A Dagger of the Mind (The Imperial Metals) by Daniel Antoniazzi Page A
Authors: Daniel Antoniazzi
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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 corner, 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
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 corner, 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
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