19. Ignatius #2
Iggie paused with a hand on the door. He kept his back to the room, a grimace marring his features as his disgust warred with embarrassment.
“Death, I can handle. It’s reminders of mortality—of how easy it is to have your life snuffed out in a pool of red—that I can’t stand.
” Remembering how Alistair had hesitated at the front door, he added, “I’m surprised that a Knight would treat death so cavalierly. ”
Heavy footsteps announced Alistair’s approach.
Iggie swallowed, his pulse quickening as Alistair halted right behind him.
“I pray for Julian’s soul the same I would anyone who passed from this life to the next.
But while I don’t relish the sight here, it doesn’t bother me as much as it should.
” He hesitated, his voice growing softer. “After all, I’ve seen worse.”
The confession sent a shiver racing through Iggie’s veins.
Was Alistair speaking of his father wasting away to an Infernal curse?
Or had he witnessed other horrors in the course of his duties?
This might be the paladin’s first solo assignment as a Knight, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t participated in missions during his training.
Had he encountered other duskflame wielders like Iggie…
and if so, what had he been forced to do to them?
A hand on Iggie’s shoulder almost startled him into a shriek. He shook off his thoughts as Alistair nudged him out of the way to slip past and open the door. Glancing back at Iggie, he gave a tight smile. “Me first, remember? That was the deal.”
Iggie blinked, watching the paladin proceed down the narrow hall for several seconds before gathering his wits enough to follow.
What did it matter what Alistair had or hadn’t done in the past?
Whoever Alistair had once been. Iggie knew who he was now.
Besides, soon enough their time together would draw to a close, and Iggie would never see him again anyway.
Fighting the pang that arose in his chest at the thought, he trailed the paladin as he made a careful sweep of the rest of the house.
Each time Alistair opened a door, his flaming sword raised, Iggie tensed, ready to run or flinch away from the discovery of another corpse.
Yet, his worries proved unfounded. They encountered no other people, living or dead.
No signs of arcane tomes or ritual circles carved in blood either. It looked like any other home.
“Nothing,” Iggie grumbled as they returned to the room with Julian’s body. “We’d have to do a more thorough search to be certain, but I doubt we’ll find anything incriminating here.” He waved in the vague direction of Julian. “Well, other than that, of course.”
Alistair lowered his sword, the dawnflame dimming and casting the room into greater shadow.
“I was afraid of that. If Julian and Matrim intended to perform forbidden magic, they wouldn’t have done it here.
They likely found a cave outside of town—one we’d be hard-pressed to identify on our own anytime soon. ”
Disappointment curdled Iggie’s gut. So much for making myself useful.
He started toward the front door, his shoulders slumping.
“Well, I guess that’s it for here. Let’s go report Julian’s body, then check out the homes of the other vanished villagers.
Maybe we’ll find something in Matrim’s house that the town guard missed. ”
“Actually…I had another idea I thought we might try first.”
Something in the paladin’s tone sent unease rippling over Iggie’s skin. He glanced back, raising a brow. “And what’s that?”
“You told me before that you can glimpse the thoughts or emotions of your undead, right?”
Iggie blinked, confusion creasing his forehead.
“Sometimes, sure. I might get a flash of a memory through my spirit links or experience a fleeting reaction to something that mattered to them in their old life. It doesn’t happen with any kind of regularity though, and it’s most common among the undead with which I share the strongest connection, such as those I knew while they were alive or those who have only recently… ”
His eyes widened as he realized what Alistair was implying. “No! No way! I will not raise Julian as a skeleton!”
“But you said it yourself—sometimes you’re able to see their memories. We might be able to learn more about how he died or who killed him.”
“It doesn’t work like that!” Iggie gritted his teeth, uncertain if his rising frustration was directed at Alistair or at himself. “I can’t just turn the link on or off on a whim. I’m not strong enough to control it!”
“Have you ever tried?” Alistair asked calmly.
Shock rippled through Iggie, followed quickly by outrage. He narrowed his eyes, but before he could retort, Alistair barreled on, undeterred.
“You told me yourself that you’ve always been unsettled by your powers. And you’ve never received any formal training in their use. Have you ever truly attempted to expand on them? To stretch them and test their limits? To open yourself to your magic and accept what it can do?”
Iggie hesitated, his rebuttal withering in his throat.
As much as he hated to admit it, the Dark-cursed paladin had a point.
He’d always felt vaguely dirty for using people’s corpses the way he did despite his certainty that their souls had moved on.
He issued them orders, sure, but had he ever tried to form a deeper connection with his undead?
Not really. If anything, he’d done all he could to keep them at arm’s length.
Alistair’s face softened, his voice gentle when he spoke.
“It’s understandable to be wary of your powers, Iggie.
Magic can be terrifying, and whether or not you ascribe to Church doctrine, duskflame is more unsettling than most. But this could be the key to figuring out what’s happening in Singer’s Rest before it’s too late. To saving the town and all its people.”
Doubt still clung to Iggie like Dawncoming garlands, but he forced a deep breath. Alistair was right. Iggie might not care about these villagers, and they certainly didn’t care about him. But if he had the opportunity to aid them, he had to take it. For Alistair’s sake…and for his own.
Besides, now that Alistair had brought it up, a part of him yearned to learn more about his powers.
For over a decade now, he’d restricted his use of duskflame to the bare minimum he needed to survive, maintaining a handful of skeletons to keep him safe.
Faced with Khordan’s scorn, anything else had felt like a sin.
What more might he be capable of if he set his mind to it?
A chuckle bubbled out of him. “You realize that you’re probably the first paladin in the Order’s history to encourage a duskflame wielder to use their dark, necromantic powers to raise a new undead, right?”
“I realize the irony, yes.” Alistair’s golden gaze pinned Iggie where he stood, the heat of it scorching his skin. “But there’s nothing dark about you.”
Warmth flooded Iggie’s chest. Sighing, he retreated from the front door, stepping carefully around the corpse to stand by Alistair. “Fine. I can’t promise it’ll work, but I’ll give it a shot.”
“I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Drawing strength from Alistair’s steady presence, Iggie finally focused on Julian’s body.
He did his best to ignore the blood and the stench of rot as he stepped closer, swallowing his rising nausea and hovering his hand over Julian’s chest. Black wisps of duskflame poured from his fingers like liquid smoke, seeping into Julian’s decayed flesh like slick oil.
This part was easy enough. He’d raised plenty of skeletons over the years, and with how fresh this corpse was plus his preexisting knowledge of Julian, he had no doubts of the spell completing.
Sure enough, the corpse’s flesh began to dissolve beneath the deluge of duskflame, melting away like wax.
When only gleaming bones remained, the remnants of his magic flowed upward, sinking into the skull’s eye sockets until they blazed with unholy life.
Feeling a touch drained, Iggie sank to the floor and watched as his newest skeleton trundled to its feet.
Alistair shifted beside him, and sudden nerves gripped Iggie.
The paladin might have encouraged this use of duskflame, but that was before he’d seen it in action.
Would he feel differently now that he’d witnessed the creation of an undead for himself?
“Well, that’s step one,” Iggie said, his voice coming out a bit gruff.
“Incredible…” Alistair whispered.
Iggie’s eyes widened. He glanced over to see if the paladin was mocking him, but the wonder on his face appeared sincere. “It’s just basic magic,” Iggie said with a shrug. “Nothing special.”
Alistair slowly shook his head. “Your duskflame is as extraordinary as dawnflame in its own unique way—different, sure, yet also vibrant with potential.”
Iggie snorted. Now he knew the paladin had to be pulling his chain. “The potential to corrupt, perhaps. Your power is of the Light while mine is of the Dark. Good versus evil. Salvation versus destruction.”
“Perhaps we have it backward,” Alistair mused aloud. “If anything, yours is the power of creation, giving birth to new life, while my own dawnflame excels at fiery battle.”
Ghost screams filled Iggie’s ears along with the smell of smoke and charred flesh.
Swallowing, he shook the memories away and turned back to his new skeleton.
Creation magic, huh? It was true, after a fashion.
He took things that were dead and rotten and imbued them with fresh purpose.
Perhaps his magic wasn’t so bad after all.