Frostborn: The Iron Tower (23 page)

“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 blood 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. 

She stood and yawned in silence. She felt worse than she had before falling asleep. Which was not surprising, since working magic while conscious was tiring, and doing so while unconscious had to be as much of an exertion. Calliande slipped out of Mara’s room and made her way to her own room down the hall. She needed her rest. Tomorrow, they would set out for the Iron Tower once more.

And then, one way or another, they would see this done.

Chapter 16 - Water Gate

Three days after leaving Vulmhosk, Ridmark stood on the prow of Smiling Otto’s boat. 

It was the same boat that had carried them to Coldinium after Mournacht’s attack on Vulmhosk, and Otto had loaded it up with a fresh supply of cargo. The Dux of Caerdracon sent supplies to the Tower from Coldinium, but the soldiers of the garrison had wants that the Dux’s supplies did not meet. Such as barrels of powerful spirits, produced in the villages of the Wilderland near Vulmhosk. Or certain elixirs brewed from the herbs and flowers of the Wilderland, drugs that dulled pain or induced sleep or enhanced a man’s prowess with a woman. Bundles of pelts taken from the beasts of the Wilderland, pelts the men-at-arms could resell in Coldinium. Nuggets of gold and silver taken from abandoned dvargir mines, or relics looted from dark elven ruins. 

Smiling Otto himself stood on the prow of the boat, his coat flapping in the breeze.

“And there it is,” murmured Otto.

The Iron Tower rose from the shore a mile ahead, the massive iron monolith of its central tower stark against the blue afternoon sky. The castra’s watchtower-lined curtain walls extended to the very edge of the rippling waters. Yet a barbican jutted from the walls and into the lake itself, the only entrance a single massive arch sealed off by an iron portcullis. It created a fortified harbor within the lake itself, allowing the Tower to take on supplies with ease even when besieged.

It also meant any boat that entered the barbican was at the mercy of the Tower. Ridmark saw the ballistae and catapults waiting atop the walls. Likely the engines were there to defend from any raiders upon the lake, but they could just as easily be turned against any boats within the barbican.

Such as boats that happened to be carrying the Constable’s bitter enemies.

“You needn’t have brought all this cargo here,” said Ridmark. “If the Tower falls, you can steal it all back anyway.”

“Aye,” said Otto, “but it would look suspicious if we showed up with an empty boat. The Constable is not a sociable sort, but so long as we amply bribe him with spirits and silver, he welcomes our merchandise.” 

Ridmark nodded, his eyes tracing the lines of the engines upon the walls.

“You had best go below and hide,” said Otto. “If any of those men-at-arms recognize you, we’ll be dead in short order. Don’t come out again until the boat is unloaded. The only way into the courtyard from the harbor is a flight of stairs that leads up from the quay to an inner gate.”

“Guarded?” said Ridmark.

“Rarely,” said Otto. “The garrison expects attack from the north, not the south. They keep a watch upon the lake walls, but the inner gate is hardly ever closed.” He looked up at Ridmark, his scar twisting his smile into a smirk. “Unless you have spooked them so badly they close the gate at night.” 

“If it comes to that, we’ll handle it then,” said Ridmark. 

“They won’t let us stay in the barbican overnight,” said Otto. “Usually they’ll have us put out to the lake, and we’ll drop anchor and continue west once the sun comes up. You have only a short time to get into the castra proper before we leave.”

Ridmark nodded. “We’ll be quick.”

“And if you’re caught,” said Otto, “we’ve never met, and I had no idea you and your villainous cohorts hid yourselves aboard my boat.”

“Agreed,” said Ridmark. 

“Go hide,” said Otto. “If one of the sentries happens to spot a man in a gray cloak with a staff, they’ll likely start throwing ballista bolts at us.”

Ridmark nodded, wove his way through the bales of cargo upon the deck, and descended to the hold. More stacked cargo filled most of the space. Jager sat against one of the walls, cleaning and polishing his daggers, his eyes distant. 

Morigna stood nearby, her head bowed, both hands on her staff. Ridmark felt a peculiar tangle of emotion as he looked at her.

They had not spoken at any length since leaving Vulmhosk, since the night of their kiss. There had been too much work to do, and they hadn’t been alone since boarding the boat and sending Calliande, Caius, Gavin, Kharlacht, and Mara with Crowlacht’s warband. There had been no chance to talk.

And no chance for anything else to happen. Not that Ridmark wanted anything else to happen.

No, that was a lie. 

But he knew it was for the best. Calliande had been one matter. She bore a heavy responsibility, and once she recovered her staff and memory she might recall that she had a husband and children hidden in some other ruin. It had hurt to push her away, but it had been for the best. She had responsibilities. She didn’t know herself, not truly. It was for the best.

And it was for the best to push Morigna away. She was abrasive and prickly, and she loved power entirely too much, was too willing to kill as the easiest solution to a problem. And she was brave and bold, willing to stand defiant against powerful enemies. She moved like a ghost through the trees, and he had been astonished to find that she could keep up with him while hunting.