Rise of the Dead Prince (37 page)

“KA!”
he yelled out loud as he jumped toward them. A resounding boom went out, knocking them violently on their heels. Charging the anathema that was slightly closer, Trent thrust his sword into its chest with a violent twist. The thing shuddered and fell. His aim had been true. Trent felt a surge of power. The yell had somehow invigorated him beyond what he had thought possible. He had no intention of wasting it. Before his remaining enemy could recover from the yell, Trent shot ten yards forward in a single bound, his back arced in preparation for a downward slash. The anathema found its footing just in time to be hacked into. The cut began at the collarbone and ended somewhere near the stomach, cleaving cleanly through the area that Trent now knew to be their center. With eyes glowing brightly, he turned to face the mending anathemas. Their pieces were finally attached. Trent smiled and charged them hea
d on.

Meanwhile, Dor desperately struggled against the sudden weight on his back. The giant body covered him completely. He knew the downward swing would follow from the one remaining anathema. His mind went frantic. He couldn’t escape. The mace would crash through the ruined anathema and straight into him, smashing them both. Dor closed his eyes and pushed upward with all his might, trying to throw the heavy beast off. He wasn’t fast enough. There was a whoosh and a hideous crack. Meier’s eyes grew wide. It didn’t seem real. He closed his eyes and let out a dark sigh. It was not the crack he had been expec
ting.

“I reckon that’s that,”
said Trent, standing amidst his four fallen enemies, looking triumphant. Trent had hurled the monstrous mace some hundred yards or more, squarely into the back of Dor’s attacker as it went to make its swing. The speed of his throw had splattered Dor’s remaining enemy on impact. Dor felt another heavy weight fall down on him. It was the body of the last anathema. The monumental effort had taken its toll. Despite his lack of breath, Trent still seemed winded. He fell into the dirt face for
ward.

Suvira slammed her fist down into the side of the bowl. It was no trick. His anathemas had emerged victorious, and they had done so by casting dark magus spells. But
how?
It was enough to make her head spin. Lovo shook his
head.

“I
told
you, Suvira,” he said gra
vely.

“Silence!”
she hissed at him, following it with murderous glare. The mystery was becoming so confounding that it was almost no longer worth it. She looked again at the impassive Meier. He was suddenly infuriating. “Could he really be so powerful?” she asked, musing a
loud.

“May I speak?” asked Lovo. His tone was almost meek. It was this unlikely display that caused Suvira to raise her eyebrow a
gain.

“Very well,” she said suspiciously. Lovo stepped for
ward.

“It is said that Beol himself had this same ability. I did not truly believe it then
…
but now it makes sense. He reportedly made many powerful minions such as these, but they all had a single flaw. It was such that all attempts to recreate them were abandoned.” Suvira’s eyes narr
owed.

“Yes?”
she asked impatiently. There were no “flaws” in Meier’s minions that she could detect. Lovo approached the
bowl.

“They could not be
controlled,”
he said plainly. Suvira thought for a moment then scoffed, gesturing to the image before
her.

“And yet he controls them perfectly!” she said, clearly frustrated. Lovo leaned forward into the i
mage.

“Don’t you
see?
He does
not
hold them in thrall!” the old ghost declared with finality. Suvira scoffed again and shook her
head.

“Then how?” she asked honestly. Lovo was quick to an
swer.

“He deceives you with his manner! These are not minions, daughter. They are his
comrades!
Do you not see it?” Suvira was silent for a time, considering all that her father’s theory imp
lied.

“Preposterous,” she said finally with a shake of her head. “You presume too much, Father. Just because they obey him, it does not mean that he regards them as companions
…
or even more implausibly
friends.
He is still clearly their master. It is not unheard of for the weak to pledge fealty to the strong of their own free will. He is their prince, after all.” Lovo growled in frustra
tion.

“As you say, he is a
prince!
And what is he a prince of? The nation you mean to eradicate! He comes here with his willing subjects to exact revenge! I tell you, Suvira, Meier is no would-be student of yours, nor is he some novelty that means to be kept as a trophy to sate your accursed curiosity! He is an enemy!
Destroy him!”
Lovo said passionately. Suvira’s eyes narrowed, but then her expression lightened. She laughed darkly, leaning forward with her arm around her waist. The sound filled Lovo with dread. The curse of the Beol Clan was claiming its final genera
tion.

47
A Test of Conviction

D
or freed himself at last with a raspy grunt. He felt dazed and depleted. He found his feet then held a hand up to still his spinning head. Only seconds before, he had been caught up in the rush of battle, which explained why he hadn’t felt the pain in his arm. He stooped to retrieve his hammer but dropped it right away. Flexing his hand, the sharp stabs he felt told the story. He seemed to have obtained hairline fractures in his wrist and forearm. Nodding slowly, it began to make sense. He had forced his hammer to push through the dense body of an anathema. His arm had been unable to handle the strain undamaged. Taking the hammer in his unbroken left hand, he wandered to where Meier stood. Remembering the part he was meant to play, he knelt and bowed once he arrived at Meier’s side.
“Forgive me, my prince,”
he said tiredly. Meier caught himself before he could start laughing in ear
nest.

“What are you
talking
about? You were incredible!”
he said, arms still folded. He shook his head slowly, still holding his face in an arrogant sneer. Dor let out a mental
sigh.

“It’s my arm, Meier. I busted it up pretty good punchin’ through that one big boy. I don’t reckon I can fight like this. And there’s somethin’ else besides,”
he said, sounding dejected. Meier waited for the rest, but he had a fair guess as to what it was.
“I know we ain’t meant to get tired when we’re like this
…
but I feel plum washed out.”
Meier nodded impercept
ibly.

“It’s the magic you used, Dor. You’ll feel better soon
…
assuming we make it that long.”
Meier turned his head ever so slightly and smiled at Dor from the corner of his eye. Dor chuckled mentally, nodding slightly as he did. Nearby, there was a stirring sound followed by a mental g
runt.

Trent slowly climbed to his feet then trudged along to Meier’s other side, not stopping to dust himself off as he did. Once there, he knelt and bowed as well.
“I reckon that took me longer than I expected,”
he said, planting his one sword in the ground and leaning on it. Where the other one was, he did not presently
care.

“That was a nice throw,”
said Meier, venturing another glance at Trent from the corner of his other eye. Dor nodded across at his friend slig
htly.

“You saved me, brother,”
he said appreciati
vely.

“Happy to do it,”
answered Trent, returning the nod.
“Besides
…
I’ve been itchin’ to chuck one of them big ol’ maces since we saw that first one
…
Let me tell y’all
…
they heft a’ plenty.”
The three men hid their smiles.
“Anyhow, Meier,”
the big man continued,
“I’m busted up too. My chest feels like it’s got loose bits rattlin’ round in it. I don’t reckon I’ll be much good in the next round. No way I can let out a shout like this.”
Meier sighed ment
ally.

“It’s all right, boys. You did plenty,”
he said quietly. Unseen by all but the necromancer, Meier’s eyes began to dim and flicker, flash and darken, as his mind wildly searched for what he wanted. He asked the source for help, not knowing if it could understand him. The three men waited in the silent pitch, with fallen enemies on either side and the enemy’s great tower in the distance. They knew it was only a matter of time until her terrible voice returned. Meier knew better than to continue his advance uninvited. The necromancer’s delay could mean many things, but it pointed to one thing above the others. Indecision. The seconds passed, each more tense than the last. Meanwhile, Meier’s mind probed through the
dark.

Finally, the air began to crackle and thicken. It was just like before the spell that had nearly enveloped them. So she had made her choice. Meier pushed again against the shadow, but realized he was out of time. He closed his eyes. Something was there, almost in reach, yet still miles away. Just what it was, it seemed that he would never know. His only comfort, however small, was in knowing he had done all he could. In the final waning moment, he thought of something Raven’s mother had told him. It was enough to make him s
mile.

“Nothing is ever lost,”
he repeated qui
etly.

It was then that the shadow lightened, and the air was filled with her laughter again. It was a cold, wicked sound, as it had always been, but this time something was different. The tone had loosened, as if suddenly less controlled, less deliberate than it had been be
fore.

Yes,
thought Meier,
something has cha
nged.

“You still fail to disappoint, Prince Meier,” said the necromancer, almost lightly. Meier bowed but did not respond. “You face destruction with a smile. I wonder why,” she said in almost a familiar way. Meier looked up and smirked at the t
ower.

“I see no other way to face it,” he admitted, arms still folded. There was a pause, followed by a light laugh. Meier’s smile widened. Before he knew it, he let out a light laugh of his own. Somehow it just seemed the right thing to do. There was another bout of sil
ence.

“My name is Beol Suvira of the Beol Clan,” said the necromancer at last. Dor and Trent exchanged pleased glances surreptitiously. Meier smiled again and b
owed.

“Pleased to make the Lady’s acquaintance,” he said coyly. Suvira smiled from atop her plat
form.

“Your subordinates are impressive, Prince Meier
…
,” she said, trailing off. Meier cast a glance to either side, regarding Dor and Trent in turn, followed by a light s
coff.

“I admit to being generally pleased with their performance as well,” he said casually. Suvira took the opportunity to venture one of her many quest
ions.

“One wonders how you keep them in thrall so masterfully,” she said, trying to sound disinterested. Meier shrugged lig
htly.

“As the Lady Suvira might have guessed, they are not
wholly
in my thrall,” he admitted. “Rather, they have pledged themselves to my service.” Suvira took a moment to consider her father’s war
ning.

“How then did you manage that?” she asked suspiciously. Meier was quick to an
swer.

“I find that the gift of
power
begets loyalty and obedience,” he said confidently. “Perhaps the Lady Suvira would agree?” Meier was stretching himself, and he knew it. He knew he needed to get her to agree to meet him face to face. As of yet, he had not managed a plan for this. He was also ever aware of the value of each passing minute. He thought hard. What would Raven
say?

“You play a dangerous game, dark magus. The gift of power should not be so hastily given,” she said reproachfully. Meier took a ch
ance.

“Perhaps I am drawn to dangerous games, Lady. I find them
…
diverting
. I suspect you are the same
…
or am I mistaken, Lady Suvira of the Beol Clan?” There was an uncomfortably long sil
ence.

Meanwhile, on the platform, Suvira’s eyes narrowed. She was temporarily lost in her thoughts or, more specifically, her memories. Lovo, who had been standing silently by in dismay, could stand it no lo
nger.

“Destroy him, Suvira!”
he yelled, completely out of turn. “He seeks to lower your guard!” Suvira growled loudly. She despised the fact that her reverie had been so rudely distu
rbed.

“Begone, you old fool!” she roared, her black gauntlet outstretched. Lovo went to speak again, but her closing grip silenced him. He slowly sank into the floor. Even as the rotting ghost disappeared, she was forced to admit that he did have a point. This orphan prince was clearly trying to charm her. But to what
end?

“Once again, you presume too much, Meier of Valahia,” she said indignantly. Meier took another chance. There was only so much that he and this necromancer could discuss before she grew tired of
him.

“You’re right, of course,” he said casually, pointedly failing to apologize. Suvira felt herself growing ever ang
rier.

“Why
have you come here, dark magus?” she asked bitterly. So the question had finally been asked. Meier gam
bled.

“I’d be happy to tell you, Lady Suvira
…
but only
in
person
,” he said boldly, summoning all his nerve. Suvira scoffed loudly in dis
gust.

“And just
why
would I agree to such a brazen request from
you
, a spoiled prince of Valahia?” she asked angrily. The air began to thicken again. Meier looked up and shrugged slig
htly.

“Because even the fullest spell book looks empty once you know that it’s missing pages,” he said as confidently as he could manage. Another silence foll
owed.

“What makes you think I care, insolent prince?” she asked, a little more civ
illy.

“That’s simple,” Meier answered right away. “It’s the same reason you haven’t destroyed me yet. Namely, Lady Suvira, you are
curious.
” Suvira’s eyes narrowed on her platform. At first, she felt a pang of undiluted animosity. Her urge to destroy the audacious prince was stronger than it had ever been. No one had ever talked to her in such a manner. Perhaps she had spent too long in the company of gh
osts.

“I wonder, Prince Meier, if you are worth my time,” she said calmly. Meier laughed. There was a touch of whimsy in his dark voice. He held out his open hands in resignation to the state
ment.

“It is for the Lady to decide, of course, but I do have an observation. It’s part of the reasoning that led me here. Namely, I feel inclined to ask
…
what is the value of all the world if one does not partake in diversion or dare I say
…
fun?”
This time, it was Suvira that laughed, somewhat uncontrollably. The notion was so ridiculous that she could not help but give pause to think abou
t it.

“Taking the world for my own is a more than sufficient diversion, Prince Meier of Valahia. Again, you presume too much,” she said, but far less venomously than before. Meier shrugged and folded his arms again, returning to his disinterested ma
nner.

“Again, the Lady is right. I do presume too much. But I wonder about what it means to ‘take the world.’ Is the world simply a
thing
to be possessed or is it just a
place
containing all we know and see? In either case, simply
having
the world is hardly diverting once accomplished, especially when one rules it alone.” Suvira listened to what Meier was suggesting, at first with diffidence, but this slowly gave way to introspection. After a brief time, she scoffed at Meier once a
gain.

“Trifles, dark magus. My greatest diversion comes from the
taking
of the world. Once done, I intend to inflict suffering on any who remain to challenge me. Undoubtedly, there will always be such resistance to the world I mean to create. But now I wonder
…
why did you assume I was alone? I have already told you that I am of the Beol Clan.” It was Meier’s turn to laugh, although he did so cautio
usly.

“That much was obvious, Lady Suvira of the Beol Clan. You speak of ruling the world in the singular, but then, if you were the head of your clan that would not be unusual. The proof came when I saw your tower. It is clearly a foreboding monument, yet equally clear is that it is a singular residence. With your power, I cannot imagine that you would
share
such a place. That, coupled with the fact that you have dammed the source here, leads me to conclude that the clan Beol is either scattered or extinct
…
excepting you, of course.” Suvira narrowed her eyes and began to doubt the decision that she was so close to ma
king.

“You are perhaps too clever for your own good, orphan prince,” she muttered mistrustfully. Again, Meier laughed airily, and this he followed with a
bow.

“The Lady is too kind,” he answered graciously. Suvira scoffed a
gain.

“It was
not
a compliment,” she quipped. Meier looked up at the tower with a wry s
mile.

“Nevertheless, it is likely to be the closest thing that I shall receive.” Suvira found the comment to be inherently frustrating, yet some part of her found it amusing. Still, she was beginning to grow tired of his arrogance toward her. She resolved to break
him.

“Very well, Prince Meier. We have talked long enough about nothing. Either you state your business, or I will crush your hard-earned servants,” she said uncompromisingly. Meier felt a wash of panic. He had feared it would come to this. She knew his weakness, based on his one mistake. He was temporarily unable to respond, all the while trying to hide the dismay on his
face.

“Do what you have to do, Meier,”
said Trent softly. Dor immediately ag
reed.

“You come too far to tip your hand now!”
he said emphatically. Meier thought fast. It was time for another hard bet. Rather than answer, he began to saunter toward the t
ower.

“Just
what
do you think you are doing?” asked Suvira contemptuously. Meier opened his arms wide a
gain.

“Complying with the Lady’s request, of course,” he said plainly.
“Follow me, gentlemen, and try to stay close,”
Meier said qui
etly.