Frostborn: The Iron Tower (13 page)

“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…”

The dream ended, and Calliande’s eyes shot open.

For a moment she lay stunned in her cloak, her mind frozen. The Artificer was coming for them? She sat up, eyes scanning for threats, but saw nothing…

Then the screaming filled her ears.

###

Mara ought to have been able to sleep, but she could not.

She was exhausted from her imprisonment in the Tower and her flight through the forest, yet sleep remained out of reach. The shadows hissed and buzzed in her mind, whispering for her to release them. And the disturbing things she had learned from Ridmark and the others played upon her mind. Shadowbearer was real? The Frostborn were returning? Mara had seen some terrible and powerful creatures in her life, but even the Matriarch had spoken of the Frostborn in fearful tones. 

Besides her, Jager snored. She had never thought she would miss his snoring. At least he could sleep. She was relieved, so relieved, that he was safe. Every day in the Iron Tower she had worried for him. She knew how much Paul Tallmane hated him, had dreaded what Paul and Tarrabus would do to him. 

At least he was safe. 

Part of Mara, most of Mara, wanted to send him away. Jager could go, could vanish into the realm and start his life anew. Ridmark was a bold warrior, but even he could not break into the Iron Tower and survive. And if Jager fell into Paul’s hands, he would suffer and die. Jager could leave, find a halfling woman and raise a family, a woman not corrupted by dark elven blood.

Though the thought tore at her heart.

And that hum. That damned hum that moaned just at the edge of her hearing. Were one of the others singing? The fools, that would bring Paul’s men. Or, worse, urvaalgs or some of the other creatures that haunted the Wilderland.

The hum grew louder. It became a song, a terrible, beautiful song. Mara staggered to her feet, intent on finding it. It came from one of Calliande’s packs. The Magistria lay upon her side, sleeping. Mara glided in silence across the camp, knelt, and opened Calliande’s pack.

The strange moaning song rose from within the pack. 

Mara reached inside, her hand curling around something hard.

A horrible shock went up her arm, yellow light flaring from within the pack, and Mara realized that she had made a dreadful mistake. 

She had just picked up the Matriarch’s soulcatcher.

The Artificer’s voice filled her head, no longer a whisper, but a mighty blast of thunder.

“Mine!” said the Artificer. “You are mine, and my freedom is at hand!”

Mara screamed.

Chapter 9 - Purpose

Ridmark whirled at the sound of the scream, his bow coming up. 

He saw the others in the camp scrambling to their feet. Purple fire blazed around Morigna’s fingers, while Kharlacht drew his greatsword with a steely hiss. Ridmark spotted Calliande, white light glimmering around her hands, while Mara…

Yellow light and dark shadow writhed around Mara, illuminating the dagger she held clenched in her fists. The blue blade was a foot long, and three small crystals gleamed in its base, giving off a sickly, bruise-like yellow light. 

The soulcatcher.

“Mara!” shouted Jager, reaching for her. “Put that thing down! Are…”

“No!” said Mara. “Stay…stay away from me. I couldn’t stop myself. Go! He’ll kill you all!”

“Who?” said Kharlacht, looking around for foes.

“The Artificer,” said Calliande, the white light brightening around her hands. “I was wrong. The Artificer wasn’t trying to transform her. He’s trying to possess her.”

“What?” said Jager. 

“His spirit,” said Calliande. “It’s bound within the Iron Tower. When Paul brought Mara into the Tower, her presence woke up the Artificer’s spirit…”

“Because it could sense a host,” said Ridmark, lowering his bow. 

“Go!” said Mara. “I can’t…I can’t hold him back. He’s too strong. I…”

She flinched, shuddering, and another voice came from her lips. 

“Go, mortals.” The voice was deeper, colder than Mara’s. “I have no quarrel with you, and you need not die at my hand. Depart now, and I shall permit you to live. Contest me, and I shall slay you all, and raise your corpses to labor as my servants. If you…”

Mara shuddered, forcing her mouth closed.

“We have to kill her now,” said Morigna. “Before the Artificer takes complete control of her.”

“No!” said Jager. “She can fight it off, Calliande can use her magic, it…”

“Do you really think either Calliande or I could fight an ancient dark elven wizard?” said Morigna. “We must kill her now!”

“That is murder,” said Caius.

“That is self-defense,” said Morigna. “And if you do not have the nerve to do it, then I…”

Jager drew his weapons and stepped toward her.

“Enough!” said Ridmark, his shout cutting through their argument. “Calliande, can you break the spell?”

“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “It’s strong, Ridmark. Much stronger than the power in Mara’s blood.”