Frostborn: The Broken Mage (4 page)

After, he rolled onto his back, and she curled up next to him, sweating and breathing hard. He knew it was wrong to lie with a woman who was not his wife, that the knight and Swordbearer he had been five years ago would be appalled to see him now. 

But Morigna took some of the bleakness from his mind. 

“Rest,” Morigna whispered. “Rest. You deserve some rest, if only for a little while. It…”

She fell silent, staring into the shadows.

“What is it?” murmured Ridmark. 

“Nothing,” said Morigna. She rested her head against his chest again. “Sleep.”

He drifted off to sleep.

###

Mara sat curled up on the edge of the square tower’s balcony, her eyes scanning the darkness of the Market. 

She waited with perfect patience. Mara had waited patiently many, many times, first in the years she had spent alone in the wilderness after her mother’s death and their escape from Nightmane Forest, and then after the Matriarch had recruited her into the Red Family. So often Mara’s very survival had depended on her ability to watch patiently and quietly, and she had gotten very good at it. 

Not that there was much to watch. The Market was as silent as the grave, and the only sounds that came to Mara’s ears were the low rumble of Kharlacht’s and Arandar’s voices as they discussed the day’s events. Despite the fire Caius had started, none of the smoke issued from the roof. Knowing the prowess of dwarven engineers, they likely had a system of elaborate stone shafts that funneled the smoke to a narrow vent three miles up the slope of the mountain. Not that it mattered, since it was almost impossible to hide from a deep orc. Had a deep orc prowled through the Market, he likely could have smelled Mara’s sweat, could have heard the beat of her heart from halfway across the tier. They could not hide from the deep orcs, but Mara could at least warn her friends of any attack. 

Yet for now, the Dormari Market was quiet, and they were as safe as they were likely to be. 

Which was a pity, really. It gave Mara a chance to think, and her thoughts wandered through dark places. 

She heard someone coming up the stairs to the tower and recognized Jager’s footfalls. They brought a brief smile to her face. Jager was perfectly capable of moving without sound. He wanted her to know that he was coming, so he walked with deliberate noise. 

It was a thoughtful gesture. That, and he knew better than to sneak up on a woman who had been an assassin of the Red Family. 

A moment later Jager stepped onto the balcony.

“Couldn’t sleep?” said Mara.

“Not particularly,” said her husband, frowning at the armor of dark elven steel he wore over his usual white shirt and black vest. “It’s a bit like sleeping in a tomb, which I never really had a taste for.” He tapped his armor. “You know, it’s a pity this doesn’t come in black. It would look better. I do not care for this shade of blue.”

“The dark elves had an alien sense of aesthetics,” said Mara. Idly she wondered if Jager had come up here to seduce her. She hoped that he had. He was quite good at it, and they had not been alone together for some time. 

And it would take her mind off other things. 

“They could have learned a thing or two from the dwarves,” said Jager. “The dwarves seemed fond of…square things. Square houses, square glyphs, square gates.” He stared into the ruined Market for a while, frowning. “You’re worried about something.”

“We are walking into an ancient dwarven ruin in search of a long-lost relic of tremendous magical power,” said Mara. “Only God knows what’s in here with us. Meanwhile, an army led by an orcish shaman is chasing us, and the Traveler and all his slaves are pursuing both the shaman and us. Something would be wrong if I was not at least a little bit worried.”

“No, that’s not it,” said Jager. “You’re worried, yes, but this is at least as dangerous as Urd Morlemoch. No.” He fell silent for a moment. “No…you feel guilty about something, I think.” 

Mara looked up at him in surprise. How had he known? Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. For all his mocking manner, her husband was not a stupid man. 

“Yes,” said Mara in a quiet voice. “Why shouldn’t I feel guilty? I’ve done many terrible things.”

Jager snorted. “That’s not it. You did what you had to do to survive, and as for the things you did while part of the Red Family, you’ve said your prayers to the Dominus Christus for forgiveness and that’s that. You’re not the sort to dwell on the past, my wife. So,” he scratched his chin, “so it’s something that you didn’t do. Something with the Traveler.”

“The Anathgrimm orcs,” Mara heard herself say. “They worship him as a god.”

“Because he made them to do it,” said Jager. “It’s not their fault. Just like a book isn’t to blame for what’s written upon its page. The fault lies with the author, not the book.” 

“And my father is the author of so much evil,” said Mara. “I was thinking about my sisters, if you must know.”

“Sisters?” said Jager. “You don’t have any…oh. You mean the Traveler’s urdhracosi.”

“We were once the same,” said Mara. “The daughters of his concubines, half human and half dark elven. Our fate was to be devoured by our dark elven blood, to become monsters in his service. That was what he intended for me. I should have become an urdhracos like the others.”

“But you didn’t,” said Jager. “You had help, aye, but you fought to the very end of your strength.” 

“I know,” said Mara. “I just wish…I wish there was something I could do to help them. Both the Anathgrimm and the urdhracosi and all my father’s other slaves. He twisted the Anathgrimm so they would worship him as a god, and he turned my half-sisters into monsters. I escaped from him and from Nightmane Forest…but I fear they will never escape him.” 

“Well, one cannot see the future,” said Jager.

“What do you mean?” said Mara.

“You thought you were going to turn into an urdhracos or an urshane or something,” said Jager. “You thought that your entire life. It didn’t quite turn out that way.”

“No,” said Mara. “I suppose not.”

“And look at Calliande,” said Jager. “She had a plan too, didn’t she?”

Mara frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When she was still the Keeper two hundred years ago,” said Jager. “She must have had some big plan for stopping the Frostborn from returning. I’m entirely certain her grand plan did not involve waking up naked and getting captured by Mhalekite orcs.”

Mara laughed despite herself. “I suppose you would focus upon her lack of clothing at the time.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Jager. “I am a married man. Besides, she is much too tall for a woman. But we wander from the point. We cannot see the future. Nor should you rebuke yourself for escaping from the Traveler. The alternative was to stay and die, or stay and become an urdhracos.” 

“I suppose you are right,” said Mara, closing her eyes for a moment. The Traveler’s strange song thundered through her thoughts. He was coming closer, surrounded by his Anathgrimm orcs and his creatures of dark magic. “He already has so much power. He cannot have the Keeper’s staff. I shudder to think of what he would do with it.” 

“Easily solved,” said Jager. “We steal away the staff before he finds it, and then he’s come all this way for nothing.”

“I think the staff belongs to Calliande,” said Mara. “Technically, claiming it for her would not be stealing.” 

“Precisely,” said Jager. “Why, we are merely helping Calliande to reclaim her lost property. I think Brother Caius could explain at great length why that is a meritorious deed.” 

Mara laughed and got to her feet, taking his hands. “You are too hard on Brother Caius. He is a kindly man.” 

“Just because I am hard on him doesn’t mean I don’t like him,” said Jager. “He is, however, quite fond of his own voice. Especially when he and Kharlacht start talking about theology.”

Mara laughed again. “Well, he is a preacher, husband. I expect that preaching is a skill that must be practiced to be kept, much like any other.” She kissed him. He was easy to kiss, since he was only an inch or two shorter than she was. She had never understood why some women wanted tall husbands. Having to crane her neck every time she wanted to kiss Jager would be exhausting, though perhaps she would feel differently if she were taller.  “Thank you. I feel better.” 

The guilt was still there, though. Yet she could do nothing about it, so there was no reason to dwell upon it. 

“Good,” said Jager. “We should…”

He fell silent, frowning as he looked at the stairs. Mara heard the rasp of quiet footsteps. A moment later Morigna came into sight, her staff in hand, though she had discarded her tattered cloak of brown and green strips. 

She looked…unsettled. Maybe even a little frightened. 

And to Mara’s Sight, something seemed to have changed within her. 

“Why, Morigna,” said Jager. “Such excellent timing.” 

Morigna did not answer Jager’s barb, which alarmed Mara. Morigna always had a sharp answer for everything.

“What’s happened?” said Mara. 

“I think,” said Morigna, her voice a little unsteady, “I think that something is wrong with me.” 

###

Morigna leaned against the stone railing, her fingers tight against it. 

Physically, she felt fine. A little tired, but the last several days had been busy. Her legs were a bit weak from her recent exertions with Ridmark, but that was not unusual. He had a knack for wearing her out. 

Her vision, though…

She saw Mara and Jager clearly. Normally that would not have concerned her, but given the lack of light in the cavernous tiered hall of the Dormari Market, she should not have been able to see them clearly. She should not have been able to see the Market itself clearly.

Yet she could. 

“Jager,” said Morigna. “Leave.” 

The annoying little man folded his arms over his chest and jutted his chin at her. She had known a few halfling servants in Moraime who had worked for the praefectus and the abbot, and they had been nothing like Jager. 

“I would prefer to talk with Mara alone,” said Morigna.

“Really,” said Jager. He smirked, but his amber-colored eyes were hard as stone. “You were using dark magic during our fights with the Anathgrimm and the Mhorites…and after that you expect me to leave my wife alone with you? Truly, if you think I am that gullible, why not splash some yellow paint across a wooden cup and try to sell it to me as a golden chalice? You might at least make some profit from the effort…”

“Jager,” said Mara before Morigna could answer, and Jager subsided. “Morigna, I will help you if I can, and I will even hold something in confidence if you wish it. But I will not keep secrets from my husband.” 

“Fine,” said Morigna. 

“Though if you are sick or injured, you should see Calliande,” said Mara. “She’s a physician, and she has the healing magic of the Well. I just kill people.” 

“And I steal things,” added Jager, unhelpfully. 

“I cannot,” said Morigna. “It…use your Sight, please, and look at me. Tell me if something has changed.”

Mara shrugged, and then stared at Morigna for a moment. She was quite a bit shorter than Morigna, and her green eyes seemed huge and luminous in her pale, delicate face. Even without the points of her ears, Mara never managed to look quite human. She tilted her head to the side in one direction, and then another, a concerned frown coming over her features. 

“What is it?” said Morigna.

“Something has changed,” said Mara. “You’ve always had a magical aura, ever since I gained the Sight. Earth magic, which looks like,” she made a vague gesture, “like light made of rock and stone. Which is an inadequate description, but the best I can do. After Urd Morlemoch, you had dark magic within you from that soulstone.” She shook her head. “And now…it’s changed, somehow. I’m not sure how. I haven’t much practice with the Sight. But if I were to guess, I would say that some of it has soaked into you. Altered you, a little.”

“It has,” said Morigna, a flicker of dread running through her. The Old Man had been a scoundrel and a liar, but he had always said power was the foundation of everything, and Morigna had never seen anything to disagree with that. He had never warned her, though, that power itself might turn on her. “I can see in the dark.”

Jager frowned. “It’s not that dark in here.”

Morigna started to snap back at him, and then swallowed the insult. She needed Mara’s help, and insulting Jager was not the best way to go about it. “It is dark enough. And I can see better than I should.” She pointed. “That archway there, on the far side of the Market. Can you see it from here?”

“I can,” said Jager, and Mara nodded. 

“Can you make out any of the details above the arch?” said Morigna.

“No,” said Mara. “It’s too dark.”

“I can,” said Morigna. “There are several rows of dwarven glyphs carved into the rock. A crack in the stone below it. Just further up the gallery I see a broken gate of dwarven steel. Likely the Frostborn broke it during their attack.”

“I can’t see any of that,” said Jager.

“Nor can I,” said Mara, turning back to Morigna with a thoughtful expression. She did not look alarmed, at least not yet. “When did this start?”

“A few moments ago,” said Morigna. “Ridmark and I had…” She stopped talking, trying to think of a way to phrase it. “We had just…”

“I understand,” said Mara. Jager smirked, damn him. 

“We had just finished,” said Morigna. “Then I felt something…shift inside my head, and suddenly I could see everything in the room around me, even though it was dark.”

“Did you tell Ridmark?” said Mara. 

“No,” said Morigna. “He fell asleep. I went looking for you.” She took a deep breath. “I think I may be transforming.” 

“Transforming?” said Jager. “Into…what?”

“The way I did,” said Mara, her voice grave. “The way the dark magic in my father’s blood transformed me into what I am now, the way it almost turned me into an urdhracos like my sisters.”

Sisters? For a moment Morigna did not understand, and then she remembered the urdhracosi who had guarded the Traveler.