24. Alistair
twenty-four
Alistair
Alistair barely remembered finishing up at the warehouse, nor the remaining preparations he attended to afterward. His mind felt trapped in a haze, like there was a blizzard within his brain blinding him with icy sleet while it pounded away at his consciousness.
Part of him yearned to abandon his duties, abandon everything, and rush into the snowy wastes after Iggie. Whether to convince him to return to Singer’s Rest or to flee with him to parts unknown, he wasn’t certain.
The greater part of him, though, remained furious at the necromancer.
How could he turn his back so easily on everything they’d worked to achieve here?
All Alistair had done was attempt to preserve the peace.
If Iggie couldn’t accept that, then so be it.
Alistair would do what he’d been sent out here to do in the first place—identify the threat to Singer’s Rest and eliminate it. Alone.
Night had fallen in earnest by the time the caravan was ready to depart. Their supplies were tied together on sleds fashioned for hauling, and the townspeople stood assembled with whatever else they could carry, bundled up against the frigid night air.
“About time,” Liliana grunted. She scowled as she surveyed the chaotic procession. “We were supposed to be out of here hours ago. The trek will be twice as dangerous in the dark.”
“Now, now, cut the people some slack,” Maxwell said. He wore so many layers that it was difficult to make out an actual person underneath his coats. “Many fear for their lives and homes. We can hardly expect them to run off into the wilderness without taking the proper precautions.”
From Liliana’s answering snort, Alistair assumed she disagreed.
Truth be told, so did he, at least in part.
Had it been up to him, he’d have insisted everyone gather only the essential supplies rather than worrying about their own valuables.
If they had, calling in Iggie’s undead might not have been necessary, and that earlier altercation could have been avoided.
Brother Kelvin glanced around the square. His gaze fastened on Alistair, and he arched an eyebrow. “Where is that…companion of yours? I hope you haven’t granted him too long a leash. It would not be prudent to allow a necromancer to run amok in a time of crisis.”
Alistair bristled, opening his mouth to defend Iggie before slowly shutting it. What was the point now? Regret seeped through him as he took a steadying breath. “Ignatius will no longer be part of our preparations. I will see to the town’s defense by myself from here on out.”
Alistair didn’t miss the satisfied glint in Kelvin’s eye. “A wise decision, Sir Alistair.” He grimaced. “Though I must admit, I don’t much like the idea of a rogue necromancer on the loose near our town.”
“I doubt he’ll linger long,” Alistair replied, unable to fully suppress the pang that thought elicited in him. “He’ll move on soon enough, and you’ll never hear from him again.”
Neither will I.
Kelvin harrumphed. “I hope you’re right. And if not, well…I suppose we can always call for another Knight to attend to any errors in judgment that might have been made.”
Alarm buzzed through Alistair. “I’m certain that won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “Rest assured that, come the morrow, Singer’s Rest shall be free from undead and golems both.”
His mind strayed to images of Iggie stumbling upon the harmonite abomination out in the wastes, trying and failing to fend it off with his undead.
Of Iggie collapsed in a snowdrift, his corpse frozen over with a sheen of ice.
Merciful Light, he hadn’t given any thought until now of where Iggie would even go.
He’d never survive a trek through the mountain passes, not for months yet, and he’d left with barely any supplies of his own.
He noticed Kelvin watching him with a pensive frown and forced himself to relax. For better or worse, Iggie was no longer his concern. This town and these people—they were his sole responsibility now. It was up to him to ensure their safety.
“Well, I for one will miss the lad,” Erys declared, clucking his tongue.
Like Alistair, his magic must offer some buffer against the cold because he alone of the village elders was dressed as usual in his periwinkle robes.
“Such a shame to find ourselves bereft of his aid. Nevertheless, we must soldier on.”
The covert look he gave Alistair made him all but certain that last bit had been for his benefit. He set his shoulders. As Erys had said, his only option was to move forward without Iggie, no matter the hollowness that thought left in him.
“Hear, hear,” Maxwell agreed while Liliana offered a noncommittal grunt.
The leaders dispersed, and not long after, the caravan set off into the snowy wastes.
Liliana had been right—traveling after dark was far from ideal.
But the people had little choice if they wished to escape the town before Dawncoming.
Thankfully, it was a clear night. The stars offered plenty of light to navigate by, and no blizzards had materialized to bar their way.
Alistair watched the procession depart, a strange flurry of emotions gripping him. He wouldn’t be going with them. Tomorrow at dawn marked the official start of Dawncoming. Matrim’s conjured abomination would come for the town and find him here waiting for it.
Quiet footsteps crunched through the snow beside him.
Startled, he glanced over to discover Erys standing there, seemingly impervious to the chill air.
The mage didn’t immediately speak, so neither did Alistair.
They stood watching the caravan in silence.
Right when Alistair was about to ask him what he was doing there, Erys finally spoke.
“I always wanted to be a mage. When I was a little boy, I’d run around our cottage, waving all manner of twigs and stones while pretending I was channeling runeflame.
” His hearty chuckle filled the air. “My mother used to get so furious at me for carving squiggly symbols into every surface I could, pretending they were arcane runes. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I managed my first spell, turning our table purple. ”
He snorted and reached up to rub the back of his neck.
Alistair’s eyes fixed on the silver sigil tattooed there.
“Of course, it turns out that ambition alone isn’t everything.
Oh, I studied hard enough to squeak through the Arcanum’s entrance exams and learned what I could during my time there.
I mastered a handful of cantrips over the years, even learned to perform a few basic runeflame rituals.
Yet, the more complex spells always eluded me.
Your and Iggie’s gifts, despite your youth, far outstrip my own. ”
Erys sighed, gazing wistfully out into the night. “Still, I have never regretted my path. After all, I got to live my childhood dream.”
He fell silent, and Alistair shuffled, turning the man’s words over and over in his head. “Thank you for sharing that,” he offered hesitantly.
“Of course.” The mage glanced over with a knowing grin, his timeless eyes twinkling with mirth. “May I offer you some unsolicited advice?”
Goosebumps prickled Alistair’s skin, and he swallowed, suddenly unsure if he wanted to hear what the man had to say.
The mage’s piercing gaze appeared even more discerning than usual, as if he possessed hidden truths of which others could only dream.
Yet, it seemed ridiculous to refuse, so he forced a nod.
“Duty matters,” Erys said, his voice firm.
“I would never dare claim otherwise. But there is more to this life than duty to one’s family or one’s country or even to one’s fellow man.
There is also duty to oneself. And if one forsakes that duty, well, then I imagine they’ll find themselves forsaking the others soon enough. ”
Alistair’s chest felt too tight, each breath he took buried beneath a pressing weight. “Why are you telling me this?”
Erys stared out across the pristine snowscape.
“Because that was the point of my story, my boy. Perhaps I would’ve made a better baker like my mother wanted, or a craftsman like my father wanted in his shop.
But that wasn’t what I wanted. Those were their dreams, not mine.
And though I must admit that I made a terrible mage, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything else.
” He turned, his keen eyes gripping Alistair’s.
“I only hope we can all be so lucky as to have the determination to walk our own path. To carry out our own duty.”
Alistair stood there frozen, trapped within those too-knowing eyes. It was as if Erys had seen straight to his core, unearthing all his doubts and hopes and fears.
Then, Erys chuckled and turned away, the spell broken. “Apologies, Sir Alistair. You must forgive an old man his rambling. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have a caravan to catch.”
Alistair managed a nod before Erys strode away, charting a course through the snow after the tail-end of the departing villagers.
Alistair wasn’t sure how long he remained there, wrapped in his own thoughts.
Long enough for the caravan to vanish over a ridge. Long enough for a light flurry of snow to begin to fall. Long enough for the night’s chill to penetrate even his dawnflame and leave him shivering.
At last, he left the edge of town behind and headed toward the inn, his heart heavy. Tomorrow, he would face the beast terrorizing Singer’s Rest. And no matter his own conflicted emotions, he would vanquish it, save the town, and conclude his business here once and for all.