Page 21 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

Merciful Light, this wasn’t a fight they could win. Not while they lacked better knowledge of their foe and the elements worked against them. Alistair hesitated for a breath’s span before gritting his teeth and turning away. Time for a tactical retreat.

He jogged through the snow toward the front of the tower. Behind him, the creature bellowed another roar loud enough to drown out the howling wind.

Iggie stood right where Alistair had left him, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. His eyes widened when he spotted Alistair. “What’s happening? Three of my undead have been destroyed. I was worried you’d…” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

Alistair gave a grim smile, touched by the necromancer’s concern. “I’m all right. But this enemy is beyond me. We need to go now while it’s distracted.”

“But the tower—”

“Forget the tower! The tower is lost, and we will be too if that thing catches us.”

Iggie paled but nodded. Determination hardened his face. “I’ll leave behind a few of my weaker undead. Hopefully with them and the tower to occupy it, we can make our escape.”

“Good idea. Quickly then, follow me, before it—”

The great beast lumbered around the side of the tower mere paces from them. Ghostly light danced in the air, forming a kaleidoscope of blues among the falling snowflakes.

“Run!” Alistair bellowed.

Shoving Iggie behind him, Alistair charged forward with his flaming sword. His only conscious thought was the need to keep Iggie safe. He met the creature head on, a furious inferno of dawnflame and steel. Instead of powerful blows, he kept his dancing strikes quick and precise while remaining ever on the move.

His speed proved too great for the monster. It bellowed its frustration, struggling to catch him with its own slower blows. Hope blossomed in Alistair’s breast, further invigorating his movements. Perhaps they could still triumph here after all.

The snow was his undoing. His foot caught in a loose patch, and he stumbled, dropping to one knee. He tried to raise his sword to defend, but with the storm raging around him, he couldn’t tell where the counterattack would come from until it was too late. A claw raked his armor with enough force to dent the breastplate and slam him to his back. Dimly, he heard Iggie’s panicked shout, and then someone was standing over him with a raised blade.

Iggie?

No, Alistair realized. One of the necromancer’s surviving undead warriors. It had rushed to Alistair’s defense, no doubt at its master’s bidding. Several more took up position beside the first, forming a protective wall to offer Alistair cover. Iggie himself crouched beside Alistair an instant later, tugging at his armored shoulder.

“Come on, get up! We’ve got to get out of here!”

With Iggie’s help, Alistair hauled himself to his feet. He took one last glance at the skeletons preparing to make their final stand. They might only be mindless undead acting upon orders, but that did nothing to stop the gratitude trickling through Alistair.They saved my life.Marshaling his strength, he stumbled after Iggie through the billowing snow.

Iggie’s remaining undead clustered around the two of them as they fled, offering minor protection from the wind. Relief flooded Alistair when he saw that a couple still carried their crates of supplies. Thank the Light Iggie had thought ahead—those blankets, food, and kindling might be the only things that got them through this alive.

Alistair had feared pursuit from the nightmarish horror, but when he looked back, he found the tower and ethereal glow lost to the storm. The undead Iggie had left behind must have made for a suitable distraction. Alistair snuck a glance at Iggie, but if he regretted the loss of so many of his minions, he didn’t wear it on his face. In the faint golden light from Alistair’s sword, he merely appeared resolved.

It was difficult to tell how much time passed with nothing but a sea of white enveloping them. When Iggie stumbled and almost lost his footing, Alistair insisted on a halt to rest. Panting, Iggie gave him a grateful nod and huddled into himself.

Alistair frowned, noting the necromancer’s faint shivering. “Are you okay?”

“J-just a b-bit cold,” Iggie said through chattering teeth. He eyed Alistair appraisingly. “Must be n-nice having your d-dawnflame.”

Alistair shrugged, guilt coiling around his gut. His reserve would run out eventually, but for now, he still had plenty of dawnflame left to insulate him from the weather even with what he’d expended during the fight. “I would share it if I could.”

“Th-that’s o-okay,” Iggie said quickly. “I’ll m-manage.”

Alistair wasn’t sure what to make of that adamant denial, but he shrugged it off. He didn’t quite dare suggest the other option for heating Iggie up. If things grew dire enough, they’d discuss sharing their warmth. Until then, it seemed best to maintain his distance.

“My dawnflame didn’t help much against that creature,” he said, his mind returning to their recent battle. A thought occurred to him, and he snorted. “You know, this is the third time you’ve saved my life. As a paladin, I feel like it should really be the other way around.”

Iggie chuckled weakly. “N-next time, y-you can b-be the h-h-hero.” His gaze settled on his nearest skeletons, Marlon and Cynthia. Given the odd attachment Iggie seemed to have for them, Alistair felt certain there was a story there—one Iggie wasn’t ready to share. “A-almost m-makes me w-want to be a s-skeleton,” Iggie continued. “At l-least they don’t n-need to w-worry about feeling c-cold.”

No, just the state of their souls. Instant shame soured Alistair’s stomach. Ordered or not, some of those very souls had sacrificed themselves for him when their master refused to leave him behind. Iggie claimed his undead were willing echoes of the people they’d once been while the Order insisted they were twisted perversions, which begged the question: what didhebelieve?

After a couple minutes of allowing Iggie to catch his breath, Alistair stood. “We need to keep moving.” He didn’t like the increasingly pale cast to the necromancer’s gaunt features. “Do you know the way back to Singer’s Rest from here?”

Iggie hesitated. “M-maybe. It’s d-difficult to tell with the s-storm.”