Frostborn: The Iron Tower (33 page)

The urdhracos laughed. “Liar. You are a killer. And soon you shall understand when the Artificer’s song fills your blood and you kill at his will, every life that you take at his command filling you with joy beyond all understanding.”

“I will stop you,” said Mara.

“Shall you stop yourself?” said the urdhracos, flexing her talon-tipped fingers. 

“I will,” said Mara.

“No,” said the urdhracos. The creature sounded almost sad. “You will not. Soon you shall understand.”

The great black wings flexed, and the urdhracos sprang into the air. 

Mara wheeled, her daggers ready as the urdhracos spun over her head, bobbing and weaving with grace and speed. Some part of her mind, the part that listened to the Artificer’s song, whispered that such power was hers by right, that she need only surrender and claim it. Another part of her mind screamed against such a course, warning that it would devour her forever. And a much larger part of her mind kept track of the urdhracos’s erratic flight, watching for an attack.

Instead the urdhracos shot higher, hovering for a moment. Then she looked down at Mara, her mouth yawning wide. For an absurd moment Mara wondered if the urdhracos intended to sing at her. 

Then she remembered something the Matriarch had told her. The urdhracosi had been made in imitation of dragons.

And dragons breathed fire. 

Mara raced to the side as the urdhracos loosed a long blast of yellow-orange flame. The cone of fire swept across the ground, vaporizing the grass and turning the tangled roots of the trees to smoking charcoal. Mara ducked behind one of the towering black menhirs. The flame washed against it, the stone growing hot, but the pillar shielded Mara from the fire. 

At last the flames winked out, and Mara spun around the pillar, daggers ready. 

The urdhracos swooped toward her in a black blur, claws extended and reaching for Mara’s throat. The winged creature moved with terrible speed, but the cold shadows burned through Mara, giving her the speed to match. She ducked under the slash of the talons and stabbed with both her daggers. The blade in her left hand skidded off the black armor, but the dagger in her right hand darted between the armored plates and sank into the urdhracos’s flesh. The creature hissed in fury and beat its wings, springing back into the air. 

Mara whirled, trying to keep the urdhracos in sight as the creature spun and twisted over the trees. The wings gave the urdhracos an advantage that Mara could not match. Sooner or later the urdhracos’s fire would return, and then the she would need only hover and roast Mara like a piece of meat on a spit. 

And then…

Mara blinked.

What would happen if the urdhracos died here in this strange dream-place? Would Mara die in the waking world? No – the Watcher had said she had to face the darkness within her. Her past selves and the urdhracos had to be manifestations of that darkness. If she killed them, if she slew the urdhracos, then perhaps she could overcome the shadows of her dark elven blood. 

Yet when she had killed her past self and her present self, they had dissolved into shadows, transforming her further. Was there no escape? If the urdhracos slew her, would she transform? And if she killed the urdhracos, would she absorb its power than then transform? 

The urdhracos dove for her again, and Mara had no more time for thought. She dodged the swipe of the black claws, but this time she aimed the slash of her daggers at the urdhracos’s right wing. The wings looked like black leather wreathed in shadows, but Mara’s daggers tore through the strange material and the right wing collapsed. The urdhracos plowed hard into the ground, and Mara sprang for the kill. One of her daggers started to bite through a gap in the black armor, but the urdhracos hissed and rolled away, regaining her feet. 

For a moment Mara and the urdhracos faced each other warily. The urdhracos’s talons made metallic rasping noises as she opened and closed her hands. 

“I will not yield,” said Mara. “I will not.”

The urdhracos shook her head. “Fool. You cannot deny what you are.”

“I will not be a monster,” said Mara. “Not while I have strength left to resist.” 

“Fire cannot war against itself,” said the urdhracos. “Water cannot drown itself. As you shall soon see.”

She lunged at Mara, and Mara retreated, dodging and blocking with her daggers. Sparks flew when the urdhracos’s talons raked against the daggers’ blades. Once, twice, three times, the urdhracos attacked, and then Mara caught her foe’s left hand on her right dagger, raising the hand up. 

Then Mara spun and drove her remaining dagger into the urdhracos’s exposed armpit.

The creature threw back her head and screamed as the blade sank into her chest. Mara ripped the weapon free, the dagger glistening with black slime, but the urdhracos fell upon her back. Mara tensed, preparing for another attack, but the urdhracos lay helpless, her body trembling.

“Finish it,” said the urdhracos, her beautiful voice a faint whisper. “Finish it and become what you were meant to be.”

The Artificer’s song thundered inside Mara’s skull, growing louder, the veins beneath her hands burning brighter. 

She hesitated.

Perhaps the urdhracos was the manifestation of her dark elven blood. If Mara slew it, she would be free of the shadows. Or would she? Killing the other manifestations had only sent their power into Mara. If she killed this manifestation, would that be the final step of her transformation? 

Yet if she did nothing, the urdhracos would recover and kill her.

“Why do you hesitate?” whispered the urdhracos. “Finish it and claim your fate.”

“If I kill you,” said Mara, “what will happen?”

“You cannot kill me,” said the urdhracos. 

“I killed the other two,” said Mara. “No, that’s not right, is it? This is a dream, a symbol. I can’t kill them. I can’t kill them because…”

Her voice trailed off.

She couldn’t kill them because they were her.

Fire could not fight against itself. Water could not drown itself. There was no one else here. Only Mara.

And the shades she had fought were her. 

It had been useless. The Artificer had been right. This had always been her fate, no matter what she did, no matter how hard she struggled. To become a monster, a killer.

And yet…

She blinked, a strange thought coming to her.

Killer and monster. Those were separate things. She had always been a killer, ever since her mother had died and she had been forced to defend herself. Yet Ridmark Arban was a killer, too. Kharlacht and Caius and Gavin were killers, and they were warriors, not monsters. Mara had killed for the Red Family, had been a murderer. Yet she had been a killer before that. It was in her nature, in her blood. Just as the nature of a wolf was to hunt. 

But there was a time and place to kill, an hour to lift the sword and an hour to put it down. 

Mara had murdered…but that did not mean she had to kill unjustly. 

Did the mean she had to become a monster?

She lifted her head and saw the others staring at her.

The child, the red woman, and the urdhracos stood in a half-circle, waiting.

“You are me,” said Mara, “and I am you. I’ve always thought the dark elven blood was…like a disease, a blight, something I had to fight. A poison I had to keep bottled up. But I was fighting against myself all those years.” Her eyes widened as understanding came at last. “That is how the transformation works, isn’t it? Our soul is divided, warring against itself…and then the dark elves can conquer it and make it a slave.”

“But unified,” said the ragged child, “what would become of us?”

“The cord of three strands is not easily broken,” said the red woman.

“Let that which is unified,” said the urdhracos, “be never torn asunder.” 

“We are…no, I am a killer,” said Mara. “That is in my very blood. But I will use my nature for justice, as I have seen Ridmark do. I will not be a monster.”

She spoke in her usual quiet voice, but the final word thundered through the forest.

The ragged child, the red woman, and the urdhracos all transformed into pillars of blue flame. The fire flowed into Mara, and she stumbled back with a gasp. As the flames entered her, the strange cold and strength drained from her limbs…but the Artificer’s song faded away.

And a new song echoed through her thoughts.

“What is happening?” said Mara, looking around as the forest began to burn with blue fire, cracks of blue light spreading beneath her feet.

“You did it.”

Mara turned her head, saw the ghostly, translucent image of the Watcher, wavering as the mist billowed past them in a hurricane wind. The old man looked awed, uncertain, perhaps even a little frightened.

“You changed the course of your transformation,” said the Watcher. “It is starting.”

“The song,” said Mara. “What is the song?”

“I think,” said the Watcher, “I think that is your own song you hear.” The ground began to shake. “I don’t know what is going to happen next. I don’t think this has ever happened before in the history of the dark elves. May God and good fortune go with you, Mara. If you live, tell no one of me. But if you live, I think we shall meet again at Dragonfall.”

The blue fire exploded, the thunderclap tearing the world in half. 

###

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.