Rise of the Dead Prince (36 page)

“Fair enough, Lady,” Meier responded as casually as he could manage. “Perhaps afterward
…
you will see fit to give me your name. I’d like to know how to address you once I find myself standing on your door
step.”

46
The Wager’s Toll

T
he fighting began at once. Trent and Dor darted to either side with a sudden explosion of speed, each heading straight for the closest anathema to them. A loud roar rang out from each of them as they began to lift their weapons. The circle broke as the necromancer’s champions split into two equal groups to surround their respective targets. This they did with a surprising speed and grace that belied their massive size. More than this, it seemed that they were behaving cooperatively on some instinctive level. Meier closed his eyes. It was the stuff of nightmares. His strategist brain played outcome after outcome to its conclusion. Each time it was the same. Unless something miraculous happened, he was about to witness the destruction of his friends. And all he could do was sit and watch. It was all too much. He sighed deeply. He would just have to put his trust in
them.

Meanwhile, Trent came to his first target. The thing timed a downward swing perfectly as he ran forward. Trent decided to put his speed to the test. The giant club came down, and just before it hit, he strafed a half step to one side. The strike missed by mere inches, crashing down into the charred black earth at Trent’s side. The force of the impact was so strong that it raised the earth at Trent’s feet. This should have knocked him on his side, but rather than fall, Trent exploded upward! He used the impact as a boost for the jump he had already been planning. With both swords held high, Trent fell down and forward at great speed. His attack hit home with a sound like an axe on wood. Pulling both swords free as he landed, the giant creature staggered backward. Where there once had been a head and neck, there was now a grisly V-shaped wound. The malformed head and neck separated and fell with a meaty thud. But the thing did not fall! Trent’s eyes grew wide. He had no chance to think however, for suddenly he was forced to dart forward to avoid two more club strikes from either side. Meanwhile, the headless anathema staggered about drunkenly, reeling from the blow it had rece
ived.

“The heads ain’t enough!”
yelled Trent as he dodged. It was looking even worse than they had imag
ined.

In the meantime, Dor had his hands full as well. His initial approach had been wide and serpentine to draw the attacks off target. This worked well enough, but the misses were near enough to be concerning. Two of them cast a joint swing horizontally, leaving no room to dodge. Dor managed to jump straight up and over the weapons, but the displaced air was enough to blow his legs behind him, making for a rough landing. Afterward, the hunter had three enemies on him almost at once. His mind raced. The best way to counter such large weapons was to stay close. Or so he thought. He rushed the nearest giant headlong, bolting to the side as he came in range. With a loud crack, he brought his hammer into the thing’s knee with full force. This completely destroyed the joint and set it to the wrong direction. The anathema howled, but then in a moment of unexpected resourcefulness, it dropped its overlong weapon and swatted Dor with an open-handed slap that sent him flying. The others were quick to take advantage, swiftly turning to attack the spot where Dor tumbled to a stop. Two maces were already in flight for the dazed Dor as he got to his knees. He rolled to dodge the one, and it missed by inches. The second came down on the first with a deafening clang, hammering the first mace deep into the ground and creating an outward explosion of blackened earth that sent Dor flying again. He landed again in a heap, but another mace was already coming down. The things had no intention of letting him gain his foo
ting.

There was no time to roll again, for Dor had landed on his back. He was forced to witness the last instant of the attack in slow motion. There was no extra time, so he did the one thing he could. Dropping his mace, he gripped the heavy hammer with both hands and swung at the anathema’s mace with all the force he could muster. The swing landed perfectly, striking squarely into the side of the falling weapon. The resulting shockwave pushed his body several inches to the side. The collision did not stop the swing, but it had sufficed to misdirect it slightly, leaving it to crash into the ground beside Dor, unearthing him again violently. Dor flew to the side again but this time managed to roll to his feet. While the other three were unearthing their weapons, his eyes turned to the anathema he had crippled. It had managed to get to its feet, but was hobbling awkwardly, using its heavy mace as a cr
utch.

Dor charged again, pondering Trent’s observation concerning the monster’s heads. The close calls had left him with a rising feeling, and now that he had a brief moment to think, he acted on it. Dor dipped into the power of the source. Holding back was no longer an option, even had he wanted to. Seeing Dor’s approach, the crippled anathema managed to ready its mace with a surprising amount of grace given that it was forced to balance on one leg. Dor focused on meeting the swing, and using all the powers of concentration he could muster, he thought on what Meier had told him. The anathema managed a swing, albeit a far weaker one than before. Dor took a gamble. He stopped completely and closed his eyes. The swing came down like a flying anvil. Dor gripped the hammer firmly, and then at the last moment, he opened his eyes with a bright purple flash. With a loud open-mouthed hiss, he swung his hammer in a wide arc. The attack met the giant mace halfway through its flight, high above Dor’s head. The collision was so violent that not only did it deflect the attack; it also sent the heavy mace flying end over end into the distance! Dor had extended the reach of his swing by some six feet and, making perfect contact, had also managed to disarm the beast. Taking no extra time to think, Dor exploded forward, charging shoulder first into the chest of the anathema. The impact bowled the thing over onto its back, leaving Dor standing on its chest, holding his hammer high. With another sharp hiss, Dor swung straight down. The rib cage shattered, leaving a huge indentation that extended all the way to the ground below. The anathema roared and twitched violently then, with a final shudder and gurgle, went still. Dor smiled.
“Chest works!”
he yelled with his mind, then went back to
work.

Meanwhile on the platform, Suvira and Lovo watched on with intense interest and disbelief.
“What was THAT?”
rasped Suvira, momentarily so surprised that she slipped into the unrefined version of the dark voice. Lovo was briefly unable to respond. Instead, he thought out
loud.

“It can’t be,” he muttered. Suvira felt a wash of fury at the sight of her defeated anathema, but it quickly gave way to a rising of sheer
awe.

“He gave them
magic?”
she exclaimed, still not believing her eyes. Lovo slowly shook his
head.

“It must be a trick, daughter.” Suvira looked at Meier again. He hadn’t interfered. She was sure of it. The mystery deepened. Suvira found herself smiling wi
dely.

“Two can play this game,” she said evilly. Her eyes began to glow brig
htly.

“Got it!”
answered Trent to Dor’s observation. While Dor was rolling around on the ground, Trent had blocked a horizontal swing with both swords when he realized he couldn’t dodge. It did not knock the big man over, however it had pushed him some thirty feet backward along the path of the mace, leaving two long foot-shaped trenches as it did. He too had been busy. Two of the anathemas on his side were missing hands. Aside from this, he had fought purely on the defensive. Just as Dor had done, Trent was working on focusing the source into an attack of some kind. However, without the traditional use of his voice, it was proving to be far more difficult. Meier, who had been standing perfectly still in a state of torturous distress, observed this dilemma, all the while attempting to maintain the appearance of disinterest. He had a suggestion that he felt would prove useful, but dared not speak lest the flash of his eyes betray some level of interference. It was when he saw the two wounded anathemas switch to using their maces one-handed without any apparent loss of skill that he could bear it no longer. He was about to call out to Trent when something unexpected happ
ened.

“Don’t you do it, Meier! I heard you just fine!”
yelled Trent, jumping backward to dodge another giant swing. Meier’s eyes grew wide involuntarily, all the while wondering if his eyes had flashed without his knowledge. No, he was sure he had not transmitted anything vocally. How then was it poss
ible?

Trent wasted no time. He started to build up energy in his chest, all the while focusing as hard as he could on what he planned to do. It was then that he got another nasty surprise. The two unscathed anathemas suddenly went into a frenzy! Their movements became unnaturally quick. The next two attacks came in unison, perfectly timed to prevent Trent from dodging. One came overhead, and the other was a wide horizontal swing. Trent dove toward the anathema that was swinging horizontally, hoping to slip beneath the weapon as it passed. It didn’t
work.

The middle of the haft caught Trent squarely in his midsection with a meaty thud, sending him flying into the distance like a thrown doll. Fortunately, he had evaded the head of the weapon. A direct hit from that part of the mace would have destroyed him thoroughly and completely. Trent landed and bounced twice before coming to a stop. There he lay for a moment, exceedingly dazed. He had let go of his weapons on the way, having been stricken limp briefly by the force of the blow. He scrambled to his feet, feeling a disconcerting tingle throughout his whole body as he did. Grabbing his chest, he realized he had broken ribs. The pain was present, but strangely not impairing. Trent managed a weak smile. It was a good thing, he thought, that he did not need to breathe. As he hurried to where his first sword lay, he noted something odd. His enemies were not pursuing him. Rather, it appeared that they had taken a defensive position around their damaged comrades. Straining for the answer, he quickly saw what was happening, and it was extremely troubling. The anathemas had retrieved their lost hands, and with a glow like purple fire, they were reattaching the severed appendages to their wrists!
“They can put themselves back together!”
yelled Trent. The situation had just gotten w
orse.

Dor scrambled in big circle, suddenly overwhelmed by the abrupt increase in the anathemas’ speed. He pushed his own speed to the limit, which left him barely able to maneuver, let alone attack. Meanwhile, Meier’s mind r
aced.

She has augmented them,
he thought carefully to himself. He looked at them all without turning. There was no doubt about it. She was using the source to put them back together, and also to push them beyond their normal limitations. He felt a desperation rise in him. He cursed himself for his foolish boast. Still, something in him held a singular hope. He just hoped his theory was correct. In the meantime, Dor was forming a plan of his own. He began to weave as he ran, all the while tightening the circle and drawing the rushing giants closer. He circumvented the remaining trio until he had achieved what he wanted. Namely, this was to get them in a bunch with one in front of the others. Stopping sharply, he turned and ran headlong into the crowd before they could move to attack as one. He closed the distance with no time to spare. The thing was waiting, weapon already raised. Knowing the new speed of his attacker, Dor sacrificed his own momentum briefly to feint with a sidestep, only to swerve quickly back to his original course. It worked perfectly. Dor enacted his plan. Lunging straight for the creature’s chest, he pulled his hammer back and, with a loud hiss, thrust it forward like a dagger. The force of his attack extended forward violently beyond the length of the hammer, just as it had before, except that instead of an arc, it was now a straight line. There was a loud crack, and suddenly there was a neat hole punched cleanly through the thing’s chest! It shuddered horrifically then fell backward. The anathema behind the first shook as well, even as the defeated one fell into it. Dor quickly saw why. The attack had passed through one and still wounded the other! There was a large dent in the thing near the shoulder, the force of which had caused it to rock off ki
lter.

There was no time for celebration. The unscathed anathema was already swinging down violently, even as Dor landed on his fallen enemy’s chest. He quickly rolled toward the coming swing. The mace came down, making a hideous mess of the fallen anathema and sending gory debris in all directions. Two down. Dor landed on his feet in a tight crouch. Using the force of the impact at his back to propel him, he lunged forward toward the thing’s legs, making another hiss and wide horizontal swing as he did. The strike hit the anathema in the middle of its thigh, completely crushing the leg as it did. The result was similar to a tree being felled. The thing howled and toppled, its ruined leg crunching as it fell. Dor dodged to the side opposite the direction that the anathema was falling, fully expecting another downward strike from the remaining anathema. He made a tight turn, circling around to the toppled one’s back, putting it between the line of any coming attack. He had not anticipated what came next. Dor felt a crushing weight hit him! The remaining anathema had struck its falling comrade with a massive horizontal swing, both destroying it and knocking its body backward on top of Dor. He was completely pi
nned!

Meanwhile, Trent went to work on his own strategy. He had yet to defeat one of his anathemas. He watched on as the detached hands of his enemies began to take hold. If his guess was correct, it would take a while longer. He was betting on it. Taking a final second to think, he looked down at his sword. He narrowed his eyes and nodded in resolution. It was time to charge. Finding a new meaning of speed, Trent darted into the group of enemies. The two that were not busy reattaching limbs (this included the headless as well) were waiting with weapons held high. They began to swing, but never got the chance. Mouth open wide, Trent managed to make a single s
ound.