A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals)

by Daniel Antoniazzi

  The thick oak door gave her a sense of privacy she had never quite experienced before. In the Turinheld, where she slept in what amounted to a cave, and where a deerskin acted as her door, she was at the mercy of any guard or messenger who wanted to speak to her. Here, she was in solitude. If someone wanted to disturb her, they’d have to make quite a racket.

  She collapsed onto the bed, each of her muscles unwinding as they sunk into the cushions. This bed was softer and more comfortable than anything she had ever slept in. She had argued, when they were negotiating the terms of the Festival, that she and her retinue should return to the Turinheld at nights. The idea of spending three days in Anuen seemed ridiculous, when Eric’s Shadow Portals made travel fast and convenient.

  But now that she was experiencing the comfort of a feather bed, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to leave. She knew she should get out of her ceremonial robes, and put on something more night-friendly, but at that moment, it felt like she was lying on a cloud.

  “It’s good to be Queen,” she mumbled to herself.

  That was wrong. She knew it as she said it to herself. She was not a Queen. She was a leader. How dare she think such thoughts?

  And then she heard footsteps. Footsteps inside her quarters. She sat up, wrapping the bed sheet around her, suddenly feeling exposed, even though she was still dressed. Who had come into her room? And how?

  “Rajani,” a man’s voice said. It was Eric, of course. He could Shadow into her bedchambers without a sound.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Regent, I think we should strike now.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. But before Eric answered, he sat on the foot of the bed, close to her. He brushed his hand through her raven hair.

  “My Queen,” Eric said.

  “I am not a Queen.”

  “You are the Queen of May. And you are a Queen to me.”

  “Eric, please, this is inappropriate.”

  But even as she said it, his hand cupped around the back of her neck and pulled her forward. And she could put up no resistance. They kissed...

  “Eric,” she gasped, pulling away. “We can’t. I cannot rule our people if you we are too close. The Turin-Guarde must always answer to the Regent.”

  “But together, we could rule the forest. And together we can destroy the Ronish brutes.”

  “They are not brutes.”

  “You know they are. They killed our ancestors for sport. They build Castles instead of respecting the land. You know that this peace cannot last. Eventually, they will try to conquer us again. You know we must strike first to protect our people.”

  “These are the lies Argos told us,” Rajani protested.

  “It is too late. For look what I have done in your name.”

  And he lifted her to her feet. And suddenly she was in another room. And it was daytime. It was then that she understood she was dreaming.

  The room was identical to hers, for in her mind, she only knew what one room looked like on the inside. And on the bed was the Queen. Her body was laid out nicely, hands folded in front of her. She would have been the picture of peace if it weren’t for the puddles of blood on the floor, the red-soaked bedsheets, and the gruesome wound in her throat.

  “What have you done?” Rajani demanded, for though a part of her understood this was a dream, another part felt it as though it were real.

  “I have brought us a lasting peace,” Eric said. “Look.”

  He turned her shoulders, and she was in the Hall of Saint Michael. It was as she remembered it, except the Statue had been beheaded. And the sword had been removed. And Landos lay on the ground, impaled with the prop weapon.

  “Don’t you see?” Eric said. “My love for you. Your secret longing for me. We can be King and Queen of all the Realms.”

  And with a sweep of his hand, they were on the balcony, overlooking the courtyard. And Rajani beheld all the Rone people she had ever met, dead on the ground before her eyes.

  “No, this is wrong.”

  “But you want it.”

  “Perhaps, in some dark part of my mind. But I know it is wrong.”

  “You fear the end of our people, too,” Eric insisted. “Don’t deny that fear.”

  “I don’t. But if our people must fade, we will do so honorably. Not with slaughter.”

  “But the slaughter was started long ago. And not by us.”

  “We are not innocent. Nobody is.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter who wins. We must take the initiative.”

  “No!”

  “What would your father say?”

  And Rajani found herself on the battlefield of Hartstone. She had never been to the city in real life, so she only knew it by the painting in the Hall of Saint Michael. So she imagined herself there, in the painting. The earth was made of puddles of brown paint. The sky was a flowing sea of midnight blue. Painted people fought and died all around them. The echoes of battle rang all around them.

  But Rajani’s eyes were fixated on just one point. A body on the ground before her, with a Rone soldier spearing him in the heart. She didn’t know the specific circumstances of her father’s death. But she knew he had died at the Battle of Hartstone. And his face was now brushed onto this soldier’s body.

  “How can you search for peace with such brutes?” said the voice behind her, but it wasn’t Eric. She turned to the voice, and found herself once again in her own quarters, standing before a creature. The tall beast with leathery skin.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Grimsor,” the demon announced himself. “I am the only one who can free you from the chains of your responsibility. So that you may pursue the path of vengeance.”

  “I seek only peace.”

  “Your mind seeks peace. But your heart cries for revenge. And that war has raged in your soul for too long. You are crippled by it.”

  “I wish no harm...”

  “You lie. You are not as pure of heart as you wish to be. I see your true desires. You have been Turned.”

  And he clasped his hands, one over each ear, and her hair singed as the fire burned through her mind and her soul...

  Chapter 33: The Tundra

  Duncan did not understand why people would agree to live in Aceley. The island-continent was as far north as civilization went. The landmass covered the north pole, but only the southern coast actually had any settlements. In Duncan’s mind, if they were smart enough to stay on the south side of the island, they should have been smart enough to move off the island altogether.

  The good news was the city they had arrived in, Karlsvanja, was a high traffic port for the northern trade routes. People from all ends of the world were passing through. And since Eric had the foresight to have them Shadow Travel into an empty alley, nobody looked twice at a company of three Rone and one Turin strolling through town.

  Duncan had to pull out his broken Acelean, from a class he had taken six years ago, in order to get them two rooms at the Tavern. After a good night’s sleep and a hearty meal, they struck out of town, heading due north.

  ---

  They followed a hunting path for several miles, but the wind was fierce. Even with scarves wrapped over their faces, the cold stung at their skin. They crossed a hunting party returning to town with a pair of elk. Both parties gave each other a wide berth. Sure, there were probably laws against killing people, but it wasn’t like a constable was going to show up and keep the peace.

  But soon the path disintegrated in the growing snow drifts. Their footsteps cracked over virgin snow, blazing their own trail. Except for the occasional tracks of other hunters, and sometimes of hooves and paws. Landora led the group, veering away from all of those tracks.

  “You know where you’re going?” Duncan asked.

  “I do,” Landora retorted. “Though I’m not eager to get there.”

  “We have to find out what we can.”

  “This power...” Landora prodded, “It attacked the Countess. But
you do not seek vengeance.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know what vengeance looks like. And what it feels like. It is not in your heart.”

  “I want to make sure that whoever attacked Vye doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

  “I find it strange. That they could murder one so close to you, your liege, your Master, and you could remain so...composed.”

  “It’s a facade. I want to hurt these villains. I want to cause them pain.”

  “Perhaps. But you have tamed your anger. Your vengeance isn’t driving you,” Landora concluded. After a moment, she added, “Are you noble?”

  “I’m high-born, if that’s what you mean. My father is Lord Kelliwick, a minor Baron in Arwall. So, I’m probably only medium-born.”

  “But you are also valiant.”

  “If I’m valiant, then you are twice so.”

  “Not true.”

  “You have worked hand-in-hand with us, helping us solve a problem from another country. And one of our party killed your sister.”

  “You don’t understand. The danger you have discovered affects us all. Argos has ruined the Turin. He led us into a disastrous war. Diminished our numbers. But even worse, he desecrated our way of life. He dishonored us, communing with this evil power. I am driven to restore our honor.”

  “The Turin will recover. You are a resilient people.”

  “Maybe. But every year, we have fewer children. Our numbers dwindle, and I fear there will come a day when we are no more.”

  To this, Duncan had no answer. No way to comfort her. He had been thirteen when the War had come. And for a brief time, the possibility that the Kingdom would be wiped off the face of the earth felt real. They had survived, and a record number of births were recorded nine months after the war was won.

  But for the Turin, the news was not so good. Their death toll, while much smaller than that of the Rone, was nonetheless a much higher percentage of their population. And it was largely their young, healthy men and women. To make matters worse, the next two winters had been particularly harsh, and sickness ravaged the Turinheld. Usually, the Turin-Sen magic would have cured the sick, but Eric was alone, and could only do so much.

  “We will help your people survive,” Duncan offered, though he knew he was in no position to do anything.

  “We are your enemies.”

  “You’re not my enemy.”

  “Nor I yours. But our two peoples cannot both live on our land.”

  “There’s a Peace Festival happening right now. We’re allies.”

  “Amongst the Turin, many are convinced that this truce is temporary. That it will be but the eye of a storm. That the cruel Rone will grow bored of peace, and will once again move north.”

  “I would never let that happen,” Duncan said, again unsure of how he meant to back up those words.

  “You are not the King. Or the Queen. How will you stop your people? How will you tame their unbridled aggression?”

  “I don’t know. But I promise, I will do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to you,” he said. Then added, “To your people, I mean.”

  But Landora smiled under her mask.

  ---

  It got dark early, and quickly. Landora directed the others to construct a campsite in the cover of a large snow drift. They dug out enough of a trench that the wind wouldn’t freeze them to death and started two fires, one on either end. It was actually quite cozy.

  But the night wasn’t peaceful. Because the Aceley White Bear likes to hunt at night.

  The Aceley White is a formidable creature. Coated in white, camouflaged against the tundra, it’s surprisingly quiet for a fifteen-hundred pound beast. The only parts that aren’t white are its beady, black eyes, its black nose, and its vicious black claws.

  Attracted to the light, the massive creature padded to the campsite. But one thing about being fifteen hundred pounds is you displace a lot of snow. And a coating of freezing cold snow was just the sort of thing to wake Landora up.

  She saw the beast snarling down at her, and she called out, waking the others. She reached up, prepared to sear the monster with whatever magic she could call up, but then she learned that Aceley Whites are also fast.

  The bear snapped its surprisingly long neck into the alcove, clamping around Landora’s arm and whipping her out of her blanket. Landora tried to concentrate just long enough to release her will against her enemy, but then it planted her in the snow, face first, flash-freezing her mind and body.

  The others stirred, though only Noble was ready to fight in a moment’s notice. He grabbed his sword and leapt up onto the embankment, facing off against the frightening creature.

  But the Aceley White was a cunning creature. It held Landora in its jaw, keeping her between Noble and its own body. Landora was dazed, unable to even struggle against the bear’s gripping jaw.

  Noble strafed around, trying to flank the bear. But in eighteen inches of snow, he couldn’t move fast enough. The bear kept turning to face him.

  Duncan and Nuria fought off their fatigue, crawling to the edge of the pit. Nuria gasped when she saw Landora.

  “I’m going to help Noble,” Duncan said, “You stay here.”

  “I can also help.”

  “Landora is going to need you to heal her. You need to stay safe.” And he grabbed his sword.

  Noble spotted Duncan climbing out of the pit, sword in hand. Maybe the diplomat wasn’t a great fighter, but if Noble could keep the bear distracted... He sidestepped again and again, each time forcing the White to turn, degree by degree. Duncan waited for his moment...

  And as soon as the bear had its back to the trench, Duncan charged out. His footing was unsure, trampling through the snow, but he launched himself at the bear’s hindquarters...

  The bear kicked him in the chest with its back foot. Duncan flew back, sliding across the ice, a splattering of blood drizzling over the pure white snow.

  And now the thing was spooked. It took off and galloped across the land, Landora still in its jaws. Noble gave chase, but the beast was much better suited for running on ice than he was...

  He collapsed onto his knees, panting and spent. The white bear faded into the darkness of the night...

  Chapter 34: The Dreams of the Dead

  “Why am I here?” Vye asked.

  They were deep in the Caves of Drentar. Down in the corridors of the Castle Zenith. She already knew the answer to her own question, but she needed to pretend she didn’t, for her own sake.

  “You’re trying to find someone who died here,” Frost said. “Do you know who?”

  “Yes,” Vye admitted. It was Halmir. Ever since Frost had mentioned that she would be speaking to the dead, he was the first person she thought of. Why him? Why not Michael? Or Gabriel? Or her dead brothers? Had she been in love? Had they even known each other long enough for that to happen? But the only question she asked out loud was...

  “Where is he?”

  “He will be here when he is ready,” Frost said. “But I need to prepare you for this. This isn’t like talking to the living in a dream.”

  “I’ve already seen dead people in some of these dreams.”

  “You’ve seen the memory of them. The echo. The image and the sound of a person. But nothing you did or said in those dreams would affect that person, because he or she wasn’t really there.”

  “And now...”

  “When someone dies, their being... their essence... drifts into the Land of the Dead. And the Dreamscape is connected to it. But the transformation is profound. The Dead exist in a whole new way. And we can’t explain it and we can’t comprehend it, but we do know one thing. Speaking with them is a daunting task. Exhausting. You can’t do it too often. You have to be careful about who you contact. They can be very, very dangerous.”

  Vye nodded. In her eagerness to see Halmir, it hadn’t occurred to her that this sort of thing could, and probably should, be very dangerous.

  “Alright,
” Vye said, “How do I contact him?”

  “He’s standing right behind you,” Frost said.

  Vye turned. And as she did, she felt the weight of the world changing around her. She was standing on an emotional precipice. A cliff of the soul. Frost faded from the corridor, turning ghostly white. As though he were a memory to her. And in front of her was Halmir.

  He was standing upright, probably right in the spot where he had died. He didn’t look dead. He wasn’t wounded, nor did his skin have the pallor of death. He was alive, though Vye would have described his expression as bored.

  “Halmir,” Vye said. “Halmir, can you see me? Can you hear me?”

  “I can see you,” he finally said.

  Vye hugged her arms, feeling a chill. There was something...off about the world. The Land of the Dead knew she was there. She was like a grain of sand in an oyster’s shell. A beating heart in a land of stillness. A point of light in the darkness.

  “Have you been here, this whole time?” Vye asked, “Since you died?”

  “No,” Halmir said. His voice was expressionless. His body stiff. “In death, I am no longer tied to any one place or time. I have been to many places and seen into many times since we last stood together. But when I felt you searching for me, I came here.”

  “Because this is where you died?”

  “Because this is where your mind would think to look for me.”

  “I have something important I want to say to you,” Vye finally confessed. But Halmir’s expression and body language gave her nothing. It was like he didn’t care that she was there. “I kinda feel silly now.”

  “You came to tell me you loved me.”

  Vye nodded. Silence filled the corridor. The deep, dark corridor of Halmir’s death. He only stared into her eyes, unmoved by her words.

  “I cannot give you an answer to the question you want to ask,” Halmir finally said.