Page 22 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

“Well, do your best to point us in the right direction.” Alistair squinted, but try as he might, he saw nothing to break the blanket of white. A scowl furrowed his brow. “The sooner we find some shelter from this wind, the better.”

With Iggie guiding the way, they pushed on through the blur of wind and snow. Soon, the cold had begun to sink into even Alistair’s flesh. He could only imagine what it must feel like to Iggie despite his bundled winter clothes. Iggie occasionally paused while they walked, considering the landscape before adjusting their direction.

Alistair had no idea what the necromancer saw. If there were landmarks to discern, Alistair couldn’t spot them. Perhaps Iggie was checking the shape of the land underneath the snow?Or maybe he’s guessing at random. Alistair ignored the unhelpful thought. Even if Iggie was, it was no worse than Alistair would be able to do in these circumstances.

When Iggie stumbled to a halt, Alistair assumed it was to check their heading. Panic gripped him when Iggie collapsed face-first into the snow. He rushed forward, shoving aside several undead so he could grab Iggie and wrap him in his arms.

The necromancer was cold—far too cold. Alistair pressed an ear to Iggie’s neck, expelling a relieved breath when he heard a faint heartbeat. Thank the Light! Not since his father’s passing had he wished so desperately that he could gift his dawnflame to heal another. At least, holding Iggie close like this should allow some of Alistair’s own dawnflame-generated heat to seep into the necromancer’s frozen bones.

I should have insisted on warming him up a long time ago.Alistair clenched his jaw as he stood and continued in the direction Iggie had been heading, cradling the lanky man close to his chest. If he’d allowed his hesitation to harm Iggie, he’d never forgive himself.

The undead continued to follow without question, making no motion to interfere with Alistair manhandling their master. It made him wonder whether they recognized he wasn’t a threat or if Iggie’s orders to them simply didn’t apply in this situation.

Just how much capacity do they have to think or reason for themselves?

A few days ago, he would have claimed none, yet he still remembered what Iggie had told him about the reflections of a person left behind in their corporeal vessel. Perhaps there was more intelligence in these lifeless husks than even Iggie himself realized.

Alistair didn’t know how long he walked through the blizzard with Iggie in his arms. Long enough for his face to numb and his dawnflame to dim. When his footfall landed on empty air, he was too surprised and drained to react in time. He would’ve fallen right over the edge had a skeletal arm not snagged his armor.

He looked up to find one of Iggie’s guards—Marlon, he thought—staring at him. Black duskflame roiled in the empty eye sockets of its expressionless skull.

Alistair nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

The undead didn’t respond as it dragged him back. Turning his attention to the ledge he’d almost walked over, Alistair realized he stood at the edge of a ravine—perhaps the very same one he’d fallen into during his pursuit of the necromancer what felt like a lifetime ago.

He eyed the drop-off before glancing out at the snowy waste stretching in all directions. He could keep pressing onward and hope that he reached Singer’s Rest, or he could seek shelter here in this ravine until the storm passed. One look at Iggie’s slumped body decided him. He had to find a spot for the necromancer to warm up before it was too late.

It took a while scouring the ravine’s edge before he found a rough path he could use to descend. The wind lessened the instant they passed below ground level, and the tight knot of worry in his gut loosened. This was already better than continuing their trek through the storm. Still, he pressed on deeper, relying on his dawnflame for light, and was rewarded a few minutes later by the mouth of a cave set into the broken cliffside, partially concealed by drifts of piled snow.

He narrowed his eyes at the darkened entrance. For all he knew, this was the lair of the very beast that had attacked them earlier. Even if it wasn’t, it might be home to all manner of other dangerous wildlife seeking their own refuge from the storm.

Iggie moaned, shifting in his arms without awaking, and Alistair took a deep breath.Better to brave the unknown depths than to stay out here and freeze to death. Conjuring what remained of his dawnflame so that it pulsed from him in a bright, uneven glow, he stepped into the cave, the necromancer’s undead close on his heels.

eleven

Ignatius

Iggieawoketohisentire body on fire. At first, all he could picture was that terrible night. The jeering crowd. The screams. The sizzle of burning flesh. And the smell, that acrid stench of charred meat that permeated everything until he thought he’d choke on it…

His eyes shot open, and he screamed, flailing to escape from the tight bonds constraining him. Someone else was there with him, shouting words he couldn’t decipher in his panic.

One of the Order!

He struck out blindly at them, his vision still filled with the flash of memory. He wouldn’t let them take him! He had to be strong and find a way to escape. It’s what his parents had wanted for him. He…he…

Hands clamped down roughly on his forearms, pinning him in place. He grew rigid, his breath coming in ragged pants. A vaguely familiar voice spoke softly to him.

“It’s all right, Ignatius. You’re safe. Whatever you think is happening, it’s in the past. You’re safe.”

Alistair.

Iggie sagged, the fight running out of him. He wasn’t being dragged from his home and bound by coarse rope. He lay in a cave, wrapped in heavy blankets beside a blazing fire. Unworked stone extended all around them. Several passages vanished into darkness. What he’d mistaken for burning was his chilled skin coming back to life with thousands of prickling pins and needles.

Shivering, he tugged the blankets tighter around himself. Alistair studied him, his amber eyes crinkled with concern. Still dressed in his full armor, the paladin appeared at a loss. Under other circumstances, Iggie might have found his hesitancy—so incongruous with the vision of a staunch defender of the Light presented by his gleaming Order breastplate—almost endearing.

That’s just the trauma talking, Iggie chided himself, shifting within his cocoon of blankets. Images of the tender moment they’d shared right before the attack flitted before his eyes, and he forcibly blinked them away with a scowl.Nothing more!

“How do you feel?” Alistair asked.