Rise of the Dead Prince (38 page)

“So you intend to sacrifice them for the sake of your foolish pride?” she asked incredulously. Meier shook his
head.

“Not at all, Lady Suvira,” he said casually. “I intend to visit you. Whether you choose to destroy me now, then, or sometime beyond is of little importance. As you said, we’ve talked about nothing for long enough. I’m on my way to tell you my business right now. Destroying them will only lead to another missing page in your book. You ask my business? I will tell you this much freely. I wish to see you face to face. If you refuse, so be it. You may as well destroy me now.” The three men continued their casual pace toward the tower. Suvira growled in anger. She watched as the orphan prince marched on, his two powerful minions close behind. She could easily destroy them all, of course, but somehow Meier had instinctively known that shadow grasp was less than perfectly accurate. To destroy the servants, she would most likely have to destroy their master as well. She silently cursed him. Still, she could not hide the fact that she was impressed. She had shown him the spell three times, and already he seemed to have an intrinsic understanding of how it worked. Such a man, however frustrating, had value that she could not, or would not, ignore. Somehow he knew that as well. Either that or it was true what he had said before. In his pursuit of her, he did not care if he was destroyed. Begrudgingly, she began to calm herself. She could still use his servants against him. After all, it was obvious that he valued them, however foreign the concept might be to
her.

“Very well, Prince Meier of Valahia,” she said dryly, “you will wait at the gate until such time as I decide to meet you. Bear in mind that if you waste my time
…
your destruction will be slow
…
and more hideous than you can imagine.” Meier merely smiled and bowed in appreciation then continued his arrogant st
roll.

48
The Secret of the Source

M
eier arrived at the tall narrow doors of the tower unhindered, with Dor and Trent still close behind. They saw a few more of Suvira’s anathemas on the way there. The monsters shuddered and twitched unnaturally as the three men passed, turning to face them as they did. It reminded Meier of rattling marionettes. Despite this agitated display, the towering abominations proved to be nonhostile. It seemed clear that Suvira was through testing the three against her minions. Whether this was because she had become set on meeting Meier or else just reluctant to waste more of her best creations was anyone’s guess. The green light from the sprawling cracks in the earth that surrounded the tower cast enough light to see without relying on sound anymore, dim though it was. Still, the men kept their sense of hearing as sharp as it had been in the dark. If nothing else, it continued to give them the ability to sense in all directions. Given the suffocating miasma of tension that surrounded them, the notion of lowering their guard even slightly was unthinkable. There were four shallow stairs that led to the angular, elongated doors. Each stair was approximately two strides in length, creating more of a slight incline than a climb. Meier took a moment to admire the flawless shapes that comprised the tower. Everything appeared to perfectly symmetrical. Even the cracks in the black earth seemed to follow a rough pattern. Remembering his character, he took the first step, so as to stand just above his two servants. Even so, he was still shorter than Trent by a slight margin. Then it hit
him.

It felt like the uncontrollable jolt one gets from being terribly startled. No more than a second after his foot landed on the stair, Meier felt a rush of power hit him like a giant wave. He looked down at his hands, fully expecting them to be glowing. They were not, of course, but even so the sudden wash of the source flooded and overwhelmed his senses. It began to make sense. The tower was a focusing point for all the dammed up magical energy that had pooled there. Somehow the stone itself was infused with the stuff. It led Meier to another immediate conclusion. If he was feeling this much intensity on the front step, what was the inside or even the
center
liable to be like? It gave him a shudder. For all the euphoria that the source gave, Meier knew at once that this much power was never meant to be had by anyone. It was enough to drive one mad. Perhaps, he posited, this explained many things about Suvira and the Beol Clan. Sensing the danger of being overtaken once inside, Meier tried to stifle the flow. It proved to be difficult. The impulse to let it run free was overwhelming. Having been momentarily distracted, he suddenly remembered what he had been trying to do while he waited for Suvira to speak the last time. He wondered if the source would help in his search, but his mind also considered the possibility that it would be a hindrance as well. After all, the power made it hard to concentrate. He was not used to it. Meier turned inside and looked for the dark, but everything was so severe that he balked. It reminded him of riding through a hedge maze on a horse that was hundreds of times too fast. He almost fell backward, feeling something akin to the undead version of nausea. Trent and Dor saw him swaying and each held up a hand as if to catch him. Meier quickly righted himself, coming out of the tr
ance.

“I’m fine,”
he told them, and they returned to their watchful stances, albeit still hindered by their injuries. It was time for a new approach. Meier had a silly idea, and lacking a better option, it grew in plausibility until he decided to simply go for it. He didn’t delve down at all, at least not yet.
“Hello, Source,”
he said with his mind. He thought back to when he had risen Dor and Trent. He had asked the power itself for help, and somehow he had gotten it. Since that moment, Meier had started to doubt that he was talking to anything, except perhaps some locked away part of himself. However, it had worked. Of course, he had been deep inside himself then. It was a place he couldn’t seem to get to while he was this close to the center of it all. So, he tried the implausible approach. He was going to need the power very soon, and he needed to balance himself as quickly as possible. Unsurprisingly, the source did not respond, at least not in any way Meier could understand.
“I need help again,”
he said. Dor and Trent exchanged glances but then left Meier to what he was doing without distracting him. Meier felt nothing new. He decided to try to delve again into the dark. He felt the same wild tossing and turning as he had before, but then from nowhere, there was a differ
ence.

Deep within himself, he was suddenly pelted by a stinging barrage of sand. It was a gleaming gold color and appeared to be carried on a twisting, desultory wind. It formed into strange patterns and swirls, dancing on the wind with a sort of frenzied cadence. And then it happened. The glittering sand grouped abruptly and made a familiar and unmistakable sign. It was a question mark, plain and shining before Meier’s inner eyes. Meier felt a cold rush of excitement and surprise. He pondered the sign but then quickly unders
tood.

I want to help my friends,
he thought as clearly as he could. The sand broke apart and began to swirl again in a random fashion. Just as suddenly as it had before, it formed into a question mark. Meier began to unders
tand.

Carefully holding his mental state, he reached slowly and blindly backward for Dor and Trent. He touched each man on the shoulder and then thought as hard as he could. Instead of using words, he
visualized
what he was looking for. The sand began to swirl in an even spiral, as though mulling it all over. It suddenly froze in place, but then almost at once, it broke apart again and this time flew straight for M
eier!

The golden sand surrounded him, engulfing him completely. Meier went to cover his eyes against the stinging dervish but soon found that he was not being pelted as he was before. He felt a strange thing emanating from the sand. Meier calmed down and concentrated. He suddenly realized that the source was feeling impatient. There was a sentiment of frustration emanating from it. He quickly surmised why. He was distracted. Meier got a hold of himself and focused. The source seemed pleased. What followed was so intense and amazing that Meier could scarcely hold on to it. Images flooded his brain. He saw shapes and sigils glowing in violet. He saw the deep pool of green, measures being taken from it, words being spoken or imagined, and he saw undead flesh and bone being compared with that of the living. Meier couldn’t stifle a l
augh.

Thank you,
he thought, all the while relaying immense gratitude with every fiber of being. The sand began to dissipate but relayed one last thing that was clear. Meier felt it almost as strongly as he felt the meaning of a spoken
word.

“H
urry.”

Breaking free, he felt the information beginning to dilute. He needed to act fast. He turned to face Dor and Trent, and without stopping to explain, he placed a hand on each man’s chest. His eyes flashed brightly, and suddenly, there was a pair of signs on each chest. Together they made a single word:
Sh
ū
fuku.
In the Valahian tongue, it simply meant “mend.” From there, Meier delved deep. Somehow he was no longer lost on his journey. The speed was incredible, but it was controlled by his thoughts. He dove into the deepest well, and his eyes went black. With a scoop in the palm of each gloved hand, he rose through the depths, thinking more strange words as he did. He thought of Dor’s arm and Trent’s chest being rewoven. With another surge of violet light and a push, he emerged. Dor’s arm was glowing with violet fire, as was Trent’s chest. They looked surprised but did not s
peak.

“I just learned this one. Should put you back together. I get the feeling she’s not watching at the moment.”
Dor and Trent exchanged glances then chuckled lig
htly.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?”
asked Trent, clearly am
azed.

“I’ve done given up on accountin’ for what our boy can do,”
replied Dor.
“Still I got to ask
…
why bother puttin’ us back together when you got a necromancer to beat?”
Trent nodded, expressing his agree
ment.

“I guess I have a feeling that you two are going to be important,”
he said with a shrug.
“Besides
…
you’re my friends.”
Dor shrugged and shook his head slig
htly.

“Friends for sure,”
he said.
“But we got us a job to do. We ain’t goin’ be no good against the necromancer, Meier.”
Trent shru
gged.

“Still, Dor, the man said he had a feelin.’ I’ve come to trust such things,”
he said with a nod. With that, the disagreement was set
tled.

The violet flames did their work, and Meier began to drift back into the source. He wasn’t specifically able to imagine what he wanted, mainly because he wasn’t quite sure that it was possible. One thing brought him back. It was something he had temporarily forgo
tten.

“There’s something you two need to try. Take a step onto the stone. Forget about appearances, although on second thought
…
it might be better if you knelt,”
Meier said, remembering to look haughty as he did so. Trent and Dor complied and were immediately assaulted by the flood of the source.
“It’s hard to control, I know. Try to get a feel for it. I don’t know what this will do to us, but we need to get good at it fast. It’s only going to be worse inside.”
The hunter and the farmer just nodded, momentarily unable to respond. What they felt wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as what Meier had, but it was still somewhat incapacitating. Meier felt a presence. He was certain he was being watched again. From several directions, the monstrous anathemas began to surround them. The men took immediate notice, but did not take action. If she had wanted to send these after them, she would have done so by then. Meier quickly returned to the source. He beckoned it to come to him as it had before. He did not use words. Instead, he relayed great urgency. He pictured the thousands of rows of advancing dead. But nothing happ
ened.

“Please,”
he asked humbly. Still nothing. His mind raced. There had to be some unifying factor. Was there something he was lacking? He tried to repeat the thought process that had brought the alien consciousness only minutes before. He felt a ray of inspira
tion.

I need your help to set the world to right,
he thought, hiding his desperation as best he could.
“She means to keep you prisoner forever,”
he went on,
“and she means to exterminate all life! Life nourishes you, as you nourish it. Does it not? Please help me!”
Meier calmed down and collected his thoughts. He felt certain by then that the source would not reply to anger. How then could it grant such terrible power to the noble and the wicked alike? What was he missing? His thoughts turned to his friends again. He knew he could not protect himself and certainly not them. The source suddenly answ
ered!

As though by the turning of a key in a lock, it appeared again, swirling around him in tight circles as it had before. Meier focused his thoughts, but before he could explain what he needed, the question escaped his mind.
What did I do now that I did not before?
Meier wondered. The answer came as another series of images. It was hard to understand. He suddenly was swarmed with pictures of people, animals, plants, and even himself and his friends. It was as though he was being shown the whole world. It was dizzying. The final image was of the necromancer herself, wrapped in black robes. The very sight of her washed him in cold dread. One thing seemed to unify all the images. There was a spark inside each thing shown, a flame as it were, burning brightly in some things and dimly in others. Meier tried to reconcile it all. The source was showing him
life.
But why then did it include the undead? Suvira was not alive nor was he or his friends. The source seemed to shake him slightly in reproach. The next image was of himself, or more specifically the flame within him. Finally, he understood. It was the flame that mattered, not the heart. An intact consciousness made one alive. The source seemed pleased. It glowed and sparkled brightly. Meier’s mulled it over fervently. Each question brought another, and he did not have much time. It dawned on
him.

“You will not condone taking her life, regardless of her actions?”
The sand enveloped him completely, suddenly becoming as soft as eider down. It brushed his cheek and forehead, and filled him with an immensely uplifting feeling. It was an emphatic
yes.

Meier could not help but to laugh and cry at the same time. It was all so beautiful and yet hopeless as well. The source seemed to understand, but no new images appeared.
You came because I needed help to protect my life and the lives of my friends,
he thought, still downtrodden. The source responded in the affirmative.
“She means to kill us all, and I have nothing but a butterfly’s dream of a chance at stopping her. But, you already know this.”
Again, the sand seemed to relay sympathy but did not produce new images.
What then should I do? I leave it to you.
Meier sighed mentally. How could they be saved while she was still alive? Every scenario pointed to the pure impossibility of it all. The source answered. It began to flood his mind with images again, but they were out of time. The doors of the tower slowly opened, and Meier was forced back to the world around him. Meier strained to remember something, anything that he had seen, but it was no good. It had all evaporated, except for one thing. It was the image of a woman in w
hite.