Rise of the Dead Prince Read Free Page B

felled by a single arrow above the foreleg, perfect shots to the heart. Of course, the odder sight would have been to see that Ian had not been perfect in his aim.
    A thought came to Meier’s mind regarding his second brother’s personality. Ian was truly a master hunter, yet despite his peerless skill, he never took pleasure in the hunt. He had an eccentric belief on the subject that had rooted itself deeply into the core of his own personal philosophy. He would track, hunt, and kill the beasts of the forest; but queerly enough, he also thought of himself as one of them. No one fully understood this but Ian. He would take meat and hides from the forest, but he loathed the idea of hunting for “sport.” He ate what he killed and he shared it, but he did it all in his own peculiar way. He never brought back does or yearlings, and he never took trop hies.
    Meier’s smile faded as the procession passed from his view. He turned his face to the sun, and as his eyes grew upward from its path, he saw how blue the sky had be come.
    And so it was.
    These were three princes in the land of Valahia, the sons of King Wold and Queen Mira.
    Two were considered national heroes, and one was hardly considered. Assur could bend steel rods around his neck, snap axe handles across his knee, and perform many other such feats of strength that pleased crowds. At least these were the stories people told. Exaggerations though they were, they were not so very far from the t ruth.
    As for Ian, he was known for his amazing skills at archery, acrobatics, and swordsmanship. Where Assur was strong, Ian was quick and dexterous. Ian was able to hit a bulls-eye at one hundred paces, walk across a tight rope, and defeat any enemy within three strokes of his twin swords. These legends were even closer to true.
    Assur and Ian were very close and often sat with the king in the council chamber, ever learning more and more about matters of state and economics. They also sat beside their father in his war room, and there they learned the art of strategy and the tenuous balance of politics with Valahia’s neighboring countries. They were both quick to learn and generally considered to be quite clever. The two brothers were the very models of princes and all that entailed. If they had been the only royal sons born, then the kingdom would have been more than pleased, for these two were clear proof of the worthiness of the line of kings. But they were not the only sons born.
    Prince Meier was the youngest son of King Wold. When placed beside his brothers, everything about him was reminiscent of a sort of genetic afterthought, not unlike the leftovers of a great meal. He was small-framed and frail, given to illness, and generally forgettable in his endeavors. His only real interest was for scholarly learning, but even in this, he was lacking. He could almost recite the line of kings from five hundred years past to the present, describe details of past battles with nearly passable accuracy, and recite epic poems with only a few dozen mistakes or so. He was sullen and depressing to be around, generally disdainful of the martial arts, and utterly disinterested in matters of state. Unlike the tales of his brothers, these stories were entirely true. The young women of Valahia were not in love with him at all. His forehead was too big, his brow was too low, and his eyes were deep set and frequently downcast. In addition to every other contrast from his brothers, Meier was also deathly pale and looked at any given time as though he were about to coll apse.
    This is not to say that no one liked him. His brothers were quite protective of him, and he had the love of the king and queen in equal measure to his brothers. Ian often tutored Meier in archery, and after years of practice, Meier could hit the target about half the time from thirty paces. The only bulls-eye he had ever scored was preceded by a sneeze at the time of release, much to the stifled amusement of the