23. Ignatius
twenty-three
Ignatius
Iggie awoke the morning of the great exodus from Singer’s Rest unable to shake last night’s kiss from his mind.
It seemed the perfect encapsulation of his futile longing.
On the one hand, it proved that the paladin still cared about him and that their night in the harmonite cavern hadn’t been a fluke.
Alistair clearly felt the same strong pull toward Iggie as Iggie did toward him.
On the other hand, it demonstrated just how little that nascent connection mattered.
Whatever future Iggie had envisioned together existed only in his head.
Alistair had made that perfectly clear with how thoroughly he’d shut down Iggie’s confession.
The paladin had chosen a life with the Order—and such an existence left no room for a necromancer within it.
Suddenly colder than the early afternoon air warranted, Iggie shivered and forced his attention back to the crates of supplies he was attempting to load.
The council’s announcement had gone out that morning, amplified by one of Erys’ spells.
By now, the entire town had heard of the impending attack and the order to evacuate.
They’d be departing in a few hours’ time, led by Liliana to take shelter in a nearby cave before nightfall.
At least, that was the plan. But things weren’t progressing as smoothly as everyone had hoped.
Even Iggie could sense the nervousness in the air, see it in the way people paused and looked around as if they’d forgotten what they’d been doing.
Many insisted on packing as much of their belongings as they could, heedless of efforts to dissuade them.
Others contested whether the threat was real, stubbornly refusing to abandon their homes.
Then, there were the supplies—countless crates of food and firewood and other commodities that had to be retrieved from storehouses, consolidated into the fewest number of crates, and bundled up on makeshift sleds to transport them through the snow.
The whole thing was barely organized bedlam.
And through it all was Alistair, the calm and stoic paladin, offering whatever assistance he could, whether it meant hauling heavy crates with his dawnflame-enhanced strength or calmly reassuring a disgruntled villager that they didn’t need to worry about anyone stealing their possessions while they were gone.
Iggie did his best to help as well, but his presence often had the opposite effect of Alistair’s, only serving to put everyone more on edge.
Hence why he’d resigned himself to packing up their stores.
Even then, he had to pretend he didn’t notice the glares everyone kept giving him, as if they expected him to run off with their supplies the first chance he got.
Not that he could entirely blame them for their suspicions, he supposed. After all, he’d been doing precisely that until a handful of days ago.
Groaning, he thunked down a teetering crate he’d barely been able to lift and rubbed his aching lower back.
To be more specific, his undead had been the ones making off with the village’s supplies.
They were far better suited for this kind of manual labor than he was, what with his pathetically thin frame and nonexistent muscles.
Each of his skeletons could accomplish the work of a half-dozen townspeople, all without the need for breaks or rest. Shadow and shade, if they were here, the caravan might’ve been ready an hour ago.
He blinked, the seed of an idea taking root. One that was likely impossible but that he couldn’t seem to shake nonetheless. He was still mulling it over when he heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow and glanced up to find a weary-looking Alistair approaching.
The two of them had barely spoken since last night thanks to Alistair’s role in the ongoing preparations.
Part of Iggie had appreciated the space.
It had given him some much-needed time to get his emotions in check.
Now, however, he was grateful for Alistair’s company as the paladin slumped onto a crate beside him.
“The way you’ve been running around with a smile all day, I thought you’d never exhaust your energy,” Iggie said with a tired chuckle.
Alistair sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “A paladin can only use dawnflame to keep exhaustion at bay for so long before the effort catches up to them. My reserve is running perilously low, and there’s still so much to do.”
“Maybe you should take a break.” Iggie stretched, letting out a groan when his back popped. “You won’t do anyone any good if you collapse in the middle of the street.”
Alistair managed a weak grin. “I’m not quite at that point yet. I’ve enough strength yet to see this through.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Alistair watched a group of villagers rush past, clothing and blankets piled high in their arms, and narrowed his eyes.
“We’re already behind schedule enough as it is.
Most people here aren’t used to this kind of manual labor, and neither the cold nor their fear helps.
I’ve already had to break up a few fights, and at the rate we’re moving, there’s no way we’ll make it out of here before dark, which will only make the journey more perilous.
” A deep sigh shuddered out of him as he shook his head.
“Merciful Light, I wish I knew what to do.”
Iggie shifted awkwardly on the crate. He had an inkling Alistair wouldn’t like his emerging plan, and he considered letting it go.
But studying the paladin’s slumped back, his resolve hardened.
After everything Alistair had dedicated to protecting this town, Iggie owed it to him and the townspeople whose lives were on the line to at least bring up his suggestion.
“I have an idea,” Iggie said. Alistair glanced up sharply, his golden gaze sparkling with hope, and Iggie added, “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it, though.”
Alistair chuckled. “Tell me anyway. At this point, I’ll do anything if it gets us out of here faster.”
So, taking a deep breath, Iggie told him.
A half hour later, Iggie watched the procession of figures marching single file toward Singer’s Rest. In the glare of the afternoon light reflecting off the snow, they could have been any other townsfolk returning to the village. But Iggie knew otherwise.
“I’m beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea,” Alistair muttered.
The paladin stood beside Iggie, hand cupped over his eyes to help block out the sun as he studied the approaching undead. Only the two of them remained near the main supply warehouse—the very one Iggie had once dispatched his skeletons to rob.
“There’s no faster way to deal with the supplies,” Iggie replied, frustration coloring his tone.
This wasn’t their first argument since he’d proposed his scheme.
“Plus, it frees up everyone else to attend to other tasks. My undead will have all the supplies we need packed and ready to go in a quarter the time.”
Alistair’s jaw tightened. “I know. But—”
“But what?” Iggie snapped, hurt flickering through him. “I thought you trusted me?”
Alistair spun toward him, raising his hands in surrender. “I do! And I’m sure your undead will prove a boon for the evacuation efforts. It’s the villagers I’m worried about. The last thing we need is to do anything that might stoke their fear or put them more on edge.”
Iggie bit back the retort hovering on his tongue. Alistair wasn’t suggesting the townsfolk actually had anything to fear from him or his undead, merely pointing out what others might think. Even still, it rankled, as if the paladin were prioritizing their feelings and needs over his.
He turned back to his approaching skeletons. “I have things well in hand here. You should return to your own duties.”
Alistair hesitated, glancing between Iggie and the undead. “Are you sure? Perhaps it would be best if I stayed here to help keep an eye on things.”
Iggie’s chest tightened, his breath hissing out as he forced a nod.
“I said we’ll be fine. Go. You’re needed elsewhere.
Best leave the necromancer and his abominations be.
” More bitterness leaked into his voice than he’d intended, and he met Alistair’s frown with a strained smile.
“I’m all right. Really. After last night, I just really want to be alone right now. ”
Alistair’s face softened, the sympathy in his expression almost more than Iggie could take. “Of course. I’ll be directing efforts near the town hall if you need me. Take care, Iggie.”
“You too, Alistair.”
He watched the paladin depart, his stomach tying itself in knots. Focus, he chided himself as he turned back to the piles of waiting crates. You’ll have plenty of time to mope once Matrim’s golem is defeated and the village is safe.
Over the next few hours, he poured himself into his work.
His skeletons did all the heavy lifting, of course, carrying boxes out of the warehouse, sorting through them to consolidate their various contents, and then tying the loaded crates together onto makeshift sleds ready to travel with the departing caravan to the harmonite caves.
Still, he had to keep a close eye on his undead to ensure the process continued without a hitch, micromanaging their orders as needed.
When they ran out of existing sleds on hand, he split off several undead to fashion new ones.
The shoddy contraptions wouldn’t be much better than dragging the jumbled boxes through the snow, but it still beat carrying them by hand.
He was taking a quick breather, sitting propped against the stone side of the warehouse with his eyes closed, when a sudden jolt of awareness raced through him. Before he could process what it meant, a shrill scream shattered the evening air.
Iggie leaped to his feet and dashed toward the sound. Following a path along the warehouse’s side, he stumbled around the corner and froze, struggling to process the scene before him.