Rise of the Dead Prince (28 page)

Back in the dark, Lotho was watching on. He saw some rolling ar
ound.

“Must have been some joke,” he said, nodding. The others nodded in agreement. These three were looking less like the enemy with each passing minute. Meanwhile, Jax was scrutinizing the fire. He thought he saw something through the flames, but he couldn’t be sure. Bain pipe
d up.

“Anyone else hear that at the end? Sounded like a dying bird or something.” One or two others said they had heard it too. It was then that Jax did something strange. He crawled forward a body length, and then he rolled over to one side a dozen times or so. This he did as noiselessly as only a green man could. The others stayed put. Strafer was getting another view of the fire. That was when he saw what he was looking
for.

“Peculiar. Tame raven?” he said to no
one.

Raven suddenly stood straight up. The revelers were still reve
ling.

“Shut up, all of you!” he cawed. The three looked at him and quieted
down.

“Sorry ’bout that, Raven. We’ll settle down,” said Trent, nodding to the other
men.

“No, not that! Someone is watching us! Not the dead though. These eyes are living. A raven always knows! Trust me!” They all froze and started to slowly look ar
ound.

“He’s never wrong about these things,” said Meier. “Which way, Raven? Do you know?” Raven sighed and started hopping around the fire in a circle. He was checking the angle at which he disappeared from s
ight.

“There!” he said, pushing his beak forward to point. All three men looked forward into the darkness. Strafer couldn’t believ
e it.

“How?” he breathed soundlessly. He started to crawl quickly backward. He signaled the others by clenching his fist and pulling it back sha
rply.

“If they’s alive, shouldn’t we call out?” asked Dor. The other men agreed. Trent had the biggest v
oice.

“Hey there! Out there in the sticks! If you’re alive, you ain’t got nothin’ to fear from us!” There was no response, but there were more than a few furtive glances among the Karavunians. Should they send someone forward? Meier felt like he should say something
next.

“I am Prince Meier of Valahia! On my honor, no harm will come to you! As for us, we seek to end the scourge of the dead! We are friends to any who seek the same!” There was no immediate response, but the Karavunians had quickly come to an agree
ment.

Three men stood up, and the others spread out. Half went quickly and silently around in a wide circle to the other side of the fire. The camp was soon stealthily surrou
nded.

“I am Lotho of Karavunia, Valahian. I am coming forward.” From the shadows, Lotho, Bain, and Strafer Jax came into view, quietly and carefully clutching their weapons. Dor and Trent looked at each other. The only thing the Karavunians hated more than the Valahians was the dead. It was much the same for the Valahians, but to a far lesser extent. After all, the Valahians had broken the peace, and that crime was far too recent. The three Karavunians approached the
fire.

“We know you, Prince Meier,” said Lotho. Meier didn’t respond. He looked in the eyes of each man. They were eyes filled with smoldering ha
tred.

“The only good Valahian is a dead Valahian,” said Bain, “but it looks like we were too late.” Trent looked at the big man, and his chest muscles fl
exed.

“Mind your manners, Karavunian,” he said evenly, “and we’ll do the same.” Dor nodded, but his gaze did not break from Strafer’s. The two men were staring each other down like hunters do to their prey. Only one could be the predator. Meier broke the sil
ence.

“Undoubtedly you are confused and wary of our condition. It’s a long story, but the short of it is that we are somewhere between alive and dead. We died but kept our minds. It was because of magic. Our
only
enemy is the necromancer.” Meier had been cordial and careful with his words. The last thing he wanted was violence between parties with a common
goal.

“Tell us what you know about the enemy, Valahian. The only reason you are alive, excuse me,
in existence,
is because I have not given the word. Or have you forgotten Milco River?” Meier felt a pang of guilt. This was what he had feared would ha
ppen.

“I will never forget Milco River, Lotho of Karavunia. For whatever it’s worth, I renounce the actions of my father against your people.” Bain stepped for
ward.

“It is worth nothing! I could break you in half!” he said hatef
ully.

“You could come
try
,” said Trent, stepping forward. Dor had not taken his eyes off Strafer’s, and Strafer had not taken his eyes off Dor’s bow. They smiled at each other evilly. The situation was about to exp
lode.

“You claim to renounce your father’s actions, yet you fought like a butcher at a battle that was both needless and criminal,” said Lotho. “It is easy renounce crimes when the victims stand before you. But none of that matters anymore. You are dead. You have magic. You are Valahian. I hate everything about you, Prince Meier. And you deserve it. But I don’t care about any of it anymore. It no longer matters. I want revenge. I want as much as I can get. But not against you. Now if you would
…
tell me what you know about this
necroma
ncer!”

Lotho’s words carried to all ears. The big men were flexing at each other, hands on their weapons. The hunters were locked in the same staring match, each smiling and tossing his head slightly back as if to taunt the other into making a
move.

“We don’t know that much,” admitted Meier, “but we know the necromancer is straight that way.” Meier pointed with his good hand. Bain sco
ffed.

“You waste our time,
abomination
,” he said then spat on the ground. Trent clenched and unclenched his teeth. His eyes got deadly ser
ious.

“I’ll ask you not speak ill of my prince,” he said with careful restraint, “else I might lose my temper and act in a way we’d both regret.” Meier took a breath. Things were not going
well.

“Please,” he said simply, “this is not what I want.” Lotho looked at his two companions. He si
ghed.

“It’s not what I want either. If we want revenge, as I can only assume Valahia does as well, then we’ll do much more damage without weakening each other.” Bain looked at Lotho with wild eyes, but then he slowly relaxed. Trent nodded. The hunters began to slowly calm as
well.

Meier felt his eyes blink violet. He had no idea why. Looking and feeling around himself, he saw the eighteen other red lights around him. The moment pa
ssed.

“There is more I can tell you, but it requires time and some explanation. You and your men are welcome at the fire.
All
of you,” he said, arms wide to gesture in all directions. The three Karavunians looked at each other. Dor and Trent looked to Meier. Not even Dor had noticed the men that surrounded
them.

“They aren’t
my
men,” corrected Lotho. “I am their voice tonight, but each man is his own.” Bain and Strafer just smiled and looked at each other, shaking their heads slightly. It was an inside joke that had never been spoken. Lotho started to speak, but Bain held his hand out as if to b
lock.

“How do we know you mean to keep your word? We saw what you did back there,” he said pointing a thumb behind him. “You have magic. You are Valahian and a
royal
at that. How could we ever trust you?” Trent and Dor both looked as though they wanted to speak, but Meier held out both arms and lowered them sl
owly.

“You can’t,” said Meier. “I’ve taken part in the betrayal of Karavunia. I can give you my word, but if our places were reversed, I know I would not ever accept it. If there are those among you who would take revenge, rather, if you wish for justice for what I have done, I will not resist. I will never raise arms against a Karavunian again. If I am meant to be ended here for my crimes, then I accept it. My only request is that you let these two men go free unharmed. These men were not at Milco River.” Dor and Trent immediately moved in front of Meier to guard him. “Please,” he said to them, “it’s a debt, and I will pay it.” They both shook their heads. They pleaded with him, and Trent held him back, but Meier merely looked them in the eyes. They both let go and b
owed.

Meier walked around the fire where Lotho and the two other Karavunians stood. He left his pitiful weapons behind. Once he stood before Lotho, he knelt. Dor and Trent could not bear to see such a thing; but as Meier had asked, they did not interfere. Lotho was speechless, but he called
out.

“How many of you were at Milco River when the Valahians invaded?” There was a round of hails. They came forward, albeit warily. There were sixteen in all. “We have here the ‘Hero of the Battle at Milco River’ before us. When his father, the insidious King Wold, fell on the battlefield, it was Prince Meier that rallied the Valahian force and led the slaughter of our kin. What should his punishment be for such a crime?” None spoke. There was silence among the crowd of Karavunians. Eventually, one soldier stepped for
ward.

“My two brothers died at Milco River,” he said coldly. He stepped forward and drew his sword. He addressed Meier. “I believe that even if you died a dozen times over, your crime would not be righted. Prepare yourself for justice, Prince Meier, if in fact this is not some trick,” said the soldier. Meier looked up with his violet
eyes.

“It is no trick,” he said. The soldier took a step forward to ready his
blow.

“Have you any last words before justice is done?” asked the soldier. Meier thought hard. If these were to be his final words, he wished he had more grace in his tongue than he
did.

“I will not insult you with an apology, nor will I ask you to believe me when I say that I tried to stop the invasion, as did my brothers. My only wish is that the cycle of hate between our people will be ended someday, and I hope my execution will give you some kind of peace. I hold you blameless. Strike true.” Meier bowed and closed his
eyes.

37
The Opening of the Hand

S
uvira rose up through the floor of the black platform. She wore a satisfied smile behind the wrappings. It was time. All had been arranged. The trickling raindrops had been collected into a vast cistern that was now ready to be spilled over. She held her black gauntlet over the pool and looked them over in an all-encompassing panorama, each row blurring into the next. She had but to say the word. She had but to open her hand, four hundred thousand strong, all awaiting her single gesture. The sheer dominance was so intoxicating that she nearly swooned. The power of the source welled up inside
her.

Something was wrong though. The moment must not be tainted. It had to be perfection. She required a witness. Suvira summoned the shade of her father. Slowly, he
rose.

“All is prepared,” she said. He looked on absently. Slowly, a smile came to his
face.

“You wish to gloat?” he asked simply. Suvira laughed. Nothing could ruin her mood in this, the turning of the world to darkness. A new age awaited the flick of her w
rist.

“Yes, Father. Look upon what I have done. See all that you could never accomplish,” she said with a cold laugh. Lovo shook his
head.

“Remember always that you could never have built such a power without my foundation. But yes, well done. Enjoy the wine of destruction
…
but wield it
well,
my daughter
…
lest you take
her
path,” he said with a grisly smirk. Suvira felt a wash of anger. It quickly faded when she looked at her myriad forces. Suvira was drunk on the moment, and so she made an impetuous and imprudent decision without a moment’s considera
tion.

“Well then, let us bring
her
as well!” she said, raising her hands to the sky. Lovo’s eyes grew l
arge.

“Insanity, daughter
…
insanity takes you!” he said loudly. Suvira just laughed at him. The die was cast. A minute passed. Then through the rumbling platform, a contraption rose. The platform sparked and flickered, and slowly, it came to rest. It was a square-shaped rack of black steel, with five thick chains, one on each corner and the last hanging from the middle of the top side. At the end of each chain was a shackle, and these shackles were attached to the form of a drenched female body. Her head was hanging limply at the end of the chain’s slack, as were the arms at the wrist. Her weight was mostly borne by these taut fetters, and for the legs, there was some slack. Her knees rested lightly on the bottom of the frame. The racked body was a sickly form of blue and ivory, with black hair hanging down to conceal the face. The countenance was that of a drowned body three days dead. Despite this, the lifeless body was not bloated or rotten. On the contrary, it was still sha
pely.

“Hello, Mother,” hissed Suvira. Lovo could not speak or move. Even the dead had things to
fear.

The body did not stir. Suvira waited, looking at the corpse, which was clothed shamefully in a white dress. It had been of the form’s own choosing. It was revolting to Suvira. Hatred smoldered behind her black eyes. She held her gauntleted hand out to the form, which was almost too close for comfort, even for her. Suvira could almost touch her, but did not. Lovo shook his
head.

“No,” he whispered. Suvira looked over at him defiantly, and her eyes narr
owed.

“I summon you, Kuvali!” she shouted. A force wave emitted and rocked the black frame. The body finally stirred with a violent shu
dder.

Kuvali lifted her head and screamed, her mouth opened almost unnaturally wide. No sound came out. From her mouth spilled a font of frigid water that covered the floor of the platform, leaving a shimmer on the jet black surface. Lovo covered his decomposed ears and shied away. The water flowed on as Kuvali mouthed silent words. Her head jerked back and forth, and again, Kuvali screamed in silence as the last of the water escaped. Eventually, her formed flexed and then went slack again. Suvira’s eyes went violet, and slowly, the offensive stuff was swept cleanly from the platform. Meanwhile, Lovo stood as far away as possible, wishing he could be released. He remained silent. He did not wish to draw her attention. Suvira had gone
mad.

“Awaken, Kuvali! I command you!” yelled Suvira. Kuvali slowly lifted her head and looked around with eyes the color of ice. She began to test her chains, her mouth open and leaking slowly. Her eyes were as wild as an animal’s, perverting the look of her beautiful face. Her appearance sickened Suvira, as did everything else about her mother. Kuvali began to smile and then laugh. It was the laughter of the sick and insane, for sick and insane she
was.

“I brought you here so you could see the undoing of the world,
Mother,
” said Suvira hatefully. Kuvali writhed around in a desultory set of convulsions. Her eyes found her daug
hter.

“Slavish and sick, a snake with a stick,” she answered with eyes wide and mouth open. Kuvali spoke in a series of emphatic rhythmic tones that was darkly musical. Unlike her daughter and former husband, Kuvali’s voice was not sheathed in darkness. She did not hiss or rasp. Despite this, every word leaked power like some unnatural heartbeat. It was enough for Suvira to feel the vibration through her whole body. The constraints should have prevented this, but they could not do so entirely. Suvira ignored it, for she believed herself to be the most powerful creature in all the w
orld.

“Look at them, Mother. Look at my power! I command you to witness it!” she said, panning the image from the pool to fill the
room.

“Ignorieren die Vorzeichen, leiden unter den gleichen,” said Kuvali with meter, laughing madly after she said it. The floor rattled imperceptibly as Kuvali began to suddenly shiver and vibrate. Suvira looked at Lovo, who shook his head in te
rror.

“Spare me the ramblings of your native tongue, Kuvali!” spat the necromancer. “I command you to look on this army. Look on it!” Kuvali grunted and writhed in her shackles, as if resisting the words. She looked around wildly again and then saw the image projected from the pool. Kuvali snorted and smi
rked.

“Proud little pretty, so wicked and witty!” Kuvali shook in her chains again, laughing and staring around dement
edly.

“Dare to mock me,
Mother
?” Suvira’s eyes turned violet; and with a gesture, Kuvali screamed out hideously, wracked with terrible pain. When she stopped shaking, she went slack in her restraints, hanging by her neck and wrists again. “Perhaps you have learned respect now. Now watch as I set them on their march to crush all life in the lands to the north!” With a blast of violet light in her eyes, Suvira held out her
hand.

“Forward!”
she screamed then closed her hand. The clanking of twenty thousand scores of armor rattled the earth and all in it. The captains hissed orders; the legions moved out of the dark and into the swamp. They moved quickly, setting the pace of a long-stridden run. They would not stop until every living thing was destroyed in their path. Suvira pulled the wrapping from her face and with a cruel sneer looked at her par
ents.

“I am now the most powerful necromancer that has ever been!” Father and Mother both glared. With a dismissive flick of Suvira’s wrist, Kuvali’s rack began to disappear into the floor, her purpose completed. It was then that a thing happened, as harrowing as it was rare. Before she lowered again into the flooded abyss, Kuvali suffered a moment of clarity. She smiled at her daughter. It was a sinister, loveless t
hing.

“You dance to your doom, depraved little daughter, genau wie vorher, so wie
ich
und dein
Vater
.” The chained form then vanished into the floor, taking the distortions and vibrations with her. Beol Lovo looked down at his translucent hands and found that they were sha
king.

Suvira, in her hubris, did not even
hear.