Rise of the Dead Prince (4 page)

“Good nose! I prefer to describe it with the term ‘overripe,’ but I suppose the fruit part might just be slightly rotten. I only added the juice to cover the other flavors. It won’t hurt you though. I give you my word as a crazy old man.” Meier was unimpressed. “Anyway, I’ll leave you now, and just sleep on what I said. Keep the potion, all right? I promise it will help. Now good luck on your journey.” Crocus concluded with a bow. Meier was still flabbergasted on no less than two levels, and so he had a hard time responding. He nodded and managed to say, “Uh yes
…
good night, I suppose.” Crocus saw his way out, but this time, he opened the door like a normal pe
rson.

3
The War Path

N
oon the next day came agonizingly fast for Meier. He spent the two hours after breakfast, stumbling around with his heart racing. Against what half of his mind was telling him, he faithfully packed the horrid potion in his saddlebags, along with his other supplies. He just hoped it didn’t break in there and befoul his remaining goods. Meier got dressed and then put on the irritating armor, all the while wondering how his brothers coped with the far heavier versions. He supposed they were just better suited in every way for this sort of thing, and he was cor
rect.

It was when Meier started wandering around the castle that things got strange. He was looking around for his brothers, checking their rooms first, and then finally making his way to the next obvious location. This of course was the war room. Yes, they were there, but that was not what was strange. It was the behavior of everyone he passed in the halls. The servants had long since learned to ignore him, excepting of course for the deferential head nod that befitted all royalty. Today they were
talking
to him. It was disconcer
ting.

“All the best, my lord!,”
they would say, and “
Our hearts are with you!,”
and many similar things. He supposed that they were saying these things to every man involved in the war effort, but in his case, they seemed especially emphatic. It must be because he was a prince. It was still strange though. He awkwardly thanked them for their praise and well-wishing, but what he really wanted to say
was,

“You know that I’m going to be of no help at all, right?”
He refrained however from doing this. Even more strange than this was the fact that he almost liked the attention. He, the gloomy prince, was feeling less gloomy for once, very strange in
deed.

When Meier entered the war room, he was greeted with more warm praise from his brothers and even his father. They had all been up since dawn with the generals, discussing strategy and the plan for attack. For once, he paid close attention to the map. On it he saw the main focus of the meeting. It was the crossing of the Milco River. This river was the border between the two nations and had been for over two hundred years. There were two major forts on either side of the river, one for the Valahians and one for the Karavunians. These had been the watchtowers since those days long ago when the border had finally been agreed upon. The enemy stronghold was called Harsov, and it was of similar strength and size to the Valahian fort at Colif. The first stage for the conquest of Karavunia was to take that fort at Harsov, thus securing a foothold into enemy territory and to prevent a Karavunian counterattack. The plan was fairly straightforward, but Meier still had a bad feeling. Of course, he still had a bad feeling about the whole war in general, but the time for protest was long since gone. Perhaps it was just his nerves. The thought of battle wound him up like a
drum.

After the war briefing, Meier made his way to the stables, where he ran into a stable maid named Allie. He had seen her around many times and even talked with her on occasion, even going so far as to talk about books they had both read. Now she was brushing his horse. One look told him that out of all the horses in the stable, his was the most doted upon. This was odd. Even his brothers’ horses were not being so well looked after. When Meier was in sight, they locked eyes for a moment, then something even more odd happened. She
smiled
at him coquettishly. At least he thought that’s what he saw. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. There she was, making eyes at him with admiration. No one had ever taken notice of him before and certainly not the female folk. That business had always been cornered by his brothers. It was enough to make his heart flutter slightly to see a pretty girl smiling at
him
. Of all people! The brooding prince! The gloomy one! It was nice, but he quickly dismissed it. She was probably smiling like that to ever
yone.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said, bowing. She was still smi
ling.

“Er, good morning,” he responded. He nearly tripped over his feet when he got close to her. She covered her mouth, smirking slightly. Meier couldn’t help laughing. It
was
funny, after all. He realized that he hadn’t laughed in a long
time.

“Shall I saddle her for you, sir?” she asked, reaching for the sa
ddle.

“Uh, no need to bother. I’ll get it,” he said, reaching for the same saddle. Their hands touched on the way, and they nearly knocked heads. A chill went up his spine. He had just touched a
girl,
however accidentally. They both blushed. Meier picked up the saddle and put it on his shiny mare, Callista. She seemed especially happy to see him. Even this was slightly odd. Callista was usually the type to snort at him and twitch when touched. Even though her other duties called, Allie didn’t leave
yet.

“Uh, my lord?” she asked bashfully. Meier was taken off guard. Why wasn’t she lea
ving?

“Yes?” he said, trying to sound noble and confident. His voice decided to crack instead. Meier suddenly wished he was invisible. He looked away and continued saddling Call
ista.

“This is for you. For, uh, luck!” she said. Meier looked at her, and her face was bright red. In her hand, she held a thin braid of her long golden hair. He bemusedly accepted the gift, unable to say anything at first. He realized that his face too had gone bright
red.

“Thank you, Allie,” he said, trying to sound noble. Whether he failed or succeeded was anyone’s guess. She didn’t seem to notice either way. There was another few uncomfortable seconds where they just stood looking at each other. Each was at a loss for words. Finally, Allie said, “I best get back to work, sir.” She started off to the other stalls to brush more horses. On the way out, she stumbled, and as a reflex, Meier caught her. If they had blushed before, they were now positively glowing red. They disentangled themselves, and then Allie quickly esc
aped.

Before he could notice, Ian was suddenly behind him. He had always been sneaky like that. Ian was smiling at him knowingly. Meier realized that he was still blushing, and also that he seemed to be wearing a stupid
grin.

“Not bad at all, little brother,” said Ian with a clap to his back. Meier suddenly felt small, standing next to his tall brother. In his hand still was the golden braid. Ian raised an eyebrow at this. “Very nice, indeed!” he said, laughing. Ian then walked off to saddle his own horse. A thought came to mind. He thought he knew why his horse had been so shiny. Had she been brushing her the whole time, just waiting for him? His head started to spin a little. Like everything else, Meier dismissed this. Allie had always seemed to give a little more attention to Callista. She must have liked her a bit more than the other horses. Yes, that was it. It had t
o be.

Soon enough, it was noon and time to head out. Wold and his sons rode out of the city to meet the assembled troops. As they rode through the courtyard and into the city, the trumpets screamed out their fanfare. Banners were flying high, armor was highly polished, and villagers were cheering and throwing flowers. It was all quite magnificent. The king and his sons found their way to the head of the forces, and after a short speech from Wold, they moved out in a thunderous
line.

The journey across Valahia took just under two days. The first night, they camped at Vogas, a trading town on the river Meia. That night there was a great deal of revelry among the men. They were all excited at the thought of expanding the border and being heroes. The people of Vogas gave them a warm welcome, striving to feed all twenty-four thousand mobilized troops with more than dried provisions somehow. Meier thought this was somewhat wrong, given that the people of Vogas numbered no more than ten thousand at best. These people were spending a great portion of their food for this. No one else seemed bothered. Meier ate his meal gratefully and thanked everyone that came by to attend
them.

The next day was a full march from dawn to dusk. That night, they camped in the wilds under the open sky. It was beautiful. Meier felt that he could see every star in the wide firmament. Again, his father and brothers spent a good part of the evening in the war tent with the generals, going over everything for what had to be the thousandth time. Meier wondered how much more they could have possibly had to say. He took a peek inside the tent, and the main news was that the advance scouts had seen no sign of preparation on the other side of the border. It seemed the attack was still going to be a surprise. That was obviously good news. Meier found the assumption to be suspect, but then he had always been a ske
ptic.

The next morning, the men got in formation for the final hours of the march to the enemy fort at Harsov. Soon the Milco River was in sight. The fort of Harsov loomed in the distance. The battle was about to begin, however brief it was likely to be with such a
fort.

Yes, it was all brewing, and nothing could stop it. Meier felt like an overcooked noodle. His legs were like jelly, and his heart was nervously pounding. Suddenly remembering what the kooky old man had said, he reached into his pack and pulled out the nasty potion. His nerves were such that he could barely hold it without his hands shaking. He smelled it again. Horrible. Still, anything was better than this feeling. He downed the potion in one terrible gulp. It tasted even worse than it sme
lled.

4
The Battle of Milco River

K
ing Wold took his place in the middle back of the army, all the better to see the whole engagement and bark out orders to the flag wavers as needed. Meier was at his side, feeling especially useless. He just hoped he didn’t fall off Callista when the noise started. It was right at noon when the orders to advance were given. the feet of the marching forces kicked up the dust from the dry plain into a blinding cloud. If the Karavunians hadn’t known they were coming, they certainly did
now.

The heavily armored vanguard cavalry took the front line, and the bulk of the commoner infantry followed them closely. In the rear and to the sides were the mounted skirmishers, and in the very back were the rows of archers, comprised of both common and regular forces. The hair on the back of Meier’s neck stood straight up, and the battle hadn’t even started yet. The vanguard was about to file across the river. It was shallow enough in this part that the infantry forces could wade across and never get more than their legs wet. It was when the main force was within a stone’s throw of the river that the surprise came. A terrible, hideous surp
rise.

From either side came a loud battle cry, and Karavunian forces came flooding out of the woods from the north and south in droves! By the time the first orders from the king came to readjust the lines, a volley of arrows was already hitting the back lines. The Valahian forces were being attacked from both sides, and they were facing the wrong
way!

The vanguard cavalry had already crossed the river. They were too far to mount an effective charge from either side. The enemy had cavalry on either side, and they were only a few hundred yards from mounting a devastating charge to annihilate the line of archers in the back row. It seemed inevitable. King Wold barked orders to open fire and to turn the infantry to face the oncoming charge. They were too slow. Ian’s skirmishers on the north and south wings had their hands full; they had just become the front line. Against the charging enemy’s heavy cavalry, they would be decimated. The light riders scattered and began harassing the charge with expertly shot arrows at close range. Against the heavily armored opponents, the attack was mostly ineffective. At best, the arrows from the skirmishers, and the rattled infantry archers claimed a few hundred horsed men. They had more than thousands more. It seemed as though there was no way to stop them in
time.

The Karavunian cavalry suddenly swooped to the west where the undefended archers were. Meier and Wold were about to be on the front line as well! Wold called to the archers to run forward into the regular infantry. The general of the center called the infantry to meet the cavalry on either side with a wall of spears. The orders were only barely quick enough to make any difference at all. The enemy cavalry turned again and attacked the weak side where the archers were scrambling to the safety of the middle. They didn’t make it. The cavalry crashed into them like the wave from a breaking dam, thoroughly routing the archers from behind as they fled to the middle. Chaos broke out in the ranks. Their morale was shattered. By the time that most of the archers were run down, the infantry met the cavalry with only a fraction of their force. The second clash resulted in equal losses on each side. The cavalry was weak against the spears of the infantry, but the Valahians were so rattled that they could not fully exploit the advantage. It was then that the Karavunian infantry charged from either side. The Valahian infantry was about to be fighting on three s
ides!

Ian’s skirmishers had taken losses on each side, and they were scattered so thin that they were not making much difference. They attacked the charging infantry with arrows until they had all run out. Ian barked orders to ride into the woods to attack the enemy archers with melee weapons, but they could not maneuver as well as they would have liked. Still, they needed to stop those volleys from hitting the unguarded mass of infantry. Luckily, the Karavunian archers were stationed on the edge of the woods, the better to fly their arrows high. The skirmishers rode in with swords drawn and made a devastating attack against their line of archers, but this was not where the brunt of the battle was taking place. The Karavunian infantry met the middle, forcing the Valahian infantry into a tight circle. They were soon surrounded on all sides. If some miracle didn’t happen, then they were about to suffer the most terrible loss in Valahia’s long history. King Wold barked orders to hold the lines, but even the flag bearers were soon embroiled in the fight. It was then that Assur made a desperate charge from the east. His forces had been slow crossing the river again, but now they rode into the backs of the Karavunian infantry in a broken line. The charge caused significant losses, but it was not enough. Soon the heavy cavalry was locked in by the Karavunian infantry, and they were taking equal losses, just as the enemy cavalry had
done.

More than half of the Valahian forces had been destroyed, eliminating any numerical superiority they might have had. The battle kept getting worse. How had they been so easily tricked? King Wold and Meier entered the fight. King Wold began slashing on either side of his horse, fighting like a lion. Meier watched his father’s bravery and with his tarnished saber began stabbing and slashing as well. He wasn’t having very much effect. He found himself blocking more than anything else. Something was strange though. Meier’s fear had faded. Suddenly, all he wanted was to win, even though it was against all odds. He wanted to do his part, just like his brothers, just like his father. Meier began to fight his heart out. He started to do
well
.

It was then that another disaster struck. Wold was struck under his arm by an enemy spear! Seeing that the king was wounded, the Valahian infantry quickly surrounded him. They guarded him with their lives, giving Meier the chance to dismount and catch his father as he began to slump in his saddle and fall to the ground. The wound looked bad, but not quite fatal. Suffice it to say, Wold was out of the fight. He pulled Meier close, and then he said something strange. It was something that Meier had never expected to
hear.

“Lead them!” said Wold. Meier felt his heart leap in his c
hest.

“I can’t leave you!” he yelled. The thought of his father there bleeding was more than he could bear. Wold squeezed his arm fi
rmly.

“Save us! Save them! Go!” And then he pushed Meier
away.

Something snapped in Meier. He stood straigh
t up.

Save them.
But how could he? He thought about it. There was only one answer. He would fight. Yes, and he would save them. He would save them, or he would die trying. Meier climbed back onto Callista in an uncharacteristically graceful swoop. He raised the rickety old saber and yelled a battle cry at the top of his lungs. Then he looked around the battlef
ield.

In a single sweep of the eye, he saw everything, and his mind began to work. There! The weakest link in their chain. He saw it and then rode for it as fast as he could. He made for the nearest flag bearer and took away his banner. He dropped his shield to free up a hand for the flag. He would go himself. Waving the flag high, he began fighting the line with the men and then screamed above the
din.

“
TO ME
!” he yelled to all the surrounding troops, waving the flag to get their attention. “A wedge! Here!” The men were tired and broken. Then they looked up at their prince. There he was, not armored, risking his hide in the fray like the rest of them. They couldn’t believe it. It was like Meier had cast a spell on them, filling them with bravery. They rallied! Making the wedge around him, they pushed forward into the heart of the surrounding line. They fought like men possessed. Somehow they knew that Prince Meier would save
them.

Ian saw his little brother. Something snapped in him as well. He felt an uplifting surge. He ordered his skirmishers to leave the archers and charge the infantry from behind. Assur saw Meier charging. He rallied his fo
rces.

“Protect the wedge!” yelled Assur to the vanguard. And they did. Mustering all the remaining heavy cavalry, Assur began his own wedge, attacking the enemy sideways along their line. This did not destroy them, but it did give them something to think about, which was all Meier needed. He broke the enemy line! Once he was through, he called to his
men.

“Pinch them in! Meet the skirmishers!” The men began to gain momentum. The enemy was rattled; it was now they who were trapped. Or at least half of them were. Meier turned his eyes to the other half of the field. He rode at top speed to the where the other half of the remaining Valahian infantry was still boxed in. Quickly looking around again, he saw a hole at the corner of the two sides of enemy infa
ntry.

“Charge the corner!” he yelled above the battle clamor. “For Valahia!” he screamed and rode into the fray. “Push!” And again, the men saw him and took heart. They quickly broke through. Again, the skirmishers were charging the infantry from the other side, harrying their forces and boxing
the
m
in.

The tide of the battle turned. Each man fought his heart out, taking on twice his share of the fighting. The Karavunians forces began to dwindle. Finally, broken and beaten, they started to rout. The rest of the fight was soon over, as the Karavunians retreated into the woods and across the river, scattering like ants from a m
ound.

They had won! Victory had been grabbed from the jaws of defeat. All thanks to Meier. Who would have guessed that he had such a gift for strategy and command? No one was more surprised than he. From somewhere, a voice shouted a single name. Meier turned to see who it was. Another joined in. With weapons raised, a chorus rang out across the field. The infantry was shou
ting.

“Meier! Meier! Meier!”
Meier didn’t know what else to do. He raised his weapon and saluted them
all.

Still, in his heart, the victory was bittersweet. These men had been defending their border against invaders. He looked at the fallen on the battlefield. There were thousands. How many of them need not have died? Meier felt sick. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt. In all the commotion, he had forgotten one very important thing. He quickly rode to where his father lay wounded. Assur and Ian were already there. The surgeon had gotten his armor off and was dressing his wound even as Meier arrived. It looked as though he would live. That much, at least, was cause for celebra
tion.