Frostborn: The Iron Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  Almost against her will, she felt her eyes turn towards him.

  Though she almost couldn’t find the Gray Knight. He stood motionless at the base of a sprawling oak, the cowl of his elven cloak pulled up to conceal his head. If she had not known exactly where to look, she never would have seen him.

  And she felt the flicker of guilt and regret when she looked at him.

  She had blamed him for his wife’s death. Calliande had been crazed by the memories of Imaria Licinius infecting her mind. But Aelia’s death was his one weak point, and she had thrown it in his face.

  He said that there was nothing to forgive, that her bravery had saved their lives…but things had not been the same between them since.

  He had kissed her, and the memory of that sent a jangle of emotion through her. Kissing him had been a bad idea. They were on a quest of life and death, a mission with vast stakes. And she did not know herself. She remembered nothing of her life save for the last fifty-six days. She could have a husband and children she had betrayed by kissing Ridmark.

  And she did not like how much time he had spent with Morigna lately. It was necessary, she knew. Of their entire group, only Morigna could match Ridmark’s stealth in the woods. But it still upset Calliande…

  “Fool,” whispered Calliande. She was a Magistria, not some lovesick child. And she had a duty. Somehow she had been connected to the Order of the Vigilant, the guardians sworn to defend against the return of the Frostborn.

  And she would fulfill that oath.

  With that thought, she drifted off to sleep.

  ###

  And in her sleep, Calliande dreamed.

  Her dreams were an endless source of frustration. Her past was hidden, like mountains cloaked in heavy fog. But sometimes, in her dreams, the fog parted a little, and she caught glimpses of the past. Echoes, no more than fleeting impressions.

  She saw herself standing before an assembly of old men and women in white robes with black slashes, making an impassioned speech.

  A kindly old woman in a green dress, leaning upon a twisted staff of oak, her iron-gray hair hanging in a braid to her hips.

  A scarred old warrior, tough and dauntless and grim, yet a humor that sometimes blazed to life and set everyone around him to laughing.

  Her father, a weathered old fisherman, laughing as they ate stoneberries at the end of a dock, Calliande’s feet dipping into the River Moradel. That memory was clearer than the others. Ridmark had brought her stoneberries on the day the wyvern had poisoned Kharlacht, and their taste had triggered the memory. For a moment Ridmark flashed through her thoughts, and she remembered him challenging Agrimnalazur in the courtyard of Urd Arowyn, remembered him driving off the orcs that had dragged her to the altar on the Black Mountain.

  The endless pain in his eyes, the pain he carried for no reason.

  The flashes of her past darkened then.

  She saw cities burning, saw desperate, starving men and women and children fleeing in vain hope of food and shelter. Legions of twisted creatures marched from the north, laying waste with fire and sword to everything in their path. Armies perished in the wrath of unleashed magic, men dying as their blood turned to ice in their veins.

  Ice followed them, covering the earth and choking away the fields and the forests, turning lakes and rivers into expanses of glittering, lifeless ice.

  Giants clad in armor the color of old ice crossed the frozen wastelands, their skin like crystal, their eyes glowing with blue flames.

  The Frostborn. They were coming. They had been defeated once before, but they would return. Calliande had to stop it. She had spent her life trying to stop it. She had to find Dragonfall, had to find her memory and her staff…

  The dream images faded away, and Calliande found herself standing upon a featureless plain, gray mist swirling around her.

  The Watcher awaited her.

  The spirit wore the white robe of the Magistri, bound about his waist with a black sash. His eyes were sad beneath heavy gray eyebrows, and a tangled gray beard and a mane of gray hair encircled his head.

  “Watcher,” said Calliande.

  The spirit had left a message for her in the darkness below the Tower of Vigilance when she had awakened. He had appeared in her dreams since, warning her about Agrimnalazur and Urd Arowyn, and had counseled her in the fight against Coriolus.

  She had not seen him since.

  “Calliande,” said the Watcher, his tired voice filling with relief. “The Lord is merciful. It is good to speak with you. I feared I could not contact you again.”

  “Why not?” said Calliande, puzzled.

  “The damage to your mind,” said the Watcher.

  “Damage?” said Calliande. “Damage from what?” Then she understood. “The Challenge of Magistri with Imaria Licinius.” She had fallen into a stupor after that battle, and in that stupor Shadowbearer himself had appeared in her dreams, and would have destroyed her if Ardrhythain had not driven him off.

  “The mortal mind has natural defenses from magical intrusion,” said the Watcher, “and your Challenge damaged those barriers. They have recovered in time…but the Challenge allowed Shadowbearer to enter your mind. Calliande, forgive me, but I could not warn you. If I entered your mind at the same time as Shadowbearer, he would have seen me. I do not have the strength to stand against him. Had he entered my mind, he would have taken the location of Dragonfall and your staff from me. He would have used them to destroy you…and all hope would have been lost.”

  Calliande nodded. The thought of how close she had come to utter disaster chilled her. “Ardrhythain drove him away.”

  “It is well that he did,” said the Watcher.

  “I knew Ardrhythain,” said Calliande. “I recognized him, and he knew me. Which meant I knew him from my previous life.”

  The Watcher shook his head. “You forbade me to speak of your past.”

  “I did,” said Calliande, wondering why the devil she had done that. “But I already know that I knew Ardrhythain. You can speak to me of things I have learned, things that I did not know in my previous life, and things happened since I went into the long sleep.” She pointed at him. “So since I know about Ardrhythain…tell me what you know about him. What you can, anyway.”

  The Watcher chuckled. “Clever as ever, Calliande. If death came for you, you would haggle with him until the last moment, and perhaps change his mind.”

  “I don’t have to change your mind,” said Calliande. “You are bound by my spell. You couldn’t tell me about my past if you wanted to.”

  “Aye,” said the Watcher. “I wish I could. If it was within my power, I would.”

  “Then see if you can tell me this,” said Calliande. “Why did Ardrhythain help me?”

  “Because he has opposed Shadowbearer for centuries beyond count,” said the Watcher. “Shadowbearer must have stolen the empty soulstone from Cathair Solas, and Ardrhythain followed him. They will pursue each other across the world, using their magic to travel faster than the human mind can comprehend.” The Watcher shrugged. “Both Ardrhythain and Shadowbearer have lived for millennia. To them, spending twenty years locked in a magical duel would seem no longer than a short skirmish to us.”

  “Tymandain,” said Calliande.

  The Watcher blinked. “You…know Shadowbearer’s name?”

  “Shadowbearer was once a high elf,” said Calliande. “During their fight, Ardrhythain called him Tymandain.”

  “Yes,” said the Watcher. “And this likely why you are still alive.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Calliande.

  “Why hasn’t Shadowbearer found you, killed you, and taken the soulstone?” said the Watcher. “Why send minions to deal with you instead of coming himself? You and the Gray Knight,” he frowned a bit at the title, “have defeated his servants every time.”

  “I don’t know,” said Calliande. “I assumed it was because he couldn’t find me.”

  “He cannot find you,” said the Watch
er, “because Ardrhythain harries him. He can sometimes elude Ardrhythain for a few days, long enough to give instructions to his servants. But so far he has been unable to find you because Ardrhythain keeps interrupting his work.”

  “Oh,” said Calliande. “Then the sooner I find Dragonfall and recover my staff and memory, the better.”

  “Yes,” said the Watcher. “I…am uneasy about your decision to accompany Ridmark Arban to Urd Morlemoch. But the Warden has the answers you need. Assuming he does not kill you or ensnare you in one of his webs.”

  “You make him sound like one of the urdmordar,” said Calliande.

  “He is more dangerous than the urdmordar,” said the Watcher. “Of all the dark elven princes, he alone defied the spider-devils. Of course, his defiance imprisoned him within Urd Morlemoch. But that makes him no less dangerous.”

  “We shall be careful,” said Calliande.

  “I haven’t come to you to speak of Shadowbearer or the Warden,” said the Watcher. “Instead I have come to give you a warning.”

  “About what?” said Calliande.

  “The dark elven half-breed,” said the Watcher. “She might kill you all.”

  “If we can retrieve her bracelet from the Iron Tower,” said Calliande, “she won’t hurt anyone.”

  “She is not the one you need to fear,” said the Watcher. “If she transforms, you have the power to destroy her. No, the Artificer is the one you need to fear.”

  “Why?” said Calliande.

  “I can speak to you of the Artificer,” said the Watcher, “because I only learned of his tale after you went into the long sleep below the Tower of Vigilance. The story you know is largely true. The Artificer was indeed an apprentice of the Warden, and he fled to Urd Mazekathar and destroyed himself using a flawed spell of power the Warden had taught him. What you do not know is that the spell was a variant of the one the Warden used to seal himself within Urd Morlemoch.”

  Calliande frowned. “Wouldn’t the Artificer have realized the danger?”

  “The dark elves were never known for their humility,” said the Watcher. “Likely the Artificer thought he could modify the spell enough to cast it successfully. The spell the Warden cast granted him powerful wards and immense magical strength within Urd Morlemoch, but he can never leave the citadel. The Artificer sought to do the same thing at Urd Mazekathar, but the Warden had deliberately crippled the version of the spell the Artificer had learned. When the Artificer tried to cast the spell, it collapsed, and the amount of power he had summoned…backlashed.”

  “Backlashed?” said Calliande.

  “Exploded, to be precise,” said the Watcher. “It utterly destroyed the towers and walls of Urd Mazekathar, leaving behind only the dungeons. And the spell also created that tower of iron.”

  “How do you know all this?” said Calliande.

  The Watcher hesitated. “I can speak of some of it. For a time after your…departure, the Order of the Vigilant flourished. All feared the return of the Frostborn, and many lords made gifts of land to our cause. The High King offered us the ruins of Urd Mazekathar, but I persuaded the Order to decline. I feared that some evil still lingered in the ruins, some legacy of the Artificer’s power. So the Iron Tower was constructed instead and given as a benefice to the Dux of Caerdracon.”

  “So if the Artificer destroyed himself thousands of years ago,” said Calliande, “why is he still dangerous? And why was Mara hearing his voice in her head?”

  “Because I understand the Artificer’s title,” said the Watcher.

  “Explain.”

  “The titles the dark elves use when dealing with other kindreds,” said the Watcher, “almost always have an element of mockery. The Warden is his own jailer. The Traveler rarely leaves Nightmane Forest. And the Artificer…”

  “Wrought the tower of iron,” said Calliande as understanding came to her. “And the spell trapped his spirit within it.”

  “Where it lay dormant for millennia,” said the Watcher, “until Sir Paul Tallmane made a grave error.”

  “He brought Mara into the Iron Tower,” said Calliande.

  “I suspect the presence of another dark elf, even a half-breed,” said the Watcher, “roused the Artificer’s spirit from its slumber. Even without a corporeal body, he still has considerable power. He stole Mara’s bracelet in hopes of forcing her to transform into an urdhracos or an urshane.”

  “What will he do now that she has escaped?” said Calliande.

  “Likely he will try to take control of the Iron Tower’s garrison,” said the Watcher. “Are there any Magistri or Swordbearers among them? My sight cannot extend into the Tower, likely because of the Artificer’s influence.”

  “I do not think so,” said Calliande. “If there are, they are probably among the Initiated of the Enlightened of Incariel.”

  “That is worse,” said the Watcher. “Any of the Initiated have a connection to Incariel, to the great void, to draw upon its strength. That is where Jonas Vorinus and the other Initiated gained their power. But that connection will make them all the more vulnerable to the Artificer’s manipulation.”

  “And Sir Paul,” said Calliande with a sinking feeling of alarm, “has the empty soulstone in the Iron Tower.”

  The Watcher nodded.

  “Would the Artificer be able to use it?” said Calliande.

  “I do not know,” said the Watcher. “Perhaps he would require a corporeal form to use the soulstone. Or perhaps his magic is strong enough to let him use the stone without a physical body.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Calliande. “We have to get the soulstone back. And Mara’s bracelet.”

  “Calliande,” said the Watcher, and the gentleness in his tone caught her attention. “Your mercy does you credit, and again and again you dare great risks to save those in danger. But I do not think you can save Mara. The power in her blood is too much. Sooner or later it will overwhelm her, and you will have no choice but to kill her.”

  “Or we will get her bracelet back,” said Calliande.

  The Watcher smiled. “I could never change your mind. Go and rest. You shall need your strength, I fear.”

  Calliande nodded, hesitated.

  “Watcher,” she said at last. “I need to ask you something else.”

  “I will answer, if it is within my power,” said the Watcher.

  “Before I went into the sleep below the Tower of Vigilance,” said Calliande, “before I left my old life behind…was I married?”

  The Watcher said nothing.

  “Did I have a husband or children?” said Calliande.

  Still the Watcher said nothing.

  “A lover, even?” said Calliande. “Anyone?” The Watcher said nothing, and Calliande closed her eyes and sighed, her hands curled into fists. “You can’t tell me.”

  “I fear I cannot,” said the Watcher.

  “Because I commanded you not to,” said Calliande. “Because if I have the knowledge, Shadowbearer would use it against me.”

  The Watcher nodded, his eyes sadder than usual.

  “You can tell me nothing at all?” said Calliande.

  “I am sorry,” said the Watcher. “But…this is about the Gray Knight, is it not?”

  “He has a name,” said Calliande.

  “Ridmark Arban, then,” said the Watcher. “The man to whom your heart has turned.”

  “Has it?” said Calliande. “Perhaps. I…I don’t know. I want to…but…I could be wed.” She struck a fist against her hip in frustration. “I don’t know anything about myself. Nothing that matters, anyway. I want…it would not be fair to Ridmark. If I…lead him on, and it turns out that I am wed. Or if I recover my memories and it changes me.”

  “I would not presume to counsel you, not in this,” said the Watcher. “I know very little of matters of the heart. But if you were my daughter or my sister, I would urge you to stay away from Ridmark Arban. His heart is scarred with grief, and it will lead him to destruction. Along with anyone
who follows him.”

  “He has saved my life again and again,” said Calliande. “Along with the lives of many others.”

  “I know,” said the Watcher. “Which is why I think he is your best chance of surviving Urd Morlemoch with the knowledge you need.” He hesitated. “Forgive my presumption…but what you want is not important. Just as what I want is not important. We know the Frostborn will return. We know that they must be stopped, that they will destroy the world if they return. That is more important than what your heart desires…no matter how painful.”

  “I learned that lesson before, did I not?” said Calliande. Her eyes stung a bit.

  The Watcher said nothing.

  “I must have,” said Calliande. “Even if you can’t tell me about it. Else I would not have locked myself away beneath the Tower of Vigilance.”

  “I am sorry,” said the Watcher. “You have suffered much. And there are others losses you have forgotten…losses that you will remember when you recover your staff and your memory.”

  Calliande opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again. The Watcher had known her before she had entered the long sleep, had been so loyal to her that he had died in her vault, had bound his spirit to watch over her. What had it been like, she wondered, to see someone he admired and respected awake without her memory, a different woman than the one she had been centuries past?

  “Thank you,” said Calliande. “For helping me. For…everything. I may have suffered much, but you have suffered as well.”

  “We do what we must,” said the Watcher, “to protect the world. You know that in your very blood and bones, even if your mind has forgotten. We…”

  He frowned and looked at the sky.

  “What is it?” said Calliande.

  The mist rippled and began to darken. Calliande looked around, calling magic to her, and tendrils of shadow shot through the mist, curling and uncurling.

  Had Shadowbearer found her?

  “The Artificer!” said the Watcher. “Calliande, beware! He is coming for the half-breed! I was wrong. He doesn’t want to transform her. He…”