Frostborn: The Iron Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  “No,” said Paul, the word dragging from his throat.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he is stronger than I am,” said Paul, the admission seeming to burn him. “Because he is smarter than I am. Because he is a better warrior.”

  His shadow went motionless.

  “A true answer,” said Shadowbearer. “Good. There are others stronger and smarter than you, Paul Tallmane, but you have been loyal. And your loyalty shall be rewarded.”

  “Master?” said Paul.

  “You are of the Enlightened of Incariel, but you are not one of the Initiated,” said Shadowbearer.

  “No,” said Paul.

  “You have earned the title,” said Shadowbearer. “The power of Incariel shall enter you. Initiated of the First Circle gain the power to sense magic. Initiated of the Second Circle gain the power to break spells, defend themselves from magic, and to attack wielders of magic. Those of the Third Circle gain all these powers, and also the ability to make themselves faster and stronger. As of this moment, you are an Initiated of the Third Circle.”

  “Thank you, Master,” said Paul, stunned. “I shall…”

  Before he spoke another word, his shadow boiled up from the ground and wrapped over him.

  And Paul screamed.

  Agony flooded through him, his limbs turning to flame, darkness filling his vision. He collapsed to the floor, twitching and writhing, lightning bolts of pain shooting up and down his nerves. The darkness sank into him, deeper and deeper, and he felt as if he floated in a vast void.

  A void that watched him, its tentacles tearing deeper into him.

  A voice thundered from the darkness, louder than the loudest storm Paul had ever heard. It was Shadowbearer’s voice, but the inhuman, buzzing, alien half of his voice, not the melodious and beautiful voice.

  “And now,” rasped the alien voice, “you are mine. Now and forever, you are mine.”

  The darkness faded away, and Paul found himself lying upon the floor, the dvargir looking down at him.

  “Back away,” commanded Tzoragar. “The blessings of the great void can often be…overpowering.”

  Paul rolled to his feet, his dizziness passing.

  He felt cold, so cold, as if ice had sunk into his veins.

  But stronger than he had ever been.

  His shadow was still pointing the wrong way, but he felt…connected to it, somehow. As if it had become another appendage.

  “You are now,” said Shadowbearer, his dual voice hissing from Paul’s shadow, “an Initiated of the Third Circle. You will find yourself stronger. Put this power to good use, Initiated, and deliver the soulstone to me when I arrive.”

  His shadow rippled, flickered, and pointed in the right direction once again.

  Paul and the dvargir stood in silence for a moment.

  “You are now one of the blessed of the great void,” said Tzoragar, a hint of awe in his voice. Paul found that gratifying. “You have the strength and power to crush your enemies.”

  “Do I?” said Paul, and by instinct he reached for his shadow. The power flooded him, and he hammered his boot into the floor.

  The flagstone shattered into dust beneath his foot, the stone splintering. The blow should have broken Paul’s leg, but he felt no pain, felt nothing but the freezing cold of the void. He drew his sword and saw shadows swirl around it at his command, shadows to leach away the life and strength of his foes.

  Paul felt himself laugh.

  He no longer dreaded his meeting with Ridmark Arban.

  Now he looked forward to it…and how sweet it would be to break the Gray Knight.

  And as he looked forward to it, a voice filled his head.

  “I am the Artificer,” hissed the faint voice, “and if you heed me, you shall rule the world.”

  Paul knew he ought to have been alarmed.

  But for some reason the voice fascinated him.

  Chapter 12 - Persuasion

  Three days later, as they traveled the final few miles to the walls of Vulmhosk, Morigna decided to talk to Calliande.

  The group made their way through the forest in a long column, leading the pack horses in a line. Ridmark took the front, and both he and Kharlacht frequently vanished into the trees to scout. Morigna had bound a dozen ravens and set them to circle over their heads, watching for any foes. Gavin and Caius walked in the center of the column, weapons ready if any attackers appeared. Jager walked with Mara, and they had spent most of their time together over the last three days.

  Both Mara and Jager likely knew that they would never see each other again.

  Calliande walked in the rear, lost in thought, her blue eyes distant. As ever, she wore her leather jerkin, trousers, boots, and a green cloak, the dwarven dagger at her belt. The Magistria showed no sign that she noticed Morigna’s approach.

  “One would think,” said Morigna, “that a Magistria ought to pay better attention to her surroundings. Otherwise foes might surprise her.”

  “One would think,” said Calliande, “that if you want to talk to me, you would get it over with already. You’ve been pacing back and forth for an hour. And will not your ravens see any foes?”

  “Not even ravens,” said Morigna, “are infallible.”

  “Oh?” said Calliande, meeting Morigna's eyes for the first time. “An important lesson, then.”

  “You have to talk to him,” said Morigna.

  “To who?” said Calliande.

  “Ridmark,” said Morigna.

  Calliande hesitated for just a moment. “About what?”

  What had she thought Morigna would ask? “You have to change his mind.”

  Still Calliande frowned. “Concerning what?”

  “Are you being deliberately obtuse, Magistria?” said Morigna. “About Mara.”

  Calliande nodded. “You think she cannot be saved, then.”

  “I know she cannot,” said Morigna. “I would like it to be otherwise. And while I am at it, I shall also wish for Nathan and my parents to be returned to life. That has just as much chance of happening.”

  “Then you want to kill her,” said Calliande.

  “I do not want to kill her, but I think it necessary, both for our sakes’ and for hers,” said Morigna. “You think that as well.”

  “I did,” said Calliande.

  “Then what changed your mind?” said Morigna.

  “You already know,” said Calliande. “Ridmark.”

  “Why?” said Morigna. “The facts have not changed. Mara is still too far into her transformation. Or she is at risk of being possessed by the Artificer. If either fate comes to pass, we shall have to kill her. But we changed our minds because Ridmark made a little speech.”

  “He pointed out the truth to us,” said Calliande. “We do not know the future beyond all doubt.”

  “We have a good idea of it,” said Morigna.

  “We do, but we could be wrong,” said Calliande. “I don’t know how Mara’s transformation works, how the Artificer’s magic works, and neither do you. Perhaps the bracelet can hold it in check. Think of the day before you met us, the day before we found you fighting the Old Man’s undead near the orcish ruins. Did you have the slightest inkling that in a month’s time you’d be traveling to Vulmhosk with the rest of us?”

  “No,” said Morigna, grudgingly. Calliande had a point. “But this is different.”

  “How so?” said Calliande.

  “Because she is dangerous,” said Morigna. “If you had been sleeping or away when Mara started to transform, she would have killed us or we would have killed her. And if Ridmark had not knocked that weapon out of her hand, the Artificer would have overwhelmed us.”

  Calliande narrowed her eyes. “Then why haven’t you killed her yet? Or tried to?”

  “I have not yet decided,” said Morigna, “I am…”

  “Oh, but you have,” said Calliande. “You would have done it already…but Ridmark doesn’t want you to do it. So you haven’t. Which is why you are tal
king to me. You don’t want to defy him, so you hope to change his mind.”

  For some reason, a wave of anger and embarrassment went through Morigna.

  “I will do as I think best,” said Morigna.

  “Of course,” said Calliande with a smile. “Which is doing what Ridmark thinks best, apparently.” She shrugged. “But why should that bother you? He saved your life. He saved my life. He is often right about such things.”

  “Often, but not always,” said Morigna. “His judgment is compromised if something reminds him of his dead wife. Do you not remember Imaria Licinius?”

  A flicker of shame went over Calliande’s face. “Better than you, I expect.”

  “That man would defy death to the bitter end,” said Morigna, “but Imaria threw Aelia’s death in his face, and he stopped resisting. He could not save his wife from Mhalek, so instead he saved us and everyone else who crossed his path.”

  “And now he is trying to save Mara,” said Calliande.

  “And I do not think he can,” said Morigna. “We need to get the soulstone back and continue to Urd Morlemoch. I think if we try to save Mara, we shall only get ourselves killed.”

  Calliande shrugged again. “We are going to storm the Iron Tower anyway. If we can retrieve Mara’s bracelet in the process, there is no harm in the attempt. And why ask me to change his mind? Talk to him yourself.”

  “He listens to you,” said Morigna.

  “He also listens to you,” said Calliande. “You have spent enough time with him lately.”

  “That is because I am the best scout and tracker we have,” said Morigna.

  “Then talk to him while you two are off scouting together,” said Calliande.

  Morigna raised an eyebrow. Was Calliande actually jealous?

  Another burst of embarrassed anger went through her. Morigna had lived alone in the Wilderland for years. She needed no one, and needed the approval of no one. Certainly she did not require the approval of Ridmark Arban or Calliande. Yet she was discomforted to realize that she cared what Ridmark thought of her. And she was even more discomforted to realize that she felt pleasure at Calliande’s annoyance.

  Damn it all, she was thinking like a child. That could get her killed.

  “You have been with him longer,” said Morigna. “He listens to you. You can change his mind. And I wonder why you have not…”

  “Have not what?” said Calliande.

  Lured him into bed, Morigna almost said, but some scrap of wisdom made her keep the comment to herself. Ridmark would not pursue any woman, that was plain. He still blamed himself for Aelia’s death, but that had been over five years ago. Surely he did not wish to be alone for the rest of his life. Maybe he simply required some persuasion.

  Perhaps Calliande was unwilling to do that.

  Morigna thought that foolish.

  “Why you have not persuaded him that stopping the Frostborn is more important than saving Mara,” said Morigna.

  Calliande sighed. “Fine. We shall talk to him together. Perhaps the fact that we agree on anything will shock him into action.”

  Morigna blinked, and then laughed. “Very well.”

  ###

  “How are you?” said Ridmark.

  “Well enough,” said Jager. The halfling’s mask of cheer did not surprise Ridmark. Jager had faced death in Tarrabus’s domus with a joke, and would likely die with a jest upon his lips. There were worse ways to cope with fear. “It is a fine and lovely day, and I am walking through the forest with a beautiful woman at my side. What more could any man want?”

  Mara laughed. “Perhaps a walk through the forest without the constant risk of agonizing death?”

  “Bah,” said Jager. “A man should not be greedy.”

  “I am as well as can be expected,” said Mara, her smile fading. “I’ve…had a few bad moments. I can still hear the songs.”

  Ridmark nodded. “We should reach Vulmhosk within the hour.”

  “This Smiling Otto,” said Mara.

  “He hardly ever smiles,” said Jager.

  “Will he help us?” said Mara.

  “I think so,” said Ridmark. “I have the means to persuade him.”

  “And then you will raise an army and wage war upon the Tower,” said Mara. “All to save me.”

  “If it will make you feel better,” said Ridmark, “if you had been killed when the Artificer tried to claim you, I would take the same steps now. Shadowbearer cannot have the soulstone.”

  “All because of that ring,” said Mara, and Jager looked away.

  Ridmark shrugged. “If it wasn’t Jager, it would have been someone else. Shadowbearer would not have stopped until he killed us and took the stone.” He looked up, saw Kharlacht and Caius heading towards him, Gavin trailing after. “Pardon me.”

  “Of course,” said Mara, and Ridmark walked further up their line, joining Kharlacht.

  “Well?” said Ridmark.

  “Many tracks, and recent,” said Kharlacht. “All of them heading toward Vulmhosk.”

  Caius frowned. “Do you think Tarrabus sent men to attack Vulmhosk?”

  “I doubt it,” said Ridmark. “Likely Tarrabus neither knows nor cares that Smiling Otto’s boat carried us to Coldinium. And the men of the Iron Tower regularly buy supplies from Otto’s men.”

  Which was central to Ridmark’s plan.

  “All the tracks are coming from the west,” said Kharlacht.

  “West?” said Gavin. “Kothluusk is in that direction. More Mhorite orcs? Comes Corbanic said that the Kothluuskan orcs were stirred up.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ridmark. Mournacht was still out there, and Ridmark had no doubt that the shaman would one day seek vengeance for his defeat in Coldinium.

  “Warbands from Vhaluusk,” said Caius.

  “Or creatures from the Torn Hills,” said Kharlacht. A tribe of mutated orcs lived within Urd Morlemoch, orcs that worshipped the Warden as a god. Sometimes the Warden sent them to collect items or people he found interesting. Though Ridmark could not imagine what the Warden might find interesting in a place like Vulmhosk.

  “We will deal with them when we arrive,” said Ridmark. “And if they are mercenaries, all the better. We can hire them for the attack on the Iron Tower.”

  “I hope you have the money, then,” said Gavin.

  “We have little enough in the way of coin,” said Caius.

  “You could always offer to pray for the mercenaries,” said Kharlacht.

  “Alas, while my prayers would be heartfelt,” said Caius, “I fear that mercenaries would not accept them as payment. Though it…”

  He fell silent and turned his head.

  Morigna and Calliande walked towards them, together. That set off a warning in Ridmark’s head. The Magistria and the sorceress rarely, if ever, agreed on anything, and never spent time together unless they could help it. Some of that stemmed from their differing personalities and beliefs. Some of it was Ridmark himself.

  “Calliande, Morigna,” said Caius.

  “Brother Caius,” said Calliande. “Might we borrow Ridmark for a moment?”

  Gavin raised his eyebrows, turned, and coughed. He was trying not to laugh, damn him.

  “By all means,” said Caius. “Though if you are in agreement on a matter, I wonder if it is a sign of the imminent return of the Dominus Christus to judge the living and the dead.”

  “That mouth of yours, friar,” said Morigna, “will get you in trouble yet.”

  Caius smiled. “It was getting me into trouble long before you were born.”

  Kharlacht grunted. “Though if it starts raining blood and the sun turns to ashes, I shall be alarmed.”

  “Very well,” said Ridmark. “We’ll talk. Kharlacht, Caius, Gavin. Watch for foes. And for the sun to turn to ashes.” Gavin coughed, still trying to hold back a laugh. “And get Gavin something to drink before he chokes to death.”

  Gavin turned bright red, and Ridmark walked ahead of the others until they were out of ears
hot, Morigna and Calliande following him.

  “Well?” said Ridmark, turning to face them. “What is it?”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” said Morigna.

  “No,” said Ridmark. He paused. “Which idea?”

  “Raising an army and attacking the Iron Tower,” said Calliande.

  Ridmark shrugged. “Battle is always a risk. So many things can go wrong. The Iron Tower is too well-guarded for us to infiltrate. Even if Paul is lax, the dvargir guards will not be. All it will take is for one guard to sound the alarm, and then we will be killed. We have one chance to get the soulstone back, and we cannot waste it.”

  “I don’t dispute that,” said Calliande. “But…we may be taking an additional unnecessary risk.”

  “Which one?” said Ridmark.

  “Mara,” said Morigna.

  “What about her?” said Ridmark.

  “She is dangerous,” said Calliande.

  “I know that,” said Ridmark.

  “She could lose control of herself and transform,” said Calliande, “or fall victim to the Artificer again.”

  “I know this already,” said Ridmark.

  “Yes,” said Calliande. She sighed. “Yes, I suppose you do. I…”

  “Enough,” said Morigna, her voice hard. “I will be blunt. I do not think Mara can be saved, and I think you offer her false hope. Better to kill her now before she transforms and loses herself. You know that as well as I do, but your guilt over Aelia’s death is clouding your judgment.”

  Ridmark stared at her, his fingers tapping against his staff. Morigna swallowed, a muscle twitching in her jaw. He could not tell if she was frightened or angry. Perhaps both.

  “You think this, too?” said Ridmark.

  “I think,” said Calliande, “that she may have a point.”

  Morigna rolled her eyes. “How forceful.”

  “What of it?” said Ridmark. He felt himself growing angry. “Shall I walk up and beat her to death now, or shall we wait until we get to Vulmhosk so she can have one last drink?”

  “No,” said Calliande. “But…”

  He pointed at Morigna. “Or do you want to do it? You could shoot her. Burn her alive in acidic mist. What is stopping you?”

  Morigna said nothing.