He watched as Larz made his way down the column to give the order. Ahead on
the horizon the forest was a gray shadow.
Though he could appreciate the covering of trees as a tactical maneuver, Rau
disliked the forest. The dark, damp interior made him claustrophobic.
Manifestations of his growing paranoia waited to leap from under every branch.
He much preferred the flat terrain on the outskirts of Hael, where anything
within two days ride could be seen coming toward them.
You could lose an entire army among the twisted vegetation. From the corners
of his eyes, he imagined he saw ghostly shapes prowling among the thick screen
of trees. Or was it simply another vision of the silver-haired Shraal princess
rumored to to be hidden in the deepest reaches of the forest.
Rau wrenched himself from morbid thoughts. There was nothing in the forest
save for trees, rabbit and fox. Indeed, he could hide an army in its shadowy
depths. Concealed by the forest, Kholer would never know what lay in store for
them. His present mood was the result of too much drink and too little sleep.
And a father who promised his throne to his younger son, forever withholding it
from the son who did so much to win his affection.
In the end, his father would be happy enough to take the credit for Rau's
victory.
Will you now, my father, he thought viciously. We shall see.
#
They drew to a halt a mile within the shelter of the forest. Rau surrendered
the reins to the soldier who appeared at his side. Grateful for the shade, he
settled down against one of the wide tree trunks. Larz already had the map
spread upon the ground. Together they plotted their passage for the rest of the
afternoon.
Stores were broken open. On further contemplation Rau passed up the tea
offered to him, deciding instead to medicate himself to sleep with the contents
of his wineskin. He swallowed gingerly. It roiled about in his stomach but
stayed down. He took a longer pull on the wineskin, then passed it to Larz who
grimaced and vigorously shook his head.
A thick crust of bread sat better on his stomach. The heat, the wine and
bread together conspired to make him sleepy. Beside him, Larz was already
snoring softly.
Leaving his company to stand guard, Rau pulled his helmet down over his face,
stretched out against the broad trunk, and surrendered to the sleep that had
been threatening to drag him under all morning.
#
He raced through halls of magenta crystal, breath searing his lungs. His
heart hammered like a drum within his chest. Something pursued him in the
labyrinthian tunnels. And though he couldn't name the terror that chased him, he
knew that to cease running would mean certain death.
He dove into another corridor, only to discover it ended abruptly in a wall
of jagged quartz. He skidded to a jarring stop, then fled back over his
footsteps toward the main hall.
Just a few more feet, he told himself as he rounded the corner. A few more
steps.
Blinded by the corner ahead, the flash of steel caught him off guard. He
flailed about, desperately trying to halt his progress. His boots slid against
floors of smooth quartz. The momentum carried him steadily forward into the path
of that deadly blade.
Rau screamed. Horrible gurgling sounds echoed loudly in his head, then
deteriorated quickly into silence.
At last he saw her, a streak of silver hair and steel eyes.
“Riordan-Khun-Caryn,” came the whisper in his mind. Shraal features hovered
above him, beautiful and deadly. The crystal floor rushed up to meet him.
His body toppled over him, cutting off both sight and sound.
#
Rau jerked awake, nails digging into the soft grass.
“I'm sorry, Your Highness, I didn't mean to startle you.” Larz shifted
uneasily. “One of our men, the last to leave Kanarek, has just caught up with
us. He insists on speaking with you.”
What could it possibly be this time! Rau wondered. These minor grievances,
these niggly complaints only stole his attention from the grave task at
hand.
Around them the army was packing up, stowing the supplies once again. Kholer
would not wait for him to deal with the aggravations of administration.
“I have not the time.” He waited for Larz to volunteer to handle the matter,
but the Captain stood his ground. Rau bit back his annoyance. “Surely you can
deal with him?”
Larz cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. “I think it best you speak with
him yourself.”
He followed the Captain's gaze, noting with growing irritation the wild-eyed
soldier who anxiously awaited his attention. The nap he hoped would cure the
pounding in his head had given him nothing more than bad dreams. Time would have
been better spent on the march. The thought only added to his bad humor.
“Be ready to ride out at my command,” he barked at Larz, who merely nodded,
taking Rau's show of temper in maddeningly good grace.
He strode across the grass, cloak flying out behind him, and grinned as the
sight of him made the youth take an involuntary step backward.
“Your Highness.” The soldier snapped to attention. Youthful eyes stared back
at him from beneath the plumed helm. Younger even than his brother, the one his
father pledged his throne to. Rau fought back another wave of fury.
He waved away the title with an irritated flick of his hand. I don't have
time for this. “Your report.”
The soldier swallowed. His mouth moved. No sound came out.
“Make haste, Soldier. An entire army awaits you.”
“Begging your pardon, Highness.”
Rau let go a caustic breath. Would the entire day amount to nothing more than
a string of petty annoyances? He wanted to shake the report out of him. But the
youth looked as if he'd come apart if Rau so much as raised his voice, so he
settled for leveling his most impatient stare at the hapless soldier.
“We were leaving Kanarek--”
“We?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Major Gernz and me. It was our duty to make one last
check of the ruins after the rest of the army had departed for Hael.”
“I would speak also with Major Gernz.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir, Major Gernz is dead.”
Rau rubbed at his temples. If the pounding would cease for one moment,
perhaps he could think.
The soldier's words tumbled into his silence. Rau glared at him to
continue.
“We'd nearly finished our tour, when we spied two riders in foreign armor
upon the hill.”
“Foreign?”
“Yes, Sir.” His throat worked, no sound came out. The youth swallowed again.
“Kanarekii armor. But old, like none I've ever seen. We rode up to question
them, but the woman turned on the Major and--”
A streak of silver hair flashed across his mind's eye, followed by a pair of
piercing, gray eyes. No, he thought desperately, it couldn't be. His father had
cursed him with his superstitions. Rau reined in his imagination.
“This woman,” he demanded, knowing already what the young soldier would say.
“Describe her to me.”
“I would not have known it was a woman, Sir, but for her hair. She didn't
look Kanarekii, she was far too fair.”
“And the man with her?”
“I didn't get a good look at him, Sir.” And when Rau glowered at him, he
added, “But I got the impression he was...older.”
Fear burst inside Rau. His father's warnings, Gamaliel's superstitions howled
in his mind. Pieces of the rumored prophecy fell into place. The mythical
princess and the supposedly long-dead warrior. Rau swallowed the terror rising
inside him. This festering obstacle must be dealt with right away, before word
of it reached his father. Before rumors destroyed the morale of his army. No
Kanarekii princess would stand between him and his well-deserved glory.
“In what direction did they ride, this woman and her companion?”
“Away from the city, Sir. Toward the desert.”
Toward the desert, Rau thought. Toward the mountains and the fabled tomb of
Zal-Azaar. There could be no other explanation.
#
He found Larz at the head of the army. A long line of black-clad Haelian
soldiers stretched in an orderly row through the trees. Behind them, leagues of
cadavers waited with patience only the dead could have. Soldiers at the tail end
of the column eyed the dead with growing nervousness. Rau caught more than one
quick sign made against evil as he passed. He didn't need to turn to see the
dark looks they gave his back. None were brave enough to show their
superstitions to his face, he thought with satisfaction.
“Your Highness.” Larz drew himself up, prepared to give the order to ride
out.
“Captain.”
Larz snapped to attention, but his eyes quickly scanned Rau's face. The
Prince watched as he absorbed the bad news there and prepared to receive his
orders.
“I will not be riding to Kholer.”
Whatever Larz was expecting, Rau's words took him visibly by surprise.
“Sir?”
“Another matter requires my personal attention. I leave the conquest of
Kholer in your capable hands.”
“But Your Highness--”
Rau squelched his protests with a wave of his hand.
The men were listening, an entire army of ears perked in their direction.
Larz's eyes slid sideways, absorbing that thought. He opened his mouth to
protest, then thinking better of it, backed his horse out of hearing range. Rau
followed.
“You don't think there's truth to the rumor of the warrior-princess?” Larz
leaned in close, lowering his voice despite the distance. “Do you, Sir?”
“Of course not,” Rau said with a certainty that didn't reach his heart. “But
I must discover the truth to this woman's identity before rumor of her existence
reaches the King.”
Larz nodded in a agreement, though Rau read disapproval in the set of his
mouth.
“And if there is substance to the legend of the Kanarekii heir, she must be
stopped before she reaches the tomb of Zal-Azaar. I will not allow her to stand
between me and the coast. I will not allow our great campaign to be damned to
Al-Gomar's deepest hell and forgotten.”
Larz cast a glance over his shoulder at the column of men and horses awaiting
their orders. “Without the Amber, how are we to take Kholer?”
“Quite simple.” Rau reached into the pouch at his waist and drew out a thick
stake of Amber which he pressed into Larz's gloved hand. “You will have the
Amber.”
The Captain recoiled as if scalded. “Your Highness, I am not of Shraal
blood!”
“The dead have weak minds,” Rau said. “You need only lead them to Kholer and
order them to fight. If the men believe you carry the Amber, they will obey your
command.” He fingered the Amber clasp on his cloak. “Besides, I control the
Master Stone, you need only use this one sliver to maintain control.”
“What if I cannot control the dead?” Larz whispered back. “Can we not set
camp until you return?”
“With luck I will return before you reach Kholer.”
“Forgive me for asking, Your Highness, but what if you do not?”
“Then you will do as I have ordered.”
Larz read the threat in Rau's tone and fell silent. “Will you not take some
men with you?” he asked, accepting at last his fate.
“I need not lead an army against one woman,” Rau snapped. A multitude of eyes
turned toward them. Rau sighted down the column and watched with satisfaction as
each gaze turned abruptly away. Larz knew better than to argue. So did the
men.
“I shall return victorious,” he said with more conviction than he felt.
“May Moraah bless you, Sir,” Larz said, his eyes fastening on Rau's.
“May Laalan, God of War, bless Hael,” the Prince said and put the spurs to
his horse.
The gaze of an entire army followed him as he rode down the long line of the
column, back towards Kanarek, and the plains of Kor-Koraan.
Not a word from Riordan. Not even a glance in his direction during the long
ride from Kanarek. In silence she ate the meal he prepared. Nhaille watched as
she sat stonily staring into the flames, the firelight dyeing her hair crimson.
Then like a shadow, she rose and crossed their camp. Slipping into her bedroll,
she fell into an exhausted sleep.
Nhaille bent over Riordan's sleeping form and frowned. So much pain, and he
could bear none of it for her. Feelings twisted like a knife inside him,
emotions he could never express aloud, thoughts he shouldn't even be having.
In any case, he had no words with which to comfort her. Comfort would only
weaken her resolve. Kanarek's new Queen could not be spared even a moment of
weakness. No, he couldn't feel sorry for her. Couldn't allow her to feel sorry
for herself. With a deep sigh, Nhaille pulled the blanket up around her
shoulders and went to seek his own bed.
#
Riordan raced along the ranks of cadavers marching toward the sinking sun. He
was among them. Somewhere. She knew it instinctively. The air was stifling, even
in the twilight, and the dust kicked up by a myriad shuffling feet swirled about
her in scarlet clouds.
She wiped dust from her eyes and swallowed hard on the urge to vomit. It was
barely possible to breathe past the stench of rot and decay. She sucked the
putrid air into her lungs and kept moving.
Filthy tatters were all that was left of their clothing. White bone showed
through the ruin of their flesh and the rags of their clothing. Some wore shoes,
others tottered along unevenly on one boot. Still others had lost limbs, hands,
arms, sometimes even a leg, yet they still stumbled onward, crawling when that
was the only method of locomotion left to them.
In the center of the vast column she caught sight of a black wool cloak. On
some invisible signal, the waves of cadavers parted to let her through. Suddenly
she was standing before him, staring up at the terrible and imposing figure atop
the dead steed. The column came to an abrupt halt. Corpses crowded around them.
Waiting.
Towering over her, he seemed to stretch toward the sky. Riordan dragged her
eyes upward. Skin hung from the emaciated legs of the long-dead horse he rode.
Its matted hide was stretched tight over the outline of its ribcage. One of the
stirrups hung by a strand of leather, and the boot that dangled from it was
caked with a reddish brown substance she didn't want to contemplate. Splotches
of mud stained his cloak. The fine wool hung in tatters, barely covering the
shriveled form beneath it.
From beneath the rags of his cloak, a pair of bony hands gripped the reins.
As if seeing her for the first time, the cadaver turned slowly toward her.
Riordan swallowed the scream working its way up her throat and forced herself to
face him.
Dried blood curled in flakes from the dark ruin of his eye. Flesh puckered
about the stake of gleaming amber. His skin hung in gray flaccid jowls. His
thatch of ebony hair grayed with dust. Only his imposing eyebrows were as she
remembered.
Staring out at her through one clouded eye, the King faced his daughter.
“Father,” Riordan croaked out. “I don't know what to do. You must tell
me.”
But he merely turned that horrible face upon her. Shriveled lips mouthed the
words, but he could issue no sound. Caught in his terrible stare, she couldn't
look away. Words formed in her mind.
This is all your fault, Riordan. You should have listened. You should have
believed.
“No!” She stumbled backward. Cadavers closed around her, cutting off her all
routes of escape.
Your fault, your fault... The accusation echoed over and over again in her
mind.
“No!” The word was wrenched from her throat. Dragged down into the press of
rotting bodies, smothered by the stench, she flailed against the powerful arms
that gripped her, to find the grasp tightening, an immovable hand clamped over
her mouth.
Suddenly it was Nhaille's eyes boring into hers, Nhaille's arm pinning her
tightly to his chest, Nhaille's hand clamped over her mouth.
#
Gods! She'd get them both killed yet. Nhaille swore under his breath. “Wake
up, Riordan. You're safe. It was just a dream.”
At last there was comprehension in her gray eyes. He loosened his hand,
letting her drag in a shuddering breath. “You were screaming loud enough to
signal Hael itself.”
She went suddenly limp against him. “I saw him,” she said into his shoulder.
“In my dream, I saw him, Nhaille.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
He stared at her, shadows rushing across her face in the flickering
firelight. Was she crumbling beneath the enormity of duty? Nhaille wondered. Or
did she have visions because the unleashed Amber called to her Shraal soul?
“Riordan, I'm sorry. I should never have allowed you to go to Kanarek.”
She continued on in that strange flat voice, as if demons from her nightmare
reached out to haunt her still. “The King spoke to me. He said it was my
fault.”
“What was your fault?”
“The fall of Kanarek.”
Traitorous hands buried in her hair. He shouldn't touch her, should not allow
himself to get that close. But she clung to him like a child. “Not yours, I
assure you,” Nhaille said, stroking her hair. “You mustn't think that. Prince
Doan-Rau of Hael engineered Kanarek's downfall. And you will avenge it.”
Riordan nodded, her arms tightening around him. “I will not rest until I
do.”
She spent the rest of the night tossing and muttering to herself. After
watching her, Nhaille slept almost as poorly.
The first amber rays of light had yet to touch the sky when he awoke with a
start. A shadow sat between him and the slash of gray that would become the
dawn. Nhaille's hand closed upon his sword.
The shadow moved, turning into the half-light, becoming Riordan. Relief sent
him collapsing against his pallet. Cold ground aggravated the stiffness caused
by days in the saddle. Nhaille ground his teeth against the litany of aches and
pains and cursed the youth that seemed to have fled without his notice.
“Riordan, it's not yet dawn.”
“I know.”
He leapt to his feet, ignoring the stiffness, the miscellaneous pains.
“Something wrong?”
“Yes.”
Her voice was distant as if she involved only half her mind in their
conversation.
“What is it?”
He noticed the sword in his hand, not even conscious of having drawn it.
“You were right. Going to Kanarek was a grave mistake. We've lost most of a
day's ride.”
Her words chilled him more than the cold. In nineteen years, he couldn't ever
remember her admitting to being wrong. So entirely un-Riordan like. He blinked,
sheathed the sword and accepted a cup of steaming tea from her outstretched
hand. Riordan took up residence beside the fire and regarded the map she'd
obviously been studying for some time.
“Is there another way besides across the plains?” she asked after a time.
“Not unless we go by way of the ruins of Bayorek. But that would take us
weeks out of our way. We don't have time.”
“No, we don't. But we'll be easy marks on the desert basin.”
Where had this mind for strategy come from? Nhaille took a sip of scalding
tea. “Right you are.”
“So speed is our best approach. Once we have the Sword in our keeping, we'll
have more options.”
In actuality, we'll have less. But he couldn't bring himself to tell her that
just yet, so he merely nodded mutely.
“We'd best break camp then.”
Nhaille moved toward her, unsure whether he should touch her. She practically
bristled with her own anguish. He knelt before her and grasped her gently by the
shoulders.
“We'll get there, Riordan.”
But she merely stared down at the map before her, tracing their path across
the plains of Kor-Koraan with the tip of her finger.
He released her. Forcing himself awake, he reached for his own kit. "Just
give me a minute and we'll be on our way.
#
Grass gave way to scrubby brush, which in turn degenerated into sand dunes.
The sun blazed on the glittering sand, reflecting itself back at them, doubling
its efforts. Seemingly endless plains made Riordan feel exposed and vulnerable.
She caught herself hunching down in the saddle, as if to make herself invisible.
Blowing grit worked its way into her mouth, the corners of eyes, and into
each fold of skin. Staring into the constant glare gave her a headache. Yet, in
their own way, these minor discomforts were a blessing. It kept her mind off a
multitude of other horrors.
In spite of the glare, her father's mutilated face swam before her mind's
eye. Each time she lay down to sleep, she saw him in the darkness, staring off
into the distance, a pawn to do Hael's bidding.
What a cruel irony. Had he known? She wondered if he'd given any thought to
his own fate beyond making provisions to save his city.
You left that to me. Did you actually think I was capable of it, my father?
Or was I just a last desperate measure?
The pain of loss, the hopelessness of the deed she faced, tore at her.
Nhaille flitted on the periphery of her consciousness, anxious to offer what
solace he could. Though she longed for the feel of his strong arms around her,
for the first time in her life she couldn't allow anyone to make it better. She
couldn't allow anything to weaken the will to do what she must.
Exhausting heat and lack of sleep caught up with her. She dozed in the
saddle, coming to herself seconds later, conscious of Nhaille's anxious eyes
upon her. The blinding glare became her entire world. She stared at it,
reassured by its constant agony.
The prism of light shifted, tinged toward magenta. Riordan blinked.
Columns of crystal towered over her, reaching into shadows high above her
head. Smaller stubby crystals stuck out at all angles from the wall. The floor
was polished as smooth as glass. Around her, the air vibrated in a single
harmonic note.
Distantly, Riordan could still feel Strayhorn's steady gait beneath her, even
as she gazed down that tunnel of magenta quartz. Not a tunnel, a cave, her mind
suggested.
A soft tread echoed through the corridors like a whisper. Riordan fled down
the halls of crystal. Above all, she couldn't let him overtake her. Something
she sought desperately lay at the center of those labyrinthine passageways. She
must reach it first.
With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a black-clad
form. A clasp of amber secured the neck of his cloak. A red plume decorated his
helmet. His visor obscured his face, but somehow she found that she knew him.
And while she raced through the corridors, he moved steadily toward her. As if
he had all the time in world.
The hum increased, leading her onward. She ran toward it, gasping for breath.
The hallway belched her into a massive chamber, polished to a blinding gleam.
Raising a hand to shield her eyes, Riordan looked to the glowing beam in its
center.
As if pulled on an invisible string, she was across the floor before she
became conscious of moving. Thrusting her hand into the brilliance, her fingers
closed on cool stone.
He burst across the threshold. Riordan whirled. In that instant she saw the
blue eyes that bored out from beneath his visor like jewels. Too late to stop
the arc of her swing. His aborted scream echoed through the crystal hallways.
She screamed herself as the plumed helm rolled across the floor.
Empty eyes blinked reflexively at her, already glazing over. Riordan looked
in horror at the sword she held in her hand. In disgust she tried to thrust it
away from her, but her fingers refused to open. Seemingly of its own accord, the
head slid along the floor, inching closer to the Sword.
A flash of light blinded her to all else. When her vision cleared, the head
and the mutilated body were gone. In her mind she heard his soul's soundless
scream.
And then his laughter in her mind.
Riordan lurched to her senses with a gasp. Carefully, she avoided Nhaille's
probing gaze.
“You'd do us both a service if you'd sleep at night rather than sitting up
studying maps,” he said quietly.
She looked at him then, noting the cool arrogance in his green eyes. I don't
have to take this, I'm the Queen. A pang of guilt swiftly followed the thought.
Nhaille was the only friend she'd ever had.
“I wasn't asleep.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I saw something.”
“The sun plays tricks on the sand.”
“It wasn't a mirage. I saw it in my mind.”
His eyes narrowed.
Riordan took a deep breath. He wouldn't believe her. Nhaille believed nothing
beyond his own experience, nothing he couldn't see with his own eyes, touch with
his own hands. He'd think she was cracking under the strain. To be quite honest,
I'm not so sure that's not the case. He was still staring at her, his expression
a combination of suspicion and worry. She'd only seen a look like that once,
when she was seriously ill. Daring his scorn and anger, she plunged into the
tale.
"I was running...through this crystal cave. Someone followed me, someone
whose face I couldn't see. All I knew was that I just had to get to the chamber
at the end of the tunnel. Then suddenly, I was standing in this shining room.
Whatever I was searching for was embedded in a block of crystal, but I couldn't
see it because it shone so brightly. I reached for it.
“Suddenly he was there, the one who chased me. I turned toward him, but it
was a sword in my hand, and--”
Nhaille froze. “And what?”
He wasn't laughing the way she'd expected him to. He should be telling her it
was just a moment of delusion brought on by the heat and lack of sleep. He
should be admonishing her for wasting his time with a fanciful tale. He should
be doing anything but staring at her with that look of concern on his face.