In Shadows of Silver

  In Shadows of Silver (Rimduum Book 2)

  Copyright © 2022 by Loamseed Press

  Website: www.loamseedpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art © 2021 by www.seventhstarart.com

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-7348218-5-7

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7348218-4-0

  To all the worldbuilders.

  You know who you are.

  Contents

  Forge a Dream

  Consult With Keepers

  Explore the Festival

  Shatter on Stone

  Discern the Cost

  Examine the Facts

  Trade Our Friends

  Raid a Dungeon

  Wonder at the World

  Cast the Truth

  Return to Wolfstaff

  Melt This Dungeon

  Gather the Pieces

  Contend With Conjurers

  Haste to StoneYoke

  Hide No Longer

  See Many Things

  Create to Destroy

  Raise a Dungeon

  Carve Out A Name

  Break Through Shadows

  Win Against Truth

  Wake the Ancients

  Epilogue

  The World of Rimduum

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Forge a Dream

  Alone in my vault, a mile beneath Tungsten City, I set a glowing forgeseed inside a ten-gallon furnace. The size of a flattened baseball, it’s the only heat needed to keep the furnace blazing, but I measure a good amount of fuel pellets and bury the light of the forgeseed. The pellets sizzle. An acrid odor rises into the air like the floor of a barn—that’s what I get using pellets made from wood and buffalo dung.

  Standing back, I rub my stubbly chin with the back of my arm. I need my quick clean—the little ironcraft flask Rugnus gave me when we first met.

  Bluelink chimes with a notification. I don’t have to check who it’s from—Rugnus.

  “Clayson, have you seen Icho? You locked me out of your vault again. Know you’re probably forging stuff. I... well that kind of thing can be... you should leave forging to the professionals. I just get worried you’re doing something—”

  I mute the audio. “And… don’t care.”

  This has to work. Forging this object, using it, might leave me paralyzed or blind, but if it works, I’ll be able to access my dreams directly, dreams my grandfather planted in my mind. All part of the still unexplainable craft he used on me and my mom. Even after five months of access in the archives at Whurrimduum—my sister provided me an unlimited royal pass—I’m no closer to answers.

  Two months ago—a quarter season to Loamin—we found one reference to a memory garden, a type of silvercraft that allows a person to visit someone’s memories. Since then, that’s what we’ve called the canyon from my dreams. But nothing explains my mom’s memory loss or why I don’t feel the surface effects.

  The forge is ready, so I begin the process.

  Over the forgeseed and the wood-dung pellets, I add coal flakes and a flagstone of shale rock—these are what coders and smiths call the means. They go inside the furnace, but not in the crucible with the metal. My mind flashes on my brawny grandfather, Yinzar Copperoath, to his secret forge under Lake Onthratia, to the slimy pieces of oak that fueled the creation of the mithrium shield.

  When I forged the shield five months ago, I had no terms or definitions. I made the most powerful object under granite—in all Rimduum—and I didn't even know what to call the ingredients that go inside the furnace. Dad taught me about some of the tools, just not in Loamin terms. That was long before Bazalrak attacked our cabin last season, October by the human calendar.

  The alarm for the vault goes off, pitched tones accelerating into an understated beat drop then slipping into an icy melody. At least I set it to play some decent music. It will be the soundtrack for my descent into madness the moment I use this object.

  I check bluelink. A barrage of new messages since the last one, all from Rugnus. I don’t open them. I know what they say. In succession, it’s probably a load of questions spiraling rapidly into a series of accusations. Something like: Where did you put Icho? Are you even in your vault? You keep doing this to everyone. You can’t shut me out. Then: Let me in! —repeated until five seconds ago when he must've decided to hack into my vault by force.

  To be fair, I did steal Icho from him. He was sleeping.

  I blow out a breath. That was not my favorite choice today.

  Also, I distracted Winta with the chance to drive Dad’s flatbed at the cabin. Five months pregnant, but she couldn’t resist. Now Rugnus can’t get her to do his dirty work. She could’ve busted down my defenses in under a minute. But Rugnus? It will take him a lot longer. Maybe if he and Andalynn didn’t feel the need to check on me every hour of every day…

  When the means are blazing, I set the ceramic crucible on the slab of heated shale and begin adding the ends.

  The ends are everything coded into the metal inside the crucible. I drop two small silver coins; they clink against the ceramic bowl. That's the key for this recipe, using silver luck-coins retrieved from one of the dead cities, the mithrium fallout zones.

  Who knows, Rugnus himself might have brought these objects back from some wasted city through his work as a surveyor. He probably won’t care to have a casual conversation about it once he breaks in.

  The volume on the alarm increases. Rugnus is getting closer to opening my vault. I cast an eye over to the wall where Icho leans at an angle. Rugnus’ budgecraft billy club is his most prized relic. “I’m gonna be in a whole lot of trollbrick.”

  I glance at the coding for this object projected onto the wall. This is the complicated part.

  When the silver is molten, I take two square plastic beads from the shelf and drop them in the metal. If craft wasn’t involved, they would melt, but I grab the UV flashlight I’ve prepared and shine the light into the crucible. The beads remain intact. I use the flashlight like a spoon, stirring counterclockwise. Tiny slivers of pink light move from the metal into the plastic cubes.

  I’m drawing the luck from the coins, leaving behind only a curse.

  When the metal is devoid of pink slivers, I use tongs to remove the swollen cubes. The mold for the object waits nearby. I grab the crucible with my bare hands. The tungsten bracelet on my left wrist activates immediately. I feel only a little warmth from the blazing crucible.

  Last week, I finally replaced Ergal—the tungsten ring I made the mithrium shield out of—with a bracelet I forged out of a few expensive relics. Rugnus might think I’m still an amateur, but I had the bracelet appraised. Its Total Object Rating is nearly unmatched, especially when combined with my peerless shieldcraft score.

  Carefully, I pour the liquid into a small hole in the sand form.

  I grab a mason jar filled with dark Lake Onthratia water. After Rugnus and I moved the Great Smoke that swam its waters, the water itself has become a huge commodity in the markets of both Whurrimduum and Tungsten City. It has a stabilizing effect on nearly any recipe, meaning my improvisation today might not blow up in my face. These are exactly the type of decisions Rugnus frowns upon.

  Unscrewing the lid, I take a small scoop and drizzle the water over the mold.

  I break away the form and dig the object out from the sand. It’s a long silver pick, narrow enough at the tip that it could be a needle.

  It’s called a dreampick. The object allows the user to access their subconscious di
rectly—to dream but to remember. Loamin don’t dream, though a rare few have nightmares after years of life on the surface. The thrill of this object for others is the experience of manipulating the subconscious. For me, that could mean choosing which of Yinzar’s memories I enter. I hope.

  For the last five months, beyond a season, every time I’ve slept below the surface, I’ve had the same vision. A rounded mineshaft. At its base, hundreds of drill-marks the size of manholes. Dark vines snaking down one of the drill holes into darkness.

  It has to be the entrance to Mithriumbane, the lost dungeon created when my grandfather destroyed a piece of the mithrium before I was born. The vision always ends before I grab the vines. With the dreampick, I hope to go deeper, climb down, and prove to everyone—Rugnus in particular—that the dungeon is real. I might only be fourteen, but it’s my job as Yinzar’s grandson.

  With a breath, I bring the point of the pick to rest unsteadily between the nail on my index finger and the nailbed. I wiggle the pick inward, but not far enough to break my skin, though that’s what must be done for this to work.

  In a flash of light, Rugnus appears on the other side of the room. His dark eyes soak in the reflection of the forge. He’s dressed for a party in a brown suit with pink, flaring lapels. Tonight is the opening of StoneYoke, a redesigned area on the outskirts of Tungsten City, a symbol of harmony between the two major populations left under granite. Andalynn and Rugnus are the chief architects, so they’d probably be more upset if I didn’t make it to the opening than if this experiment blinds me.

  Sular, Dad’s relic pin, is attached to Rugnus’ lapel like a military award. I don’t regret giving it to him, but it’s a stiff reminder of Dad’s disappointment that I’m not an ironmage like many other Brightstorms.

  Rugnus’ eyes flick between my face, Icho resting against the wall, and the dreampick. “Fizzblooded idiot. Think before you—”

  I jam the dreampick under my fingernail.

  My vault dissolves into a blurry sea of static. I still feel the prick underneath my nail, but a pulse of clarity, of revelation, delivers me over to the dream. The moment the dreamscape materializes around me, my hope bursts like a balloon. This won’t help me dig deeper into Yinzar’s memories.

  The diamond-hard scales of a dragon form beneath me, large wings rising to my right and left. We take flight from a wide meadow that has somehow appeared around us. One beat of its wings takes us into the clouds, and we twist toward a white sun. If I were a normal Loamin this would be thrilling; even the mention of long extinct dragonkind is taboo. This is a forbidden experience. None of this matters. The failure of all my research and time rests in my bones like cast iron.

  I know what Rugnus will say to me: I was foolish and rash; I should've checked with him; even if an object isn't dangerous, it's a waste of time and ferrum. He doesn’t understand what solving this problem would mean to me and others waiting to enter Mithriumbane Dungeon.

  Invisible hands grip my biceps, and the fake dream begins to peel back around the corners of the sky. The clouds deflate, the dragon turns to sand, and the dream ends as quickly as it began.

  Rugnus shakes his head, holding the dreampick by the thick end with his thumb and forefinger like it’s infected. I didn’t feel him pull it out, but for a second, a sharp pain pulses under my nail. I let it linger for a minute before I heal the wound with my bracelet.

  Rugnus flicks the dreampick to the ground. “Never seen one of these. What’s it supposed to do?”

  I pluck it from where he threw it. “Doesn’t matter. Thought you’d be busy today.”

  “I am. You should be too.” He considers the pick again. “Best guess? This gives you dreams you can control.”

  Of course, he would guess it. I must look exhausted. I haven’t been to the surface in over two days. Which means I’ve only slept restlessly, plagued by the same reoccurring vision.

  “I needed to see more.”

  Rugnus knows the dream hasn’t changed since the day I made the mithrium shield. “So, the solution was to look up some crazy recipe on bluelink and—”

  “I knew you would react this way. That’s why I—”

  Rugnus rolls his eyes. “I think I made it clear how dangerous this kind of thing can—”

  “Forget it. I don’t expect you to understand. Your life is simple.”

  Rugnus scoffs. He turns his attention to the shelves around us, to the wall full of newsfeeds, to the large furnace and the river of lava that runs the length of one side of the room. The main forge sits at the center of that wall. Our two vaults reveal vastly different life experiences.

  I’ve eliminated the two connected rooms to make more space for forging. For Rugnus, a vault needs a testing room, separate areas for different tasks. I’m not as good at keeping my life compartmentalized.

  He lifts a copper bracelet from the shelf. It belonged to one of the ironheads we fought in Silverlamp to get to my parents. It controls insects, arachnids, and rodents—all things creepy-crawly. Its allegiance changed when I won it in the dungeon. That was the day Koglim lost Elbaz, his gemstone pendant. It was also the day Hemdi lost tincraft forever when the two wraiths in Silverlamp Dungeon attacked us.

  The bracelet must remind Rugnus of these lost things. He grimaces.

  After a second, he moves to the wall and takes Icho, grumbling about my lack of respect for the most important thing in his life. I don’t bring up his relationship with my sister. He turns to the sea of videos, text, and icons on the other side of the room. In one video, Lagnar Emberfence tests strengths with a few members of the Keeper’s Council, grasping their forearms with a strength he never had during his years on the surface.

  My blood thickens.

  A month ago, when Lagnar started to resurface on bluelink, Andalynn told all of us the secret reason for his exile. Dad knew of course, he’d even shared it with my Mom. Lagnar was the assassin who placed a mithrium bomb in the last city of Hngaal—Malguk. It killed my grandparents, the former king and queen of Rimduum. Everyone still believed it had been a spy of an enemy kingdom, an agent of Zal Kakraja, but it had been Rimduum’s own General Emberfence.

  For unknown reasons, my father had fabricated other charges and gotten him exiled.

  In the video, one of the council members, Moburan Hardkeeper, throws an arm around Lagnar, and they laugh. They’re old friends.

  “Can you believe this?” Rugnus points to the video. The look he passes me says: We’re not going to agree, but it’s better if we both just forget our arguments and focus on what we have in common. Must be nice. He gets to dismiss all my worries and pretend I can live a normal life around here.

  I retrieve the hot forgeseed from inside the furnace and set it on the stone to cool. I brush the ash from my hands, looking from Rugnus to the video. “They’re giving Lagnar a free pass.”

  “The council thinks that pardoning him will build better relations with Tungsten City’s businessmen, particularly in bluecraft markets. And they love him. Look how smug he is. Andalynn’s been against it from the start. They’re trying to say your dad pushed his exile through and overrode the council.”

  “He did push it through, but it doesn’t mean he was wrong.”

  “Don’t have to tell me that.” Rugnus glances at the title of another article: RUGNUS AND ANDALYNN: REAL OR ROYAL FLING?

  “Sorry.” I close it. “I-I didn’t read it.”

  He gives me a dubious look, scanning the wall for other titles.

  CITIZEN’S CONTRACT EXTENDED TO WHURRIMDUUM

  * * *

  TWO SIDES OF A COIN: CLAYSON AND YINZAR

  * * *

  WHO IS RENSIRA SILVERLAMP?

  * * *

  WILL STONEYOKE BE SAFE?

  He stops on this last one. “Fearmongers.”

  “There’ll be a lot of people there.”

  “Understatement. The opening festival’s likely to empty out half of both cities, or at least bring them to a standstill for the day. But the
more people, the safer the event will be. There’s no greater power than millions of united Loamin.”

  I shrug. He’s right, of course. If anyone tries something at the opening of the StoneYoke district, millions of people will stand up to stop them. It puts the dem in democracy.

  “I wish my parents could come. They won’t even have a way to watch.”

  “Stayed behind that shield for a reason. To them, Geum Ide feels safe. And for now, there’s nothing we can do. Your grandmother and her conjurer goons won’t let us return. At least the festival will give you a distraction, something to do besides think about what you can’t have."

  “I have something to do. Finding Yinzar’s dungeon.”

  A frown cuts a few lines between Rugnus’ thick eyebrows. “You don’t have to solve all the world’s problems.”

  “How about my own problems? Figuring out what’s wrong with me and—”

  “Nothing is wrong with you… or nothing you can fix, anyway. Really want to pull on that string? Find your grandfather’s dungeon?”

  “Seventy-five.”

  Rugnus shakes his head. “Seventy-five what?”

  “That’s the number of initiatives that have been called to Mithriumbane Dungeon. People that can’t get an AMP score until it’s found.”

  “Is it? I didn’t—”

  “I’m the dungeon’s expected keeper. I have to figure this out. The only clue I have is that his second forge is somewhere in the mines. That’s all I’ve got. A single dream again and again. But the mines are closed, and the Keeper’s Council won’t hear my request to open them. And because of the deal Andalynn made, she can’t override them. People are counting on me. If it was your summation... or Koglim’s...”