Rise of the Dead Prince (30 page)

Trent had their attentions. “I ain’t been dead a day. I ain’t tested myself properly. I didn’t have no way of knowin’ what that would’a done. I just did it. Now,
Meier
, he threw a punch a mile long what ripped the earth and trees like they was paper dolls. And he weren’t even
tryin’
. He gave me everythin’ I got left. Me and Dor both. He gave us all he could manage, and he hadn’t even done it before then. He figures it out as he goes, and he always gets done what needs doin’. We ain’t a thing next to him. Not a one of us. We ain’t but a drop in the bucket. I don’t know as anythin’ can stop the necromancer and all them oceans of dead, but I do know one thing. If Meier
says
he can do it, then he
can. Y’all
say what you want.
I believe in Meier,
” said the big man emphatically, pointing his thick finger to where the dead prince s
tood.

Everyone turned to face Meier. The speech had touched Meier deeply. He was trying not to mist up, but when he saw Trent’s face, it was all over. The big man was shedding large sincere tears. Meier just nodded appreciatively. It was all he could manage. Dor held his head
high.

“I believe in Meier!” he said firmly then came to stand by his side. He looked around at the Karavunians unabashedly. He met Meier’s gaze and nodded cu
rtly.

“I believe in Meier!” cawed Raven. It had all been too much for him. Raven forgot for a second that he was a superior being. It was no small thing. The place went silent as a tomb. None stirred. Beneath the silence, there was a storm brewing. As with all silence, it was broken by a single
stir.

“I
believe in Meier,” came a steady voice from among the Karavunian group. He stepped forward. It was Terimus. His hands rested on the hilt of the sword that had so nearly completed its first execution. He looked around at his surprised brethren. He nodded at them then looked at the downed tree and the big man that stood beside it. It was a hard shock to them that such a man as Terimus, who had lost so much, would say such a thing. It rang like a sharp-toned bell throughout the camp. Disbelief was turned to introspection. The place was still again, but not for long. It was broken by long deliberate strides. Bain walked over to Trent and slapped him on the back. He whistled at the downed tree then turned to face the ot
hers.

“I believe in Meier!” he said in a booming voice, raising his hammer to the dead prince. Lotho laughed to himself. It was all too amazing. Bain cheer a Valahian? Terimus? Unfathomable. It wasn’t the last surprise. Strafer Jax stood forward, with his narrow eyes and terse manner. He looked at the others and looked at
Dor.

“I believe in Meier,” he said, nodding. Deep in his heart, Jax knew the feeling that he had been missing was
hope.
He could no longer go on without it. It was this same hope that had pricked the hearts of the other careworn Karavunians. They had long since left it behind, never to return, or so they believed. Now it looked like there was a chance, however slim, that good could prevail over the darkest of evils. A chance was enough. These thoughts ran through them all. There was a battle inside of each of them. There was a way to win, if only they could let themselves see it. They began to believe. The eyes of the Karavunians turned to one another. As ever, it was a surprise to Lotho. Ignoring this, he turned his gaze inward. One thing was becoming clear, and it was the most surprising thing of all.
He
was beginning to believe. He wouldn’t deny it any
more.

“I believe in Meier,” admitted Lotho with some difficulty. Lotho put his hand on Meier’s shoulder. Such a sad, scrawny man in appearance, but Lotho knew, naively, foolishly, one thing. This man could save them all. For the first time in his life, Lotho
believed
in someone. He laughed again, this time at himself, continuing to shake his head. His laugh grew more honest as the remaining Karavunians repeated the same words. They believed in Meier. They
all
believed in M
eier.

39
Under a Darkened Sky

T
he day dawned through the hole in the canopy, but there was no sun to be seen. The sky was ever clouded. The green men confirmed what the others had guessed. They were getting close. The darkness was not natural. It was Dor that broke the silence as they all gazed skyward into the dark cl
ouds.

“Somewhere up there the sun is shinin’ still. High above, but still there,” he said in a rare moment of grace. The comment caught Raven’s attention. He nodded his black head in unspoken respect. The others nodded as well. Together they moved out. They were now twenty-five. The night had passed without even a hint of enemy activity, which in itself was odd, but they did not have to wait long to be te
sted.

It started as a rumbling in the distance. The ground shook lightly at first. The rumbling grew, and soon the leaves were dancing across the earth. It became hard to keep footing. Strafer Jax looked ahead to where the noise was coming from. His squinting eyes grew abnormally large. He whistled and smiled at M
eier.

“Your turn, I think,” he said. The others weren’t quite satisfied with this. They strained but could only make out a sort of vague mass. It could be nothing
else.

“How many, Strafer?” asked Lotho. Strafer laughed lightly. The others were finding it all rather frustra
ting.

“Hundred. Hundred. Hundred
…
That’s just in front. Doesn’t matter past that. Does it?” The Karavunians and indeed even the Valahians found it to be highly distur
bing.

“Can we get around to the side and enfilade?” asked Bain. The mass was getting bi
gger.

“No chance,” Strafer answered. “They’re fanning out. Know we’re here. And they’re running.” Each man readied himself, and instinctively, they formed into a wedge around Meier. Dor and Trent stood on either side of
him.

“You said you could take them all, eh?” laughed Lotho. Meier turned and smiled at him evilly. He was already in the gray state and ready to go. Trent called over his shou
lder.

“He said, ‘No problem!’” shouted the big man, knowing Meier could not res
pond.

“Y’all catch the ones that get through. We’ll do too much damage if we fight too close together. Remember, they ain’t here for us dead folks. They’ll run past us if we let ’em!” yelled Dor, stepping forward with M
eier.

“Where d’you want us, Meier?” asked Trent. Meier held out his arms and blocked the chest of each man. The message was clear. Hang back. They nodded. Meier looked at the oncoming mass of enemies and saw what he needed. He checked around for the feeling that the source gave him. He was shocked to find that it was barely t
here!

Of course,
thought Meier. The overflow was a temporary surge, not a constant stream. Still, he could feel something, and even though it was but a trickle compared with what he had felt before, it would have to be enough. Whatever was left would have to come from him. He thought about the men behind him. He would need to get clear to make the most difference. Meier took another second to focus. He needed the dark magus inside him to come out again. He focused on destruction. He delved into the red embers of revenge, thinking of all that had happened to both Valahia and Karavunia. His eyes started to glow, pulsing with anticipation. He bolted forward at an unnatural speed. The sprinting bonewalkers were less than a hundred yards away. He needed to meet them near the middle to have the most ef
fect.

So many!
he thought desperately. He just hoped he could make it big enough. Meier dug deep, but instead of the glowing pit, he sought a font of red. He focused it into a fan. The sprinting mass, perhaps three hundred and fifty bonewalkers across, suddenly crashed to a
stop!

They had hit a wall made by Meier, the biggest he had ever made by far, but it had been too big. He felt a strong drop in his power. He could not hold such a wall for more than a brief moment. He let it go, and the dead piled up and bowled over each other in a mound. Charging into the fray, he stood less than twenty yards from the line of the dead. He couldn’t reach them all, but he resolved to reach the ones he could. Summoning all his anger, he let out a dark cry that pulsed in all directions, but the brunt of it floated like a writhing invisible orb into the mass of dead before him. The ball of energy shimmered in the air like a mirage, but it was slow moving. It made its way forward lazily, but Meier gave it a push with his mind. It drifted into and past the front line, but Meier held it for longer. There were several lines beyond the first. At least these were all Meier could see. Meier looked around with his glowing violet eyes. The ball wasn’t big enough. He cursed loudly in his mind. He tried to make it larger, but it was no use. It was as big as he could make it. It would have to do. Meier hissed into the orb with all the heat he could summon, and then his eyes flashed suddenly as bright as a purple
sun.

In a blinding nova, the orb exploded like a volcanic eruption! The dead flew violently in all directions from the source, many bathed in flames as they did. A giant smoking crater was left in the soft swamp earth. The dead within fifty yards were destroyed beyond the ability to fight, and the closest ones were utterly eradicated, burned and melted into slag and bone ash. Two massive trees were caught in the blast as well, and these creaked and fell neatly outward along the line, crushing another thirty or more as well as leaving a pair of long barriers that the dead would be forced to run around. The concussive force was such that many of the Karavunians were blown back on their heels or even off their feet. Dor and Trent exchanged glances and nodded. It hadn’t been enough. A thousand were gone. More than half were left. They charged into the fray, one to each side. The wings of the horde were advancing. The blast and the wall had merely slowed
them.

Meier looked at the aftermath of the explosion and smiled in satisfaction. His rage flowed within him, but there was much to be done. He felt a moment of pure frustration when he realized that his power had been mostly depleted. Finding his mind, Meier thought quickly. He could not make another blast like that. As per usual, he would have to improvise. He turned and ran back toward the Karavunians with all his supernatural speed. The dead would not charge him; in fact, he knew they might even avoid him. He needed bait. He needed the living. The Karavunians saw him coming and felt a rush of panic. Had he lost himself? Despite the shock of it, they held their ground. They tightened their formation slightly. Their eyes were wide, for they had never seen such raw power. It was terrifying to behold, but at the same time, it was nearly impossible for them to hold back a fervent cheer. A thousand down in a se
cond!

Meier reached the peak of the wedge again and nodded to the others to let them know he was in control. Meanwhile, Trent and Dor clashed with the wings of the horde. Every swing of Trent’s swords cut and cracked through at least two of the enemy. Many were broken to pieces as he bashed them with the hilt or else kicked them apart with his boot. He was a dervish, leaving only mangle metal and broken bones in his wake. On the other side, another fair pile was growing. Every time Dor swung his mace, a bonewalker exploded inside its armor. Often the armor was so thoroughly bashed that the mace would get caught as the armor wrapped around it. When this happened, Dor simply fought on without consideration of the extra weight attached, using the fallen body as an extension of his weapon to continue bashing the others. He wasn’t satisfied though. He had another arm that was mostly idle. That was until he managed to find what he was looking for in the crowd of fallen dead. With his left hand, he scooped up a rusty war hammer and quickly put it to solid use. It was too heavy to normally wield with one hand, but this did not matter to an anathema. With side swings, he sent broken dead flying, and when he brought it down vertically, it pounded the bonewalkers into the ground like flimsy sheets of
tin.

Despite the damage being done by the hunter and the farmer, dozens on dozens were trickling through. They simply could not get them all. On the dead ran to where the Karavunians waited. But Meier was also waiting. He felt the surge of red grow within. It waxed and waned. He was beginning to understand. The first cluster of dead ran through, tightly packed on the left. Meier focused and pushed out with his bone hand. He lowered his hand, and as they continued on, the Karavunians prepared for the fight. The dead took another stride, and then they all promptly exploded. Meier hissed and let out a raspy laugh. He had figured it out. The spell he had cast before could be miniaturized. He felt his power and realized it was replenishing itself. So he could do it all after all. It would just take a bit longer or perhaps not. Looking up, he saw several groups descending from both the left and right. He drew in an unnatural breath; and then with several movements, he thrust his hands out in all the directions of the dead, trying his best to gauge the distance and allow for the slow rate of the balls of f
orce.

All at once there was a symphony of explosions in all the ranks, sending the dead scattering in pieces on both sides. His aim had been good, but not perfect. Several got through. Just before they reached the Karavunians, Meier pushed the dead over in a heap with another hastily made wall. More and more were coming and from more angles. He looked around and saw that at least three hundred were about to descend on them. Meier found that he was almost out of energy again. He needed a plan. His mind was a red haze, but then it came to him. Raven was cawing down from his high branch, and some of his words must have reached through it all. Meier fell to his knees. His eyes went black, and with a hideous hiss, he threw his head back and unleashed the dark
call.

Being so close, the sound was deafening to the Karavunians. They covered their ears, all the while feeling the icy grasp of necromantic magic grip them. Meier was fully depleted after the effort, but he forced himself to his feet. Drawing his saber, he looked to the Karavunians. With a smile and a hiss, he managed a
word.

“
Chaaarge
,” he said in the dark voice. The word was chilling and supernatural, but it was exactly the word they had been waiting for. They smiled widely, many of them laughing at the idea of co
mbat.

“It’s about time!” yelled
Bain.

“Saved some for us, did you?” asked L
otho.

“Get some,” said Str
afer.

Meier had a small flicker of energy left, and this he used to put the dark edge on his saber. In a group, Meier and the Karavunians charged the dead, which were now dazed and momentarily aimless after the dark call. Dor and Trent had found their way to the end of things and were starting to work their way back. The dead were dazed, true, but not completely incapacitated. They were still fueled by the power of the source. Their orders from Suvira had been simple and pure.
Kill everything in your path!
Meier’s call had shaken them, but the command remained. The dead were still wandering to where the Karavunians were with weapons raised. Despite this, the reduction in the speed of the charge was exactly what the Karavunians needed to go to work. They clashed with stunned forces of the dead and began making their own piles. The numbers of the dead were still daunting, but each of them fought without consideration of this. Help was still on the way in the form of two untiring anath
emas.

Speaking of these, Dor and Trent had made such heaps that they had to run around them on the return to the center. It was taking time, and they were often bogged down with stragglers that were still trickling out from behind the tree barriers. Meanwhile, Meier had sped ahead of the Karavunian wedge to avoid hitting a friendly party as he slashed wildly through the crowds of dead. Two, three, and four fell at a time as he cut through them in wide arcs that cleaved armor and bone alike. He felt the rage burning within, and it quickened him. His strikes became faster and further reaching, even beyond the length of his rickety saber. He knew he was depleted, but he pushed himself on. A thought came to mind. He was not getting enough of them. It wasn’t enough to satisfy the conflagration within him. He used this to find enough for another quick spell. Casting it caused terrible pain in his depleted state, but he fought through it, hoping it would still work. As the forces began to dwindle in his path, he summoned the barrier. He pushed lightly outward as Raven had taught him and then pulled violently. Some thirty bonewalkers came rocketing inward. He released the barrier and let them fly the rest of the way on their own. With another heated hiss, he jumped and spun around in a wide circle with his saber, making a cut that severed everything in its path for fifteen yards. The sundered dead fell in heaps at his
feet.

With that one gesture, Meier had come to the end of the crowd. Looking around behind him, he saw a nearly perfect path some sixty yards long, with fallen dead on either side, capped at the end with a grand circle like the head of a key. There were still another two hundred or so to contend with, and his mind turned to the plight of the Karavunians. He needed to get smarter if they were to come through the fight alive. The problem was that he had nothing left. Not even with all his powers could he hope to save them all. He had no recourse but to keep slashing, and so this he did, all the while flooded with the urgency of his promises to them and to him
self.

Lotho looked at the situation and saw it for what it was. They were going to start taking losses. The dead were too many, and the relief was not coming quickly enough. Each man had dodged death at least once; while many of them, such as Bain, dodged fatal blows every few seconds. The dead had never fought quite like this. They were different, even though they had been stunned. They were no longer wandering south, nor were they merely guarding a place in the swamp. These were single-minded and vicious. They had grown skilled at double- and triple-teaming single men. Still, the Karavunians had made their dent in the fight. Dozens lay broken or crippled at their feet. Their wedge broke when the dead began to flood around the edges. The Karavunians were quickly surrounded and running out of room to fall back. Any second they would be pressed back to back and overrun. It was then that a cry came out from the right of the original w
edge.