Page 64 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

Iggie let out a rattling breath, his heart squeezing his chest. For all his other faults, Alistair remained a fundamentally good person. He genuinely cared about others and fought with conviction for what he believed was right. Hadn’t he proven that time and again in just the short span Iggie had known him? Shadow and shade, even sending Iggie and his undead away had simply been his attempt to maintain the peace—to comfort and protect the most possible people.

And what had Iggie done? Why, he’d matched Alistair’s selflessness with the most selfish response possible. He’d marched away, leaving the paladin to fight the harmonite golem alone. And for what? Because his feelings had been hurt? Because he felt rejected? That had been part of it, sure, but it ran deeper than that. It wasn’t just that Alistair didn’t believe in him—no onebelieved in him…not even himself. The only ones who ever had were long since dead and gone.

Giving up on his tossing and turning, he opened his eyes and sat up. By the flickering light of the fire, he could see his ever-present companions standing silent vigil over him. Marlon and Cynthia. His protectors. His guardians.My parents.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, his hoarse voice overly loud in the echoing space. “I don’t belong anywhere. No one wants me. For a while there, I thought that someone might. But even when I bared my heart to him, he couldn’t return the favor, and now, I’ve lost him for good.”

His breath hitched, wetness blurring his vision. His parents didn’t respond. They stood there, silently waiting for him to continue. His voice fell, growing softer.

“All I’ve ever wanted is to be a part of the world. To feel like I belong, like there’s a place for me. Yet, how can there be with who—withwhat—I am?” He huddled tighter about himself, wrapping his arms around his legs. “No, it’s better this way. Better if I stay away from everyone else. If I keep to myself and abandon the world like it abandoned me.”

The fire crackled. Outside in the distance, the wind howled.

He bowed his head and wiped his suddenly stinging eyes. “I wish…shadow and shade, I wish you were here with me now, even if for just a moment. That I had the chance to talk to you again for real.” He sniffled, rubbing his nose before letting out a long sigh. “But I can’t. You’re gone. And I, as ever, am alone.”

Grief tightened his belly. He started to lie back down, to turn over and scrunch up into a ball until sleep took him. Then, a fleeting thought jolted him back to wakefulness. He jerked upright, his eyes widening as his pulse quickened. Alistair had wondered before at the extent of Iggie’s powers, pushing him to explore boundaries he’d always been too scared to question. What if he was capable of more?

What if…what if I can repeat what I did to Julian on another undead—one that’s been revived for far longer?

Scrambling to his feet, he approached Marlon and Cynthia where they stood at the far end of the chamber. His steps slowed as he grew close, his nerves spiking. Was he really about to attempt this, after all these years?

He paused a couple paces away, regarding them. Their skeletal visages remained unchanged, the duskflame in their empty sockets forming smoldering pits of blackness. They didn’t react at all to his presence—they rarely did.

He took a deep breath, focusing on the pinpricks of light in his mind that marked his spirit links with his undead. These two were the closest, each blazing with unholy power to his senses. As he had with Julian’s mind, he tried to push against those bundles of energy, to peer more deeply into their souls or whatever imprints of them had been left behind, even as he strove to open the connection the other way so that it flowed into him as well.

For a span of heartbeats, nothing happened. But as he pushed harder and harder, some unseen barrier suddenly shattered with an almost audiblesnap. Sensations flooded his mind, overwhelming at first before gradually settling into something understandable as he acclimated to them. They weren’t thoughts, not exactly—his undead weren’t intelligent enough for that. They were more like…likeechoesof thoughts, as if someone had preserved them while his parents were still alive, keeping them here for later viewing.

And as that realization struck him, the echoes filled his mind, one after another.

Echoes of his parents’ fear for him, of their terror that someone would discover his secret and take him away from them. Echoes of their pride in the young man he’d grown to be before the Knights came, of their trust in him to do the right thing.

And then, at the end as the fires claimed them, echoes of their hope—hope that he would escape. That he would live. That he would find a way to future happiness and a life full of joy and companionship, where he was loved as fiercely as he deserved.

Even as Iggie reeled beneath the avalanche of emotion, a final batch of echoes surged through him—echoes of their love for him, the driving emotion behind all the others. In that moment, he had no doubt that his parents had loved him utterly, unconditionally. And, in some small way reflected by his undead guardians, a part of them still did.

The echoes faded, retreating to wherever they were stored, and Iggie found himself hunched on his torn bedding, sobbing into his arms and longing for a past that had slipped inexorably away.

twenty-six

Alistair

Alistair’ssleepwasrestless.Part of it could be attributed to nerves for the upcoming confrontation. Standing now in the abandoned village square beneath the early dawn light, his sword drawn and blazing with dawnflame, he could admit that to himself. While he’d participated in plenty of missions before, he’d always had comrades at his side. This was the first time he fought alone. Responsibility for success—or failure—rested squarely onhisshoulders.

He’d also experienced this particular foe’s destructive power once before. He’d watched the harmonite golem rip a stone tower apart like a child tearing a picture. He’d seen it shrug off his own enhanced strikes without difficulty. Even with Liliana’s suggestion, this would be a difficult fight—perhaps impossible. He would have to strike hard and fast, identifying where the crystal was weakest so he could deliver an overwhelming blow.

Inhaling deep, he sent dawnflame coursing through his body to bolster his flesh and steady his nerves. He had trained for this his entire life, watched his father perish in the line of duty. He wasn’t afraid to follow in his father’s footsteps if that’s what it took to aid the people of Singer’s Rest who depended on him.

By now, the entire town should be sheltered within the harmonite caverns awaiting his signal that it was safe. Should no signal come, they were supposed to wait three days before they risked returning. Erys believed that should offer plenty of time for the magic sustaining the harmonite golem to fade or for the beast to wander off, its directive to appear at Dawncoming fulfilled.

His mind turned to Iggie, and he grimaced, reliving the necromancer’s departure for the hundredth time. Again and again, he saw the hurt buried on Iggie’s face beneath his anger—the hurt that Alistair himself had helped put there, despite swearing to do everything he could to protect him and keep him safe.

Shame spiked through Alistair, and he shifted his grip on his sword. Perhaps he’d been too hard on the necromancer. Iggie had been right—it was almost certainly the woman’s own foolishness that had led to her predicament, her injury akin to being bitten while prodding an unfamiliar dog. Iggie’s only sin was trying to follow Alistair’s example and assist those in need.

And his reward for his efforts? Exile. Banishment.

In striving to keep the peace, Alistair had as good as turned his back on Iggie, just like everyone else had since his childhood. Was it really any wonder that he’d chosen to leave?

Sighing, Alistair shoved the unwelcome doubts away. Regardless of his motivations, Iggie had made his choice, and so had Alistair. What was done was done. All that mattered now was that he completed his mission and ensured no one got hurt. Then, he’d be gone from this small town and these wretched mountains, returning to the Order in Qori as a full-fledged member. His father could look down on him with pride from the Great Beyond, House Halion would live on, and Alistair would continue down this path he’d always been meant to walk.