Rise of the Dead Prince Read Free Page A

jungle cat and waited for his assailants to exploit an opening. This they did, but one after the other, Assur sent them back on their heels or backsides. It went on for over a minute before three men managed to tackle him in a rush. The rest, laughing, piled on, disarming Assur and pulling him down at last. A giant roar ripped the air as Assur fought to his feet again, carrying one man in full armor under his right arm as he did. The big man was laughing as well and, once the pile had cleared, gave the order to return to drills. Meier couldn’t help but smile. It was all he could do to refrain from clapping as Assur had emerged from the dog pile. Assur and he were undeniably as different as night and day, but it didn’t change the fact that the big man was one of the few people that Meier loved de eply.
    Assur was, despite his bestial appearance, uncommonly kind and gentle. It was true that he could cow men with a glare if he was so inclined, but had never once done this to Meier, not even as a child. His eyes were light brown, matching his skin, and he wore his dark hair cropped close to his scalp. His handsome face and ingenuous smile were the stuff of local legend, and the people across the land couldn’t have been more pleased with the idea of him as the future king.
    Meier made his way along the wall to the outer rampart. From there one could see the greater part of the capital city of Targov, and it presently suited Meier’s fancy to do so. He exchanged greetings with the men on the wall as he passed them, always managing to sound more pleasant than he actually felt. Meier waited until he was above the main gate to take in the vista. There was a semicircular prominence that jutted outward from the main line of the wall there, and it made for the best place to view as much of the panorama as possible. Carefully inching to the edge, Meier leaned forward until the edges of his vision no longer included the castle walls. A cool breeze whipped past his high perch, and the young prince found himself smiling as he gazed down on the waking city b elow.
    Targov was a simple place. It was not overly wealthy or advanced in its architecture. In many ways, it was nothing like a capital city at all. The only thing majestic about Targov was the castle itself, so much so that the grand structure harshly dwarfed the already humble buildings that surrounded it. It was a disparity that Meier took a moment to note, but not ponder on overmuch. If there was one word that he could use to describe the people of this, his home city, it was pragmatic. They had no need to build aesthetically pleasing edifices without there being an essential function in doing so, and so they di dn’t.
    Meier was snapped out of his daydreaming by the sound of a silver horn blowing a long note. Below he found the source in the form of several riders making their way down the main road to the castle gate at a leisurely pace. Meier smiled again once he recognized the lead rider, a lean man in ring mail with a red sash hanging from his waist. It was Prince Ian the Hunter, the second son of King Wold and Queen Mira of Valahia and Meier’s other older bro ther.
    Ian the Hunter was tall and lightly built. Born two years after Assur, he was also blessed with good looks and charisma, much like his elder brother. His skin was lighter than Assur’s, and his eyes were a deep blue, like his mother’s. Despite being younger than Assur, Ian’s face was more weathered. His gaze was sharp, and his eyes were often narrowed. Unlike the eldest prince, Ian kept his brown hair long and tied into a tail that trailed down his back. The young girls of Targov who were not already in love with Assur were in love with Ian ins tead.
    As the procession made its way to the gate, Meier shook his head, still smiling. Ian’s morning hunt had brought home two large stags and something like ten pheasants. As the poles holding the limp stags came into view, Meier could see that each had been