Frostborn: The Iron Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You should have killed her,” said Morigna. “She even gave you permission. When she wakes up the Artificer will return, and this time we might not stop him.”

  Ridmark shook his head. “The soulcatcher.” Calliande was already moving to retrieve the weapon. “Mara picked it up for some reason. I think its power drew the Artificer here and caused his spirit to enter Mara.”

  “And why was she so foolish as to pick it up?” said Morigna, looking at Jager.

  “I don’t know,” said Jager. “I was asleep. I awoke when I heard her screaming.”

  “Then the best course of action is to kill her,” said Morigna. “Otherwise we shall all be at the Artificer’s mercy when she awakens.”

  “No,” said Ridmark.

  “Even if the Artificer does not come for her again,” said Morigna, “she might transform into an urdhracos or an urshane. Better to kill her now before…”

  “I said no,” said Ridmark, his temper slipping. He pointed the axe at her, the words coming out hard and clipped. “Perhaps killing her would be the sensible course of action. And leaving you for the Old Man would have been the sensible course of action, would it not?” She flinched at that. “Yet here were are.”

  Morigna scowled, her face thunderous, but said nothing else.

  “Thank you,” said Jager. “It…she did not mean to do this, I am sure of it.”

  “She did not mean harm,” said Caius, voice quiet, “but she nearly wreaked it nonetheless.”

  “What is this, friar?” said Jager. “I would have thought you in favor of mercy and forgiveness.”

  “The Dominus Christus loves both, and so should his followers,” said Caius. Ridmark had rarely seen the dwarven friar look so grim. “But only deliberately chosen evil acts can be forgiven. Mara does not wish to hurt us, I am certain of it. But she cannot help herself.” He sighed. “The stonescribes of my kindred recorded our wars against the dark elves and the urdmordar. Sometimes the half-breeds of the dark elves, men and women like Mara, escaped their masters’ cruelty and joined us. But no matter how strong their wills, no matter how fiercely they fought the darkness within, sooner or later they transformed. Most accepted it in time, and sought death in battle against their former masters. But some remained with us and transformed…and we were forced to kill them.” He looked at Jager. “I fear that shall be Mara’s fate.”

  “We still must retrieve the soulstone from the Iron Tower,” said Calliande. “If Shadowbearer takes it and brings back the Frostborn, far more people than just Mara shall die. Even if the Artificer takes control of it, he will work terrible harm with it.”

  “No,” said Ridmark. “We will not kill Mara out of hand.”

  “Then what are we going to do?” said Calliande.

  “I don’t know,” said Ridmark, “but we will decide tomorrow.”

  Chapter 10 - It Would Be A Mercy

  Slowly, Mara felt herself swim back to consciousness.

  God and the saints, but she had a headache.

  She was lying on the ground, a cloak spread beneath her. Something warm and hard gripped her left hand, and after a moment she realized it was Jager’s hand. Apparently the Gray Knight had not killed her after all.

  Mara could not imagine why.

  She heard the soulcatcher’s compelling, moaning hum, just at the edge of her awareness. And new songs, too, melodious and beautiful and terrible.

  After a moment she opened her eyes and winced at the light. It was morning, the sky blue overhead, the branches of the trees rustling in a mild wind.

  “You’re awake,” said Jager.

  Mara sat up, her headache worsening. Jager’s arm coiled around her waist, helping her to sit.

  She blinked a few times and saw the others staring at her.

  Kharlacht, Gavin, and Caius all had their weapons in hand. White fire glimmered and played around Calliande’s fingers as she held a spell ready. Morigna’s bow rested in her right hand, a string set to the arrow.

  Only Ridmark did not seem tense.

  “Oh, good,” said Mara. Her voice was unsteady.

  “What, might I ask,” said Morigna, “is good about this?” Her black eyes were as cold and as unyielding as onyx.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” said Mara. “I thought I might have.”

  “I am sorry that I broke your wrist,” said Ridmark. “It was necessary.”

  “I know,” said Mara, flexing her fingers. Calliande must have healed it. “Thank you for repairing it.”

  Calliande inclined her head, her expression sad.

  Apparently she had realized the truth.

  “But you should have killed me,” said Mara.

  For the first time she saw a flicker of anger from Ridmark. The man had been calm during the fight with the men-at-arms, calm when the shadows had almost overwhelmed Mara the first time, calm when the Artificer had possessed her. But the suggestion of killing Mara seemed to anger him.

  She could not understand why.

  “Why did you pick up the soulcatcher?” said Ridmark.

  “It is a weapon of considerable dark magic,” said Calliande. “I think it gave the Artificer a…channel to reach you. Or it was like a beacon burning in the night. As soon as you touched it, he could find you and try to take control of your body.”

  “I didn’t know it was the soulcatcher,” said Mara. “I could…hear it.”

  “It’s making noise?” said Jager. “I never heard it make noise.”

  “Most likely,” said Calliande, “she is able to sense its aura.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mara. “It was a horrible noise, yet beautiful. I had to find it to silence it. I had to know what it was. I reached into your pack – forgive me for that – and touched the soulcatcher before I knew what it was. And then the Artificer found me.”

  “He wanted to possess you,” said Ridmark. “To claim your body for your own.”

  “Yes,” said Mara. “He almost succeeded, too.”

  “How is that possible?” said Gavin. “We have seen this kind of black sorcery before from Coriolus.” Morigna gave the boy a hard glance. “I thought such a spell was extremely difficult, that possessing another body without killing it was a stupendous feat of sorcery.”

  “It is,” said Morigna. “The Old Man spent years preparing me to become his vessel. Yet Mara was in the Iron Tower for less than a month,” it had felt like much longer, “and the Artificer almost took control of her in a few moments.”

  “I think,” said Calliande, “that I know what happened.”

  Ridmark looked at her. “You’ve remembered more?”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. She hesitated for a moment, putting her thoughts in order. “That tower of iron. I think the Artificer created it…and more, I think he accidentally bound his spirit within it.”

  “Accidentally?” said Caius. “That is quite a large tower to construct by accident.”

  “He did it in imitation of the Warden,” said Calliande. “The Warden’s spell secured him within Urd Morlemoch, but he can never leave the citadel. The Artificer tried to improve upon the spell, to make himself invincible within Urd Mazekathar while still granting him the ability to leave. Yet either the Warden gave him a crippled version of the spell or the Artificer made an error.”

  “Or both,” said Jager. “If the last month has taught me anything, it is that everything that can go wrong at once likely will.”

  Kharlacht snorted. “Wise words.”

  “Whatever the reason,” said Calliande, “I think the Artificer’s spell leveled Urd Mazekathar and created the tower of iron. It also destroyed the Artificer’s physical form and bound his spirit within the tower. His spirit hibernated within the tower for millennia, but then the High King built the Iron Tower over the ruins…”

  “And Paul Tallmane held Mara as prisoner there,” said Morigna. “Which meant the presence of another dark elf, even half-blooded…”

  “It was enough to awake the Artificer,” said Calliande, “who
then tried to possess you. Those tentacles of shadow you saw inside the tower?” Mara nodded. “I think those were a manifestation of the Artificer’s spirit. That is why he kept your bracelet – he needed a way to force you to remain behind. When you escaped, he kept seeking you…and when you touched the soulcatcher, the weapon’s magic responded to the power in your blood.”

  “So how is he able to possess her so easily?” said Gavin.

  Calliande shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps her dark elven blood makes it easier. Or perhaps the Artificer is simply a far more powerful wizard than the Old Man.”

  “Then Mara is safe,” said Jager. “She won’t touch the soulcatcher again. If the compulsion is overwhelming, you can secure it.” He raised an eyebrow and grinned that familiar, confident grin. “And if I may say so, you really ought to secure your valuables more diligently, Magistria. This is twice now that we have stolen from you…”

  “You think to make jokes?” said Morigna, her voice snapping like a whip. “This was wrought entirely from your foolishness. If you had not stolen the soulstone, it would not be in the Iron Tower now. And if you had not been so stupid as to steal Tarrabus Carhaine’s signet ring, then Mara would not face such danger.”

  Jager scowled and got to his feet. “And who are you to call me a fool? You trusted that Old Man of yours for years, never realizing that he was raising you as a sheep to the slaughter. You…”

  Morigna’s eyes narrowed further.

  “Jager,” said Mara, touching his hand, and he fell silent. “She is right. It is our fault.”

  Jager sighed and looked away. “I know. Why do you think I am so angry?” He looked back at Calliande. “But she is safe now. The Artificer can’t reach her again from here.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande, “but…”

  “I can hear the songs now,” whispered Mara.

  “Songs? What songs?” said Jager. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “The soulcatcher’s power,” said Calliande. “Her mind interpreted it as a hum. How many other songs do you hear now, Mara?”

  “Three,” she said, closing her eyes. The songs whispered through her head, thunderous and terrible, soft and insidiously beautiful. “The softest one is coming from the south. The next strongest one is from the southeast. But the most powerful one of all I can hear is coming from the northwest.”

  “I think you can hear the aura of powerful dark elven lords,” said Calliande.

  “The Old Man mentioned that,” said Morigna. “Or something similar. I asked him why the urvaalgs and the ursaars and the other creatures of the dark elves did not turn upon their masters more often. He said that the most powerful wizards of the dark elves had an aura that extended for miles. The urvaalgs and the other creatures found the aura irresistibly beautiful, and so had no choice but to heed their masters’ commands.”

  “The song,” whispered Mara, opening her eyes. “The songs are beautiful. Hideous. And very hard to resist.”

  “I suspect the song from the south is the Artificer’s,” said Calliande. “The one from the southeast, the Traveler of Nightmane Forest.” Mara shuddered. She wanted nothing to do with her father, and certainly did not want his aura filling her head. “And the one to the northwest…”

  “The Warden of Urd Morlemoch,” said Ridmark, his voice grim. “We are a long way from Nightmane Forest, and even further from the Torn Hills. Could the Warden’s power extend this far?”

  “His power, no,” said Calliande. “But this aura…this song that only the creatures of the dark elves can hear, it might reach this far.”

  “It does,” said Mara, who knew that for certain. “Gray Knight. The tales say you went to Urd Morlemoch. Did you truly?”

  He nodded.

  “Were there…creatures within its walls?” said Mara. “The servants of the dark elves?”

  “Uncounted thousands,” said Ridmark. “They would have killed me, but Ardrhythain drove them off.”

  “He created them, as my father created monsters,” said Mara. “Or his song called them to his side.”

  “You’ve never said anything about hearing songs in your head before,” said Jager.

  “Because I never heard them before today,” said Mara, rubbing the heels of her hands against her temples. If she concentrated, she could block out the songs, ignore them. But if she was tired or hurt, it would become that much harder.

  Maybe even impossible.

  And what would happen then?

  “I fear she can hear the songs now,” said Calliande, “because her transformation is already underway.”

  “Her transformation?” said Jager. “Into…”

  Mara sighed. “One of the creatures of the dark elves. Probably an urshane, though maybe I’ll become an urdhracos.”

  “But you look the same,” said Jager.

  Mara shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t feel the same. It doesn’t happen all at once. Probably some of the changes are…internal, first. Like hearing the song.” Calliande nodded. “Then come the physical changes. Eventually I’ll lose control of myself.”

  “Probably the Artificer’s attempted possession accelerated the process,” said Calliande.

  “Then reverse it,” said Jager, looking at Calliande. “You did it before.”

  “I arrested the process, and it nearly killed her,” said Calliande. “And I didn’t reverse the changes. I cannot. No one can.”

  “Then we get the bracelet back,” said Jager.

  Mara shook her head. “It might be too late for that. The process...the bracelet might not be able to hold it back.”

  “Why not?” said Jager.

  She took both his hands in hers. He had already lost so much. Mara had hated and feared her father, and could remember only a few things about her mother. But Jager had had a family that had loved him, until Sir Paul Tallmane had torn it apart.

  Now he was about to lose her, too.

  “Because,” said Mara, taking a deep breath. “Because it would be better if you killed me now.”

  ###

  Ridmark watched as Jager stared at Mara in astonishment.

  The look of dawning horror on the halfling’s face was hard to watch.

  “No,” said Jager. “No, I refuse to do it, I…”

  Ridmark’s hand tightened against his staff.

  “It has to be done,” said Mara. “It would be a mercy.”

  “A mercy?” said Jager. “Killing you would be a mercy? How can you say that?”

  “Because,” said Mara, “I know what will happen to me if I live. I will transform. I will kill you all. I’ll kill you, Jager. I won’t be able to stop myself. And then I will hear the song, and I’ll become the slave of the Artificer or my father or the Warden.” She let out a bitter little laugh. “Or perhaps the Matriarch, if she comes north to discover what happened to all those Red Brothers that the Gray Knight slew. And the creatures of the dark elves live until they are killed. I could spend millennia as the Warden’s slave or my father’s slave. Please, Jager.”

  “No,” said Jager.

  “Promise me you will move on,” said Mara, “that you will let me go. That you will find a woman and start a family. Please, Jager.”

  Jager shook his head, his amber-colored eyes full of tears.

  “The rest of you,” said Mara, looking up at them. “Thank you for trying to help me. I know…I know your consciences will trouble you. But do not let this weigh upon you. You are saving me from a terrible fate, from centuries or even millennia of enslavement.”

  “It seems the prudent course of action,” said Kharlacht, though he looked grimmer than usual.

  “If you are decided,” said Caius. “Then…I am sorry, but you speak wisdom. And show great courage, for taking this burden upon yourself.”

  “This is not just,” said Gavin.

  “When has the world ever been just?” said Morigna.

  “I wish that I could save you,” said Calliande. “But I do not have the power. I a
m sorry.”

  “Do not blame yourself,” said Mara. “You did everything you could for me. More than I could have asked.” She looked up at Ridmark. “Gray Knight. Thank you for sparing Jager. You would have been within your rights to kill him.”

  Ridmark nodded. He heard something creak, and realized it was his staff, his knuckles shining white in his hand as he gripped it.

  They stood in silence for a moment.

  “I can do it,” said Morigna, her voice gentler than Ridmark had ever heard it. “If no one else is willing. I can make it quick.”

  “Thank you,” said Mara.

  “Mara,” said Jager, his voice a raspy whisper.

  “No, don’t,” she said. “Please don’t. You know this has to be done. You know there is no other way.”

  At last Jager nodded.

  “I love you,” said Mara.

  “I love you, too,” said Jager.

  Mara kissed him and stood, her face pale and drawn. “I am ready.”

  Morigna took a deep breath and reached for the dwarven dagger on her belt.

  “No,” said Ridmark.

  The others looked at him.

  “This is not the way,” said Ridmark.

  “Mara wants it herself,” said Morigna. “You might have saved me, and you might have saved Calliande. You saved all of us at some point. But you cannot save her.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Ridmark, “but she is not yet lost.” He strode forward, looking at each of them. “We are presuming that we know the future beyond all doubt. We are acting as God, deciding who shall live and who shall die, but we are acting on imperfect knowledge.”

  “I know what will happen to me,” said Mara.

  “Do you?” said Ridmark. “You have resisted the transformation so far. We drove off the Artificer when he tried to possess you. Calliande stopped you from transforming. What is to say that you cannot continue? And if we retrieve your bracelet from the Iron Tower, what then? What if it can hold back your transformation indefinitely?”

  “Do not taunt me with false hope,” said Mara.

  “I give you my word, upon whatever oaths you wish me to swear,” said Ridmark, “that if you transform, that if you lose yourself to your dark elven blood, that I shall kill you myself.” He touched the handle of the dwarven axe at his belt. “I have the means to do it. And if you insist that Morigna kill you now, I shall not stop her. But it is too soon. We do not know your fate beyond all doubt. What if we kill you and retrieve the bracelet tomorrow? Would you want Jager to live with the burden of that guilt?”