Page 9 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

Visibility instantly shrank to near zero. Sheets of falling snow drowned out what little light shone from the stars and moon overhead. Determination to do the right thing or not, Iggie might have turned back right then and there if he hadn’t spied the paladin’s heavy footfalls, not yet erased by the storm. If there were tracks to follow, he might not be too late.

Still, he’d have to move quick—it wouldn’t be long before the storm covered the paladin’s trail beneath fresh powder. The only reason it hadn’t already was the lingering dawnflame the paladin’s footsteps had left scorched in the snow. Without his magic, the idiot would freeze to death in minutes. If his reserve of dawnflame ran out…

Iggie picked up his pace as best he could. His thin frame made it easier to trudge through the snow without sinking into it, but it also made it more difficult to push against the buffeting wind. He repositioned his skeletons to shield him from the worst of the gusts and soldiered on. At least, he wouldn’t need to worry about navigating back to the tower in this mess—so long as a single undead remained there, he’d be able to use his spirit link with them as a beacon to return.

The ceaseless waves of white made it impossible to keep accurate track of time, but he knew too much was passing when the paladin’s footsteps began to fade. A boulder of despair lodged in his gut even as he tried to look on the bright side. At least now, he could honestly say he’d done all he could—no guilty conscience to weigh him down, and no danger of the paladin returning in force to vanquish him.

The paladin’s stupid, noble, arrogant face hovered before Iggie’s eyes, and he clenched his jaw. Shadow and shade, why was he so concerned about the fate of one Dark-cursed Knight? Let every member of the Order freeze to death for all he cared!

A light suddenly flared ahead, bright enough to pierce the darkness and snow. The surge of relief that coursed through Iggie belied his feigned indifference.

The paladin’s still alive!

Iggie adjusted his path to cut toward the glow. He was still over a hundred paces away when the illumination faded. Redoubling his pace, hunched against the raging wind, he didn’t notice the body until he practically stumbled over it lying in the snow.

His heart skipped a beat as he kneeled, ordering his skeletons to shove aside the snow piling up. It looked like the paladin had collapsed. A handful of pitiful blankets lay strewn about him, revealing his smallclothes beneath.Stupid, arrogant man. As if anyone possessed enough dawnflame to protect them from such intense cold when they were so ill-prepared.

Iggie checked the paladin’s pulse, exhaling some of his wired tension when he confirmed the paladin lived. His skin, however, felt far too cool. Hopefully, the dregs of his dawnflame would protect him long enough for them to return to the tower.

While one of his undead cradled the unconscious Knight in its arms, Iggie stooped to grab the discarded blankets, shaking out the snow and wrapping them around the man to further insulate him from the cold. As he did so, he found himself staring at the paladin’s face.

In sleep, the paladin’s arrogance had faded, leaving behind an exhausted-looking man barely older than Iggie was. Before he could stop himself, Iggie traced a finger along the strong line of the paladin’s chin. He wrenched his hand back with a grimace. Shadow and shade, what was he doing, standing out here in the middle of a blizzard and gawping at a Dark-cursed paladin?

He gestured for the skeletons to resume their march and oriented himself toward the undead he sensed back at the tower. No matter how innocent the paladin looked right now, he was still a Knight of the same Order that had hunted Iggie for most of his life. If he let himself forget that, even for a moment, he risked giving the man an opening to destroy him.

As he began the long trek back, a flickering glow in the distance caught his eye. He squinted, trying to make more of it out, but it was impossible to discern through the haze of snow. Some manner of runeflame, perhaps, given its shifting azure hues?

His gaze remained glued to the ethereally beautiful sight until at last, it began to fade from view. When next he blinked, the blue light had vanished entirely. What the Dark hadthatbeen—some odd effect of the storm? Iggie couldn’t remember ever seeing its like out here before.

A groan loud enough to cut past the whistling wind issued from the unconscious Knight, and Iggie refocused on the task at hand. Inexplicable phenomena could wait—right now, all he wanted was to retreat to the warmth of his tower and rid himself of this idiot paladin for good.

six

Alistair

Alistairawokeslowly.Hisentire body burned. Was something wrong with his dawnflame? He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and found his limbs restricted. His eyes shot open. and he struggled to rise only to realize that he was wrapped tightly in a thick woolen blanket. A fire blazed in a nearby hearth.

Where am I? What the Light happened?

Bit by bit, it started to come back to him. The blizzard had been far more brutal than he’d imagined. The wind and snow had shrouded his vision, and even with dawnflame to fortify his flesh, a deep chill had sunken into his bones. He recalled his body numbing, his legs giving out as he collapsed to the packed snow, and then…

“Two times in one day, paladin. For a champion of the Light, you’re surprisingly terrible at saving yourself.”

Alistair spun, still cocooned in his wrapped blanket, and found the necromancer leaning against the bottom of a curving staircase, flanked by two armed skeletal guards. Though Alistair recognized the bare stone of the crumbling tower, the haphazard sitting room separating them appeared more plushly appointed than either the main hall or the cellar where he’d been imprisoned. He must be higher up.In the necromancer’s private chambers.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold clawed its way down his back. For what insidious purpose had the necromancer dragged him here?

“Yourescued me from the storm?” he demanded. “Why?”

The necromancer scowled, a red blush coloring his pale, sunken cheeks. “Because I didn’t want your death on my conscience.” His scowl deepened. “No matter how much you might deserve such a fate. What were you thinking, running out into that mess of a storm last night? I warned you how bad it would be.”

Alistair felt his own flush of embarrassment. In retrospect, ithadbeen a shortsighted decision. At the time, however, anything had seemed better than remaining trapped here, waiting to die at the hands of an evil necromancer. Not that he could show his self-doubt or regret—he dared not display any hint of weakness before such a dangerous adversary.

“Don’t presume to lecturemeon questionable choices, fiend!” He tried to muster stern condemnation, but his blanket cocoon somewhat ruined the effect. “I’m not the one who has been terrorizing a defenseless village. Arefivevictims where you draw the line, then?”

The necromancer knit his brow. “I have no idea what the Dark you’re talking about.”

“There’s no sense denying it! The townsfolk of Singer’s Rest already informed me of their four missing members.” Alistair glared at the pair of undead hovering near the necromancer. “No doubt they made fine new recruits to your army. Tell me, did you murder them on the spot, or did you kidnap and torture them first like you intend to do with me?”