Frostborn: The Iron Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  As the molten rip gleamed across the face of the tower of iron, Calliande realized the Artificer’s weakness.

  But it was too late to do anything about it

  His spell was flawed. Perhaps it was by design, one final cruel trick from the Warden. Or perhaps the Artificer’s mastery of magic was not as deep as he claimed. Regardless, his spells had never been designed to allow his spirit into a human body. The geometry was wrong, like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. The Artificer’s magic let him accomplish it, let him heal any damage done to Paul’s body while he inhabited it.

  But the damage was transferred back to the tower of iron, and his magic and spirit were bound within the tower. Which meant that if they did enough physical damage to Paul, the damage would be amplified within the tower, and if the tower of iron was destroyed, it might take the Artificer’s spirit with it…

  But they had no way to deal that kind of harm to the Artificer. He was simply too powerful, his undead driving back the orcish warriors and mercenaries. And his swordplay was masterful. Even Ridmark had only managed to scratch him once, a scratch that had soon healed.

  Though the gash on the side of the tower remained molten and raw.

  Calliande wanted to scream in frustration. If only she had more power to spare. If only she could strike at the Artificer. If…

  A shriek of agony filled her ears.

  She risked a look to the side, and saw Mara stand, wreathed in shadows and blue fire. Jager stumbled back from her, his dagger in hand, and the finality of defeat closed around Calliande’s heart. Mara’s transformation had come, and she would likely become an urdhracos. And once she joined the battle on the Artificer’s side, it would end all the quicker.

  They had failed. Calliande had failed. She had promised Mara that she would help her, that…

  The shadow and the blue fire winked out, and Calliande expected to see an urdhracos standing there, expected to see a monster with Mara’s features, armored in black steel and great black wings stretching from her shoulders.

  Instead Mara stood there.

  Unchanged.

  Chapter 22 - Fire and Iron

  Ridmark, Caius, and Kharlacht whirled around the Artificer, their weapons glowing with the power of Calliande’s magic.

  It was not enough.

  Even when faced by three opponents, the Artificer did not slow, the blue-burning sword flicking left and right to pick off Ridmark’s blows. Ridmark had managed to land three minor hits upon the Artificer, but the wounds in Paul’s flesh had closed almost at once, though the resultant molten gashes still shone in the tower of iron’s dark face. It was as if the Artificer’s wounds vanished and reappeared upon the tower.

  That did Ridmark little good.

  He bled from wounds upon his left arm, his chest sore and battered from a blow that had rebounded off his chain mail. Kharlacht and Caius had both been wounded, their movements slowing.

  “A worthy effort,” said the Artificer, avoiding the sweep of Kharlacht’s massive sword, “but insufficient. Perhaps your kindred shall learn the folly of taking arms against their rightful masters.”

  “You,” growled Kharlacht, “are not my master.”

  “I shall soon unburden you of that delusion,” said the Artificer.

  Ridmark tried to close, hoping to force the Artificer to strike him, and then land a mortal blow while the Artificer’s sword was immobile in his flesh. Yet the Artificer saw the danger, and never let Ridmark close, always performing the precise sequences of attacks and blocks that let him stay ahead of his opponents. Ridmark had to end this soon. If he did not force the Artificer to strike him on his terms, the Artificer would simply kill him and then dispose of the others.

  Then a pillar of shadow-wreathed blue fire erupted from behind the melee.

  “Ah,” said the Artificer. “Her transformation begins. Fear not, Gray Knight. Your sufferings will be at an end soon enough.”

  He attacked again, and Ridmark retreated, barely able to avoid the blows.

  ###

  “Mara?” said Jager, gazing at her in shock.

  Mara blinked, looking around at the battle.

  She felt…different.

  Her sight had changed, for one. She saw the flare and pulse of the dark magic within the iron tower, Calliande’s power gleaming in the weapons of the orcish warriors and the mercenaries, the nexus of dark power swirling around the Artificer. She saw the necromantic power, corrupt and malignant, binding the corpses of the dead. She also saw the chains of power linking the Artificer to the tower, chains that pushed his spirit into the body of Sir Paul Tallmane.

  “Mara?” said Jager again.

  “I think,” she said, dazed, “I think I still am.”

  The shadows were gone.

  All her life, she had felt the shadows within her, waiting to come at her call, and now they were simply gone.

  But something else had taken their place.

  “You didn’t transform,” said Jager.

  Fire burned within her in the place the shadows had once occupied. A song of fire, a song loud enough to resist the power of the Artificer’s song. Oh, she still heard the Artificer’s song, dark and powerful and compelling…but she had no more compulsion to obey than to thrust her hand into a blazing fire.

  The burning song within her was stronger.

  Her song, the Watcher had called it.

  “I did transform,” said Mara. “Just…not the way I expected.”

  A wave of delirious relief went through her, and she seized Jager’s vest, pulled him close, and kissed him hard upon the lips at the battle raged around them.

  At last they broke apart.

  “As delighted as I am by this development,” said Jager, “I fear this is neither the time nor the place.”

  “No,” said Mara. “The others. We have to help Ridmark and the others.”

  “I don’t know if we can do anything for them,” said Jager. “Maybe it would be best to take the soulstone and flee.”

  Mara hesitated, listening to the song within her.

  “Maybe not,” said Mara. “Come on. Let’s help Calliande.”

  She ran towards the Magistria, Jager following. Gavin stood guard over Calliande, who knelt on the ground, her face and clothing drenched with sweat, her upraised arms trembling. Mara stared at her in amazement, at the web of power spreading from Calliande to the weapons of the fighters. The feat of magic was astonishing, like watching a man hold an iron weight over his head as his veins bulged and his body quaked from the strain.

  “Mara!” said Calliande. “You’re…you’re not…you didn’t transform?”

  “No,” said Mara. “I did. But I managed to…control the transformation, direct it. I’m not sure what it did to me, but the Artificer has no power over me.”

  “Oh,” said Gavin. “I don’t know what that means…but it sounds good.”

  “Listen to me,” said Calliande. “The Artificer. We can defeat him. He can heal his wounds, but some of the damage is transferred to the tower of iron. That damage doesn’t heal, and his power is bound within the tower. If we can hurt him enough…”

  “Then we’ll shatter the tower and kill him,” said Mara, gazing at Paul Tallmane’s form with grim certainty.

  She was a killer…and the Artificer had tried to enslave her, wanted to enslave the world. And Paul Tallmane, if some spark of him still existed within his body, had murdered Jager’s father. He had sworn his soul to the Enlightened.

  Here was someone she had no qualms about killing.

  “I don’t have any power left,” said Calliande. Mara listened with one ear, the fiery song filling her thoughts. “If I could just strike at him…”

  “Your daggers,” said Mara. “The dwarven ones, the enchanted ones.” She reached down and drew the dagger from Calliande’s belt. “Jager, I’ll need yours, too.”

  “What for?” said Jager, handing over the dagger.

  “Because,” said Mara, grim certainty c
losing around her, “I’m going to kill the Artificer.”

  She reached for the fiery song, which blazed in the place the shadows used to occupy.

  Blue fire rose up to devour her, and the world vanished.

  ###

  Ridmark stumbled, went to one knee. The Artificer’s sword swooped for his neck, and Ridmark rolled. He came back to his feet, breathing hard, blinking blood and sweat from his eyes.

  “Ah,” said the Artificer. “And so it ends.”

  He drew back his sword for the kill.

  At exactly that instant a column of blue flame swirled behind him, and Mara appeared out of nowhere. Veins of blue flame shone beneath the pale skin of her hands and face and neck, and in either hand she held a dwarven dagger, both blades glowing with the fire of Calliande’s magic and the enchantments of the dwarven stonescribes.

  The sight was so unexpected that Ridmark froze for a second, and the Artificer glided towards him.

  Mara took both daggers and plunged them into the Artificer’s back, driving the blades through gaps in the steel plate armor. The Artificer screamed, the first sound of pain Ridmark had heard him make, his black eyes growing wide. Mara ripped the daggers free and plunged them into the Artificer once again.

  And as she did, giant molten pits appeared on the side of the tower of iron, their fiery light falling across the courtyard.

  The Artificer spun, his sword hammering down towards Mara. The diminutive woman made no move to dodge, to block, or even to run.

  Instead she stood motionless, and then vanished in a pillar of blue flame.

  The Artificer’s sword plunged through the empty air and clanged off the flagstones. The wounds on his back were already shrinking, but the molten gashes remained upon the side of the tower. Ridmark sprang forward, bringing his axe down upon the Artificer’s back. The Artificer whirled with cat-like speed and brought his sword up to block. But Ridmark’s axe clanged off the cuirass, denting the steel plate and sending the Artificer stumbling back.

  Another, smaller gash appeared on the face of the tower.

  Blue fire flickered behind the Artificer, and Mara reappeared, ripping her daggers through the back of his right knee in a vicious cross-cut. The Artificer screamed in fury as his leg collapsed beneath him, his right hand driving his sword at Mara, only for her to disappear again. Ridmark had no idea what Mara was doing, but she had given him an opportunity. He sprang forward, raising his axe for a killing blow, while Kharlacht and Caius followed suit.

  The Artificer raked his left hand through the air, shadows and blue fire curling around his fingers. Invisible force lashed out from him, raw and unfocused, and the blast threw Ridmark and Kharlacht and Caius to the ground. For a moment Ridmark lay stunned, his aching and exhausted body refusing to obey his will, but he levered himself to his feet.

  Fortunately, it had taken the Artificer that long to regain his footing. Behind him a dozen glowing rips shone in the face of the tower of iron. Kharlacht and Caius stood and lifted their weapons, the melee against the undead raging behind them.

  Blue fire flared next to Ridmark, and Mara appeared, sapphire flame pulsing through her veins, the dwarven daggers ready in her hands.

  “Gray Knight,” said Mara.

  “How,” said Kharlacht, his voice a tired rumble, “are you doing that?”

  “I don’t actually know,” said Mara. “Useful, though, isn’t it?”

  The Artificer stared at her, his face working.

  “What have you done?” he hissed.

  “I transformed,” said Mara. “It’s your fault. You triggered the transformation. Except I didn’t want to be an urdhracos after all. So I became something else.”

  “A new creature, then?” said the Artificer, his smile returning. “Very well. You shall make a useful servant.” He pointed at Mara with his free hand. “By my power and by my will, I compel you to obey me. Slay the others. Start with that damned Magistria, and my servants will kill the orcish animals.”

  There was a pulse of power in the air, a low wind blowing past Ridmark as the full weight of the Artificer’s will fell upon Mara.

  But Mara only laughed at him.

  “That won’t work any longer, I am afraid,” said Mara. “I can hear your song, Artificer, but my song is louder.”

  The Artificer roared in fury, blue fire crackling around him.

  “Then you are a corruption!” he said. “An abomination. You are a slave, born to serve and die for your dark elven masters! You are nothing but a beast of burden! And if you dare to rebel, then you shall perish.”

  “And you know what you are, Artificer?” said Mara, her calm unruffled. “You’re a dead man.”

  The Artificer sneered. “And you shall kill me, then?”

  “Why bother?” said Mara. “The Warden already killed you. You were dead for millennia before any of us were born. The Warden outsmarted you and sent you to your death. Even your title shows just how stupid you are, the Artificer who forged the instrument of his own imprisonment. And now you’re nothing but a ragged ghost riding the body of a dimwitted traitor. A pathetic relic of a forgotten age. Your new empire is nothing but a fantasy, and you’re only a…”

  The rest of Mara’s speech was cut short by the Artificer’s scream of rage. The courtyard echoed with it, and the tower of iron crackled and sizzled with fingers of ruby lightning, the molten gashes shining brighter.

  “You are a corrupted animal,” screamed the Artificer, “and you dare to mock me! Then perish! No more games! Perish, all of you!”

  He cast aside his sword, fingers hooking into claws as he summoned power, a blue fireball snarling between his palms. Suddenly every last undead in the courtyard stiffened and fell, collapsing as the blue flames in their eyes vanished.

  The Artificer had drawn away their power to fuel his mighty spell.

  Ridmark cursed and raced towards the Artificer, axe ready.

  ###

  Calliande blinked the sweat from her eyes.

  The undead simply…stopped.

  They collapsed motionless. Calliande looked around. Had Ridmark and Mara killed Paul’s body and driven out the Artificer? No, she felt the currents of dark magic stirring around her, faster and faster.

  The Artificer was casting a spell, one so powerful that it took every scrap of his formidable power.

  Calliande released the augmentation upon the weapons, her power flooding back into her. She felt an overwhelming wave of relief, as if she had just put down a heavy burden. Yet she was exhausted, her limbs trembling and cramping with pain. She did not have much strength left.

  The power snarling around the Artificer trebled, and then trebled again.

  Calliande began her spell.

  ###

  Mara drew on the fiery song, and the world vanished around her.

  She reappeared behind the Artificer as he cast his spell, Ridmark and Caius and Kharlacht all charging at him. The Artificer started to turn, bringing his power to bear upon her, but Mara was already moving, her left dagger slashing open his neck and her right tearing into his shoulder. Larger versions of the wounds appeared upon the tower of iron, the molten light falling over the courtyard.

  The Artificer flung a bolt of invisible power at her. The blast caught her in the chest and hurled her into the air. Mara reached for the burning song and the blue fire swallowed her, depositing her upon her feet in the courtyard behind Ridmark. Hundreds of other warriors ran at the dark elven wizard. With the undead dispatched, every last fighting man in the courtyard turned his attention upon the Artificer. Even with his skill with the blade, the Artificer could not hope to defeat so many.

  But his prowess with magic was far greater than his skill with the blade, despite Mara’s taunts.

  And to judge from the vortex of dark magic swirling around him, he had summoned enough power to kill every living thing in the Iron Tower.

  Mara reached for her burning song, and shadows exploded in all directions from the Artificer.

&nbs
p; ###

  The wall of shadows slammed into Ridmark, and an icy chill poured through him.

  His limbs went numb, and his legs buckled beneath him, the dwarven axe falling from his trembling fingers. He struck the ground, shivering, and tried to stand, tried to move, but the shadows washed over him, hissing and whispering. Their touch sucked away his energy and warmth, leaving him cold and helpless.

  Once more he tried to stand, and only managed to turn his head. He saw Kharlacht and Caius collapse, saw the charging warriors and mercenaries and men-at-arms fall like wheat beneath a scythe. The vortex of rippling shadows covered the entire Iron Tower, and no one remained to stand against the Artificer.

  He had indeed been toying with them.

  Ridmark waited for the killing blow, or for the terrible shadows to leech away the rest of his life.

  But the Artificer was not focused upon him.

  ###

  The shadows did not touch Mara.

  They flowed around her, whispering and snarling, but they did not harm her. With her newfound sight, she saw the spells underpinning them, and realized that they would not harm dark elves. She had enough dark elven blood that the shadows could not touch her.

  Unfortunately, no one else in the Iron Tower possessed such protection, which meant that the Artificer was free to focus his wrath upon her.

  The Artificer flung a bolt of shadow and blue fire at her, and Mara walked into her own fire, reappearing behind him to stab. But the Artificer was ready for her, unleashing a blast of invisible force that flung her into the air. Again Mara vanished into the maelstrom of blue flame, reappearing twenty paces away.

  But the Artificer had already turned to throw a lethal spell at her.

  Mara disappeared back into the fire and reappeared, Crowlacht’s warriors lying prone and helpless around her. Again the Artificer threw killing magic at her, and again Mara had to vanish to dodge the furious spell.

  She could not keep this up. Using the burning song that had taken the place of the shadows took a great deal of effort, and Mara felt herself tiring. Her jumps were becoming shorter and shorter, and soon she would need to rest. But without the fire, she could not possibly move fast enough to avoid the Artificer’s magic.