Frostborn: The Iron Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Yourself, of course,” said Calliande with a smile.

  “I knew that,” said Mara. “But what am I now? I always thought I would become an urshane or an urdhracos. But the transformation came…and I don’t know what I am now.”

  “Something new,” said Calliande. “Your father intended you to become a monster. But you turned the transformation to a new direction.”

  “Thanks to the Watcher,” said Mara, voice quiet. Calliande had asked her not to tell anyone else of the Watcher, and Mara saw no reason not to comply.

  “He gave you the chance,” said Calliande, “but you took it. I do not believe this has ever happened before, a dark elven half-breed who resisted the transformation and retained her free will. So what you are now is entirely up to you.”

  “I suppose,” said Mara, “in that regard I am no different than any other man or woman.”

  “No,” said Calliande. “Paul Tallmane made his choices, too.”

  “Thank you again,” said Mara. “For everything.”

  To Mara’s surprise, Calliande laughed. “For a former assassin of the Red Family, you are perhaps the most studiously polite woman I have ever met.”

  “My mother was always polite to everyone,” said Mara. “To the very moment she died.” She took a deep breath. “I thought I would be polite until the moment I became a monster. Since that is apparently not to be my fate, instead I shall be polite until I die.”

  “If you come with us to Urd Morlemoch,” said Calliande, “that may be sooner than you like.”

  “I know,” said Mara, “but Jager’s mind is made up, and I agree with him. I would like to live quietly somewhere, but I fear that is impossible if the Enlightened of Incariel come to rule Andomhaim. Or if Shadowbearer brings the Frostborn back.” She shrugged. “And Jager feels guilty, so guilty, over stealing the Dux’s signet ring and dragging us into this. He wants a chance to make up for it, and I will go with him.”

  “He never shows it,” said Calliande.

  “My Jager is a brave man,” said Mara, “and he would rather go to his death than show weakness to anyone. So we shall accompany you.” She hesitated. “If the Gray Knight will have us, of course.”

  “I think he will,” said Calliande. “In his heart, he wants to go to Urd Morlemoch alone. But he knows he has a better chance of success with companions.”

  “As do we all,” said Mara.

  “I feel rested,” said Calliande, “and I shall spend some more time among the wounded.”

  “Are you sure?” said Mara. Calliande had healed wound after wound last night, focusing upon the most badly injured until she had collapsed from exhaustion and Ridmark had carried her to a cot. “Surely you cannot have recovered already.”

  “I have not,” said Calliande, “but the work must be done. If politeness is your compulsion, then this is mine.”

  “A more admirable one by far,” said Mara, and Calliande laughed and went about her work.

  Mara watched the courtyard, marveling. She had been so certain that she would die here, or that she would become a monster. But neither had happened…and she did not quite know what to make of the new possibilities before her. But did not the scriptures say that the judgments of God were beyond understanding?

  Jager strolled over to join her, and Mara grinned and kissed him.

  “I had a thought,” said Jager.

  “Only one?” said Mara. “Perhaps we should consult Calliande.”

  “Ha! Well, several thoughts related to the same topic,” said Jager. “Crowlacht’s men liberated a great quantity of food from the Tower’s stores, more than we can carry. It would be a shame to waste it all.”

  “This is so,” said Mara. “Everyone should have a good meal before we depart.”

  “It also occurs to me,” said Jager, “that Brother Caius is a friar.”

  “Yes,” said Mara. “He’s mentioned it.”

  “It means that he’s also a priest,” said Jager.

  Mara opened her mouth to answer, and then her mind put the pieces together, and she started to laugh.

  “I have to ask you a question,” said Jager.

  ###

  Ridmark emerged from the battered keep and saw Kharlacht and Gavin talking.

  “It is not surprising,” said Kharlacht. “You have observed how they look at each other.”

  “But why here?” said Gavin.

  “What is surprising?” said Ridmark.

  Kharlacht and Gavin looked at him, and Gavin grinned. Even Kharlacht looked almost pleased, or at least less grim than usual.

  “Jager and Mara,” said Gavin.

  “What about them?” said Ridmark.

  “They’re getting married,” said Gavin.

  “Here?” said Ridmark.

  “Here and now,” said Kharlacht.

  “Apparently Jager simply planned to have Caius marry them then and there,” said Gavin. “But we have all this food and wine looted from the larder, and Crowlacht and Otto want to get drunk and feast anyway…and what better excuse than a wedding?”

  “Among some of the tribes of Vhaluusk,” said Kharlacht, “it is traditional for a man to present his bride with the weapons of defeated foes to prove his prowess and courage.” He shrugged. “I suppose the Iron Tower and the sword of Paul Tallmane are trophies enough. Perhaps Jager can carry Paul’s head at the wedding.”

  “Calliande would object,” said Gavin.

  “Mmm. This is true.”

  “They love each other,” said Ridmark, rolling his staff between his fingers, “and they have gone through great perils for each other. Why not?”

  “Then you will not insist that we depart for Urd Morlemoch at once?” said Gavin.

  The boy wanted to attend the wedding. Ridmark almost smiled.

  “We need a few days of rest in any event,” said Ridmark. “I see no reason why not.”

  “And Jager and Mara will accompany us,” said Kharlacht.

  “Of course they will,” said Ridmark. “I am marching to certain death at Urd Morlemoch, determined to go alone…and somehow I have acquired followers. By the time I reach the walls of Urd Morlemoch I will likely have an army.”

  “Crowlacht could be convinced,” said Kharlacht. “And Otto bribed, I suspect. Some of the tribes of Vhaluusk are not adverse to mercenary work…”

  “No,” said Ridmark.

  “He was joking,” said Gavin. “Wasn’t he?”

  “You never joke,” said Ridmark.

  Kharlacht offered a curt shrug. “A wedding is a special occasion. Exceptions can be made.”

  Ridmark opened his mouth to answer, and fell silent as Mara approached them.

  “Gray Knight,” said Mara. “Might I ask you a favor?”

  “Come, Gavin,” said Kharlacht. “We shall let them speak alone.”

  Gavin nodded and followed Kharlacht into the courtyard, leaving Ridmark with Mara.

  “What is it?” said Ridmark.

  “I am sure you have heard I will wed Jager in a few hours,” said Mara. “When Brother Caius performs the rite, I would like you to stand as my father.”

  Ridmark had not expected that. “That is an honor…but why? I cannot be more than five or six years your senior, for one.”

  “Well,” said Mara with a smile, “my real father would be a most unwelcome guest.”

  “Truly,” said Ridmark, “but why me?”

  “Because you saved my life,” said Mara.

  “You seemed to have done that yourself,” said Ridmark.

  “And I would not have had the chance,” said Mara, “if I had died before we even returned to the Iron Tower. I was ready. I asked you to kill me. I begged Jager to kill me. I would have welcomed it, had you done it. And…you convinced me otherwise. You made me believe. And you were right. If we had not heeded you, the Artificer would have slain us all, and would even now be building his new empire.”

  Later Ridmark would wonder why he said what he said next. Perhaps because Mara, out o
f everyone he had met since the day of the blue fire, understood. She had wanted to die, wanted to die as Ridmark had wanted to die after Aelia had perished. Maybe that was why he could be honest with her.

  “Perhaps I did it for the wrong reason,” said Ridmark.

  Mara lifted her pale eyebrows. “What reason would that be?”

  “Morigna and Calliande were right,” said Ridmark, his voice quiet. “I saved them because I could not save my wife. I would not kill you because I failed to save my wife. I know…I know that it will never bring her back, that it will never make up for what I did. I know this with my mind, but my heart screams otherwise. So here we are.”

  “And here we are,” said Mara, “and I think a noble deed done for an incorrect reason is still nonetheless a noble deed.” She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek, which required her to stand on the tips of her toes and strain. “Thank you. May I presume to offer counsel?”

  Ridmark sighed. “Permit me to guess. I should stop blaming myself for Aelia’s death?”

  “Well, that is a good idea,” said Mara, “but I was going to say that you should really do something about Calliande and Morigna. They will likely kill each other at some point.”

  “Why?” said Ridmark.

  “Because of you, I am afraid,” said Mara.

  Ridmark had suspected that was the answer.

  “They are wrong to think that,” said Ridmark. “Calliande does not know herself. She could be wed. And Morigna is…”

  “Brave,” said Mara. “And fond of you. So because of that…you are afraid that they will meet the same fate as your wife, and you could not bear that.”

  Ridmark said nothing. Which, he supposed, was answer enough.

  “I understand that,” said Mara. “Better than you know, I think. But do not live your life in despair, I beg of you. I did that. I thought I knew the future beyond all doubt. And look what happened instead.”

  Ridmark tried to smile. “Perhaps, when this is done. If we live through this, if we stop the return of the Frostborn. Then…perhaps I will be able to think on what you have said.”

  “Well, Jager and I will be there to advise you,” said Mara, “all the way to Urd Morlemoch.”

  Ridmark sighed. “I suppose there is no way to dissuade you.”

  “No,” said Mara. “Not any more. We have as much of a stake in this as you, Gray Knight. Shadowbearer wants to bring back the Frostborn, and Shadowbearer’s servants kidnapped me and forced Jager to steal from you. No, we shall see this through to the end.”

  “So be it,” said Ridmark.

  Mara blinked. “I would have expected more of a fight.”

  “This has happened enough times,” said Ridmark, “that I know better than to fight it by now. If you want to follow me to Urd Morlemoch, then follow. I will not stop you.”

  “Then we shall indeed see this through to the end,” said Mara.

  “I would be honored,” Ridmark said, “to stand as your father at the wedding.”

  ###

  So Ridmark stood as Mara’s father as she wed Jager in the courtyard of the Iron Tower.

  The mercenaries and the orcish warriors stood and watched as Caius led them through the rite. It did not surprise Ridmark in the least that Caius had the entire rite of marriage memorized, and recited it in flawless Latin, leading Jager and Mara through the ceremony.

  At last Caius pronounced them one flesh, warned that God would pronounce stern judgment any who tried to tear asunder what he had brought together, and the new husband and wife kissed. The mercenaries cheered, while the orcish warriors bellowed in approval, shaking their weapons in the air. The feast began soon after, and Otto and Crowlacht and Sir Marcast and many others raised toasts to the health of the new couple.

  Ridmark suspected it was more of an excuse to drink than anything else, but one could hardly disapprove of the sentiment.

  He stood apart from the others, watching the feast.

  “You will not drink?”

  He turned his head, saw Calliande approach with a cup of wine in her hand.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “Someone needs to keep their wits about them if we are attacked.”

  “Crowlacht did keep watchmen upon the walls,” said Calliande, “and the gate is shut.”

  “Even so,” said Ridmark.

  She smiled. “We did noble work here.”

  “It was a close thing,” said Ridmark. “We could just have easily been slain.”

  “I know,” said Calliande. “But it ended well.” She gestured at the feast. “This is why we are trying to stop the Frostborn, Ridmark. So people can live in peace, free from fear and terror. So they can marry, build lives, raise children, and make a home for themselves.”

  “Given that Jager is a halfling and Mara only half-human,” said Ridmark, “it is unlikely they will raise children.”

  “True.” Calliande took a sip of her wine. “But there are always orphans in need of a home.”

  Despite himself, Ridmark laughed. “That will be an interesting household. The master thief and the former sister of the Red Family. Their adopted orphans shall have a unique upbringing.”

  “I suspect,” said Calliande, “that the children shall learn to be brave, to show kindness to those weaker to themselves.”

  “And to always be polite,” said Ridmark.

  “True,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark watched Mara and Jager talk with Caius and Crowlacht, and felt a deep melancholy settle over him. The feast reminded him of his own wedding to Aelia in the great hall of Castra Marcaine nine and a half years ago, the same great hall where she would die thanks to Mhalek’s magic and Ridmark’s folly.

  He wondered what would happen if he succeeded, if he did in fact find a way to stop the Frostborn, if he helped Calliande locate her staff and her memory. If they were victorious, the others would go to their lives, or start new ones. But Ridmark…he was an exile, his face marked by the brand of cowardice. Stopping the return of the Frostborn had driven him since Aelia’s death, but if he succeeded, what would he do then? Wander the Wilderland alone until he died of old age, or until something killed him?

  But the odds against them were so high that it seemed an unlikely possibility.

  “I’ve upset you,” said Calliande.

  “No,” said Ridmark. “You deserve credit for what happened here, not me. Without your magic the Artificer would have made short work of us, and many men would have perished if you had not been able to heal their wounds.”

  “I only did what I could,” said Calliande. “I wish I could have done more, that I could have saved more men.” Ridmark opened his mouth to answer, and she pointed a finger at him. “And do not lecture me about not blaming myself, Ridmark Arban. If there were ever a starker example of the crow calling the raven black, I have not yet heard it.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps you are right. I am going to take a look around the walls.”

  “Why?” said Calliande.

  “For my own peace of mind,” said Ridmark, and it was only half a lie. He did not tell Calliande that watching the feast brought back memories he would rather not recall.

  Likely she knew it already.

  “As you think best,” said Calliande. “I will have Crowlacht save some food for you.”

  “Thank you,” said Ridmark, and he turned, took up his staff, and walked through the gate, leaving the wedding feast behind.

  Chapter 24 - The Choice

  Morigna glided through the trees, her staff slung over her back, her tattered cloak rippling around her. Her bow rested in her hands, an arrow waiting. She could raise the bow, draw it, and release in a heartbeat.

  She suspected she would need to do so soon.

  Morigna had left the feast soon after Caius had finished his interminable recitation. She rather liked Mara, though she still did not like Jager, and was pleased that Mara had overcome the cursed blood that threatened to twist her into a monster. But Morigna disliked crowds, and had no wish to w
atch Crowlacht and Otto and their men become roaring drunk.

  So she slipped off unseen into the woods for a walk, alone with her thoughts.

  Then she found someone moving with equal stealth through the trees.

  A scout, perhaps? One of the Enlightened who had escaped the Iron Tower? A raider from Vhaluusk?

  If there was a danger, Morigna would deal with it.

  She stepped around a tree, her boots making no noise against the ground, and lifted her bow.

  Ridmark Arban waited for her, his gray cloak fallen back from his shoulder, his staff in both hands.

  Morigna let out a long breath, and they stared at each other for a moment.

  “If you want to shoot me,” said Ridmark, “it would be more effective to do it from the back.”

  “You surprised me,” said Morigna. “I spotted someone moving through the trees, and thought it might be a threat.”

  “As did I,” said Ridmark, lowering his staff. “It appears that we were hunting each other.”

  Morigna snorted. “After everything we have survived, would that not have been a fine ending? We accidentally kill each other.”

  “Hardly a poetic ending,” said Ridmark.

  “No,” said Morigna. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to take a look around,” said Ridmark. “I did not want some enemy to take us unawares as we feasted. I assume you had the same thought.”

  Morigna shrugged. “Close enough. I tired of the noise. And I thought you would be at the feast.”

  “Why?” said Ridmark.

  “You were its founder, after all,” said Morigna. “You saved Mara, and you slew the Artificer.”

  “Mara saved herself,” said Ridmark, “and it was Calliande’s magic that let me strike the Artificer.” He gestured at her. “And your magic, as well. He had the upper hand throughout our fight. If you had not tripped him, I would not have been able to overcome him.”

  “But you made it possible,” said Morigna, “by persuading Mara to live.” She shook her head. “I was so sure of it.”

  “Of what?” said Ridmark.

  Morigna pushed some loose hair away from her forehead. “That we had to kill her before she transformed. That leaving her alive was too great of a threat. I tried to get Calliande to change your mind, since I thought you would listen to her.” She stepped closer to him. “But I was wrong. As wrong as I ever have been about anything.”