10. Alistair
ten
Alistair
Alistair felt his Order training trying to take charge and gratefully gave in to the familiar detached calm.
It allowed him to compartmentalize what was happening so he could focus on resolving the current situation as efficiently as possible.
It also helped him drown out the flurry of emotions still churning in his chest from that moment of shared connection with Iggie.
Never have I been so glad for an imminent crisis.
“My arms and armor, now!” He spun from the window and strode toward the stairs leading down to the main hall. “Whatever is out there, I’ll need every advantage I can to fight it.”
He’d reached the top of the stairs before he realized Iggie hadn’t responded. Frowning, he turned back and found Iggie still standing frozen by the window with a stricken look plastered over his face. Frustration rippled through Alistair.
“There’s no time to waste! We don’t want to be up here if the tower collapses. We need to confront whatever’s out there while there’s still something left to save.”
As if to punctuate his words, another tremor rocked the tower. Alistair kept his balance thanks to his training, but Iggie stumbled and ended up splayed against the far wall. He remained there, head bowed, still refusing to respond.
Letting out a low growl, Alistair stalked across the chamber, swerving past the table and chairs. He spun Iggie around with a rough hand on his shoulder. “For Light’s sake, Iggie, we need to…”
He trailed off when he got a good look at Iggie’s trembling face. The necromancer’s azure eyes stared into the distance, wide with panic. “W-what is that thing?” he whispered.
Concern flooded Alistair, but now was not the time for comfort. He needed to get Iggie moving. He settled for resting a hand on Iggie’s shoulder. Iggie startled at his touch, blinking as he raised his eyes to lock on Alistair’s.
“Iggie, listen to me. I won’t let anything happen to us—to either of us. But I need you to help me. I can’t fight that creature out there without my gear. Now, show me where you hid it so I can save us before it’s too late. Please.”
The floor quaked again beneath them. Cracks spidered along the walls while broken bits of stone and dust crumbled from the ceiling.
This time, Iggie caught himself on Alistair’s chest, and Alistair’s heartbeat quickened at the feel of Iggie pressed against him.
The faint aroma of faded lavender and dried cloves drifted on the air.
A blush colored Iggie’s cheeks as he looked up. Swallowing, he nodded and gestured toward the stairs leading to his bedroom. “Your equipment is upstairs. In a chest under my bed.”
Alistair reluctantly pulled away and ran across the room. He took the stairs two at a time, glad to find the door at the top unlocked so he didn’t have to waste time breaking it down.
An eclectic mix of decorations filled the necromancer’s bedchamber, much like the rest of the tower.
It didn’t take Alistair long to spy Iggie’s bed amid the clutter.
It was nicer than Alistair’s cot, though not by much.
Alistair unceremoniously shoved it aside.
As Iggie had said, a wide, flat chest sat beneath.
Ripping it open, he exhaled a relieved breath when he found his missing armor and sword gleaming at him.
He wasted no time donning his armor, tugging the breastplate into place and fiddling with the straps. Normally, he could manage the feat on his own after years of practice, but with each passing second weighing on him, he kept fumbling the knots.
Footsteps echoed on the stone behind him. “Need a hand?” Alistair tensed as Iggie’s slender hands reached around him. “I’ve never worn armor before. I have no idea how to—”
“It’s all right,” Alistair said dropping his own hands and willing himself to stillness. “I’ll direct you. See that strap dangling there?” He shifted his arm so that the leather waggled.
“Yeah.”
“Thread it through the loop on my side and tighten the buckle.”
Iggie managed the feat after a couple tries, his unpracticed fingers fumbling even worse than Alistair’s nerves. Still, even an untrained hand made donning the cumbersome armor easier. Alistair continued barking orders as Iggie positioned his leg and arm plates and fastened on his pauldrons.
As he worked, Iggie’s fingers occasionally brushed Alistair’s undershirt.
Each time they did, a rush of warmth pulsed through Alistair that had nothing to do with his dawnflame.
More shudders continued to rattle the tower, and Alistair forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Protecting them both came first.
Since when did you decide a necromancer was worthy of your protection?
Iggie stepped back, and Alistair shoved the thought aside, flexing his arms and legs. He nodded his approval. “This will do. Thank you.”
Redness crept over Iggie’s face as he nodded, fixing his gaze on the trembling floor. Watching the play of breath in Iggie’s frail chest beneath his robes, Alistair found it difficult to believe he’d ever thought this frightened boy capable of cold-blooded murder.
“Now what?” Iggie asked, breaking the silence.
Adjusting his scabbard around his waist, Alistair strode toward the stairs. “Now, I fight.”
He made it down the stairs and halfway across the sitting room before he heard Iggie’s feet running after him. He glanced back to see Iggie’s lips pressed into a determined line beneath his mop of unruly red hair. His two favored undead trailed behind him.
Alistair suppressed a wince when he realized he’d forgotten about them entirely. Merciful Light, when had he grown so used to their constant presence? And what did it say about a paladin of the Light that he could feel that comfortable around vile undead?
“Wait!” Iggie called. “I’m going with you.”
Alistair halted so suddenly that Iggie smashed into his armored back. Alistair whirled and caught Iggie before he could fall.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “You said yourself that your undead aren’t fit for battle, and you yourself bear neither armor nor a weapon!”
“I’ll stay far back,” Iggie said, his voice defensive. His icy eyes narrowed. “And while most of my undead are ill-suited for combat, I have a couple that can fight. If nothing else, they can serve as a distraction. As for myself, I’ll have Marlon and Cynthia to watch over me.”
He gestured to his pair of undead shadows.
Alistair eyed them. By the look of their decrepit bones, one good hit would shatter them to dust. But he didn’t miss the steely glint of determination in Iggie’s eyes nor the stubborn set of his jaw.
He wouldn’t back down easily, and another tremor reminded Alistair how little time they had to waste arguing.
“Fine,” Alistair growled.
He stalked the rest of the way to the stairs and took them down to the main hall, navigating past books and other decorations that had been knocked askew.
Iggie followed. In the hall below, they found undead gathering before the main doors.
A few had rusted weapons drawn while others carried large crates.
Alistair raised his brows at Iggie, who shrugged. “As I said, even a noncombatant can serve as a distraction. And I figured we should have some supplies ready to go. Just in case.”
Just in case the tower collapses, Alistair thought grimly. A prudent precaution, even if he prayed it would prove unnecessary. The last thing they needed was to be stranded in the remnants of the winter storm without shelter.
“I’ll take the lead.” Alistair strode to the front of the assembled undead, doing his best to pretend they were regular troops instead of rotting skeletons.
“Send your fighters in after me to harass the enemy from other directions. You stay back with the rest. If the beast goes for you, make sure it gets your undead instead.”
Iggie nodded, his throat working as he swallowed convulsively.
Concern tensed Alistair’s back. “You don’t need to do this. I can face whatever’s out there alone—it’s what I’ve trained for my entire life.”
“No.” Iggie shook his head, squaring his shoulders and firming his jaw despite the obvious trepidation on his face. “I’m coming with you.”
A fuzzy warmth curled through Alistair’s chest. He couldn’t decide whether to applaud Iggie’s courage or bemoan his stupidity. Perhaps a little of both.
With one last look to Iggie, he said softly, “Stay safe.” Then, he conjured his dawnflame, drew his sword, and wrenched the front doors open, stepping out into the storm.
The wind had calmed somewhat since that first night he’d tried to flee, but the snow still came down heavily enough to obscure the night beyond a few paces.
Alistair allowed dawnflame to course through his body, fending off the pervasive cold and bolstering his strength and endurance.
A few days’ rest had left his reserve in far better shape than before.
He infused more dawnflame into his armor and sent magic flaring along the length of his sword until it brightened the night like a torch when held aloft.
Something massive shifted in the dark. Flurries of snow left him half-blind, but he could make out that otherworldly azure light, along with the barest suggestion of writhing limbs clutching at the tower.
Merciful Light, the beast had to be at least thrice the height of an average man. Fear clawed at his insides.
Father wouldn’t have hesitated.
Steeling himself, Alistair loosed a battlecry and charged through the snow clumped on the ground.
The beast didn’t react, continuing its assault on the tower.
Alistair glimpsed hard, jagged skin glowing a dark blue with hints of what might have been silver as he approached.
Then, he was upon the creature, driving his flaming sword into its side.