23. Ignatius #3
“No, it doesn’t,” Iggie agreed. “But then again, it also doesn’t give you the right to attack one of my minions without provocation.”
A faint blush colored the woman’s cheeks. Got you! Despite her obvious guilt, however, she didn’t relent. “I’d think it trying to gut me provocation enough, wouldn’t you?”
“If it had made the first attack, sure. But it didn’t, did it? You came here looking for undead, and when you actually stumbled upon one, you got scared and lashed out. Naturally, the undead tried to defend itself. Does that sound about right?”
Smug satisfaction radiated through Iggie as the woman sputtered. That had been the jolt he’d felt right before the scream distracted him—a psychic warning that one of his undead had been attacked. Julian had acted in self-defense.
“It was about to attack me.” The woman cradled her wound as if the shallow scrape was a life-threatening injury.
“I could sense its malevolence, so I tried to shove it back and run.” She faced away from Iggie, focusing her attention on Alistair.
“These creatures have no business being around us. It’s not natural. They can’t be trusted.”
The glare she shot Iggie at that last bit made it clear she thought he couldn’t be trusted either. Alistair, who’d remained silent throughout the exchange, finally shifted to address the woman. Though his voice remained cordial, Iggie sensed his barely concealed exasperation underneath.
“Return to town, miss, and seek out Brother Kelvin to attend to your injuries. I’ll get things sorted out here.”
Professing her thanks, the woman hurried off, leaving Iggie and Alistair alone.
Well, as alone as they could be surrounded by skeletons.
Since their time in the tower, Alistair had grown far more comfortable around Iggie’s undead.
Now, however, the paladin kept a wary eye on them as if what the woman had said was true. As if they couldn’t be trusted.
The silence stretched until Iggie couldn’t stand it any longer. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“I know.”
“She as good as admitted it. She came here to see an undead, then freaked out and attacked.”
“I know, Iggie.”
“Julian didn’t even realize what he was doing. He acted on instinct to defend himself. Unless I explicitly order them not to, all of my skeletons will fight back if they feel threatened.”
A pause.
Alistair glanced at the undead standing near the blood-speckled snow and sighed, his stern mask cracking as he rubbed his eyes. “I never should have agreed to this.”
Iggie’s heart lodged in his throat. “What do you mean?”
The paladin turned to gaze out over the expanse of snow beyond town. “I’m sorry, Iggie, but I think it’d be best if you and your undead laid low for a bit. They can shelter in the warehouse while you return to the inn until tomorrow morning when we fight the harmonite golem.”
“That’s not fair!” Iggie protested. “You can’t possibly tell me you’re taking her side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. But as a Knight of the Order, I’m responsible for keeping every villager here safe…
even from their own stupidity.” Alistair puffed out another sigh as he shook his head.
“This sort of thing is precisely what I worried would happen when you proposed your plan. Regular people and skeletons just aren’t meant to mix. ”
The paladin’s words hit Iggie like a slap to the face. “You mean regular people and me just aren’t meant to mix.”
Alistair frowned. “That’s not what I said.”
“No, but it’s what you meant.” Iggie shuffled back from the paladin so that Marlon and Cynthia stood between them like a protective barrier.
Not that their presence did much to shelter Iggie from his whirlwind of emotions.
“I saw the way that woman looked at me. It’s the same way everyone in Singer’s Rest does.
You said it yourself last night—they don’t actually want my help.
To them, I’m as much a monster as that golem coming to slaughter them tomorrow. ”
Alistair smiled sadly. “Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean you can’t help them anyway.”
“No. But perhaps it means I shouldn’t.”
Alistair’s smile faded. “You don’t mean that.”
“If my undead aren’t good enough to help evacuate the town, then it seems to me they aren’t good enough to defend it tomorrow either.”
Alistair tightened his jaw, his golden gaze narrowing. “What happened to trying to see the good in everyone? To honoring the oath you made to defend Singer’s Rest? You can’t just abandon all these people without a second thought!”
An image of that woman’s scorn flashed before Iggie’s eyes. More images followed it—the dozens if not hundreds of people who’d looked at him with that exact same hatred over the years.
“Why not? It’s what they’d do to me.”
Alistair bowed his head. “If that’s how you really feel, then you’re not the man I thought you were.”
The paladin’s condemnation sliced through Iggie like a dawnflame-infused blade, hacking and burning him from the inside out until nothing remained but ash.
“No,” he replied. “I suppose I’m not.”
Without another word, he turned and strode out into the snow, his undead following in his wake.