Rise of the Dead Prince (29 page)

38
In a Weary World

L
otho watched on in silence. Discord roiled within him. As Meier spoke his final words, Lotho felt a chord strike within him. In spite of himself, he was moved. Against all he believed, the words had touched him. He began to doubt all that he knew. Lotho closed his eyes. Debts must be paid, and crimes must be puni
shed.

The blade flew in an arc through the dark air. The eyes of the Karavunians were diverted, partially out of new respect and partly because they had seen enough of death. No sound followed. The act was witnessed only by an unblinking raven. It would never be forgotten. The sword came to a halt, its swing completed. The blade had not been sullied. Only one trickle of blood could be seen on its edge. The soldier lifted his blade and exhaled so
ftly.

“I will not take such a life,” he admitted, looking down at the minor cut on Meier’s outstretched neck. The soldier thrust his sword into the soft earth. His hands were trembling. All eyes opened and turned, but none spoke. The soldier looked in all directions at his countrymen. Theirs were the stares of the conflicted. The soldier was suddenly shaking all over. “I am sorry, my brothers,” he said softly, the images of his fallen siblings fixed in his
mind.

Tears came to his eyes. He wept for his fallen kin. His sobs rattled the hearts of all who heard them. He quickly righted himself. His face became stone again. With a sharp breath, he extended his hand to Meier, who was looking up at him with sorrowful contrition. Meier took the extended hand and was quickly pulled to his
feet.

“A soldier must follow his captain without question,” said the soldier evenly so all could all hear, “So must a prince must follow his king,” he concluded. The man, who had once been a captain named Terimus, excused himself to stand with the others. Again, there was a long pause. Meier looked at the Karavunians. Their eyes had changed from hateful to something else. It was not admiration. Most gazes were closer to perpl
exed.

“Who then?” asked Meier softly. “Who will take what is owed?” he asked them all. Lotho stepped forward and stared deep into Meier’s purple eyes. He looked around. The others nodded to him in
turn.

“Terimus said it all, Prince Meier of Valahia,” said Lotho with a slightest of touches on Meier’s shoulder. “Keep your head a while longer,” he said with a wisp of a smile. Dor and Trent, who had long since been moved to tears, breathed a sigh of relief. They were near to bursting with admiration for their young prince. Bain stepped in front of Meier and flared his nostrils. Meier suddenly felt very small. Trent flexed again. Bain saw this and then let out a loud l
augh.

He scoffed at Meier, and then with his gaze turned to Trent, he walked over to stand in front of him. They stood eye to eye, and Bain flexed his brawny chest and arms at Trent. Bain was the broader, but Trent carried more pure muscle. Trent flexed at Bain in turn, both wearing serious faces like hounds at a dog fight. Meier’s eyes grew large. After everything, it would be ruined by this? Bain let out a low growl, and Trent nodded slightly. Suddenly, their faces turned to sharp frowns, and Bain thrust out his arm toward the farmer earnestly. Trent took it at once, and each man gripped the others arm and shook it firmly. Inexplicably, they both smiled, and all tension f
aded.

“Never thought I’d like a Valahian,” said Bain loudly with a laugh. “And now I like
two
,” he said, glancing back at M
eier.

Meanwhile, Strafer Jax and Dor took a few steps toward each other. They still kept their hunter eyes trained on each o
ther.

“Nice bow,” said Str
afer.

“Thanks. I like it,” replied
Dor.

“Not much good though. Not on the dead,” said Strafer. Fast as a whistle, Dor drew an arrow and fired at the nearest tree. Strafer’s eyes got slightly wider for a moment. The arrow was embedded up to the feathers in the solid wood. Strafer whistled, as did most of the men ne
arby.

“Some shot,” said Strafer, nodding. Dor went over to the tree and, with a careful tug, managed to salvage the arrow and return it to his quiver. Thick sap leaked from the wound to the
tree.

“Thanks,” replied Dor. The retrieval was just as impressive as the shot itself, if not more so. The men looked to Dor for an explanation. He just shru
gged.

“I got killed. Meier brought me back strong. Don’t know how. Somethin’ ’bout his magic.” The men exchanged glances, nodding lightly. Jax folded his arms and smiled. Dor nodded to him and smiled
back.

“How is it?” asked Strafer. “Being dead?” Dor took a long second. He opened his mouth as if to explain but then closed it again. He was looking for the right words. He couldn’t quite find them. Finally, he settled on
some.

“It’s a bit weird. Not too bad. Tell you what, though. We keep on after this here necromancer, you’re liable to find out first hand.” The Karavunians might have found this to be in poor taste were it not for the fact that it was what they were all thinking already. The men started to laugh. Strafer’s eyes turned skyward and wordlessly gestured his head to point at Raven. Dor knew what he meant without looking. “Oh him? That’s Raven. He’s Valahia’s very own mascot. He’s also Meier’s magic teacher. He talks, but you just count yourself lucky you can’t understand. He ain’t got it in ’im to say a nice thing, and he’s powerfully haughty besides. Mind you don’t go calling him a
crow
now. He’ll get riled and commence to makin’ a terrible
fuss.”

Raven had been quiet throughout the proceedings. His secretly poetic heart was still weeping about what Meier had
done.

What a paragon he is, what selflessness, what honor! This awkward boy is a true hero through and through. There is none more worthy of remembrance.
However, the words of Dor slowly broke his reverie. In any case, he had no intention of imparting his kind words on anyone, at least not to some simian.
Mascot?
Ridiculous.
Haughty?
Raven was so presently satisfied that he almost let it go. He was the nobler creature after all. He didn’t need to respond to such ignorant comments. Naturally, he did an
yway.

“Dor!” he cawed loudly. Dor just looked up, as did the Karavunians. “I fully intend to defecate on something you love at some point,” he said coldly. Dor was so immediately tickled that he bent over and slapped his thigh in amusement. The Karavunians looked to him. Dor had to hold up a hand to wait for his laughter to die down. Looking over, he saw that Trent and Meier were in a similar state. Finally, Dor found his v
oice.

“Mr. ‘Uppity Superior Creature’ up there said he aims to poo on my things later on account of what I just said to y’all. Pretty low down for you, ain’t it, Raven?” The Karavunians started laughing as well. Dor had to hold up his hand again. “Mind y’all don’t provoke him too! He eats regular!
AHAHA
!” Raven puffed up again. It was true that his threat had been rather base. Trent made it w
orse.

“I reckon that was pretty ignoble of you, Raven. I’d go so far as to even call it
plebeian.
’Course
…
I don’t want a shot comin’ my way neither!” said the big man, surprising the Karavunians with his unexpectedly prodigious vocabulary. Looking around, Meier realized that all of these hardened men were sitting or standing around the fire like one group. He was not the only one that not
iced.

“I didn’t expect this at all,” mused Lotho out loud, standing beside M
eier.

“Nor I,” he answered. The response seemed to startle him. The two men were roughly the same height, although Lotho was more muscular by far. He had a kind of hard countenance created by the many conflicts he had endured since the plague. His stony gaze belied his young features. The destruction of his nation had aged him well beyond his y
ears.

“How powerful are you, Meier?” he asked quietly, suddenly locking his eyes firmly on the young prince. His piercing green eyes were enough to make Meier feel a stab of intimidation. Despite the discomfort, Meier maintained eye con
tact.

“This place is a font of magic. It amplifies everything I do a hundred fold. I can’t fully control it
…
but I’m
learning
.” Lotho smiled and nodded. He seemed to be satisfied with the an
swer.

“What about your men?” Lotho asked, pointing his head to Dor and Trent. The other men were caught up in light conversation and joking at Raven’s expense, which left he and Meier to speak in pri
vate.

“They aren’t
my
men,” he said with a smile, repeating Lotho’s words. Lotho let out half a laugh. Meier then mulled the question over properly. “They haven’t been tested since they died, but when they were alive, they fought all the way to here, just the two of them. I’ve never seen better fighters. As for now
…
each of them is easily worth a thousand. I made them stronger when I brought them back
…
and once I’ve trained them in the ways of undeath a little, they won’t ever tire,” he answered. Lotho seemed a bit perplexed but nodded just the same. Meier looked at the twenty Karavunians. “Your companions look about as Dor and Trent did when I came across them, very strong and resourceful. We might make it yet,” said Meier lightly. Lotho’s gaze hard
ened.

“I think you know better. And if you don’t, you should!” he barked at Meier, who was taken a
back.

There followed an uncomfortable silence between the hard Lotho and the nervous Meier. After everything that had happened, Meier did not want the fragile alliance, however ephemeral, to end based on careless words. He had a feeling that this was what was meant to happen. “Are you really so naive, Meier? Or is it that you think your power can contend with the destroyer of nations that we foolishly march to? Do you have answer?” Lotho’s words were emphatic but not derisive. He was asking hone
stly.

Meier took a breath. The right words were always hard to find, but lately, it seemed that they were coming to him with a little less effort. He believed that it had something to do with confidence, but since he was seriously lacking in this, he ruminated on what it might actually have been. Lotho scoffed at the silence, but Meier had his response immediately a
fter.

“Am I naive, you ask? You are right to do so. The answer is yes. Yes, I am, and proudly so. Does my power contend with that of the necromancer? Probably not. I don’t care though. I believe it’s my destiny to get there. Why? Because I foolishly
believe
that someone, somewhere,
has to!
How many can I take?
All
of them, that’s how many! I’ll take them all and more. I’m a fool and a spoiled, naive prince that was unremarkable in life, and now that I’m dead, there’s only
one
reason I’m here. Just the
one!
Our nations are in ruins, hundreds of thousands are dead or worse, and the rest are bereaved! There has to be an answer! This is
not
where it ends, not for Valahia, not for Karavunia! I believe that I am that answer, and even should I be rendered limb from limb, I will believe it until my eyes go blank and see no more!” Meier had gotten carried away with his response. He suddenly hoped it had not been too brazen. Looking up, Meier saw that all eyes were on him. The conversation he had been quietly having with Lotho had suddenly become the only thing heard by all ears. Meier had not noticed it at all. He had been caught in the moment. Raven cawed to him, breaking the sil
ence.

“And they call
me
arrogant,” he said with a laugh. On the inside, his feeling was far different. Mustn’t be too nice to the boy though. The other ravens might think he was going soft-headed. Dor and Trent both shot daggers at the bird and shook their heads. Lotho and the Karavunians felt a tiny, uncomfortable sting deep down inside. It hurt to think about it. They shook their heads and tried to escape it. It was silly talk, idiot’s talk, and should be treated as such. The Karavunian expedition had only one possible ending. That was all there was. The men started to tiredly laugh, still shaking their heads at Meier’s words. Trent was having none of it. He walked to the tree that Dor had punct
ured.

“Look here, y’all,” he said loudly. All eyes were on him. Trent looked up and down the massive trunk that was easily an arm’s length in diameter. With a rising yell, he pulled back his fist; and then, in a move that was both quick as a lightning bolt and twice as loud as the thunder that followed, he threw a monstrous punch into the middle of the tree. The ground shook so ferociously that the propped logs on the fire fell over, momentarily snuffing the bulk of the light. With a few curses and the use of a sword or two, Dor and Jax managed to get the fire righted and soon the place was aglow a
gain.

As the light returned, the men saw what had happened. Trent had not moved when the light had failed. His right hand was punctured with shards and splinters. He stepped out of the way, and then the light shone on the tree trunk. Or what was left of it. The Karavunians’ eyes grew wide. The tree trunk had exploded in a large disc shape that had pushed cleanly through and out the back, leaving huge chunks of wood strewn through the area. There were only two narrow brackets of wood that supported the tree on either side. Trent shook his
head.

“That ain’t quite like I hoped
…
Y’all go on and step back now.” Everyone obeyed without question. Looking at the tree, up and down again, Trent unleashed a yell so booming and authoritative that it shook the ground again. A force wave went out, knocking things over in the area. As much as the volume of the shout had been impressive, the men were just annoyed. It had been very loud, but they did not see the point. That is, until they heard the creaking. The brackets of the tree gave, and the tree fell with a massive, rustling crash in the direction just opposite of where Trent was standing. The others, excepting Dor and Meier, were dumbfounded. There followed a stunned sil
ence.