Frostborn: The Iron Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  “We are about to go into battle,” said Ridmark. “And the last time…the last time I did that, she died.” He turned away, leaning on the table. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yes,” said Morigna. “Yes, you are right. I am sorry. That was…imprudent, yes. I…will see you tomorrow, when we depart.”

  He nodded, not looking up from the table.

  Morigna left the bathhouse, went back to the tavern, and sat alone in the corner as Caius and Jager told their tales.

  And she wondered what had come over her.

  Chapter 15 - Shadows

  Calliande sat in the chair near Mara’s bed, waiting.

  “You don’t need to wait here with me,” said Mara, yawning. “I think I shall be fine.”

  “I know,” said Calliande. “But I would like wait until you fall asleep. I want to make sure the spell doesn’t act oddly when you fall unconscious.”

  That was the truth, but it was not the entire truth. Calliande wished she could have told Mara more, but she had promised the Watcher that she would never reveal his presence. And she suspected she would hear from the Watcher tonight.

  For unless Calliande missed her guess, the Artificer would make another attempt upon Mara.

  Calliande intended to be ready.

  Ridmark had overlooked one thing in his battle plans, one thing he simply could not anticipate. What would the Artificer do once they entered the Iron Tower? Perhaps the ancient spirit cared nothing for the Enlightened of Incariel or the soulstone and would simply ignore the battle. Or perhaps the dark elven wizard would try to claim the soulstone for himself. If the Artificer could control the soulstone, Calliande dreaded to think of what the spirit could do with it.

  “What are you thinking?” murmured Mara, closing her eyes and resting her head against the pillow.

  “I was thinking,” said Calliande, “that I fear what might happen if the soulstone falls into Shadowbearer’s grasp, but perhaps I should be more worried that it is already in the hands of the Artificer.”

  “He doesn’t have hands,” said Mara. “At least not at the moment.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Calliande.

  “I don’t think you need to worry yet,” said Mara.

  “Why not?” said Calliande.

  “Because if he could control the soulstone,” said Mara, “I suspect the first thing he would have done was claim me. He can’t rule the world if he’s a ghost trapped in the Iron Tower.”

  “Perhaps,” said Calliande. Mara fell silent, and her breathing slowed. Calliande waited a few minutes, watching as Mara sank into sleep. Then she reached out, placed her hand upon the smaller woman’s forehead, and cast a spell. The spell created a ward around her, linking it to the ward upon Mara’s blood.

  Calliande closed her eyes and put herself into a trance.

  And then she fell asleep.

  ###

  In her sleep she dreamed, and in her dreams the Watcher came to her.

  But this time, the Watcher looked surprised.

  “You called me,” he said.

  “I did,” said Calliande, the gray mist swirling around her.

  “You’ve never done that before,” said the Watcher. The old man looked pleased. “You…remembered how?”

  “No,” said Calliande, looking around in the gray mist. “But I worked it out. You only appeared to me when I am sleeping, never when I am awake. That means you can only access my unconscious mind. Or my conscious mind when it is not fully conscious.”

  “That is clever,” said the Watcher. “But why? I will tell you what I can, though much of what I know is still restricted by your command.”

  “I know,” said Calliande. “But this time, I need help, not information.”

  She gestured, concentrated, and the mist retreated a few yards, revealing Mara sleeping upon the bed. She looked different in the dream. Her physical appearance had not changed, but a web of shadow and blue fire seemed to pulse and throb just below her skin. A pale haze of white light danced around Mara. The veins of shadow and blue fire tried to expand, soaking into her flesh, but the white glow held them at bay.

  Yet with every pulse of the veins, the white glow diminished slightly. It would last for a while longer, but when it failed, only Mara’s will would stand between her and the final transformation.

  “How did you do that?” said the Watcher, peering at the web of spells.

  “Morigna’s magic,” said Calliande. “Her spell filters Mara’s blood, binding itself to the dark elven power in her veins and allowing my ward to stand against it.”

  “A subtle solution,” said the Watcher, “but I fear you place too much trust in the child of dark magic. She loves power far too much.”

  “I know,” said Calliande, “but for this, trust is not required. The spells will work together to hold back Mara’s transformation.”

  “It will work,” said the Watcher, “but only for a time. In the end, the spell will fail and her legacy will overcome her.”

  Calliande shrugged. “Hopefully it will last until we can get her bracelet back.”

  “Even that may not be enough,” said the Watcher. “In the past four days her transformation has advanced farther than it did for all the years she carried her bracelet. The bracelet may no longer have the power to hold it back. She is strong of will, but she cannot deny her nature. Sooner or later it will overwhelm her.”

  “She can fight it,” said Calliande.

  “I fear it is her nature,” said the Watcher with a shake of her head. “She cannot change her nature, much as she might wish to. It has been remarkable that she resisted it for so long. But sooner or later, it will consume her.”

  “Not today, though,” said Calliande, scanning the mists.

  She saw a pulse of blue fire in the distance, like the beam of a lighthouse cutting through the fog.

  “Why have you summoned me?” said the Watcher, looking at the light.

  “Because,” said Calliande, “I am reasonably sure the Artificer will try to possess Mara, and I would like your help to stop him.”

  “That is dangerous,” said the Watcher.

  “Obviously,” said Calliande as the blue light brightened.

  “If the Artificer learns of my existence, he might pry the knowledge of Dragonfall from my mind,” said the Watcher. “If he claims a body and reaches Dragonfall before you, if he claims your memory and staff, that would be catastrophic. There would be no one to stop the return of the Frostborn, and the world would perish in ice.”

  “I know,” said Calliande. “But it is a necessary risk. You know everything that I know. We have to get the soulstone back.” She felt the presence of an alien mind brush over her, seeking for Mara. “If we storm the Iron Tower and the Artificer disrupts our attack, Shadowbearer will claim the soulstone. Or the Artificer claims the soulstone for himself and creates an empire of his own. Or, worse, he simply hands it over to Shadowbearer.”

  The Watcher sighed. “All that you say is true. Very well. How can I aid you?”

  “Can you lend your strength to mine, if necessary?” said Calliande. The Watcher nodded. “Very well. Conceal yourself from the Artificer. I do not want him to learn of your presence. But if he attacks me, lend me your strength if you think it necessary.”

  “May God be with you,” said the Watcher, and he faded into the mists.

  Calliande waited before Mara’s bed, holding a spell ready as the blue fire and the alien will swept back and forth. She felt it brush against her like tentacles, like the seeking antennae of some deformed, misshapen insect. It sensed her presence, and she felt the Artificer’s rage and hunger.

  And then, all at once, he appeared before her.

  The Artificer, or at least the form the Artificer chose to wear in this dream-place, was at least seven feet tall. His face was long and gaunt and bone-white, his pale-blond hair hanging lose around his shoulders, the tips of his elven ears rising from the pale hair. His eyes were utterly black and empty, colder and darker tha
n Mara’s eyes had been in the grip of her transformation. He wore black clothing beneath a long blue coat with black trim. A memory stirred in Calliande’s mind. Shadowbearer’s long red coat, she realized, was the traditional garb of the high elven archmages.

  The archmages of the dark elves wore these blue coats.

  She wondered if the Artificer had truly possessed that kind of power, or if he wore the coat as an affectation.

  Most likely she would find out in the next few moments.

  The Artificer’s freezing black eyes fixed upon Mara, and then rotated towards Calliande.

  “You,” hissed the Artificer, his voice the same deep, rasping whisper that had come from Mara’s throat. “The broken child. The little mageling. The fool playing with the powers of the Well.”

  “You have named me thrice, sir,” said Calliande. “Is that always the custom among the dark elves?”

  “Do not play games with me, child,” said the Artificer. “I know what you are. I have seen into the half-breed’s mind, and I hear the thoughts of the short-lived mortal worms that wander the ruins of Urd Mazekathar. You are a human, a short-lived mayfly playing at the games of gods. Worse, you attempt to wield power that you can neither comprehend nor control.” The towering figure took a step towards her, the blue coat stirring in an invisible breeze. “And you dare to challenge me, a true master of magic? Impudent little fool.”

  “A true master of magic?” said Calliande, forcing herself to stand firm against the Artificer’s overwhelming aura. “That tower of iron was an impressive feat of sorcery. It must have been a work of great power and skill.”

  The Artificer said nothing, but ghostly blue fire began to burn around his long, pale fingers.

  “A great feat,” said Calliande, “or you botched the spell, and the Warden imprisoned you here for betraying…”

  “The Warden!” spat the Artificer, his voice rising to a roar. “The Warden is a fool. Short-sighted and petty. He is content to rot behind the walls of Urd Morlemoch. I had a vision of the world cleansed of the urdmordar, of the high elves broken, of all other kindreds made our slaves for eternity. The Warden lacked the courage to follow my vision, so he tricked and betrayed me.”

  “That hardly convinces me,” said Calliande, “that you are a master of magic. You were the Warden’s bumbling apprentice, and he…”

  The Artificer bellowed in fury, pointed at her, and cast a spell. A lance of dancing blue flame burst from his fingers, and Calliande cast a spell of her own. White light flared around her, and the burst of flame slammed into her ward. The impact rocked her, knocking her back a step, and Calliande gritted her teeth. The Artificer’s strike had been strong…but she had faced far worse. Agrimnalazur had been stronger.

  “I thought a master of magic would have been able to strike harder,” said Calliande.

  The bottomless black eyes narrowed. “That is but a fraction of my power.”

  “I suspect so,” said Calliande. “You’re much stronger in the Iron Tower…but you were not strong enough to manifest outside the tower of iron. You could keep Mara’s bracelet, but you couldn’t stop her from leaving. And when you are projecting your magic this far from the Iron Tower, I don’t think you’re very strong at all.”

  “She will be mine, foolish mortal,” said the Artificer. “Do you think you can defy me? I shall live again in her flesh, and I shall rule this world.”

  “No,” said Calliande.

  The Artificer moved closer. “Must we be enemies? I know what you seek. You desire to retrieve the soulstone and thwart the bearer of shadow. Do not lie to me. The bearer of shadow shall summon the Frostborn demons back into this world. You are right to fear them. Long my kindred and I struggled against both the urdmordar and the high elves, and the Frostborn are more potent by far.”

  “I thought you would aid Shadowbearer,” said Calliande. “Did he not teach you to worship the great void long ago?”

  “I wish to rule this world, not destroy it,” said Artificer, “and my kindred realized too late that the bearer of shadow did not share our desires.” For a moment a strange note entered the rasping voice. Regret, perhaps? “We sought to rule the world, to bring order, to transcend our limitations. The bearer of shadow offered us the power to achieve that. But we learned he wished to destroy the world, not rule it.”

  “Why?” said Calliande, baffled. “Why destroy this world?”

  “You do not know, do you?” said the Artificer, a malicious amusement replacing the regret in his voice. “Ah, but I can see your aura. You cut out some of your memories, did not you not? Wise of you. For the bearer of shadow could tear them from your thoughts, and you are not strong enough to defy him.”

  Calliande said nothing as the Artificer began to circle to her left, closer to Mara’s bed.

  “Why not join me?” said the Artificer. “We both want the same thing, do we not?”

  “I don’t want to rule the world,” said Calliande.

  “But we both want to stop the bearer of shadow and reclaim the soulstone,” said the Artificer, “and to keep the Frostborn from destroying our world. Why shall we not work together?”

  “Because,” said Calliande, “if you claim Mara’s body and take up the soulstone, you’ll be as ruthless a tyrant as the dark elves of old. Because I don’t believe you when you say you have turned against Shadowbearer. The Enlightened of Incariel operate in the shadows, hiding their true allegiance…and I suspect you are little different.”

  “Then,” said the Artificer, blue fire blazing to life around him, “I shall sweep you from my path.”

  He thrust out his hands, but he pointed at Mara, not at Calliande. Shadows burst from him, a hundred different tendrils, and coiled around Mara like hungry serpents. He was trying to possess her, to claim her body for his own as he had done within the Iron Tower. But the white light of Calliande’s ward flared around Mara, repulsing the Artificer’s attack.

  “Now!” said Calliande, raising her hands, and she felt the Watcher’s power flood into her. The Artificer whirled to face her, blue fire crackling around his fingers, but Calliande struck first. A lance of white flame shot from her hands and slammed into the Artificer. The dark elven wizard screamed, trying to summon power for a ward, but Calliande’s magic drilled into him. He was strong, but he had projected himself too far, and could not match her power. More, Calliande’s magic let her harm creatures of dark magic…and the Artificer was nothing but a creature of dark magic.

  The Artificer retreated, arms coming up to ward away the spell, and Calliande poured all her strength into the attack. If she could defeat him here, if she could break his power, perhaps he would be no threat when they reached the Iron Tower…

  Then the Artificer vanished into nothingness.

  Calliande let out a long breath and lowered her hands, the white fire fading away. No blue flames burned in the mist, and she saw no trace of the Artificer. She cast a spell, seeking for his dark magic, but she felt nothing but her own wards.

  “He is gone.” The Watcher shimmered into existence next to her. “He has fled back to the Iron Tower.”

  “That was easier than I expected,” said Calliande.

  The Watcher shook his head, his gray beard rustling against the collar of his white robe. “I fear you gambled correctly. His spirit is bound within the tower of iron, and so far from it his power was weakened. Had you tried that within the Iron Tower itself, he would have crushed you easily.”

  Calliande nodded, sobered by the warning. “I will take care.”

  “No, you won’t,” said the Watcher. He laughed, his eyes still sad. “In your previous life, you never took care, and you won’t now, I am utterly certain.” He looked at Mara and sighed. “But your efforts shall be in vain.”

  “What do you mean?” said Calliande.

  “Even if you retrieve the bracelet, even if it can still hold back her transformation in this advanced stage,” said the Watcher, “it won’t last. Sooner or later the dark elven bl
ood will overwhelm the bracelet.”

  “I know,” said Calliande.

  “The sensible thing to do would be to kill her now,” said the Watcher. “Before she transforms and kills everyone she can reach.”

  “I know,” said Calliande. “She even asked us to do it. She convinced me that it was the right thing to do. And then…”

  “And then the Gray Knight changed your mind,” said the Watcher.

  Calliande nodded. “He has…a knack for convincing people of his view.”

  “You should be wary of him,” said the Watcher, “and of the child of dark magic.”

  “Why?” said Calliande. “I mean, Morigna, I understand why I should be wary of her. But Ridmark? Ridmark is not an evil man.”

  “No,” said the Watcher, “but he is a wounded man. That is why he is trying to save Mara, why he saved you and the child of dark magic. He could not save his wife, so he tries to save others again and again, though it shall never bring him any peace.”

  “Given that he saved my life, repeatedly,” said Calliande with some acerbity, “perhaps you should not criticize him.”

  “I do not criticize him,” said the Watcher, “for I, too, have known grief. But I do counsel you that it is unwise to give your heart to such a man. He cannot accept it, and it will wound you terribly.”

  “If you could tell me if I was married,” said Calliande, “if there was someone else who already had a prior claim on my heart, then the problem would resolve itself.”

  He closed his eyes. “I cannot. By your own command.”

  “I know,” said Calliande, but her hand tightened into a fist with frustration.

  “May God go with you, Calliande,” said the Watcher. “And beware Mara. You mean the best. She means the best. But that means little when weighed against the dark power within her.”

  The dream faded away.

  Calliande awoke with a lurch, blinking. Mara lay asleep in the bed, her chest rising and falling. The sun had gone down, and pale moonlight leaked through the windows. It had a blue tinge, which meant that Aqaeus, the moon of water, had risen tonight, accompanied by…three or four others. She could never keep track of the calculations to predict the comings and goings of the various moons.