Rise of the Dead Prince (40 page)

51
For Glory and Ruin

I
t was a time of rebuilding, reinforcing, grieving, and most of all, painful waiting. Behren and Quickspear had become immortal paragons after their feats in the second battle for Targov. Despite the hard times they faced, the people could still take some small pleasure in reciting the tales from the night of heroes. As the days passed, these stories grew beyond the reach of the believable. Ian, who had already been adored, became even more so. From the wreckage of Targov, he was now an elevating symbol, an unconquerable avatar that represented their unending resistance in the war against the dead. It was such that the people of Targov bowed even at the mention of his name. Perhaps even more prevalent was the talk of the mysterious battle maiden who, with her legendary steed, had reportedly defeated more enemies than anyone, man or woman. They knew she had once been a stable maid, meek and humble. Since then, she had become a symbol of unbridled ferocity in the face of almost certain death. More than this, her example had proven beyond any doubt that greatness could come from even the most unlikely person. Her mystery grew in size with every passing day that she did not return to Targov. The more speculative citizens had many theories, and as a result, rumors abounded. One of the more outlandish ones, and thereby more popular, was that she was a wraith, much like Meier, and that she had been rendered wild and invincible by whatever magic still existed to counter the source of the dark plague. Theories about Meier also circulated, but these were mostly grim. As such, they had become something of an unspoken taboo, especially when near the
king.

Ian held his own private belief on the matter, as would any brother, and his thoughts often strayed in that direction. More than anything, he wished he could have switched places with his little brother and borne his hardship in his stead. Still, some part of him knew that it could be no other way. Meier had spoken truly. It had to be
him
that went. He quietly kept his faith in his brother close to him at all times and would have traded much to have his council on the matters at hand. He would have traded more just to hear the sound of his voice. As for the state of the nation, it was in a shambles. More people had trickled in from various corners of Valahia, all telling stories of the reduction or even absence of the dead. These stories explained much about how the people, often crudely armed, had been able to traverse the land and come to rest in Targov. The survivors had endured much hardship, often nightmarish in its severity. They were hearty folk, willing to pull their weight and more for a bed and a normal
meal.

Their stories of the dwindling numbers of dead were of the greatest interest. It couldn’t be helped that the greater number of people held the belief that the worst was over. Those of the more cautious nature knew better. It was true that Targov had not been attacked since the last battle, but the three leaders made sure the defenses were the first things repaired and that the guard duty was strictly adhered to, almost to the extreme. The castle had been stripped clean of any useful materials, decorative or not. All that remained was the armaments of Wold and Mira, which Ian had not been able to part with. The armory was a sad, empty thing, as was the treasury for that matter. Ian had insisted on paying as many workers as he could manage, although many refused this in exchange for simple room and board. Ian had paid the bulk of his wealth to the many bereaved families of fallen militia. He did this until he could do it no more, giving even his last coin to one more in need of it tha
n he.

It was on the dawn of the fourth day of Meier’s imprisonment that
she
arrived in Targov. Allie rode Dias straight through the town, jumping the barrier and ignoring the guards that hailed her. She left in her wake a sea of agape faces. Riding in a straight line to the castle, she stopped at last at the guards that blocked her path, and spoke two w
ords.

“Ian.
Now
,” she commanded, clearly out of breath. Even Dias, with all his legendary stamina, was gasping and covered in sweat. The guards exchanged glances but then quickly got out of her way. They knew who she was, just as every other person in Targov did. Allie rode straight to the stable and dismounted in front of the water trough, from which she splashed water on her face and left Dias drinking thirs
tily.

She marched ten paces toward the great hall and then promptly collapsed. Seeing her fall, one militia man ran to her aid. As he tried to lift her, she grunted and lashed out like a wild animal but then bowed in apology and patted the man on the shoulder. Once on her feet again, she staggered to the throne room. Meanwhile, Ian was making way there as quickly as he could manage, dropping what he was doing the second word reached his ear. They arrived at the same time. Allie began to speak but quickly collapsed again. With a snap of his finger, Ian ordered her into a surgeon’s bed. She had the look of one that was delirious from lack of water, sleep, and
food.

Behren himself was in the room when she fell, and though she protested, he unceremoniously scooped her up like she was a doll and carried her to the bed himself. Once done, she began to sleep soundly, only to wake up with a loud scream some two minutes later. Ian was at her side at once. She gasped for air but soon found her w
ords.

“Thousands, Ian. Tens of thousands
…
more than I
…
could count!
Everywhere.
They’re everywhere!” she said desperately. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to swoon but by sheer force of will managed to bring herself back, lifting herself by gripping the front of Ian’s tunic. Ian quickly threw his arm around her and put a cup of water to her mouth. She drank it dry and resumed her report. “They wear
armor,
Ian. And weapons! Many tens of thousands
…
all
sprinting
across the southern plains. They come to kill every one of us, Ian.
And they will!”
she said, suddenly breaking down into a frantic bout of crying. Ian tried as best he could to comfort her, and she soon ca
lmed.

“How far, Allie?” he asked steadily. She laughed, even as she was cr
ying.

“I rode for two days and three nights,” she said, trying to think. “They’ll be here in
…
two days
…
no
…
probably
less
.” With that, Ian, hiding his surprise, laid her back into the bed ge
ntly.

“Rest now, Allie. You’ve done more than any of us.” Her message delivered, Allie promptly lost consciousness and drifted immediately into a deep slu
mber.

Ian got up, and looking at Behren, said, “I want every minister, captain, alderman, and crier in the throne room as soon as humanly possible.” Behren did not respond. He simply saluted and left the room, barking loud orders even as he took his first steps into the
hall.

The men and women Ian had called for were in the throne room in under an hour. Ian wasted no time. “Brothers and sisters, we face a dilemma unlike anything we’ve seen. Tens of thousands, perhaps
hundreds
of thousands of the dead will be upon us less than two days’ time,” he said curtly. There was a round of gasps and furtive words that followed. Ian, for once, had no patience with
this.

“Silence, all of you!”
he bellowed.
“
Every minute counts, so I’ll be plain. I want every, father, son, mother, and daughter to pack up everything they can carry for a march north into the mountains. I want every orphan, elder, and anyone else who doesn’t want to
die
to do the same. They will leave as soon as they are ready, not stopping to wait for others who may be slower. The rest will be volunteers and stay with me, but only if they do not
mind
dying
.
We who stay will buy time for those who go. Make no mistake. There will be no survivors in Targov once this force arrives. Make it plain to any who would stay.” Following these grim words, he stood up and said very loudly, “Does everyone understand?” They all nodded or hailed to show that they did. “Good. Then go!” he yelled with a sweeping gesture. The room cleared immedia
tely.

Behren strode to Ian and spoke in much the same terse manner as he had just been addressed. “The mountains?” he asked plainly. Ian was about to shout again, but his cooler nature prevailed. The panic of the situation had taken him, however briefly. He let out a deep
sigh.

“I know. You and I both know the chance is slim. Those who are not run down on the way will likely be hunted like dogs and forced to live like rats. Still, any chance is better than none,” he said then remembered something else. “I want a good man to lead them, if in fact it proves to make any difference. Will you take the job?” he asked, putting a hand on Behren’s shoulder. Behren just smiled at Ian and sco
ffed.

“Never,” he replied, putting his hand on Ian’s shoulder in turn. Ian looked incensed momentarily but then smiled. The smile turned into a laugh, and together the two men filled the hall with laughter as though the world were not ending. Quickspear arrived late, owing to patrol duty. Ian quickly explained the situation then asked him the same question he had asked Behren. Quickspear scoffed then said something so rapid and unintelligible that even Ian could not understand. There was undoubtedly cursing in the rant. That much was certain. Equally evident was Quickspear’s answer. Once he quieted down, he looked at the bewildered men then laughed louder than the two of them had put together. The matter was settled. The three heroes of Valahia would go down in the very city that had made them g
reat.

Allie awoke some ten hours later as the sun was setting. She ate an entire day’s rations in under ten minutes then made her way down to see Ian again, despite the express prohibitions of the surgeon in charge of her recovery. To his credit, he was the last of his kind left in Targov, having refused to leave what would undoubtedly be the greatest need of his services. If it saved even one minute for the escaping families, he was satisfied. He was a grandfather of some sixty years, but as he told his surviving child and her children in turn, it was a grandfather’s duty to stay while others left. That was the end o
f it.

Allie, fully rejuvenated, barged right through the people in her way, giving glances that iced the blood of all those who would stop her as she did. Ian, not affronted in the least, was quite happy to see
her.

“Just the lady I was hoping to see,” he said merrily as she found her way to his side. He quickly brought her up to speed on the situation and plan of action. She nodded solemnly as she listened, most especially as the mention of Targov’s last stand came up. “That’s where you come in, Allie,” he said, going to touch her shoulder but quickly reconside
ring.

“What are you talking about, Ian?” she said brusquely, forsaking all fanfare due when addressing the leader of a nation. Quickspear laughed lo
udly.

“I
like
’er,” he said plainly then asked, “Why don’ w’get married?” He managed to sound serious. She gave him a look that would have killed a lesser man immediately. This only made him smile and
wink.

“Anyway,” said Ian, somewhat exasperated with Quickspear, but privately amused nonetheless. “I want you to lead the march north, Allie. Please say you’ll do it.” Allie looked at Ian with her icy glare and slowly shook her
head.

“I can tell you I’ll do it, Ian, if it’ll make you happy,” she said. Ian looked relieved, but the other shoe dropped. “But it doesn’t mean I will,” she finished. Ian sighed. Meanwhile, Behren, normally stoic in these situations, blasted into laughter from nowhere but quickly righted himself with a forced c
ough.

“No chance you’ll reconsider? You’re young, Allie. There’s no need for you to die here,” Ian said but was cut
off.

“Get one of these old geezers to it, Ian. Do I look like an administrator?” she said, gesturing to some of the elderly men in the room. Ian shook his
head.

“No, Allie. You do not look like an administrator. But you
do
look like a leader. Besides, these old
geezers,
as you put it, would not leave even if I offered to string them from the walls for not doing so. Will you reconsider?” Ian asked plaintively. Allie laughed, quite unexpectedly. It was a pleasant sound to all ears, even if it
was
done ironic
ally.

“See you at the walls, Ian,” she said, smiling. “Or, if you prefer, on the battlefield.” With that, she left the room, leaving the men to both admire and admonish her as they saw
fit.

As it happened, to the walls was exactly where Allie headed. That was after she checked on Dias, who was fast asleep with his face in a bucket of oats. The battlements were empty when she got there. Everyone else was either busy or gone. Why she went there was something of a mystery to herself. Perhaps it was because of the joke Ian made, or more likely, she just wanted to watch the sun go down on Targov one last time. Believing she was alone, she let her guard down. Silent tears flowed down her face as she took in the glory of the western hor
izon.

It was then that Crocus seemingly appeared from nowhere, standing just a few feet to her left. As the sound of his shuffling feet reached her ears, she quickly wiped her tears away and tried to compose herself. Crocus, being something of a gentleman, did not take note nor make comment. Slowly she turned to regard him, having seen a few baffling things from the corner of her watery eye already. There he was, with his batty, doddering self, holding something and turning this way and
that.

“Is this really the southern wall?” he vaguely asked himself. Allie found this to be unexpectedly amusing, and she laughed lightly as a result, wiping her eyes as she
did.