Rise of the Dead Prince (5 page)

5
The Invasion

T
he evening after the battle was a sad and busy time. The entire camp was filled with dead and wounded soldiers. Many of the tents had been turned into impromptu hospitals. Meanwhile, Meier wandered around at the edge of the camp, looking at the stars and thinking of all he had seen. It had been horrific. He thought of how his nerves had somehow calmed at the moment of truth. Why had he not been afraid? His mind then turned to the terrible potion he had drunk. That must have been it. It seemed that the old man had been right about everything. There was more to Crocus than met the
eye.

Meier had become an instant celebrity. Everywhere he went, men dropped what they were doing and saluted him. Their eyes were filled with admiration. It was all so new that Meier hardly knew how to react. He returned their salutes and smiled, thanking them as he did so. Never in his life had he been paid attention to, and certainly not on this scale. This must have been what it felt like to be one of the heroes in his favorite books. He had finally become something like them, if only for a little while. Meier knew the new found fame couldn’t possibly last. After all, he had barely done anything. He had waved his sword and barked a few helpful orders. It was hardly worth the adulation he was receiving. Meier’s reverie was broken by a young soldier who called his
name.

“My lord!” he said, bowing. “Your brothers have requested your presence in the war tent.” Meier nodded, and the soldier saluted and left. Meir made for the tent, receiving more loads of praise as he did. There was a stunned silence as Meier entered the tent. All the generals, including his brothers, turned to face him. They all saluted and bowed deeply. In the far corner, King Wold lay on a stretcher. Per the doctor’s order, he was not to sit up or stand. He was quite awake though, and he wore a broad smile on his
face.

“Meier, come here,” he said in a weak voice. Meier obeyed, kneeling beside his father. Wold took his son’s hand and squeezed hard. His grip was still as strong as a bear’s. “I always knew you would make me proud, but I never knew how much. You are truly my son. Now take your place with them. You have every right to a place of honor!” Meier was flooded with emotion. He had always felt like an outcast, even in his own family. Now for the first time in his life, he felt like he was a part of something greater. Hot tears stung his eyes. His father had acknowledged him. Even the old man’s eyes were brimming
over.

“We wouldn’t start without you, little brother,” said Assur. The big man seemed every bit as emotional as Meier
felt.

“Come stand beside me, brother,” said Ian with arms wide. Meier was overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure of what to say, so he said nothing. He walked to the table and stood by his brothers. They put their arms around him and hugged him close. Meier laughed an honest laugh and then took a moment to wipe the tears from his face. He looked down at the map, and they got to busi
ness.

“The Karavunians are broken, my lords!” said one general. “We can march straight to the capital without resistance now!” There was a round of assent from the other generals. Even Assur and Ian were nodding. It seemed like a sound plan. The war could be over in one fell swoop. Meier looked around. Why couldn’t they see it? He summoned his bravery again, but this time only to s
peak.

“They will attack us again, wherever we go. They will rally and attack us even here if we don’t move. They will come for us even if they are outnumbered hopelessly. Unlike today, they will now resist us even to the last man,” said Meier. He pointed to the map. “They will mount a defense here, and then again here, all the while pulling every able-bodied man and boy from every single village to the cause. It will be a bloody road to the capital.” The generals looked at the map, stunned. Meier had pointed to the two remaining rivers on the way to the capital at Karavunia
City.

“How can you know they will do this?” another general asked, scoffing slig
htly.

“Because that’s what I would do,” he answered. Meier felt his face flush. He felt as though he was in over his head, which of course he was. Assur shook his head, smi
ling.

“How can you be so sure they’ll act like you, little brother?” he asked. Meier turned to face
him.

“They showed us their mettle today. Even as they were beaten, I saw their faces. Their men still had courage behind their fear. They’ll be back, every one of them and more. They’re fighting for their homeland, after all. We would do no less.” Meier was right, and he knew it. Still, they shook their heads. Why couldn’t they se
e it?

“It’s not that we don’t accept your council, little brother,” said Ian, “but please explain what you’re thinking and why. So far, I see no good reason why we can’t scatter them again as we did today.” All faces turned to Meier again. His face was as red as a
rose.

“Well, bear with me,” he said, hand shaking slightly. “Ninety years ago, we launched a similar campaign under King Micas. We had initial success at this same spot, and we even got as far as Karavunia City itself, but we had to turn back. The reason was because the insurgents attacked our supply lines and starved our army during the siege. We lost despite our num
bers.”

Meier felt a bead of sweat running down his forehead. Of course, they knew about King Micas and his campaign! “But there’s more that I saw today on the battlefield that you gentlemen obviously saw as well,” he continued. “Namely
…
they had no real generals. The common men fought without overseeing leaders. I saw one man who seemed to lead them, but he did so from the front line. He fought as one of the commoners, and he was not on horseback. This leads me to believe that he felt his life was no more important than any one of his men! Any one of them could have been the next general had he fallen. Men like that are not going to give up. They will raid us in the night, taking a few of us at a time if need be, until we are forced to turn back from our losses. That is why I think we should abandon this campaign altogether, gentl
emen.”

There it was. He had said it. It was as if he had dropped a sack of knives on the table. The generals all went into a series of scoffs and head shakes. Abandon the campaign after a victory? Unthinkable. How could they just give up when victory was in their grasp? Surely the young prince was missing the whole point of the incursion. Things became heated. Then the king spoke from his stret
cher.

“We will not abandon our hard-won efforts, Meier. Will we take losses? Of course. They will be worth it. You have spoken truly, son. Yes, they will resist at every turn, as they have always done. Even if we had four times as many men, they would not back down. Despite this, we will still win. We will drive hard for their capital, and ever vigilant, we will defend and attack in turn. We will not turn back!” King Wold suddenly grunted in pain. He had found himself trying to sit up during his speech, and the pain reminded him to lie back down. His voice had been firm and unyielding. Nothing more needed to be said on the matter. The decision had been made. The only thing left to discuss was the continued invasion. Despondent and exasperated, Meier watched on as the generals and his brothers continued to plot the advance. It was late in the night before they were finished. They would take the fort at Harsov in the morning, just as they had planned to from the beginning, then they would fortify there and make their way to the capital. Because of Meier’s advice, they would be sure to carefully scout for ambushes and raids. They agreed with him on that much. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the camp. Just as they were closing the meeting, a rider appeared bearing urgent
news.

“My lords!” he said, bowing deeply. “Terrible news from the capital! We have been attacked from the west! The Gunars march for the capital even as we speak. Scouts predict they will be there in three days. The queen calls for aid, my lords!” The messenger handed the letter from the queen to Wold. He unfurled it and inspected the seal and the writing. It was all true. The tent exploded with raised voices. The Gunars had waited for their opportunity to expand their own borders and used the Karavunian campaign to mount their own incursion. Surely it was the work of spies. The irony was not lost on them. While they had been taking another country, their other neighbors were taking theirs. The plans were about to change. Everyone was in a fl
urry.

“Silence!” said the king above everyone else. “Meier is right, even if it is for the wrong reason. We must abandon this campaign immediately and look to our own borders. We march before the sun rises tomorrow. Send word to the captains! Make sure they tell the men everything. They must know that we will drive them hard. The cavalry will depart alone, the better to arrive early, while the infantry and wounded follow behind at the fastest possible pace. Assur! Ian! You will be in charge of the defense of our capital in Targov. Meier, you and our infantry generals will guard the rear, in case the Karavunians send an army into Valahia in retaliation. We cannot afford to be attacked from both east and west! Does everyone understand?” There was a singular ch
orus.

“Yes, my lord!” they said, saluting. Meier had another one of his feelings. Things were about to get dire. There was no avoidin
g it.

The men moved out early in the morning, as they had been commanded. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, and the men were yawning and stumbling their way across the countryside. Despite this, they moved with purpose. Now it was
their
homeland that they were defending. The thought of the Gunar flag being raised in Targov was more than they could bear. They pushed themselves despite their obvious fatigue. The cavalry had long since faded into the horizon, led by Meier’s brothers. He wished them luck, but in private, Meier disagreed with his father. It made poor sense to race ahead by dividing the forces. What was cavalry without infantry to support it? Still, he took comfort in one thing. The Karavunians were not about to mount an invasion of their own. He felt sure of it. They were not the type. As long as their land was safe, they would be satisfied. At least he hoped they would be. Just to be sure, Meier left behind extra scouts to watch the border at several places. The infantry generals seemed to think this was overcautious, but Meier politely overruled them. He was getting a bit more used to making command decisions. They fortified their stronghold at Colif still, but only as lightly as they d
ared.

Meier thought of his poor mother. She was alone in command of a paltry thousand men against what had to be at least ten thousand men or more from Gunar. Luckily, the city of Targov was defensible. The royal castle had the age-old nickname that translated as “Hard Place” from the old language. The castle would be able to hold out for a good while. No, it was the city itself that Meier worried about. The people would be evacuated inside the castle, leaving their homes and markets to be looted and burned. The razing of Targov would be a disaster. He just hoped they got there in time. It was going to be c
lose.

6
The March and the Raid

K
ing Wold made a bold decision based on Meier’s advice that the Karavunians would not attack. If the defense of Targov were to be successful, the incapacitated wounded must not slow the advance of the infantry. Wold opted to stay behind with these and a small force, making their way to the capital at their own pace. With a heavy heart, Meier bid his father goodbye and set out at the best speed the men could muster. After a hard day’s walking, the infantry finally camped and collapsed at nightfall. The walking wounded that could still fight were in particularly bad shape. It got Meier thinking. What good was it to arrive and then be too tired to fight? Chances were good that they would be outnumbered, possibly by a large percentage. It vexed him so that it became hard to think, let alone sleep. When he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed of nothing but defeat. It was then that it struck him. There might be some hope after all. He got up and left his tent. The sun was about to rise in an hour. The men were dead to the world.
Fine
, he thought. They had another hard day ahead. But as for Meier, he had a different plan for himself. He told his infantry generals that he would meet them before they got to Targov. They seemed confused. He explained it to
them.

“There are around ten decent-sized villages between here and Targov,” he said. Yes, they knew that. “These villages are not aware of the situation in Targov.” Still they didn’t follow him. “So I’m going to ride out to each one and tell them.”
Would the prince please get to the point
, they seemed to say. Meier sighed. “I’m going to ask them to fight!” he said emphatic
ally.

“But, my lord, we already asked for volunteers from that area,” said the eldest infantry general. Meier sighed again. Were they really so old and still so n
aive?

“This is different. One man volunteers for anything. Another volunteers only when he’s in danger. I’m looking for the second type. Now I’d better get going!” he said finally and rode off without d
elay.

Meier rode Callista as hard as he dared. She seemed to be up to it. He had never seen her run so fast. Perhaps she understood the urgency. Horses, it seemed, were really smarter than people gave them credit for. He was quickly to the first village, just after sunrise. The residents were slowly waking up. This seemed to be a farming village, with a small marketplace in the center of town. Riding to the middle of the market area, he started his announce
ment.

“Attention everyone! I am Prince Meier of Valahia, and I come to you for help!” He quickly had their attention. Slowly, a mob started to grow around him. “We are invaded! The Gunars march for the capital at Targov. They intend to claim all Valahia as their own! We need every strong arm you can spare to prevent this tragedy. Please! Will you not
help?”

He pleaded with them, carrying on in the same way as more people gathered around. Already several dozen men had cheered at him in consent, grabbing spears and axes from their homes. These men were mostly from the older generation. They were working men, men that would not have left their work to volunteer for an invasion. This was different, and Meier made them see it. Those among them who had been soldiers took up their old armaments and pledged themselves to the cause. When all was done, Meier had around two hundred and fifty volunteers. It was more than he had hoped for. What Meier did not know was why he had done so well. These men had pledged to fight for more than Valahia. They had pledged to fight for
him.
He had won them over. A different man could not have done the
same.

That whole day, Meier rode hard across the land to each farming and market village, always delivering the same heartfelt speech; and every time, he ended up with more than he had hoped for. One village even pledged an amazing five hundred men. These men needed no general. It was something Meier had learned from the Karavunians. These men fought for freedom. They fought for the right to have their own country. Meier was beginning to understand what that meant. And he was only eighteen. At this time the week before, his biggest worry was what to have for dinner. Meier had grown up in record time. But he wasn’t done yet. All told, he had recruited an extra three thousand men to march on Targov. He told them to converge just east of the city, and there they would meet the main f
orce.

When Meier reached the infantry march again, he told them of the extra recruits and their approximate numbers. The old men nearly fell out of their sad
dles.

“How did you manage it?” they asked, heads still spinning from the success of his
plan.

“I just talked to them,” Meier explained laconically. They were amazed. This prince had become an unexpected wonder. Just a few days ago, he had been little more than a royal accessory. What had happened to make him into the man they saw before them? Perhaps, they came to believe, it was just that he had never been te
sted.

Meanwhile at the castle, Assur and Ian had their hands full organizing the defense. The scouts brought more bad news. The Gunar force numbered around thirty thousand! Even with all the forces en route, the Valahians had only eighteen thousand or so. It looked as though they were in for a long siege. The best defense against such numbers was to outlast them. Even then, the outcome looked grim. Ian was the first to put forward a daring
plan.

“I’ll lead a raid against them with all the skirmishers,” he said. Assur just nodded. If Ian could whittle down their forces even a little with his mounted archers, it would be helpful. And no one was better at what he did than
Ian.

No sooner said than done, Ian rode out to meet the quickly approaching enemy. He knew the land like he knew his own reflection. They would take the fastest and most hidden paths to the enemy, and they would approach unseen. Altogether Ian took four thousand men, all seasoned archers, to harass the Gu
nars.

Just like the Karavunians had done, Ian set a trap at the edge of the woods. He saw the great Gunar army, and it nearly shook even his iron resolve. The Gunar soldiers were bronze-skinned and dark-haired, and their red and green flags dominated the horizon. The Gunars carried curved swords and cruel barbed spears. Theirs was a warlike disposition, but in truth, they were no more bellicose than the Valahians. They had row upon row of armored cavalry and infantry, and there appeared to be only a few thousand common conscripts. These men who were not among the conscripted were all career soldiers. The fight would be even more difficult than he had imag
ined.

Ian had his troops in a long line only three rows deep. When the bulk of the Gunar force had entered the rolling valley that led up to the woods, he sounded the charge. They had one big advantage. The Gunars kept no mounted archers. Skirmishers were the native specialty of the Valahians, and this was a skirmish. The Valahians tore across the open field. The Gunars were taken completely unaware, just as the Valahians had been by the Karavunians. The first hail of skirmisher arrows struck the massive force. Only one in twenty arrows hit home. There was nothing for it. Their armor was too formid
able.

There was only one thing for the skirmishers. They would have to get close
…
dangerously close. Ian shouted out his orders. They would use the “torrent” formation. Ian’s force sprinted straight forward as the Gunars were still turning their face them. When they came within range, Ian’s soldiers fired as one. It was a devastating attack. At least two hundred Gunars fell. Then came the torrent. The four thousand swooped to the right as one and then began to ride in a large circle, just out of reach of the charging infantry. Each man fired careful shots as his rotation
came.

It was then that the Gunars got organized. The enemy line of archers sent a vast volley into the skirmishers, inflicting many casualties along the line. Horses and riders fell by the dozens. Meanwhile, the Gunar heavy cavalry made their move. They mounted their own charge. It was time for Ian’s force to flee, and he knew it. The skirmishers made one last pass as they rode away from the Gunar cavalry. And then Ian and his men were gone, just as quickly as they had come. The Gunar horsemen gave chase but couldn’t match the skirmishers in speed. They were forced to give up as Ian’s force disappeared into the distance, firing backward into their pursuers as they
rode.

The raid had been a huge success. Ian returned to the castle that night with his men. He was tired, but he went straight to the great hall. Assur greeted him, as did Queen Mira. Ian smiled. They knew it was good
news.

“We got ten for every one we lost. They should be around two thousand men lighter now. I think they’ll be looking for us for a good long while. Their caution will slow them down.” Assur slapped Ian on the back. They were in such a fix that any good news was welcome. Still, they had twenty-eight thousand more problems on the way. With that, Ian promptly headed for his bed, as did all of his men. They took a long rest. They had earned it. It would be at least another day before the Gunar force arrived, and with any luck, it would be less than that before the Valahian infantry arrived. All they could do was wait and hope for the best. Despite Ian’s victory, the tone of the city remained somber. They all knew what was co
ming.

That night, Price Assur the Bold discussed tactics with Queen Mira and the cavalry generals. She would command the castle defense from the upper levels and organize the civilian population. Those who could fight among the civilians would hold the second line behind the castle guards. Queen Mira was well learned in the art of strategy, much as her husband and sons were. Theirs was a family made for war. The queen donned her golden armor and blue cape, the colors of Valahia, and took up her spear like the battle maidens of old. While she was lacking in the martial arts, it did not matter. She was a symbol of defiance. One look at her gave the soldiers h
eart.

It had been generations since the queen of the castle had taken up arms, but it was a tradition steeped in wisdom. When the gates were threatened, men and women alike must fight or else perish. The armory was soon emptied of all weapons and armor, and these were given to every able-bodied adult in the castle walls, regardless of gender. The children of course were spared, and Mira organized room for them in the great hall and the upper level, using every inch of the s
pace.

Meanwhile, Assur would man the defense outside the city. He would save Targov if it was at all possible for him to do so. If and when the retreat was sounded, they would join the others inside the walls and be forced to watch as Targov was put to the t
orch.

Ian had a plan of his own. He would stay outside the city no matter what happened. His force would harass the enemy until they were out of arrows, and then they would pester the archers with the sword. These alone would be the bane of a siege against the city. He pledged his life to this course, and knowing Ian, he would fight to the last man if need be. Assur and Mira tried to dissuade him, but neither he nor his men would be moved. Skirmishers were only of use in the field, and everyone knew that. Most importantly of all, the people watched the eastern horizon for the blue and gold banners of Meier and the infantry. Ian had bought his little brother time. It was all up to the brooder
now.