Rise of the Dead Prince (12 page)

“As you have spoken, so shall it be!” he declared. “If they cannot be in the same country as I, then I hereby banish myself!” The court erupted with the sound of a hundred voices. Meier drew his hood up over his head and walked out of the courtroom the same way he had walke
d in.

18
The Next Horror

“T
hat was a very noble thing you did,” said Crocus to the packing pr
ince.

“If you say so,” he answered curtly. Meier was not normally so dismissive, but he was in a rush and had no time for conversation. It might have been a matter of pure technicality, but he wanted to leave before the king ordered him not to. Presently, he had only a few minutes at best. Ian would have to extricate himself from the court proceedings first. Meier had to pack and escape before then. Luckily, he didn’t need provisions. The past weeks had proven that he needed neither food nor sleep. Callista would, however. Where he was going, there was no grass. He would need to stock up at the stables. He might even have to leave her behind at some point and go on
foot.

“Wait a minute,” said Meier, a thought dawning on him. “How did you know what happened in court? It was literally minutes ago, and you weren’t there. Was it the mirror?” Crocus lau
ghed.

“No mirror required. It was common sense.” Meier sco
ffed.

“What do you mean? I didn’t even know what I was going to do until the moment had nearly passed. It was improvisation!” Crocus just smiled at
him.

“I know you better than you think, young man,” he said and then left Meier to finish pac
king.

As it turned out, the three men that had attacked him were given a light prison sentence for their violent actions against the royal family. It was all very unusual. Many people in court sat perplexed, unable to reconcile the happenings with their own expectations. As for the assassins, they were unsure of whom to be thankful to. If it was Prince Meier, then it meant they had made a terrible mistake. Flynn, the archer, fully renounced his actions as criminal; and in a gesture of contrition, he accepted his punishment without contest. Dego, for his part, accepted his punishment as well; although he was confused by the actions of the dead prince, so much so that he was not able to speak when his sentence was passed. He merely nodded. Errol accepted his sentence also, although not without a short speech about how no one could be sure of anything in these dark times. Such was his right. As for his previous certainty that Meier was turned into a demon, he admitted that he was no longer fully convinced. He also swore an oath that he would never raise arms against Meier again, nor would he foment another attempt on his person in any
way.

Ian knew his brother’s mind. It left him with a moral conundrum. As king, his responsibility was to protect his family and the nation. He privately cursed his position. In his heart, he knew that as a prince he would have done many of the same things that Meier had; what was more, he would have wholeheartedly supported Meier in his present choices. As king, his mind was now different. He had to think like a king. It was more of a burden than he had expected, and it was one he never expected to carry either. It was Assur who had been groomed and prepared for the throne, leaving Ian and Meier to their lei
sure.

“Curse it all!” he said loudly in the hallway. The ministers that had been following him wisely desisted. The king’s business with his brother was his and his alone. He marched to Meier’s quarters with a head full of steam. When he got there, it was empty, and several things had been hastily packed up. It was exactly what he had feared. “Hang it!” he roared, with his face out of Meier’s open window. He slammed his fist down on the window sill, hard enough that it hurt his hand. He took a deep breath and let it out. What was he truly mad about? He examine
d it.

His brother had disrupted the trial with his deranged charade. Forgive the man that shot him? Insanity. No, now that he thought about it clearly without distraction, he was thankful that Meier had done what he did. It had more value than an execution would have. Now the people knew that Meier was not only forgiving, but that he was willing to make sacrifices, even for the worst of them. A tear came to Ian’s eye when he thought of the sheer grace of what Meier had
done.

The arrow you gave me, I now return to you. We are even
…
It was beautiful. When had Meier become so regal? Ian suddenly believed that the wrong brother had been made king, for a true king’s power was in the ability to meet hatred with love and to lead by example. He could think of no one better than Meier to do this. It was not his fate though, and Ian knew that. A dead prince could never become
king.

Why else was he mad? What was this uncontrollable anger? Ian thought hard. His brother had banished himself. This had been a noble gesture, but also a childish one. The prince banished to spare criminals? This was the most insane thing of all. What really made Ian mad was a selfish thing. He would miss his little brother, and there was nothing he could do to stop him shy of having him arrested and dragged back against his will. No, he would not do that. It was against everything he believed in. Ian found himself smiling for his brother and his foolhardy mission, for he had no delusions about where Meier was headed. Somehow he now believed that it was Meier’s destiny, after all. As his brother had said, and indeed as the old man Crocus had predicted, it was Meier’s role to go forth and face what others could not. His condition had to mean
something.
That much was now clear to
him.

Ian was lost in thought for a long minute until he felt a cold draft through the window. Shivering, he went to close it, but before he could do so, a giant black bird landed on the sill and startled the life out of him. Ian fell two steps backward on his heels. The raven cawed and tilted its
head.

“Hello, human! I thought I’d
drop
by
…
for a spell! Get it? Because you’re a wizard? Oh, wait, it’s not you. Well, I mean, you’re
you
, but not the you I was looking for. How silly of me. In my defense, all you humans look alike, especially you and the one I need to see.” Naturally, Ian understood none of it. All he saw was a squawking bird that blinked and tilted its head knowingly. The impulse was to shoo the unsettling creature away, but Ian’s instinct stopped him from acting on the reflex. Despite his inability to understand, he still had the distinct sensation that he was being talked to. It reminded him of the beasts in the forests he so cherished. They all had their way of speaking, if only one could hea
r it.

A moment passed, and King Ian sighed at the blinking bird.
Oh well,
he thought.
What’s the
harm?

“Hello there, black bird,” he said. Raven squawked and hopped. Ian had a sudden, wild sensation and an even wilder urge to act on it. “If you’re looking for my brother, he left about ten minutes ago,” he said, fully doubting his sanity. The raven stopped suddenly and then flapped its wings in
joy.

“By Jove, you almost get it, don’t you? You silly wonderful primate! Uh, I know I’ll feel stupid for trying this with such a lesser species, but
…
WHERE
…
DID
…
HE
…
GO
?” the raven said slowly and loudly. To Ian’s ears, it sounded like the raven was using some kind of weird mathematical code. But no, even that was a stretch. He felt as though he was going looney. There he was, talking to a black bird. No one in the kingdom should know about this. It would shock the nation to discover that their king was crazy. Ian looked around in para
noia.

“He’s asking where Meier went,” said Crocus, who had noiselessly descended on him from behind. Again, Ian jumped out of his skin. It was all too
much.

“Gah! Crocus! Don’t ever do that again!” said the startled king. Sneaking up on Ian the Hunter was quite a
feat.

“Sorry, my lord, it’s just that I heard our honorable friend here speaking, and I came to translate. Hello, Raven!” Crocus said with a
bow.

“Translate?” asked Ian. “He understands?” Raven flapped his wings at the
king.

“Well, of course,
I
understand, you simian dullard. It’s you that has the head full of eider down!” said the raven, who then began to laugh loudly at
Ian.

“Sorry, Raven, the king has never met one such as you, o lord among birds. Forgive his ignorance.” Again, Crocus bowed. Ian clammed up and stood idly by, watching the exchange. Raven squawked a
gain.

“Ah, wizard, you have nice manners. How very
…
sagacious
of you! Because you’re a sage! Ha, ha, ha!” More cawing and flapping ensued. When it died down, Raven became serious. “So let’s stop all of this nonsense, shall we? My time is valuable. Which way did Meier go?” Crocus quickly translated, and then together they said, “He went south.” Ian even pointed. Raven just laughed a
gain.

“Look at him pointing! Ha! As if I wouldn’t know my
…
cardinal
directions! Get it? Oh, I’m on fire today! Although cardinals
are
a bad example. They’re too stupid to migrate, let alone find south
…
but I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, I’m headed south! Thanks, lesser creatures! You’ve been most
…
elucidative! Ha! Go look it up! Ha, ha, ha!” He cawed, laughing all the way out the window and off into the dist
ance.

Ian took a minute to think about everything he had seen in the past hour. He sighed deeply. Again, he cursed the burden he carried. Who had known the crown would be so h
eavy?

“You are a very strange man, Crocus,” he said, “but I think you know that.” Crocus merely nodded and smiled. He took a deep breath, and for a long time, he and Ian stood in silence looking out the window. The cold draft continued to wash over them, chilling them to the bone, but neither man moved to close the window. Crocus turned to the
king.

“They’ll be coming for you, sire,” he said. “And I’m afraid it’s bad news.” Ian sighed a
gain.

“I know, Crocus,” he said. “They always come with bad news these days.” Crocus started to leave the room as the footsteps were heard coming up the hallway. They were run
ning.

“Not like this, my liege,” Crocus answered, “not like this.” The footman who turned the corner was out of breath from running. He called out to Ian from down the hallway. This in itself was very strange. Usually, the guards and soldiers bowed and saluted before speaking. Some of the man’s panic crept into Ian as well. The footman asked that the king come as soon as possible, for there was terrible news. Ian followed, running as well despite his heavy clothing and fanfare. He actually took his crown off and carried it in hand to keep it from falling off. Once a skirmisher, always a skirmisher, and skirmishers move very fast. When they made their way to the throne room, the ministers were in a frenzy. There were several ragged soldiers in every corner, and each looked haggard and out of br
eath.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ian called out above the din. Many soldiers tried to speak at once, creating a nebulous cacophony of voices that was utterly impossible to understand. Ian raised his hands to silence them, and then he pointed to one soldier at random to explain what was going on. The man stood on a chair, and with arms wide, he addressed them
all.

“A new swarm is arriving, my lord, but it is not like the others!” he said, breathing heavily. Again, there were other voices that chimed in to elaborate, but Ian silenced them with a ges
ture.

“A new swarm of dead, you say?
Strigoi
, yes?” Ian asked, in a cool, collected manner. To lead, one must not give in to panic. The man seemed confused but then spoke a
gain.

“A new swarm of dead, my liege, yes, but they are not
strigoi
like the others. They are worse, sir, much worse!” Again, the room erupted; and again, Ian shushed
them.

“Tell me how they are worse than what we have seen so far. How is that possible?” The soldier caught his breath and found his voice a
gain.

“It’s the bones of the burned dead, sir! They have r
isen!”

19
Bones and Banishment

R
umors spread, as rumors did, and nothing could have spread faster. Stories of what Meier had done were everywhere, but these paled in comparison with the panic that was sweeping the city. The bones of the fallen cremated were descending on Targov. There were hundreds. All considered, it was less than had initially been reported. In a time of trials, this was at least some good news. Thousands upon thousands were wandering south; some said as many as one hundred thousand. Some said even more. The truth was that no one could find a single grave that had not been emptied. All that was left in the pyres was ash and wood. Hastily made, many pyres had left the bones themselves unburned. What that meant was too monstrous to conceive. The king had to focus on what was in front of
him.

Ian called for the captain of Targov’s defenses. The man had led a small force to face the threat. It had gone badly. The captain had may dents and dings in his breastp
late.

“Nothing short of breaking them to pieces will stop them,” he reported. He seemed shaken, which for many was cause for alarm. Ian knew this man but could not recall his name. He was of the kind that never flinched at death. For him to show fear, no matter slightly, was enough to panic the ministers and other soldiers present. “Also, my lord, they have taken to moving like men. The
strigoi
are sluggish and awkward, which makes them easy to destroy. Generally, it is their numbers that give them strength. Not so with these skeletal demons. I watched with my own eyes as a man was pulled from his running horse by a single bonewalker and then slain where he fell
…
” Ian stirred in his seat. Grabbing a man from the saddle was no easy thing for a man, let alone a dead
one.

“Tell me more, Captain. How do we defend against such monsters?” Ian asked. The captain hesitated slightly before answering. This too was cause for alarm. It meant that whatever he said, he really didn’t
know.

“Their weakness is the spine. Anything attached to it moves, regardless of what else they lose. Arms, legs, even the head is not needed. Our first skirmish was grim, sir. We did lose men, but we learned a few things of use.” The captain was looking downward, as if afraid to continue. Ian stood up and spoke loudly, as if to awaken the man’s sleeping sp
irit.

“What is wrong with you, Captain? Where is the man I’ve seen since I was a boy, standing brave and proud? Tell me! But first, tell me how
you
killed them!” The captain was shaken but then found himself again. He stood up straight and gave his re
port.

“Yes, my lord!” he said at a similar volume. He got the message. He needed to show courage and confidence to these
men.

In a sudden moment of audacity, the captain abandoned the normal parlance of those in the presence of a king. He stepped up onto the table to recite his deeds, just as the distant ancestors of his past had done in the great halls of old. Ian smiled. The captain acted out his words with gestures, just as his forefathers had done around the bonfires of ancient times, the better to relay what had happened. When he spoke, it was as though another man had suddenly taken his place, for his voice boomed and did not waver. His forebears, were they to have been there, would certainly have turned their heads to him in p
ride.

“I destroyed two of them personally. Of course, arrows are of no use, but so are swords for the most part. I tired my arm out swinging at the first one,” he said, hacking at the air with his fist. “They kill by biting and thrusting their bony fingers into you. I knew I was getting nowhere. The bones seemed strengthened by the magic that animates them. As I fell, I resorted to bashing the beast with my shield repeatedly. This crushed the head, but it still attacked. I rolled it over!” He growled as he spoke the words, indicating the struggle. “Then onto the ground I pressed it, and continued to
bash
it until all movement stopped!” The captain took a br
eath.

“And as for the second one?” asked Ian. He was still smiling. They might be in a crisis, but this was
exactly
what the people needed. The captain was quick to answer. He had regained his vigor. There was even a kind of bloodlust in his eyes. He practically ro
ared.

“Seeing the weakness and the strength of my enemy, I pulled the banner from my saddle and used it as a pike. When the next demon charged me, I jabbed it through the middle of its rib cage!
HYAH
!” yelled the captain, acting out the gesture to the ministers. He succeeded in startling them. The captain continued, “I failed to break the spine, but the move had tangled it. Next, I did what came naturally. I lifted it into through air in a wide arc and then dashed it into the ground like I was using a hammer! It shattered and was unmade. You see, my liege, that is their second weakness. For all their strength, they weigh next to nothing! If we, no,
when
we can weave a strategy from this, we will hold the city easily!” he concl
uded.

“Well said, Captain!” said Ian. “Now we know what to do. Incidentally, remind me of your name, Captain. I have taken to using your title to address you as though your name were ‘captain.’” They both laughed. The captain slapped his hand to his chest in sa
lute.

“Captain is my true name,” he said, “for I am as I do, my liege. However, my given name is Behren.” Ian smiled down at the man and his theatrics. The soldiers had been pumped full of courage despite the horrifying nature of the report, and the ministers began thinking of ways to involve the populace in the defense of the castle. Behren had read the king’s mind, it seemed, and had more than exceeded expecta
tion.

“Well then, your name at home is Behren, and in all other places, that name becomes ‘Captain.’ Is that correct?” The captain no
dded.

“Yes, sir! That is precisely correct. I could not have said it better, my lord,” he answered. Ian stood up. The rest of the court followed suit. Ian reached for his glass then held it
high.

“Then I must beg your forgiveness, Captain, for I am changing your name to ‘General.’ Specifically, ‘general of the rear guard.’ Will you accept your new name?” A smile crept onto Behren’s
face.

“I will, my lord,” he said, salu
ting.

“Of course,” said Ian, “there are conditions, well
…
just one condition really.” Ian sat down, and then all other others did as well. All but Behren.
Good,
thought Ian and smiled again. He did not kneel before the condition. Ian paused before speaking, but he did not leave them all waiting for much lo
nger.

“Behren, you must first save Targov from these ‘bonewalkers’ when they come! Will you do this?” Ian asked with a rising voice. Behren’s answer was immed
iate.

“Sir! Yes, sir!” he said in a voice that resounded throughout the great hall. The soldiers exploded with cheers. Even the normally stuffy and humorless ministers were on their feet, applauding with wide f
aces.

And so the die was cast. Behren would have to save the city. Just how he would do this was still a mystery, but to him, it did not matter. There was always a way, and he would just have to find it. One thing was certain. Ian had put the whole city behind him, and Behren wouldn’t let them
down.

Meanwhile, a few miles south of town, Callista was galloping across the desolate countryside. Despite the eerie silence, Meier whooped at the top of his not quite living lungs. For some reason, he was extremely happy to be out of the castle. He wasn’t certain why, but he did not spoil the moment with contrary thoughts. For then, if only then, he was precisely where he was meant to be. So be it if the light was fading. What of it, if it never came back? High above, the clouds darkened, and the first crack of thunder grumbled in the distance like an old man stretching his legs. A frigid shower soon followed, as if to dampen his clothing along with his spirits. If that had been the universe’s plan, it was a failure. Meier rode on unaffected, a broad smile on his face. As the rain soaked him through, he realized he was not cold. It was then that the universe upped its ef
fort.

Meier saw a village looming forward in the distance. Like all others in the area, it was dark and lifeless. The people who lived here were undoubtedly in Targov, huddled in masses behind the safety of the numbers there. Seeing the dirt path through the hamlet, he decided to steer to meet it. Callista, he thought, would surely be appreciative of some decent footing for a brief while. It was a decision he would soon regret. As Meier galloped through the village, he saw a movement from the corner of his rain-soaked eye. By the time he turned to look, it was too
late.

Callista reared in fright. Something had just jumped from the shadows and directly into her path! Meier could not believe his eyes. A walking skeleton! With mouth wide open, it leapt up to grab him. Callista kicked out with all her might. The skeleton cracked apart at the waist and collapsed. She then snorted at Meier, as if to rebuke him for taking her to this terrible p
lace.

Not a second more passed before Meier felt a sharp pain in his side like a hammer blow. Despite his firm grip on the reins, he was tackled from the saddle to the ground by a skeleton that had been perched on a nearby thatch roof. This must have been what he saw from the corner of his eye. In truth, it was not what he had seen, as soon became apparent. The bonewalkers were suddenly everywhere. They closed in slowly, like wolves trapping a deer. Meier looked around from the flat of his back. There were at least twelve of them. They must have been hiding in the abandoned homes. But
why?

His observations would have to wait, however. He felt another sting. The skeleton on top of him jabbed at his ribs with its fingers with the force of a dagger. The strike nearly pierced his quilted jerkin but was cut short by yet another kick from Callista. The thing’s head went flying, clattering to the ground a few paces away. Surprisingly, this did not stop the attack. Meier twisted and turned from the skeletal grasp, but its grip was unnaturally strong. He felt another sting to his ribs but managed to deflect it by throwing all his weight in the other direction. A feeling of hopeless urgency washed over him. He could not quite free himself, and all the while, the noose of encroaching skeletons was tightened. He looked up at Callista, as if to beg her for more help, but she had her attention fixed ahead, wild-eyed and wary of the imminent attack. Meier steeled himself for the bitterest of ends. His complacency had condemned
him.

It was just then, as the moment of truth had seemingly passed, that Meier found within himself a sudden font of strength. He yelled out a single word, and it had an extraordinary and unexpected ef
fect.

“
STOP
!” he screamed with all the feeling he could muster. Why he said it, he did not know. Perhaps it was only the ravings of a desperate and frantic person, striving for his salvation. Despite all of this, something happened. His bony assailant paused in midthrust. It gave him the time he needed. He wrestled free and rolled to safety under Callista’s body. He was in no danger of being trampled, for by now Callista, in her own way, looked on him as she would her own foal. Even though the storm of events harried her into a near frenzy, she stepped around him as gingerly as a dancer on a high wire. Meier took his chance and quickly found his footing beside her. He kicked the headless skeleton with all his might, and the kick was strong enough to break its back and thus render the beast to the lifeless bones that comprised it. With a damp thud, it fell into the mud, never to move a
gain.

“So that’s how it’s done, eh?” Meier muttered to the cold and merciless dark that surrounded them. The realization brought him no comfort though, for no sooner had he said it that the attack began in earnest. From all sides, the creatures jumped at them. Callista reared and sent those in her path flying. As she did so, as if by some miraculous cue, Meier’s sword fell from his pack and straight into his waiting hand. He slashed out, but not at the head or neck as one might have done. His sword spun in wild, wide arcs, breaking the skeletons at the core. It was not enough th
ough.

The numbers were insurmountable. Callista neighed and lashed out as they came, but her eyes were not on what was around her. She was looking into the distance. Meier was busy with his attacks, but he managed to notice this despite the bedlam. His gaze followed hers, and it filled him with the same dread. There were more, dozens more, and all approaching at the speed of running men. Escape seemed impossible. There were simply too many to fight. Meier made a quick promise to himself. He would go out swinging. For go down he would. There were just too many of them. Everything he saw with his strategist sight showed the same thing. Over the next few seconds, he played it out again and again. There was no escaping, not even if he were to find the chance to mount Callista again. He hacked and slashed with all his might, and even as he plotted, his arm was starting to
tire.

Meier was about to be torn to shreds. He had one stupid chance. All he needed was a bolt of lightning. If something could bowl them all over for a second, he might be able to get on Callista and gallop for his life. He smiled to himself. A bolt of lightning? Yes, he was going to be ripped apart, and no one would ever recognize what would be
left.

The thunder started to rumble nearby, but he had seen no f
lash.

How odd
, he thought, while a skeleton crashed into his back and scraped its bony fingers across his face, probing for the eye socket. These were truly ruthless and vicious creatures to battle. The bony arm of his attacker wrapped around his neck like a vice and then twisted it to the point of breaking. So this was the end. Meier felt suddenly ashamed. He could have done so much more. He writhed around violently to wrench free, but by then another skeleton had leapt on top of him. Looking through the maze of bones, Meier could see that Callista was bleeding in a thick red stream that stemmed from her shoulder and flowed down to the mud. The sight of it upset him even more than his own predica
ment.