Frostborn: The Iron Tower (11 page)

Ridmark shrugged. “A man will do mad things for a woman he loves.” 

“This is so,” said Kharlacht, his voice flat.

“But what is she?” said Gavin. “One of the Initiated of the Enlightened? A user of dark magic?”

“I’m not sure,” said Calliande, “but…”

“She is not,” said Ridmark, his voice quiet, “entirely human.”

Morigna followed his eyes. Mara lay on her back, her head turned to the left, her hair fallen away from her temple to reveal her ear. 

An ear that came to a delicate point.

“Her father was of the dark elven kindred,” said Ridmark, “was he not?”

Jager opened his mouth, closed it again. Morigna could see him searching for a lie, for an explanation.

“No. There’s no need, Jager.”

Mara sat up with a wince, her eyes returned to their usual green. Jager sheathed his weapons and knelt besides her. 

“The Gray Knight is correct,” said Mara. “There’s no more need to lie. I lost the bracelet, Jager. I can’t…I can’t keep fighting it. I’m almost done.” 

“No,” said Jager.

Mara looked at Calliande. “Thank you.”

“I do not like to kill,” said Calliande, “but I would like to know who you really are.” 

“My father was a dark elf,” said Mara. “Is a dark elf. I suppose he is still alive, though I have no way to know for certain. He…”

“A moment,” said Ridmark. “We need to move. As much as I wish to hear your tale, our disagreement may have been overheard, and I don’t know how far the light from Calliande’s spell might have carried. Once we make a safer camp, we can decide what to do next.”

“Sound counsel,” said Caius, who had remained silent throughout the confrontation. Odd, that. The dwarven friar never seemed to shut up. 

They quickly loaded the horses and led them from the ravine, and Morigna cast a spell and sent her mind seeking for animals to control. She touched the minds of two owls and set them to work. Owls were clever, much cleverer than most birds, and they were harder to control. Still, she persuaded them that prey was loose in the trees, and she set the birds to circling overhead.

And as she did, she kept an eye on Mara. 

Calliande had dispelled the dark magic and healed her. Morigna would have simply killed her.

That did not trouble Morigna in the slightest. Ridmark was a strong man and a bold warrior, but he was entirely too merciful. Perhaps guilt over his wife’s death. It sometimes clouded his judgment, caused him to make reckless and impractical decisions. 

Morigna had promised to help him, to repay her debt to him, and she would.

And if it proved necessary to kill Mara, Morigna would do so without hesitation or guilt.

Chapter 7 - A Jade Bracelet

It was past midnight by the time they found an adequate campsite. 

Caius and Kharlacht led the way, their keener senses allowing them to navigate the forest. Both Calliande and Morigna conjured lights, their pale glow throwing back some of the gloom. Ridmark disliked the necessity, since it would draw their pursuers, but they needed the light. 

If any of Paul’s men discovered them, they would have to fight.

But they came to the northwestern edge of the hills and sheltered in a small valley. It was a defensible location, and would be hard to spot at night. If Paul’s men-at-arms found them, they could choose between standing and fighting or falling back. Though Ridmark hoped it would not come to that.

They secured the horses, and Morigna summoned a sphere of pale blue light around her hand, just enough to let them see. Just as well that none of the thirteen moons were in the sky. The lack of light was annoying, but made it easier to hide. Then they gathered in a circle around Mara and Jager, the faint light throwing harsh shadows. 

“This seems like a trial,” said Jager.

Ridmark shook his head. “I am neither a Dux nor a Comes nor even a knight, not any longer. I simply want to know the truth.” 

Mara touched Jager’s arm. “If they wanted me dead, my love, the Magistria would not have healed me.”

“If they had wanted you dead,” said Jager, glancing at Ridmark, “they would have had to go through me.”

Mara’s smile was sad. “Could you have stopped them? Truly?”

Jager sighed. “No.” 

“I do not want to kill anyone,” said Ridmark. “My purpose, as I have told you, is to retrieve the soulstone from the Iron Tower before Shadowbearer takes it. I told Jager I would help to rescue you from the Iron Tower, and in exchange, he would help to retrieve the soulstone. Though I suppose there is no longer any need for that.”

“He stole it in the first place,” said Mara, “so we shall help you recover it.” Jager opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded. “If I can.”

“Then tell me,” said Ridmark. “Who are you?”

Mara raised a pale eyebrow. “You mean what am I?”

Ridmark did not answer.

Mara looked at the sky for a moment. “What do you know of the Prince of Nightmane Forest?”

“Only what I learned from my tutors as a child,” said Ridmark. “Nightmane Forest lies east of here, between Coldinium and the Northerland. A dark elven noble called the Traveler rules over it, and he is a wizard of considerable power. He was a vassal of the urdmordar, and marched with them against the High King. After the Swordbearers and the Magistri overthrew the urdmordar, the Traveler fled to Nightmane Forest and has not left it since. He commands several tribes of mutated orcs that worship him as a god. The High King would have destroyed his realm, but his wards are too strong. And in truth, he is not much of a threat. He only has a few thousand orcs. Sometimes he raids the realm to claim slaves, but the last time was…thirty years ago, I think, in the Year of Our Lord 1448. The lords of the realm gathered to defeat him. My father told me of it.” Ridmark had not thought about that in years. He tried to avoid thinking of his father and his brothers. Leogrance Arban did not approve of what his youngest son had become.

“You tell it true, sir,” said Mara. “Legend does not overstate the cruelty of the dark elves. The Traveler takes slaves for labor, or as victims for his cruelty. He also takes female slaves to slake his lusts, for he has not seen a dark elven woman in a very long time. My mother was one such slave. I believe she was the daughter of a freeholder of the Northerland.”

“What does the Traveler do,” said Ridmark, though he suspected he knew the answer, “with his half-breed children?”

“Some he kills,” said Mara, “in magical rituals to increase his own power. Others he transforms into his creatures. The weakest he makes into urshanes. The strongest he transforms into urdhracosi or even urvuuls. I suspect that what was he intended for me.”

“How did you escape?” said Ridmark.

“My mother,” said Mara. “She realized what would happen, outwitted the Traveler’s orcs, and slipped into the wilderness with me. She died when I was very young…no more than five or six years old, I think, though I don’t know for sure. I survived because of my abilities. I could make the shadows obey me, use them to hide.”

“Like a dvargir,” said Caius. 

She smiled. “They can merely turn invisible. I can make myself disappear entirely, or fill a room with darkness. Mother also taught me what plants were edible, and I learned more. I wandered across the Northerland and Khaluusk, stealing from farmers and eating what berries and fruits I found. Eventually I made my way to the city of Cintarra, and became a thief.” She smiled at the memory. “Cintarra was much more pleasant than the hills of the Northerland or the Shaluuskan Forest. Easy for one ragged orphan girl to disappear in the crowds…but then I started to lose control of my power.” 

“The dark elven blood,” said Calliande, her voice quiet. “It eventually overwhelms the human side of you.” 

“How did you escape that fate?” said Ridmark.

“The Matriarch of the Red Family,” said Mara. “She is a dark elven noblewoman, did you know that?”

“I’ve encountered the Red Family a few times,” said Ridmark.

“Really?” said Mara, blinking. “And you’re still alive?”

Kharlacht barked his harsh laugh. “It was a close business.” 

“The Matriarch has hidden herself in Cintarra since the defeat of the urdmordar and the first days of the Two Orders,” said Mara, “and she built the Family around her. She teaches them to worship Mhor, the orcish blood god of death, not out of piety but as a useful tool for controlling her servants. And when she sees a promising child, she recruits that child into the Family.”

“Such as you,” said Ridmark.

“Such as me,” said Mara. “She taught me to control the shadows within me. The masters of the Red Family taught me stealth and killing and disguises, all the tools a Sister of the Family needed. And the Matriarch gave me an enchanted bracelet. So long as I wore it, I could control the shadows…and I would not transform into an urdhracos or an urvuul or God knows what else.” 

“Yet you left the Red Family,” said Ridmark. Jager had already told them the story, but Ridmark wondered if Mara would say the same thing. 

She smiled. “I was sent to kill Jager, who had annoyed some powerful people. Instead of killing him, he charmed me. The Matriarch frowns upon betrayal, so we had to flee the city.”

“You took the Matriarch’s soulcatcher when you escaped,” said Ridmark.

“Jager considered it was a fitting farewell,” said Mara. “I thought it was foolish, and I told him never to use it.” She gave him a fond smile. “But it was audacious. He was always audacious.”

Gavin grunted. “We noticed.”

“And I wanted to leave the Red Family anyway,” said Mara. “I hated it. I hated the Matriarch. She helped me control the shadows…but only because she wanted a skilled assassin to use as she pleased. And I hated the killing, hated that I was so good at it. I prayed to God every day to forgive me, to help me get away from them. And then he sent me Jager.”

Caius smiled. “The Lord works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”

Morigna’s expression was sour. “And what prompted you to pray to the Dominus Christus?”

“Because the Traveler worshipped Incariel,” said Mara, “and I saw what that wrought. And the Brothers and Sisters of the Red Family worshipped Mhor, a cruel and merciless god. The Matriarch has no mercy in her.”

“That bracelet you mentioned,” said Ridmark. “You don’t have it now.” Jager touched her bare left wrist. “What happened to it?”

“I left it behind in the Iron Tower,” said Mara. “I…didn’t have a choice.”

Ridmark nodded. “It has to do with how you escaped, isn’t it?”

“How did you know that?” said Mara.

“Logic,” said Ridmark. “That bracelet is more important to you than life.” Mara offered a slow nod. “So you would only leave it behind if you had no other choice. How did you escape?”

“I don’t know,” said Mara. “It…I was chained in my cell, in the old dark elven vaults below the castra.”

“Would not your powers let you escape?” said Caius.

“I can make myself unseen, not immaterial,” said Mara. “Which is a pity. I can think of several instances when becoming immaterial would have been useful. But I was chained and shackled, which made disappearing useless. I had given up hope of escape…and then I heard the voice in the shadows.” 

“A voice?” said Ridmark.

“It unlocked the chains and told me to go,” said Mara.

“What was it?” said Ridmark. “The voice.”

“I don’t know,” said Mara, “but it called itself the Artificer.”

The title meant nothing to Ridmark.

But Calliande’s blue eyes widened, and she swayed a bit.

“Calliande?” said Ridmark, catching her elbow. “What is it?” She shook her head, blinked, and shook her head again. “You remember something, don’t you?”

“That name,” whispered Calliande, “I’ve…I’ve heard it before, I’m sure of it.” She closed her eyes. “Let me think.” 

“Magistria?” said Mara. “You…do not recall?”

“She can’t remember anything that happened earlier than fifty-six days ago,” said Jager. Mara raised a pale eyebrow. “It’s a long story. If we live through this I’ll explain.” 

“I remember,” said Calliande. “I must have heard the tale before I went into the long sleep.” 

Morigna opened her mouth, no doubt to make a biting observation, but Mara spoke first. 

“Then, please, tell us,” said Mara. 

“It is ancient history,” said Calliande. “Thousands of years before Malahan Pendragon and the survivors of Arthur Pendragon’s realm ever came to this world. I think the Magistri only ever learned fragments of the tale.” She looked at Ridmark. “The Artificer was a dark elven wizard, an apprentice of the Warden of Urd Morlemoch.” 

That sent a chill down Ridmark’s spine. He had gone to Urd Morlemoch nine years ago to fulfill a task for the high elven archmage Ardrhythain and had barely escaped with his life. But the Warden had warned him that the Frostborn would return soon after the omen of blue fire, and Agrimnalazur had claimed it would be within a year and a month of the omen. Ever since then, Ridmark had looked for answers. Now that the omen of blue fire had come, he was going back to Urd Morlemoch to wring the truth about the Frostborn from the Warden.

Or die in the process.

That the Artificer had been an apprentice of the Warden seemed like a disturbing coincidence.

“What happened to this Artificer?” said Ridmark.

“No one knows for sure,” said Calliande. “As I said, it was thousands of years before Malahan Pendragon raised the first stone of Tarlion, and the dark elves are not eager to share their history with us. Evidently the Artificer had a quarrel with the Warden, and fled to his citadel at a place called…Urd Mazekathar, that was it.”

“The Artificer said the Iron Tower used to be Urd Mazekathar,” said Mara.  

“And the Warden destroyed him there,” said Calliande.

“How?” said Ridmark. “The Warden is trapped within Urd Morlemoch, and Urd Morlemoch is hundreds of miles to the northwest. Not even the Warden’s magic would be powerful enough to reach here.”

“I don’t know,” said Calliande. “The Magistri believed the Warden taught a spell of great power to the Artificer, but deliberately withheld certain necessary aspects in anticipation of the Artificer’s treachery. So when the Artificer escaped the Warden, he thought himself safe and cast the spell of power…”