  “Are you justifying the way he debased our great warrior?” Eric growled, stepping into Duncan’s face.

  “No,” Duncan spoke softly, making Eric sound like an asshole for raising his voice. “But consider that Sir Noble is also a great warrior, despite committing these atrocities. And that is why he is here. To protect me. Not to hurt you or anyone else. And if you wish, he will wait further down the mountain while we discuss our business.”

  Eric swept his robes around him as he turned, settling into his seat at the edge of the cliff once again.

  “There is no need,” he said, his soft voice matching Duncan’s. “He can remain here, so long as he treats this sacred ground with respect.”

  “We all will,” Duncan assured him.

  “Then sit with me here and we will consider your problem,” Eric gestured to the ground before him. “It must be a dangerous one to bring you here.”

  Duncan, Sir Noble, Nuria, and Orlean sat in a circle with Eric. And Duncan told their story...

  Chapter 16: Confessions

  Landos strolled the North Wall, trying to keep his blood running in the cold, gray morning. The sun would be rising in minutes, and he had been going full speed for days. He was tired. He felt like he could sleep for a year. But at the same time, he was restless. He wouldn’t fall asleep for hours at least.

  Terror ran through his veins. He had been in charge during a crisis before, but now he had a son. The difference that made was extraordinary. His thoughts kept racing to what his son’s future would be. Landos wanted desperately to be there on the day his son was crowned King. And then all else be damned, he would be a proud father, even if he couldn’t tell anyone.

  But that was still years away, and in the meantime, sinister forces were out to hurt him and the people he loved. Other possible futures crept through Landos’ mind, other lives his son could end up leading. One bereft of his mother. His father. His Kingdom. Landos could even imagine a scenario where William was killed. It wasn’t much of a stretch in his mind. If someone wanted to take out the Kingdom, his little heartbeat would be their first target.

  Landos looked up and realized he was passing through the Dining Hall. He hadn’t even paid attention, his feet carrying him wherever they pleased. He nodded to some of the staff, who were still preparing the room for the Peace Festival. But he kept walking before they could say anything.

  The Council had decided to proceed with the Festival. Peace with the Turin, who were still considered the greatest threat to the Kingdom, was too high a priority in everyone’s mind. And, some of the Council Members reasoned, if someone was planning something, this would be one way to suss them out.

  Landos found himself in the Hall of Saint Michael, once again with no memory of how he had meandered there. The presentation was almost ready. The magnificent marble statue rose up from the center of the room, greeting any visitors as they entered. The oil painting was framed and hung on the far wall. Other relics and works of art adorned the perimeter...

  Landos heard someone tinkering behind the wall. A moment later, Baron Dubon von Wrims emerged from a hollow in the wall.

  “Ah, Magistrate, I heard someone come in.”

  “What are you doing down here?”

  “I could not sleep. I have come to check on zee works.”

  “Everything looks great.”

  “Zank you,” Dubon nodded. But then he glanced at Landos, “And how is it you find yourself down here?”

  “I was just...wandering,” he answered. “I don’t know.”

  “You have much on your mind, hmm?”

  “Well, of course. I mean, the Countess, the Festival...”

  “No, no, zis is not what I mean,” Dubon said. He hooked Landos by the arm and sat him on a bench. “Somezing else weighs heavy on your soul. Somezing you have not told anyone.”

  “There are a lot of things I just...can’t tell anyone.”

  “Nonsense. I am your friend. I have trusted you with my secrets. Secrets zat would ruin my reputation. You can entrust your secrets with me.”

  Landos sighed. Exhaustion and anxiety boiling together in his body and mind, squeezing his heart with a restless grip. Nothing sounded more tempting than to unleash all his fears and secrets to another person.

  “I shouldn’t say anything...” Landos began, but Dubon stared back at him, expressionless. Whatever Landos wanted to say, he would listen. “I had to kill a friend of mine.” Still, Dubon didn’t respond, not to scold, not to judge, and not to comfort.

  Landos found that once he began, the floodgates burst open. “I’m too much of a coward to kill someone with my own hands, of course. I had someone else do the deed. And if the Gods are watching, they know that this man deserved to live more than I did.”

  “Who is zis man?”

  “I cannot say. Forgive me, but there are too many secrets to say them all today. But this... This will be my greatest sin. With a word, a man was sentenced to death. And without the process of the King James Standard.”

  “Why did you sentence him so?”

  “It was for the good of the Kingdom,” Landos spit out the words, like a leg kicking up when the knee is tapped. “I swear to you, Baron, I would never have done it if I didn’t believe the Kingdom was in mortal danger. I kept this man alive, dangerous as he was, for six years, and only killed him when I absolutely had to.”

  “Of course, you are a good man, too,” Dubon agreed.

  “Am I? I keep betraying my friends. And they keep ending up dead. And I’m left holding the Kingdom together with a frail alliance and a stack of lies.”

  “You allude to some of your ozzer secrets here, perhaps,” Dubon reasoned. “But so long as you know your cause, and you believe it is right, one can justify many secrets and lies.”

  “Perhaps,” Landos said. “Still, this attack on Vye... She was probably my last good friend, you know... I’m worried that the time may be coming soon when all my debts will come due.”

  Dubon had no answer for this but to place a hand on Landos’ shoulder in cold comfort. The two silent men sat in front of the looming visage of the first friend Landos had betrayed.

  ---

  Landos found himself wandering through the rest of the Castle as the day wore on. Until noon, when he found himself in the Queen’s tent on the lawns. One of the Captains was training with William on the jousting grounds, practicing with rapier and main gauche. Usually Sir Noble would be running those drills, but his absence was yet another reminder of the danger they were in.

  “He’s getting better at the left guard,” Landos commented, sitting in his traditional seat below the Queen. But his attempt to lighten his spirits or hers failed to even get the conversation going.

  “Any word from up North?” she responded. He could hear it in her voice: She was tired.

  “None yet,” Landos admitted. “You should get some sleep.”

  “We both should.”

  “Do you want to try to sneak away now?” Landos asked. “It might seem a little suspicious for us both to be gone in the middle of the day.”

  Sarah didn’t answer for a moment, collecting her thoughts. When she finally spoke, Landos knew what she was going to say.

  “I don’t think we should spend the night together anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  “For now. With all
that’s happened. With the Festival only days away. With what happened to Vye. With...prisoner four...”

  Landos nodded. It was the prudent thing to do, of course. It was the right thing to do. Still, Landos was counting on one thing to bring him comfort. And that was the smell of her perfume as he drifted off to sleep that night. It seemed unfair to take away the only good thing when so many bad things were happening. Still, he couldn’t argue with her.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Yes. For now. Yes.”

  And even as he said it, he wondered if it would be only for now. Perhaps his debts were coming due sooner than he thought.

  Chapter 17: Things to Talk About When Dining with the Count

  Twenty Years Ago...

  When Landos told Michael that he would have to stand for a family portrait, Michael was surprised to learn that there was a family portrait.

  “It’s the portrait your father commissioned,” Landos explained.

  “I’m sorry?” Michael was still confused.

  “It’s one of those big, family portraits.”

  “A Fenrow?”

  “That’s the fellow’s name,” Landos said. “The one who’s painting it, I mean, Sir.”

  Fenrow had made a name for himself in recent years, going from Castle to Castle and painting family portraits. There was a sort of stylistic collage quality to them. An impressionistic flair. Each member of the family would pose separately, and a soft fog would surround the person, so that they could blend into the person beside them. It wasn’t particularly pretty. It was just in vogue.

  So Michael decided he wanted a look at this thing. Landos gave him directions down into the cellar, where he found the incomplete painting. His father and mother in the center. His two younger sisters, though they had died almost five years ago, standing beneath them. There was Lord Vye and his children. Lord Rutherford and his two sons. A few of the higher ranking servants made their way into the periphery with softer tones.

  There was a gap in the center of the painting, where it was clear Michael was expected to stand. He would be the finishing touch. It looked awkward to him. Everyone standing there, unaware of who was standing next to him.

  “Why would anyone want to paint all those ugly faces?” someone said behind Michael.

  “Flopson,” Michael said over his shoulder, “You should be careful not to speak too loudly. Some people might take offense.”

  “Only the ugly ones though, right?” Flopson retorted.

  “Have you been getting yourself into trouble again, Flopson?”

  “I’ve been getting out of as much trouble as I’ve been getting into.”

  “Excellent. To what do I owe this visit?”

  “It is time for dinner now.”

  “And my parents sent you?”

  Flopson burst into a wide-eyed, incredible laugh.

  “Them…send me…”

  And then his words lost coherency, as he laughed even harder.

  “I see.”

  Flopson’s laugh came to an unnatural halt.

  “No, they didn’t send me. But I overhear things from time to time.”

  “More than you’d care to admit.”

  Flopson took out some balls and started juggling.

  “Flopson, can you find something for me?”

  “It’s a lost cause,” Flopson said, “My mind is gone forever.”

  “Very funny. But can you be serious?”

  “I can’t be Serious. I’m Flopson.”

  “I need you to find my old saddle.”

  “Can do, stinky.”

  “That’s Master Stinky to you, Flopson.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Find my old saddle. Bring it to Kern. Have him clean and oil it, break it in again.”

  “Perhaps you’re distracted by your own malodorous self: You have a new saddle.”

  “This isn’t for me,” Michael said, “It’s a gift.”

  “Might I suggest a gift you could give everyone.”

  “Were you going to suggest a bath?”

  “I was going to suggest you throw yourself out the tower windows, but a bath would be a good start.”

  “Anyway, I’m going to dinner. Please find the saddle.”

  “Yes, Master Stinky.”

  “See, you’re learning,” Michael said, as he exited.

  When he arrived in the Dining Hall, the usual company was present. His father, his mother, Lord Vye, Gabriel, and the High Lieutenant, a man named Harold Rutherford. Harold was not good at his job, but he needed a job, and Hartstone needed a High Lieutenant, so the two sort of fell into each other.

  “Vye,” Michael’s father said, “I hear your daughter is becoming quite the feisty fighter.”

  “She will learn her place soon enough,” Lord Vye said. “She just has too many brothers.”

  “I hear she walloped my nephew Harold in a fencing competition last month,” Harold said with a smirk.

  “Come now,” Alexander said, “My father could beat that Harold Rutherford, and he’s been dead ten years.”

  “It’s not just him, though,” Lord Vye said, sounding concerned, but secretly proud, “She beat Gareth in a best of seven match.”

  “Four to three?” Alexander asked.

  “Four-nil,” Vye answered.

  Michael put down his spoon at this. Gareth Vye was the oldest and strongest boy of his generation. When Michael was growing up, Gareth always stood six inches over everyone, and was always the one to beat in wrestling, stone-throwing, foot races, and, of course, fencing. That his younger sister was able to blank him in a best of seven was astounding.

  “You’ll have to get Gareth back with the trainers,” Alexander said. “Can’t let the boy slip up like that.”

  But Michael felt his father had missed the point. Gareth was good. But his sister, Julia, if Michael could remember correctly, must have been better. And she was five years his junior, and unless things had changed drastically since last he saw her, Gareth probably still had a forty pounds on her. The point wasn’t Gareth losing, it was Julia Vye winning.

  “I’ve already made him spend an extra three hours a week on his fencing. The tournament is coming up this fall, and I want him to place.”

  “You should enter your girl,” Harold said, which he followed with a hearty laugh. Michael’s parents followed, and even Lord Vye grinned. But Michael and Gabriel remained silent, exchanging a glance. Let them have their laugh. Michael decided he was going to keep an eye out for Julia Vye.

  “In all seriousness, though,” Alexander said, “You have to get that girl married. Put a baby in her belly, that’ll calm her down.”

  “I think I’ve found someone,” Vye said. “A Lord Kelliwick, from Arwall.”

  “I’ve met Kelliwick,” Alexander said. “Pleasant fellow. Terrible at math.”

  “Father,” he said, “I couldn’t help but notice there’s a little bit of space left in the Fenrow.”

  “Perhaps a little, around the edges.”

  “I was wondering if I could add someone.”

  “Who did you have in mind, son?”

  “Landos.”

  “Is he the new Miller?”

  “No, he’s one of the errand boys.”

  Alexander and Harold both chuckled at this.

  “Son, the painting is meant to be for the family and a few, very select, servants. People who have been with the family for years.”

  “Landos has been working in the Castle since he was five.”

  “Why do you think he should be included?”

  “He works very hard to do the best he can.”

  “Well, of course he works hard. He’s a servant. And of course he tries his best. He has the privilege of working for the Deliems. We are one of the ten Counts. Our family name goes back in this region to before Rone the Great.”

  “Not like those pesky Vyes,” Harold said, laughing with his mouth full.

  “Begging your pardon, Father, but he’s only eleven. I don’t
think he knows of these things. I think he’s just very intelligent and resourceful.”

  “Michael,” his mother said. “Servants aren’t intelligent or resourceful. They’re just people who do things around the Castle.”

  “Your mother is right. We’ve included the Master of the Stables. And I think the Blacksmith and the Goldsmith. We’re not going to add an errand boy.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Michael dismissed the argument, because he knew he couldn’t change their minds. But he knew his parents were leaving on a diplomatic mission in less than a week, and once they were gone, Fenrow would take orders from Michael. He would add Landos to the painting, and his parents would just have to live with it.

  Chapter 18: The Dreamscape

  Vye was still sipping her tea when Frost returned. In a strange way, she couldn’t tell how long he had been gone. Her tea was still hot, so it couldn’t have been that long. At the same time, it seemed as though she had been waiting for his return for hours.

  Frost was carrying something in a bundle of cloth. He closed the door behind him and then rested the bundle of cloth on the rug.

  “Vye, please, come have a seat with me here.”

  Frost sat cross-legged on one side of the rug. He unwrapped the item in the cloth. It was a crystal ball, glinting in the firelight.

  “Now, you still have a lot of questions, I know. I’m going to try to answer as many of them as I can, but it will be much easier if we employ some simple techniques. This crystal ball is just a focus. It doesn’t do anything on its own, but with our help, we’ll be able to explore the Dreamscape.”

  “The what?”

  “Just add it to your list of questions. It will all be clear soon. Lean closer to me.”

  Vye did so. Frost once again placed his hands on her temples. She naturally closed her eyes.

  “Just relax. This should be somewhat familiar to you. We’re exploring memories.”

  “I’ve done this before. But we were trying to suppress someone’s memories. Are we doing the same now?”

  “No. I’m trying to feed you memories. Just relax and it will be quite easy.”