Riordan bolted back down the crystal hallways, searching for the junction where the floor began sloping downward. Footsteps echoed through the passageways. She forced her legs to carry her faster.

The junction loomed suddenly before her. Momentum carried her forward. She gripped the wall for balance and swung in this new direction. Her lungs burned for air as she dashed across the threshold of the Sword's resting place.

To find it occupied by a black-cloak figure.

A cry of defeat was torn from her throat. He whirled toward her.

The world spun. She felt the impact, saw the shower of red across the magenta quartz walls. Her headless body crumbled to the floor.

Riordan lurched to her senses. Sand swirled before her eyes, swept up the sure footfalls of Rau's horse. Sweat soaked her collar, leaking down into the silver strands of her hair.

Rau's voice dragged her back to reality. "Bad dreams?"

The sound of his voice caused another wave of sweat to break out across her forehead.

Was Rau blessed with the Shraal's gift of sight? Could he see inside her dreams? No, she decided with welcome relief. His tone was devoid of concern. He took pleasure in her discomfort, nothing more. Rau was predictable in his cruelty.

Terror ran its cold fingers down her spine. Why had the vision shown her this? Its meaning stabbed through her, cold and clear.

She must change the course of events or the Sword would be Rau's.

Riordan ran her finger over the groove in the leather thong. Now was the time to make her move, especially while she had a chance of unseating him and making off with his horse. Nhaille could deal with Rau when he caught up with him.

That thought brought a smile to her lips. Pity the poor Prince.

The groove in the leather was deep. Riordan tested its strength. The gash had weakened it. One strong pull ought to do it.

Casting a furtive glance at Rau, she found his gaze fastened on the growing bulk of the mountains before them. Slowly, she worked at the leather, deepening the cut she'd made with his sword.Delicate work. Too much movement would alert Rau to her deception. Too little would accomplish nothing. Riordan waited.

Just as she decided it could wait no longer, an opportunity presented itself. Twisting in the saddle, Rau cast a glance behind him, searching for the ever-present threat of Nhaille.

Throwing all her strength into one powerful tug, Riordan tore her hands apart. The leather snapped. She heaved herself upright, just as Rau turned back toward her.

Her fist caught him on the side of the head. Surprise was her ally. The blow knocked him off balance. He made a grab for his sword and missed. Deciding to use his hands to save his balance, he grasped the saddle.

Riordan swung herself into position. Her bound legs made movement awkward, but she managed to wedge herself against the horse's neck. She kicked out, using her legs as a battering ram, catching Rau beneath the jaw.

Still recovering from the earlier blow, Rau toppled. Riordan snatched after his sword, seizing it with both hands. She heaved, throwing the sum of her weight into the tug. The sword slid free of his scabbard in a flash of light.

Rau clutched at her legs, desperate to stop his fall. Grasping for purchase, her nails scraped across the leather saddle. But with Rau's sword in one hand and her other flailing helplessly in thin air, Riordan slid helplessly from the saddle.

Her shoulder collided with hard ground. Riordan gripped the sword for dear life and vainly tried to get her legs under her. The next impact came from above.

Rau had the advantage in height and weight. Unable to get the sword between them to slit his throat, she settled for ramming the hilt into his temple. The Prince cursed and dealt her a stinging blow across the face.

Riordan swung, cutting through his cloak into the leather on the back of his armor. Rau hissed in pain.

He rolled, using his superior weight to pin her sword arm to the crystal rock beneath them. He seized her free arm, stopping the punch headed for his jaw. Anchoring her other arm with his knee, he leaned on her chest with the sum of his strength.

She bucked against him, would have unseated him, had he not reached up to the neck of his cloak and yanked open the clasp.

She saw then it was not just a decorative pin at his throat, but a thin stake of amber. And it was poised inches above her right eye.

Rau glared down at her, panting with exertion. "Now what will it be, Your Majesty?"

CHAPTER NINE

Screams shattered the quiet morning air.

The people of Kholer looked up from their breakfast tables. Chores forgotten, they flowed into the streets.

The sight that awaited them froze the blood in their veins. They stared, mouths open in shock at the black-clad warriors swarming down the hill like a plague.

At the front of the army Hael's black and red standard fluttered in the morning breeze. Behind them billowed a vast cloud of smoke. As it drew near, they could make out the dark shapes of soldiers bearing torches.

"Close the gate," someone shouted. Too late.

With a thundering crash, the battering ram knocked the massive wooden door from its hinges. For a moment it tottered precariously on its side, then came smashing down in a rain of splinters. Barriers removed, the Haelian army streamed through the gates.

Citizens of Kholer scattered, rushing for their swords. Children snatched up pitchforks, women ran for butcher knives, elders wielded whatever weapons they could lay their hands on.

Smoke dimmed the sun within minutes. Orange flame danced across thatched roofs of huts and guttered down the supporting beams of barns and houses. Soon nothing but charred timber lay in its path.

Cries for help were trampled beneath the hooves of Haelian horses. Moans of the dead and dying blotted out all other sound.

Shock and terror worked in Hael's favor. Kholer raised their weapons only to find the tide of battle had already turned against them.

Just when those in Kholer were sure the Seven Hells had overflowed and spewed the damned upon the earth, a more horrifying sight burst through the city gates. Enough to stop even the bravest heart, many simply turned tail and fled. Those who remained fought harder than ever. For the alternative waited at their very gates.

Dead bodies tumbled through the entrance, falling over each other to accomplish the task demanded of them. Like a multitude of graves suddenly overturned, they surged into Kholer.

Soldiers soon discovered the cruel futility of trying to kill the dead. The blows of swords and axes did nothing to discourage their forward advance. Devoid of fear, long past pain, they merely cast aside the arms and legs that had been hacked off. Crawling, hopping, slithering on their bellies when no other means was left to them, they trudged onward.

Like a disease, they covered more of the city. And as the bodies of Kholeran citizens piled up in the center square, those still living watched their dead rise to fight against them.

# Muffled shouts filtered through Bevan's flaccid eardrums. Around him the stench of burning flesh reached his failing senses. Flames formed an orange fence against the sky. Someone thrust a sword into his hand. Bevan trudged forward, following in the loose ranks of the dead army.

He swung, cleaving through flesh before he hit the resistance of bone. Someone screamed. Nearby. Hard to see now, through that one decaying eye.

The blow knocked him back on his haunches. Putrid skin parted, tore. Though he felt no pain, the impact maddened him. Latent survival instincts kicked in. Bevan clambered to his feet.

A blurry face swam in his vision. The look of fear and loathing made him pause mid swing. No one ever looked at him like that before. A tendril of memory wound its way through his mind. For an instant he remembered his own gut-wrenching terror as Hael claimed Kanarek and turned him against his own people. The sword slipped from his swollen fingers.

Kill! The voice roared in his brain.

Bevan snatched up his sword and swung again, meeting the steel resistance of another's blade. Burning timber crashed beside him.

He felt the heat, knew in some lost portion of his mind that fire meant danger. But the shouting voice urged him on. Stepping over the bodies of his fallen comrades and city natives, Bevan marched deeper into the fray.

# "Touch her, you bastard and I'll skin you alive!"

Nhaille slammed a gloved fist against the outcrop that hid him behind a fan of crystal. He didn't dare come closer, didn't dare show himself, lest Rau make good on his threat to slit Riordan's throat.

"Harm one hair on her head..."

All those years while he'd taught her the nuances of combat, he'd never thought to warn her about the cruel things a madman could do to a woman. Somehow he always thought he'd be there to protect her. He'd failed even in that. If Rau harmed her...

He'd throw it all away -- Kanarek's revenge, his promise to his king -- for one clear shot at Rau. He'd toss the last nineteen years to the wind for the morbid satisfaction of closing his hands around that Haelian abomination's neck. He flexed his hands, imagining the last vestiges of life leeching from Rau's body.

Movement drew his attention. From his vantage point, he watched as Riordan heaved herself upright in the saddle and launched a two-footed kick at Rau. Nhaille had to restrain himself from shouting encouragements as the Prince toppled backward.

Perhaps his help was not so badly needed, he realized with a grim smile. Under the circumstances, Riordan seemed to have the situation under control. Since Doan-Rau had taken her captive, she'd done her best to make his life a living hell.

Nhaille squinted across the distance to bring Riordan into better focus. Her eye was healing. She seemed to be winning against Rau.

"Well done, Your Majesty!" he couldn't help whispering with pride. Riordan was his progeny, after all.

Pride deteriorated to alarm. Rau gained the upper hand. He watched impotently as they struggled on the horse, fighting the urge to rush to her aid. A futile gesture. It would merely blow his cover. He was too far away to be of any use. By the time he reached them, one would have control. It could mean the end of Riordan's life if it was Rau.

The amber stake flashed in the sun. Despite his vow, Nhaille bolted forward. He caught himself, afraid to startle Rau into sudden movement and accomplish the task for him.

Rau straddled Riordan. He raised the stake of amber poised to hammer it through her right eye into her brain. For several heart- pounding seconds they were frozen in that horrible tableau.

Nhaille swore through clenched teeth. "Don't do it, Rau."

# "Do it, Rau," Riordan hissed.

Her challenge caught him off guard. His fingers tightened on the stake of amber.

"Go ahead," she goaded him. "Stab the amber through my eye into my brain. Add me to your legions of zombies."

Her strange request took Rau by surprise. Plainly he didn't know what to make of this new tactic. He sat back heavily on her chest and cautiously awaited her next move.

"Do you have that great a death wish?" he asked incredulously, and she knew he'd taken the bait.

Got you now, Prince."On the contrary, it is you who would suffer. My body might do your bidding," she forced a self-effacing laugh. "You know I'd make a capable soldier."

Rau nodded warily, weighing her words, looking for the trick within them. But he kept the amber poised mere inches from her right eye.

"Unfortunately," Riordan continued matter of factly, "all knowledge of the Sword would be lost with my mind. Forever."

The hand holding the amber trembled. She noted the tiny movement. A master stake, she noted, examining its pointed end at much closer range than was comfortable. One that could control the others. Who could guess the limits of its power?

"Is that really what you want?" she asked softly. "To wander endlessly through the crystal caves?"

Riordan played the last card of her bluff.

"Believe me that's what you'll do. Only I have the knowledge of where the Sword is hidden. And I can tell you this, good Prince, you'd never find it on your own."

Rau's hand dropped to his side. He hooked the amber back into the loop at the neck of his cloak.

Snatching a handful of her vest, he yanked her upright. Riordan dragged in a ragged breath of relief. He'd bought the lie. She'd escaped the proverbial fate worse than death. For the moment. Her heart sank.

Great. And what am I going to do when we reach the mountain and he finds out Nhaille still has the map and I don't have a clue to the Sword's whereabouts?

This time Rau allowed her to sit upright on the horse, her hands bound behind her. He even slashed the leather bonds about her feet so she could sit in the saddle. An awkward arrangement, it was hard not to lean against him. Rau wasn't the kind of person she wanted to get that close to.

Riordan felt the hard muscles of his chest rigid against her back. Rau had a wiry strength, a nervous energy, in contrast to Nhaille's calmness and heavier build. For a moment she desperately longed for the security of Nhaille's arms around her, then she pushed the thought away.

Amethyst mountains towered over them, a jagged fence against the sky. They rode into its shade, welcome relief after countless days under the merciless sun.

Riordan reveled in its coolness. Sleep beckoned to her. Days and nights in Rau's company took their toll. She was tired of the relentless surveillance. Her eyes drifted shut, and she realized for the first time in days there was movement in her wounded eyelid.

A nap was perhaps possible.

Rau won't kill me until he knows for sure whether I can lead him to the Sword. Riordan surrendered to unconsciousness.

"My father often remarked," Rau said suddenly, the first words he'd uttered since their earlier skirmish.

Her eyelids flew open. "What?" She realized with horror that her head had fallen back against Rau's shoulder. Riordan jerked upright.

"My father used to say," he repeated. "That it was a shame Arais-Khun-Caryn had only sons."

Now what are you getting at, Rau?

She twisted to look at him, her face darkening."He said stock like yours would make for a good match." Rau's hand drifted from the reins up the length of her thigh to rest suggestively on her hip. Riordan caught a chilling glimpse of where the conversation was headed.

"Pity then, my parents had only sons," she said, schooling her voice to blatant disinterest.

"Ah, but I find now that isn't so."

Riordan offered a non-committal grunt.

"And to think. If your parents had not cloistered you away, you could have been that match my father so desired. Instead of war, I could have taken Kanarek by dowry."

"My father would never have given Kanarek to you. And you're forgetting the brothers before me."