Frostborn: The Iron Tower (12 page)

“And destroyed himself,” said Ridmark, remembering the Warden’s mad, mocking laughter. “That sounds like the sort of stratagem he would use.” 

“The Matriarch was terrified of the Warden,” said Mara. “Even if he is imprisoned within Urd Morlemoch. That was the one way to escape the Red Family, though no one ever knew it. If one of our targets went into the Torn Hills, within the Warden’s sphere of influence, the Matriarch let the target go.”

“Though if the Family’s targets come within reach of the Warden,” said Ridmark, “then they likely have larger problems.”

“Truly,” said Mara. 

“So this voice calling itself the Artificer let you out of your chains,” said Ridmark. “What happened then?”

“The Artificer told me to go to the base of the tower of iron itself,” said Mara. “A hidden door opened, and I climbed some stairs.”

Ridmark frowned. “I thought the tower was a solid mass of iron.”

“Evidently not,” said Morigna. 

“There was a stair that led to the courtyard,” said Mara. “Tendrils of shadow came out of the wall and…started to sink into my flesh. I felt them draining away the warmth, draining away my…life, I suppose. When I tried to leave, I couldn’t. The bracelet held me in place. It wouldn’t pass the doorway. I took it off and stepped through the door. I thought I could pull it after me, but the door vanished before I could get it back. By then Sir Paul’s men realized I had escaped, and I had to flee.” She shrugged. “You know what happened next.” 

They stood in silence for a moment. 

“Could the Artificer still be in the Iron Tower?” said Gavin at last.

“Magistri and Swordbearers visit the Tower on a regular basis,” said Ridmark. “Not recently, I expect, unless they are allied with the Enlightened of Incariel. But the Tower has been here since the defeat of the Frostborn. Surely the Artificer’s presence would have been detected.” 

“Could his spirit have been bound to the ruins?” said Caius. “Just as the Warden is bound to Urd Morlemoch?” 

“I’ve never heard of magic that can do such a thing,” said Morigna.

“Nor have I,” said Calliande. “But the dark elves were the unrivalled masters of dark sorcery, at least until the urdmordar came. Who knows what powers they had?” 

“More immediately,” said Kharlacht. “Why would the Artificer let Mara out of her cell?”

“I wish I knew,” said Mara. “And I want to know why he took my bracelet.”

“One suspects,” said Morigna, “that the Warden’s spell imprisoned the Artificer within that tower of iron. Perhaps the Artificer saw a chance to wreak vengeance, and hoped to transform Mara and gain a powerful minion.” She shrugged. “If I was the Artificer, that is the plan I would employ.” 

Jager gave her a flat look. 

“Then what shall we do now?” said Caius.

“First, we sleep,” said Ridmark. “I will take first watch, but we must have some rest before we proceed. Then we shall do what we came here to do. We will enter the Iron Tower, steal away the soulstone…and retrieve Mara’s bracelet while we are at it.”

Mara blinked. “You would aid me?”

“I gave my word,” said Ridmark. 

Mara looked away. “Thank you. Though…you take a terrible risk. The shadows are consuming me. I do not think I can control them much longer.”

“I can help with that, if you’ll allow it,” said Calliande. “I could maintain the spell I put on you, one that will summon the white fire if you start to transform.”

Jager frowned. “Won’t that hurt her?”

“It shall,” said Mara, “but the pain will help me regain control. Thank you, Magistria.” 

“Cast the spell, and then get some rest,” said Ridmark. “I suspect tomorrow will be a busy day.”

Calliande hesitated. She often hesitated when she spoke to him now. “You are sure you can take first watch?”

“He is not a child to require coddling,” said Morigna. 

“I know that,” said Calliande. She was always calm, but there was an increasing amount of asperity in her voice when talking to, or about, Morigna. 

“Your concern is kind,” said Ridmark, “but I will be fine. I shall take the first watch after you cast the spell on Mara.”

And he needed to think. The Iron Tower was well-fortified and well-garrisoned, and Paul would be on his guard now. And even if Paul was a negligent fool, Ridmark suspected that Tzoragar, Dzark of Great House Klzathur of the city of Khaldurmar, would not be nearly so lax. 

There was a way. There had to be a way.

He just had to find it before time ran out.

Chapter 8 - The Artificer

Calliande wrapped her cloak about her and lay down, trying to get comfortable. That turned out to be a wasted effort, so she settled for not lying upon any roots. The day had been long and exhausting, as had the last several days, and sleep ought to have come at once. 

But it did not. 

She had too many things upon her mind. 

The lost soulstone, for one. Shadowbearer had planned to kill her and bind her power within it, but with Ridmark’s help she had escaped and taken the soulstone with her. Shadowbearer needed that soulstone, required it to bring back the Frostborn, though Calliande did not yet know why.

And now the soulstone was secured within the Iron Tower, guarded by Shadowbearer’s servants. 

Her eyes wandered across the camp to where Jager and Mara sat together, speaking in low voices. She did not begrudge them the noise. They had been separated for almost a month, and both had endured trials. And there were trials to come, Calliande was sure. Especially if Mara lost control of herself and transformed. If she did, Calliande would have no choice but to kill her. Jager would likely blame himself. Calliande had seen what that kind of grief had done to Ridmark.

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 Watcher, “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.”