Page 7 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

Closing his eyes, he drew upon his training and tried to recall his brief glimpse of the room beyond, both now and earlier during the necromancer’s visit. Crumbling, dusty stone—no doors or windows. A single staircase at the far end of the chamber, about fifty paces from his cell. And a half-dozen skeletons shambling between him and escape.

He opened his eyes and fixed the door with a contemplative frown. Given the necromancer’s earlier performance, it seemed unlikely his schemes would come to fruition today. Otherwise, why bother with this charade? Assuming this was morning—and Alistair’s internal clock suggested it was—he could probably count on two more food deliveries today. That meant at least two more chances to slip free of the necromancer’s grasp.

While breaking down the door was an option, that would cost him more dawnflame than he was willing to expend. The skeletal guards presented another conundrum. Even if he had enough dawnflame left to fight past them, the speed with which the necromancer had responded to his previous escape attempt suggested he had some way of monitoring his minions. It would be pointless to bypass one set of guards only to discover another rallied in the interim. Alistair wanted to be long gone before the necromancer realized anything was amiss.

He settled on the floor of his cell and began the whispered prayers he used to replenish his dawnflame. While a full night’s rest would be ideal, he didn’t dare sleep while his foe lurked so near at hand. This way, he could recharge his magic a trickle at a time while keeping his ears open for anything threatening.

The creaking door eventually jolted him from his reverie. He leaped to his feet and fixed his gaze on the skeleton as it shuffled inside. This time, he also made sure to study the room beyond, taking careful note of the stacked piles of crates and the positions of each of the undead guards. As best he could tell, nothing had changed since the morning.Good.

The skeleton deposited another platter beside the first, hefted his untouched plate from breakfast, and began to retreat with it.

“Wait!” Alistair said. “I wish to speak with your master.”

Nothing from the undead—no sign it had registered what he said.

Alistair racked his brain for something guaranteed to get the necromancer’s attention if he was listening. “I plan to escape soon. You won’t be able to stop me. I’ll slay you and every one of your wicked minions!”

Still no reaction. The undead shuffled out and shut the door behind it.

Alistair waited several minutes, back rigid and shoulders tensed, before puffing out a breath. If the necromancer was going to take the bait, he’d be there by now. That could mean he’d recognized Alistair’s threats as the empty bluster they were…or it could mean only direct harm to his undead drew the necromancer’s attention. And ifthatwas the case…

When the skeleton returned later with his dinner, Alistair stood off to the side, wrapped in the blankets the necromancer had provided. He waited until the undead stooped to set down its tray. As soon as it was bent over and thus would be slower to react, Alistair darted forward, slipping past it and hurling the door shut in his wake. One down, five more to go.

The remaining skeletons shifted, their heads turning to stare at him with their empty eye sockets.No, not empty. Unease rippled through him at the black duskflame churning in those fathomless pits.

He didn’t wait to see how they reacted to his freedom. Before they could take a single step, he channeled dawnflame. Unlike before, however, he didn’t use it to conjure destructive flames. Instead, he released a blinding burst of light, brighter even than the midday sun.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the terrible radiance, he stepped carefully, following the mental map of the room he’d formed in his mind’s eye. With the dawnflame he’d recovered during the day, he should have enough to sustain the blinding light for a time, though he’d rather preserve what he could. Doubtless, he’d need more for other obstacles yet to come.

Rattling bones announced the undead moving around him as he crossed the room, but as he’d hoped, they appeared as blind as he was. He tried to give them a wide berth, though at one point he sensed movement and ducked right as an arm disturbed the air over his head.

Eager anticipation flooded him when his foot connected with the bottom of the stone stairs.Almost there!He carefully took one step up, then another, picturing the way the staircase spiraled along the outer wall. When he stepped and his foot found only empty air, he flailed, barely catching himself on the rough wall. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears as he flashed back to the previous night. Merciful Light, how embarrassing would it be to suffer another fall?

Perhaps it was time to regain his sight. He allowed the blinding brilliance of his dawnflame to fade. Blinking to clear his vision, he found that he stood about halfway up the curving stairs, his foot caught on a half-crumbled step. The five remaining undead still shuffled about on the floor below, searching for him in vain. As the light faded, however, all five pairs of roiling dark eyes fixed on him.

Cursing his hastiness in dismissing his spell, he dashed up the remaining steps and crashed into the door at the top. Momentary panic eased to relief when he found it unlocked. He threw open the door and emerged into what appeared to be a kitchen.

Pleasant heat radiated from a crackling fireplace. Judging by the delicious smells wafting through the space, this was where his meals had been cooked—and likely the necromancer’s as well. A sweeping glance revealed three more skeletons on this level. His eyes stuttered over one of the undead wearing a chef’s hat and wielding a cleaver.

What in the Light…?

Bones clattered from the stairwell behind him, and he shut the door, clicking its lock into place. That should hold them for a time, but not forever. He needed to move. The undead here either hadn’t yet noticed his presence or had dismissed him. Perhaps their orders didn’t include dealing with an intruder? Movement from his right sent him spinning around, a fistful of dawnflame at the ready. An undead horror stood there, holding up a…

Alistair blinked, taking in the metal tray piled high with roasted chestnuts. The absurdity of the situation suddenly struck him, and a wild giggle escaped his lips. Here he was, trying to flee from an evil necromancer while undead guards pounded at the door in pursuit and others offered him delicious snacks.

Merciful Light, what kind of necromancer has a dedicated chef?

Shaking his head, he searched the chamber and spotted another winding staircase, this one rising from the corner. Darting past the hors d’oeuvre-wielding skeleton, he took the stairs two at a time and burst out another door into what appeared to be a barren dining hall. A rickety table far too small for the space sat at its center, and an attached entryway featured a pair of heavy double doors. Across from him, more stairs spiraled up.

It’s a tower,he realized, eying the stairs and the closed door at their top. Though why a tower stood sentinel this deep in the mountains, he had no idea. Had the necromancer built it himself? Given how worn everything looked, he doubted it. More likely, this tower was the remnant of some ancient war, abandoned and left to rot in the intervening years.

Despite the structure’s obvious dilapidation, Alistair had to admit that with the large fire burning in a hearth, the delicious smells wafting up from below, and the mismatched but comfortable-looking chairs set around the table, the place felt surprisingly cozy. On closer inspection, he even spied several display stands spaced around the chamber littered with an eclectic assortment of knick-knacks, along with an ugly vase on the dining table that had been filled with a bouquet of dried wildflowers.

A crash from below snapped him back to his senses. This was no time to dawdle. Still, he hesitated a moment longer, studying the stairs. The necromancer likely lurked higher in the tower, plotting his next move against Singer’s Rest. And no doubt he had Alistair’s stolen equipment close at hand. This could be Alistair’s best opportunity to reclaim his gear and confront the necromancer with the element of surprise.

Yet, his earlier prayers had only partially restored his dawnflame, leaving his reserve low until he could get a proper night’s rest. If he failed to acquire his armor and sword, he’d be at a severe disadvantage fighting alone on the necromancer’s home turf.

Undead feet clattering on the stone stairs from the kitchen made up his mind for him. Bravery was one thing, but remaining here in his current state bordered more on stupidity. Better to escape, regroup, and return at full strength.