Page 49 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

“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 theycertainlydidn’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 toencouragea 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 nothingdarkabout 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.

Emboldened by Alistair’s words, he focused on his spirit link with his latest undead. Since Julian was closer than the others still waiting outside town, he had an easier time sensing the thread of connection between them. Hesitating for the span of a few heartbeats, he gathered his courage and quested out with his mind along the link. He’d utilized similar techniques before to track his undead or sense their condition, but never to this extent.

Nothing happened, and his frustration grew. So much for using his magic to accomplish something good. He should’ve known better. His duskflame was worthless…just like him.

“You can do this, Iggie.” Alistair’s voice sounded far away, though Iggie knew the paladin stood right beside him. “I believe in you. You just need to believe in yourself.”

Iggie set his jaw at the certainty in Alistair’s voice. Tamping down his doubt, he poured everything he had into his spirit link.Still, nothing.

Despair whispered at the edges of his consciousness. Then, he remembered what Alistair had said about opening himself up to his magic and accepting it. Closing his eyes, he tried to do just that. Instead of forcing his will along the link to his skeleton, he allowed the connection to flow backwardintohim as well.

Gradually, the room around him faded, unfamiliar impressions assailing him.Julian’s thoughts, he realized as the fragmented moments flitted past. It was as if he were catching snippets of the man’s memories, viewed through his eyes.

Julian and Matrim in bed together, kissing and holding one another close. The unbridled joy in Julian’s heart each time he smiled at Matrim and Matrim smiled back. Yanking each other’s clothes off in the throes of passion, breaths panting and hands groping for—

Heat blanketed Iggie’s cheeks as he snapped back to the present, blinking away the foreign memories. Alistair peered at him worriedly. “Are you all right? What happened? Did it work?”

“I’m fine.” A tremor raced down his back, carrying with it a lingering remnant of Julian’s phantom passion. “I witnessed scenes from Julian’s past, but they’re difficult to sort through.”

“Well, what did you see? Anything to help us figure out what happened?”

Lips pressed together, backs arching on shared gasps of pleasure, a merciful sense of release paralleled by a drawn-out moan…