18. Alistair
eighteen
Alistair
Alistair did his best to ignore the looks he and Iggie received as they headed toward the artisans’ main complex.
Word of who Iggie was must’ve spread during the night because the faces of the villagers they passed now ranged from outraged to horrified.
Not that any of the hate was directed at Alistair, of course.
He half-suspected it was his presence alone that kept the townsfolk from banding together into a mob and taking ‘justice’ into their own hands.
Frustration bubbled inside him at the unfairness of it all.
He could tell from Iggie’s hunched shoulders how much the negative attention was getting to him.
It was one thing to know that you were unwelcome—yet another entirely to have it demonstrated to you so plainly.
No wonder the necromancer had spent his entire life avoiding other people.
“Just ignore them,” he told Iggie as a shudder rippled down the necromancer’s back.
“Right,” Iggie said, his voice bitter. “Nothing to see here—just the evil necromancer, out for a diabolical midday stroll.”
“They don’t think you’re evil.”
Iggie raised an eyebrow. He nodded his head toward a man whose grip tightened around the handle of his snow-caked shovel as they passed, glaring at Iggie like he wanted to bash his head in. The woman beside him formed the Celestial sigil with her fingers.
Alistair sighed. “All right, fine, maybe they do. But that’s only because they haven’t given you a chance. I don’t think you’re evil.”
“I saw the way you looked at my undead.” Iggie kept his eyes downcast, staring at the packed snow along their path. “Like they’re feral animals that might attack at any moment. Even you still believe what I do is wrong. Even you are still afraid of me.”
That last came out a broken whisper. Before he could think through what he was doing, Alistair snagged Iggie’s shoulder, tugging him to a halt. Iggie flinched at the touch, and Alistair quickly released him, clenching his hand into a fist by his side instead.
“I am not afraid of you. For one, Knights don’t get scared.”
Iggie let out an involuntary snort. “I suppose that explains your lack of survival instincts.”
Alistair offered a feeble grin. “Perhaps.” His grin faded as he took in the dejected necromancer.
The desire to comfort Iggie was nearly overwhelming, his growing frustration a heavy pressure building in his chest. He wished he could stand up for Iggie, declare to the entire town how noble and courageous he was.
But he couldn’t—not without risking his ability to help these people, along with his capacity to continue doing good as part of the Order.
If I can’t tell them, then I can at least tell him.
“But more than that,” Alistair said firmly, “I know you’re a good person, no matter what you’ve been forced to do to survive. All you’ve ever wanted is the chance to live your life free of judgment.”
Iggie watched a group of young people about their age approach. The instant they noticed Iggie and Alistair, their laughter cut off, and they veered down a side street. Iggie shook his head, chuckling humorlessly.
“Yeah, fat lot of chance there is for that. I bet you’re regretting inviting me to come with you now, huh? My presence here will only make your own task more difficult.”
“No,” Alistair answered without hesitation.
Iggie’s eyes widened in surprise, and Alistair struggled to put his thoughts into words.
“It’s…well, I’m glad to know you’re safe and not freezing to death out in a cave somewhere or becoming monster food.
” He cleared his throat, warmth blossoming in his chest. “Besides, you’ve got a keen mind.
If anyone can solve this mystery and figure out how to defend the town, it’s you. ”
Iggie reddened and turned away. After a moment’s silence, he resumed walking. “Try telling that to everyone giving me the stink eye.”
“They’ll come around.” Alistair glared at another batch of villagers until they scurried off. “I carried the same prejudices when we first met. They just need to get to know you so they can see what I see.”
He flushed as he realized what he’d said, his blush deepening when Iggie glanced back at him over his shoulder. His pale blue eyes threatened to suck Alistair into their frozen depths.
“And what’s that?” Iggie asked softly.
Someone worthy of their esteem. Alistair quickened his pace, pushing ahead of Iggie down the path. “Come on,” he said, avoiding Iggie’s gaze. “I don’t want to miss Liliana.”
He felt Iggie’s eyes burning a hole in his back, but to his relief, the necromancer didn’t push him. The truth was, he had no idea how to answer that question. He saw so much when he looked at Iggie, felt so much. And that was a looming problem growing ever harder to ignore.
They walked the rest of the way to Liliana’s workshop in silence. As they approached the entrance, loud shouts rang out from inside.
“What in the Void do you think you’re doing? Do you have soulflame for brains?”
“Sorry, guildmaster! I was trying to—”
“I know what you were trying to do. That’s the problem! You should know better than to alter the resonance frequencies on a class-II gem with a Gerivarro pattern. How many times do I have to tell you how that compromises its integrity before it registers through your thick skull?”
“My humblest apologies, guildmaster. It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not or so help me, I’ll banish you from my shop faster than you can blink, no matter whose cousin you are! Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, guildmaster. Thank you for giving me another chance.”
“Don’t make me regret it!”
Alistair and Iggie shared a look, Iggie rolling his eyes. Right. Alistair could already tell what a pleasant conversation this would be.
From the outside, the workshop appeared like any of the village’s other large warehouses.
Inside, however, well-maintained if surprisingly plain stone lined a central workspace.
Several long tables littered with metal tools and harmonite shards filled the room.
Every crystal in the room currently pulsed an angry red like throbbing hearts—a remnant of the recent shouting match, perhaps.
Alistair found himself a touch disappointed as he took in the sight. The space was impressive enough, but he’d expected something rather grander from the makers of the realm’s fabled song crystals.
Liliana stood alone near the back, resting her hands on a table and muttering under her breath. Confusion gripped Alistair until he spied a descending staircase behind her. Whoever she’d been chewing out must have taken it to a lower level.
When Liliana didn’t react to their presence, Alistair cleared his throat. “Greetings, Mistress Liliana. I hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
She jerked her head up, her scowl intensifying when she saw them. “As if this day hadn’t gotten off to a bad enough start,” she grumbled loudly enough that she must have intended them to hear. “What can I do for you, Knight? And make it quick—I have little time to waste.”
Alistair frowned. “Surely, determining the fates of your missing villagers and forestalling any additional calamities is your highest priority?”
“That is why we brought you here, so that we need not trouble ourselves with that mess. Winter or not, I have dozens of orders to prepare in time for Spring. Our clients could care less about our woes, and with fewer hands on deck than expected, every day counts.”
There we go. Alistair seized the offered opening. “You mean Matrim Jarik, Master Erys’ former apprentice?”
Her grip tensed around the edge of her workstation. “Aye, him and the others. They were artisans here. Far from our best, but not our worst, either. And even our worst are expected to carry their weight.”
She glared toward the staircase, perhaps remembering her recent argument. Alistair’s sympathy went out to the poor worker who’d invoked her wrath.
Beside him, Iggie sucked in a breath. “Wait a minute. You mean all four of the disappeared villagers worked here?”
Liliana studied the necromancer like he was a particularly disgusting insect she couldn’t wait to squash.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak, fiend.
Your paladin might be content to trot you around town like a treasured pet, but that doesn’t mean I have to pretend you’re anything more than a Light-spurned aberration. ”
Iggie flushed, looking away. Alistair clenched his hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching for the hilt of his sword. “Watch your tongue, artisan. Ignatius is here under my protection. To insult him is to insult me.”
Liliana barked a laugh, not seeming the least bit perturbed by his ire. “It’s not you I have a problem with, Sir Knight. You’re free to investigate to your heart’s content. But that thing can wait outside. I will not have it sullying my workshop.”
“Iggie is a valued part of this investigation, and unless you want me to place you under arrest for interfering in a Knight’s duty, I suggest you stand down and answer his question.”
A hand lightly touched his arm. “It’s all right,” Iggie whispered, his voice near panicked. “I don’t mind waiting outside.”
“No, it is not all right.” The frustration that had been building in him during the walk over was finally close to overflowing. He’d allowed the villagers and everyone else to walk all over Iggie since they’d arrived, but this was a step too far.
Liliana hesitated. Her eyes flicked between them while a curious frown tugged at her lips. Alistair wished he could read her thoughts. She wouldn’t dare call his bluff…would she?