Rise of the Dead Prince (31 page)

“
Get outta my
WAY
!”
yelled Dor, and a dozen bonewalkers went flying in a line to his side like dust from a broom. He had resolved to get there in time or else fall apart trying. His yell had an unexpected effect. The dead between him and the Karavunians started to slow and even rattle in some cases. The Karavunians took advantage and made several easy kills in rapid succession. Meanwhile on the left, things were looking grim. Three dozen were pressing on the weakening wall of defenders. All of them seemed to have been whipped into a frenzy somehow. Their attacks were merciless, causing the eleven Karavunians, with Lotho and Strafer among them, to fall back so fast that they were nearly back to back with the right
side.

That was when Trent got there. He knew he couldn’t hack that fast, so he tried a reckless maneuver. Running straight for the backs of the dead, attacking the middle of the line, he vaulted off the nearest two, cracking them as he did, and jumped in a high arc to land safely among the Karavun
ians.

“Y’all get behind me!” he cried over everything. It was easier said than done, but they tried to comply. This created a serious problem, as there was nowhere to go. When they had moved as much as they could, Trent knew it was then or never. He screamed into the crowd of dead with a hideous roar. Those immediately in front of him were blown straight back like rocks from a sling, crashing into the others as they went. The attack, while giving a moment’s reprieve to reform the line, might have done more harm than good. The defenders were now unevenly placed, leaving gaps that could not be filled. Trent began to desperately swing and curse, all the while seeing that it hadn’t been enough. The Karavunians were about to be overrun regardless of both he and Dor’s efforts. Meier knew it was up to
him.

He had cut another line through the horde, but the ones he stopped were not sufficient to make the needed difference. The dead were overwhelming the living even as he thought. He had found his way to the front of the old wedge again and continued to take two and three at a time with every swing. He needed more time! He pressed his mind. If there was just some way to turn things around, he could live up to his promise to those who believed in him. They must live! Raven was cawing madly from his branch, but he could scarcely be heard over the clangs and battle cries. It snapped when he heard Dor’s cry. The dead were made to be in thrall to the anathemas! Soldiers needed captains, and what did that make him? Meier took a dark breath. His eyes went black. He had nothing left to give, so he resolved to take what he needed from the dark. It was a dangerous ga
mbit.

Going into the dark as a pauper increased the chances that one would not so easily escape its clutches. It was a game of wills, and Meier plunged in without a second thought. He saw the dead before him, glowing with bright violet flames. He had never seen them burn so brightly. The world was black except for blurred gray patches. Meier made his move. He was the master of all he surveyed, if he could but command it! A blast of cold air emitted from Meier, icing the armor of the nearest dead. Suddenly calm, he began marching away from the fight in long strides, and once he was clear, he turned to face them all from behind black eyes. The dark voice was difficult to use, but he pressed it as hard as he dared. A long hiss went out that dropped the temperature on the battlefield to freezing in a second. He looked again, and the world had slowed. He saw them all fighting as though they were underwater. And then the voice
came.

“
GET
…
OVER
…
HERE
!”
he rasped at them. The power was such that all men, dead or not, were stunned and unable to think for a brief time. The dead stopped in midswing and turned to face Meier! The Karavunians, still bewildered by the sudden cold and the force of the voice, were unable to take advantage of the sudden pause in battle. The dead began to shake and hiss, but they could not fight the dark will of Meier. They belonged to another, but such a violent and direct order was impossible to ignore. They broke off all battle and marched to where Meier was, still rattling and bemused. Dor and Trent were also coming to him, slowly and with steady strides. They might have chosen to resist, but it was not in them to do so. The soldiers follow the anathemas, and the anathemas follow the necroma
ncer.

The Karavunians looked on in horror. They were battered and frozen, and their ears were ringing from the undead cries of the Valahians. Meier looked at the swarm of dead before him with dark satisfac
tion.

“
KNEEL
!”
he rasped in the dark voice, and they immediately obeyed. Using his mind, he called out to Trent and Dor; and from the crowd, they rose and took their place at his side. Meier felt the darkness taking him again. Using this power did not seem to deplete him the way the destructive arts did. It all felt so effortless. All he had to do was focus. He looked over at the Karavunians, huddled and cold.
Pathetic,
he thought arrogantly. Before him was a small force of skeletons, and they were pathetic as well. It was not enough. His anathemas were the only ones worthy of being at his side. Meier slowly began to laugh. It was a shrill and ethereal melody that filled the air in all directions. It was then that he remembered something important, and it rang through him like a bell and a shiver. He, Prince Meier of Valahia, was an
idiot.
The specifics were irrelevant. It had something to do with the lack of power lust. He laughed again but then succumbed to his true nature. Addressing the huddled dead, he found the perfect word, which he then said forcef
ully.

“
BREAK
!”
he cried out to them. The dead began to writhe around violently, bending and twisting where they knelt. A symphony of sickening cracks and crunches rang through the air, and the dead began to fall to the ground, broken. Soon they were all destroyed, and looking down from behind black eyes, Meier couldn’t help but to feel that it had been an awful w
aste.

With an inner sigh and a shrug, Meier begrudgingly let the inner idiot take over. His words came back to him from before. The dark was inside him, but he was not inside
it.
The world lightened by degrees. The ascent was not instantaneous. It was more of a deliberate loosening of his grip on the power of darkness. His eyes went clear, and with a gasp, he returned to the world of color. He felt a bit dizzy at first. He looked over his shoulder at Dor and Trent, who were confusedly looking around as well. When their eyes met his, they shrugged and smiled, unable to think of anything to say. At last, he looked over at the Karavunians. They seemed for the most part to be intact, if not horribly bewildered. The fight had been surreal on several levels. It was not what they had expected. Raven gazed down with his head tilted slightly. It was a look of severe scru
tiny.

The second it was clear that the battle was over, the Karavunians took their rest. Many collapsed where they stood. Meier and his captains made their way to the group. Bain shook his head at M
eier.

“I don’t understand it
…
but it
works
,” he said with a uncharacteristically nervous laugh. The big man had been hit in the core by a hammer during the fight, and he would soon have a terrible black bruise. Strafer looked around with his eagle
eyes.

“No more in sight, but the branches are shaking out east. Plenty more out there.” Lotho stepped over to Meier with a slight
limp.

“You had me worried for a second, Dead Prince,” he said with a weak s
mile.

“Me too,” answered Meier. Strafer looked around a
gain.

“Six wounded. Nothing serious,” he said but then stopped. His eyes grew wide. Lotho moved his hand, and blood poured out from his side. Bain caught him as he fell, and the men all gathered around, regardless of fatigue or personal in
jury.

“Took a broken gauntlet through my chain
…
why all the fuss?” he asked weakly. Lotho took a labored breath as Bain pulled his mail shirt off. The gash was ugly and hard to c
lose.

“Someone make a fire!” shouted Terimus, kneeling beside his friend. Of the whole group, it was only he that had known Lotho since childhood. Dor had his flint and steel out in a second and, with a flick of his hammer against the nearest tree, had enough splinters and kindling in hand to get it going in a few seconds more. As soon as the fire was started, Terimus withdrew a threaded sickle-shaped needle from his pouch and put it in the flame. Strafer handed down his water pouch, the contents of which had been cleaned by boiling the night before. Terimus washed the grisly wound and commenced to stitching at once. Lotho winced but kept his compo
sure.

“Why are you all looking so grave?” he asked tiredly. He still had no idea. Bain looked at the others. They nodded at him. Lotho had been in the dark long en
ough.

“Because you’re our king, lad,” he said with a rare and genuine smile. Lotho scoffed in disgust despite the
pain.

“I
told
you
…
,” he said defiantly but then passed out from the sur
gery.

The Valahians nodded. It made sense. Even they had suspected as much. Crown or no, Lotho was a worthy, if not reluctant, sovereign. As they knew already, power was best given to those who did not crave it. Meier looked down at the wound. He was suddenly feeling shaky and ill. It had been his fault. Had he only done as he had promised, this could have been avoided. Raven looked down at Meier and began a mental count
down.

“I
…
,” Meier
said.

Three,
thought R
aven.

“Don’t feel
…
,” Meier conti
nued.

Two
, thought R
aven.

“Can’t seem to
…
,” said Meier, swa
ying.

One,
thought Raven. Meier’s world began to gray around the edges. He had used up all his energy. All he had left was adrenaline, and that was now
gone.

Down,
thought Raven. Meier collapsed and was caught by Dor, who then placed him beside Lotho. There lay the crownless king and the paragon prince, side by side, surrounded and tended to by the men who loved
them.

40
No Place for the Living

S
trafer and Dor opted for reconnaissance duty while the others rested. Together they set out for the east and returned a few hours later. Their initial silence on returning spoke volumes. The news was written on their f
aces.

“It ain’t especially good news, boys,” explained Dor at last. The others gathered around. Lotho and Meier were still unconscious. Strafer Jax sighed. This was something he never
did.

“Too many to count,” he said, still lightly winded. Dor took
over.

“We managed to get behind the advance. Thousands and thousands are headin’ northwest, while others are headin’ due north.
Hundreds
of thousands, we reckon. The earth was so tore up it was near impassable. The tracks go for at least two miles across, and they’re spreadin’ fast. Looks like a big ol’ fan. Strafer saw more, but I could get closer. Anyhow, they’re movin’ fast,
real
fast.” The others didn’t know what to say, so they remained silent. Strafer looked at Dor again and nodded. “That ain’t all,” Dor
said.

“We saw it. The line,” Strafer reported. The others didn’t understand. Dor was quick to elabo
rate.

“There’s a line, like a wall, a dozen miles southeast of here, runnin’ right through the swamp. The far side is blacker than a moonless midnight. It was all Strafer here could do to even get close to it,” he said in turn. He then nodded to Strafer, who continued once he found the w
ords.

“Felt
wrong,
somehow. Not natural. Big black circle. Maybe a mile and a half across. Got cold. Couldn’t get close
…
Felt like
dying,”
he finished. The men nodded. They were beginning to unders
tand.

“We reckon that’s where the road ends. It’s where they come from,” explained Dor. “And most likely it’s where the necromance
r is.”

The silence among the others continued.
Hundreds
of thousands? It was hard to imagine such a massive force. Such an army easily outnumbered the total number of survivors in Valahia and Karavunia comb
ined.

“They mean to kill us all. Everyone,” muttered Terimus. Bain slammed his fist into the tree beside
him.

“We were defeated when Karavunia City fell
…
but this is different. It will be an extermination!” he declared lo
udly.

“Can we warn Targov? I mean, if it’s still there?” asked Trent. Dor and Strafer exchanged glances then shook their h
eads.

“Moving too fast. Never make it,” said Strafer hone
stly.

“Wouldn’t be much point anyhow. They could scatter
…
but where to? Ain’t nowhere that’s safe.” Dor stated plainly. The news, horrid and irrefutable, left the men crestfallen. Slowly, all eyes turned to the sleeping pr
ince.

“Has to be him,” said Strafer, pointing to where Meier
lay.

“If he can just get there
…
he can set things to right,” stated Trent plainly. The others slowly nodded. Bain shook his
head.

“How many did we fight today?” he asked, arms wide. The others looked around at the battlef
ield.

“Six rows. Three hundred fifty per row. Twenty-one hundred or so,” said Strafer, doing the math quickly. They all agreed with Strafer’s esti
mate.

“A mere two thousand, when at least a hundred times as many march on our lands? How can such a thing be stopped?” asked Bain emphatically. None had an answer, save one. He cawed loudly from the high branch he had adopted, and per his request, Trent held out his
arm.

Raven fluttered down and landed on the thickly muscled perch. He proceeded to caw and squawk quickly then sto
pped.

“He’s asking me to translate for y’all,” said Trent. Raven started his explanation then eventually paused for Trent to relay the information. “Raven says the necromancer is nearly omnipotent by now, nearly. There ain’t much chance, but y’all should know that already. He says that the chance is twofold. Both things need to work. The necromancer is arrogant. As such, it’s possible there won’t be too much left to fight between here and there, since the necromancer probably sent almost everythin’ against Valahia and Karavunia. He believes that we three might make it through whatever honor guard there is. That’s thing number one.” Trent paused for Raven to g
o on.

The Karavunians waited while Raven cawed and clicked, hopping a few times near the end. “The other half is dependent on Meier’s guile and on his ability to play a certain role. Raven says that the necromancer not only needs to be intrigued by Meier but also needs to underestimate him. He said some unkind things about Meier after that which I ain’t goin’ to repeat. Anyhow, he said that Meier ought to get this second part of the role naturally. He also says that he, Raven that is, happens to be the ‘secret weapon.’ So far, the necromancer doesn’t know about our fine feathered friend here, and that works to our favor. How that
is
exactly, I fail to see, but he’s powerfully insistent on the matter.” Trent paused again for some slightly louder cawing, squawking, violent clicking, and other odd noises. Dor started laughing, and Trent just smiled and shook his
head.

“My, but he surely thinks a lot of himself,” said Dor to the Karavunians. Raven cawed loudly at Dor then puffed himsel
f up.

“Indeed, he does at that,” answered Trent in agreement. Raven squawked at Trent next then waited expectantly. Trent looked at all the Karavunians. “I ain’t going to say all that, but suffice it to say, he don’t think highly of Dor’s upbringin’ nor mine for that matter. I swear, but if this ain’t a piece of opprobrious behavior, Raven, even for you. It ain’t becomin’ for such a ‘superior’ being as yourself to carry on so.” More emphatic cawing followed. Trent listened and no
dded.

“Turns out he intends to get Meier ready to fight the necromancer. Somehow. He didn’t give specifics, but it sounds like he has a trump card under his wing, so to speak. He says ravens know ’bout near all there is to know, and that us
…
how to say it like he did
…
talking primates, ought not to question it. Then he said some things about tree climbin’. I reckon I translated that just for the comedy of it. It sure gets him riled to be in this position, unable to cast aspersions on everybody in a way we can all understand. Oh, and he’s better than all of us as well, and we ought not to get too proud just on account of us having thumbs and whatnot.” Raven cawed a retort, and Dor started laughing again. The Karavunians found themselves smiling and chuckling despite the gravity of the situation. It was enough to know that the bird had a
plan.

“How does he intend to account for the vast army? Will defeating the necromancer stop the march?” asked Bain seriously. The others looked to Raven. It was a valid question. Raven clucked and cawed some more. Trent si
ghed.

“He reckons not. Those soldiers have their orders, and unless we can somehow find a way to give them new ones, both our nations will be emptied of all human life and then maybe other nations sometime after that. He says the necromancer most likely aims to take both nations and rule them from Targov as a vast land of the dead. He says there’s some history of bad blood that goes back a good long ways, but that none of that matters at the moment.” Bain stepped toward Raven looking very a
ngry.

“What good is any of this then, if no one can be spared but we few?” Raven cawed at him. Trent held up his hand to the big man before
him.

“He asks that you give him a bit more space. He didn’t ask politely, but I’ll ask you nicely to do so. He’s got a bit more to say.” Bain grunted and took a step back, holding out his arms with his head craned forward as if to exhibit his reluctant cooperation. Raven nodded and continued for a while as Trent and Dor listened, slightly nodding. Finally, Raven stopped and looked to Trent a
gain.

“Raven wants us to remember that he’s not the cause of this sorrow and that he’s here to help us, but he ain’t going to sugarcoat things either. Still, he says we ought not to give up hope as yet. There is always a way, and he asks us all to remember that Meier is special and that we all said before that we believe in him, even Raven here. It’s all a question of time. The chances are better the sooner we go and the closer the army is to here when we get there,
if
we get there. Then he said somethin’ that was downright uncharacteristically kind about us all. He said that we’re all true heroes and the finest he’s ever seen. As for me, I reckon he truly means it. It sure looked like it hurt him to say. Anyhow, he followed that with this: ‘True heroes never give up, even when there ain’t no kind of chance.’ I reckon he’s right.” The Karavunians nodded at the bird. Bain was finally satis
fied.

“What should we do now?” asked Terimus. “We cannot venture into the black wall.” Raven answered quickly then looked to Trent a
gain.

“He says you ought to see to your king. If Karavunia has a future, it’s him that’ll lead the way there. He says we need to part ways, since the livin’ have no place in a realm of eternal midnight.” The Karavunians looked somewhat disappointed by
this.

“You mean we should do nothing? How can we accept that?” asked Bain. Raven sighed and clicked his beak then spoke briefly. Trent no
dded.

“He says you’ve done a hundred times more than your share already, just by being alive still. You need a new destination, and he has one in mind.” The Karavunians exchanged glances then waited for Raven to continue, which he did after a brief pause. Trent and Dor looked suddenly very surprised. Raven nodded to Trent to trans
late.

“Raven says that he feels y’all are meant to
…
go to Targov,” he said then paused. The Karavunians scoffed. Befriending three Valahians was one thing, but marching to their capital was quite another. Trent continued. “He says that Targov is probably the only major city standin’ in either country. He insists that it is the only sensible destination. He saw Lotho’s wound, and he said it’s deeper than y’all supposed. He’ll need a proper surgeon, real medicine, and a place to rest and heal.” The Karavunians looked to Lotho with concern then looked to Terimus, the only one among them with any medical skill. Terimus examined under the makeshift bandage then slowly shook his
head.

“I fear the bird speaks the truth,” Terimus said bleakly. The Karavunians looked solemnly on. Bain shook his
head.

“What waits for us in Targov but hatred and mistrust? Perhaps they even have a jail cell for us!” he exclaimed. The others nodded in agreement with
Bain.

Raven cawed loudly then continued to speak for a time. Trent did not keep them waiting. “Forgive the phrasing here, but he says only a fool would be so stubborn as to choose pride over the life of his friend and king. He went on to say that he met King Ian, and he knows him to be a good man. More than this, Ian is Meier’s older brother. If you say you are sent by Meier then tell your story, you will be received at the highest level. Then he said y’all ought to trust him, Raven that is, because he knows these things for certain. He was very emphatic about it. That was that crackling sound y’all heard at the end there.” Bain scoffed again and turned away. He didn’t like it one bit. Strafer stepped for
ward.

“The bird’s right. I say we take our chance. For Lotho,” he said, looking to each man. Terimus stepped for
ward.

“For Lotho,” he added in agreement, nodding. Others stepped forward and declared the same. Bain finally turned, making a sound of frustrated indignation as he di
d so.

“For Lotho,” he said, nodding at last. It was decided. The Karavunians began to make a crude stretcher from branches woven together with shirt sleeves. Meanwhile, both the dead prince and the young king were coming ar
ound.

“How long?” asked Meier, looking around blearily and sittin
g up.

“Six hours,” said Dor curtly. Meier’s eyes grew wide. It had never taken so long to recharge himself, but then he had never exerted himself to such an extent. He looked over and saw Lotho being loaded onto the stret
cher.

“What’s all this?” asked Lotho tiredly, awakened by the arms lifting him gently. Meier was soon on his feet, wondering the
same.

“Best go now. Talk on the way,” said Strafer, taking the first turn at the stretcher with Terimus. And so the Karavunians took off to the north at the best speed they could manage. If they ran and took little rest, they could be in Targov in under a week. Raven confirmed that it should be sufficient time to save Lotho. They were up to the task, and there were no more obstacles to slow them. Of course, none of it mattered if they found Targov destroyed by the
dead.

Meier looked bemusedly at his fellow Valahians, arms wide and brow furrowed. Taking a page from Strafer’s book, Raven simply cawed, “No time for talk! Start running! Follow Dor and we’ll explain on the way!” And so the Valahians and Raven set out to the southeast at top speed, not pausing for goodbyes. Thus, the heroes of each nation were pa
rted.