CHAPTER TWELVE

Prisms of sunlight danced before his eyes. With a curse, Nhaille scrambled to his feet.

The sun had already climbed high into the sky. He looked about him urgently. All seemed in order. Oblivious to the lengthening day, Riordan still slept, breathing softly. Nestled against her, the Sword caught the sunlight and reflected it in rainbows on the rock around him. An efficient beacon for their many enemies.

The Sword had spent the night pressed between them like a lover. Its intimate proximity made him shudder in revulsion.For a moment he hated what it was, what it would do to Riordan. Rage seized him and he wanted to smash it against a rock.

Riordan stirred in her sleep, burrowing deeper into the blanket. Likely the first good sleep she'd had in days, he thought, envying her abandon. Then the full weight of his actions settled upon him.

Gods, Arais! What have I done? All the promises, the vows swept away in one thoughtless moment. Her chastity, her virginity, he'd claimed for himself when he'd solemnly sworn to protect her.

He was not some sixteen year-old soldier on leave, ripe to be persuaded by the first pretty face. He should never have allowed her to talk him into such a thing. He should never have weakened to his own selfishness. Whether or not they were victorious, nothing good could come of this new arrangement.

Her frank and honest desperation touched him, mingling with his concern for her. For days, he'd tracked Rau's footprints, afraid to the depths of his soul he'd lost her. Terrified that when he burst into the chamber it would be Doan-Rau who wielded the Sword and Riordan dead. Relief weakened his resolve.

And so he'd given her the only comfort he had to offer.

What a lie that is, his conscience countered mercilessly. Is that what you'd tell her father? Truth is you desired her. You took advantage of her fear, her willingness. And after you'd sworn to protect her. You're a disgrace to your dead King's faith in you.

Unaware of his torment, Riordan murmured in her sleep and turned over.

He reached out and gently shook her shoulder, careful not to touch the Sword. Its power worked in devious ways. It had corrupted him. Blame not the Sword. The deed was yours. His conscience would not even allow that small lie.

Nhaille shook her harder. "Come Riordan, you must get up. We've overslept."

She sprang awake, much as he had, searching instantly for the danger sure to be creeping up on them while they slept in broad daylight. Then her gaze softened and she looked up at him.

"Nhaille--"

There was a tenderness in her smile that hadn't been there before, betraying the intimacy they'd shared.

She had a knowledge of him he'd never meant to reveal. He swallowed another pang of shame. Never again he'd vowed. But Riordan conjured feelings long buried. Things he'd not thought of since...

Nhaille slammed the door on his thoughts.

"We must hurry." The words came out more sharply than he intended. "We've lost valuable time."

Bewilderment registered in her eyes, followed swiftly by hurt. He loathed himself for causing it. But what had taken place between them must not be allowed to happen again.

"What is it, Nhaille?" She reached for him, refusing to be so easily discouraged. "Are you troubled by what happened last--"

With a warrior's skill he evaded her. "Riordan, the day will not wait for us."

Walls came up around her thoughts. Hurt showed plainly on her face, but she absorbed the verbal blow with no more than a blink.

Without another word, she rolled up her blanket, gathered up the Sword and strode toward Strayhorn.

With a temper like hers, he should have suspected she'd be as passionate as she was beautiful. A brief memory of her sweaty body pressed against his, her hands tangled in his hair, flitted agonizingly through his mind. With a cry, he choked it back.

And fled like a coward toward the horses after her.

He felt her eyes boring into his back as they rode out. As he feared, her silence was fleeting.

"You're angry with me."

"No," he said in a tone that discouraged further discussion. I'm furious with myself. But Riordan, once she seized upon an idea, would not be dissuaded.

She was silent a moment, and he could almost hear the gears of her mind turning. "If I'm not to your taste, you should just say, I would understand. It's not as though I'm expecting a proposal of marriage. I'll likely be dead within the month, anyway."

"Gods, Riordan! It's not that. Have done with it. Please!"

"Is there someone else?"

The question nearly stopped his heart. Was she hell bent on torturing him? He reined in between two cauliflower bunches of crystal. "There's no one else. Hasn't been for nineteen years.""What is it then?" She looked him full in the face. Tears gathered in her eyes. "I thought--I thought that you found it as pleasurable as I did."

Pleasurable? Indeed, it had been wonderful. But to tell her that would only lead him down the path to further oath breaking. Not to mention the eventual breaking of her heart. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to appease her and set the conversation onto a more comfortable track. But the only words that crossed his lips were a hoarse plea. "Riordan, I beg you!"

The desperation in his voice got through to her when nothing else had. She shut her mouth and fell silent.

# What in Al-Gomar, the deepest hell, could it be now?

Riordan shook off the seductive vestiges of sleep. The sudden of abundance of rest left her sluggish, dull-witted. Obviously things were not as they were last night. She had no idea what had changed.

Clearly Nhaille's conscience still troubled him. Why, she couldn't fathom. In a few short weeks they could both be dead and it would cease to matter. His promises to her father, her chastity, would be so many ashes. Just like Kanarek.

Was it regret? Did he wish their relationship, now consummated, undone, banished?

Riordan brought her brows together in a deep frown. By his utter abandonment to their passion, she'd assumed the pleasure they'd shared was mutual. But when it came to ways of men, she had to admit she was hopelessly ignorant. Nhaille was the only specimen she'd had the opportunity to examine up close. Even after nineteen years, the turnings of his mind mystified her.

Why, if he'd enjoyed what they'd done together, was he acting as if he was on the way to his own funeral?

Perhaps, she thought with a sudden pang of embarrassment, he'd merely participated out of kindness, obliging her desperate wish.

Maybe he felt nothing for her beyond his oath to her father.

Shame brought another stinging wave of tears to her eyes. Had Nhaille bedded her only out of mercy? Could a man feign such passion?

I lost my heart to you long ago. His enigmatic words echoed in her mind. Damned if she could figure him out.

Even in the dirtiest duel, simple rules could be followed. Stab your enemy more times than he could wound you, and the victory was yours. In love, the rites were not so clear cut.

Should I be declaring victory or defeat? Her thoughts wandered after him as Nhaille put the spurs to Stormback and rode past her. Strayhorn followed automatically.

The brief respite from war was over. Her last wish had been granted.

With a deep sigh, Riordan gripped the Sword's crystal hilt. Well, that's one regret you won't be able to use against me, she told it silently and was relieved to discover it was true. This morning she felt wholly human. Memories of their passion crowded out the Sword's seductive call. Whatever fate had in store for them in the next few weeks, she vowed not to regret their one night together.

Beneath her hand the Sword thrummed softly. Her fingers stroked its cool smoothness. I'm here, it seemed to remind her.

Taking a deep breath, she emptied her mind. Its will nudged hers. Slowly, a little at a time, she let it in. This time the sensation was not as suffocating. She squeezed its influence into a small box in her mind. By exerting her own will she found she could maintain a margin of control, allowing for the fact that the Sword was not drawn and no ready victim awaited it.

Riordan looked around her. Seen through the Sword's consciousness, the landscape stood out in sharp relief. The sky above was so blue it stung her eyes. Tiny fissures and cracks spread across the rock around her like veins. If she concentrated, she could almost hear the earth breathing.

Shraal sorceries were very much tied to the land, she realized. A source of their great strength. Every outcrop, each rocky summit, even the individual grains of the crystalline sand vibrated with the same tone as the Sword. The entire landscape sang to it.

Beneath them, the earth thrummed with a low bass tone. Smaller rock emitted higher pitched notes. Carried aloft above it all the wind through the mountains wove a soprano melody.

Riordan dropped her hand. The song faded until there was only the ever-present whine of the wind.

"It knows."

Startled from his own thoughts, Nhaille looked back at her.

"The world knows the Sword is drawn."

"Yes."

She rode abreast of him, and he looked over at her guardedly. Riordan noted the plea in his gaze and nearly laughed.

All right, Nhaille, you needn't worry. We will speak of something other than last night.

"Through the Sword I can feel the," she paused, searching for the right words, "pulse of the land."

"The Sword draws its power from the stone of which it is crafted."

"From the ancient earth."

"Right." Her intuitive understanding seemed to please him. Then again, perhaps it was merely relief at a new topic of conversation.

"And if the land recognizes it as one of its own, then so would the Amber."

"Undoubtedly it does."

"Then Doan-Rau will know where I am." She considered the impact of that knowledge realizing for the first time how interconnected Shraal sorceries were. A weapon drawn leagues away affected another. No wonder the Shraal had nearly annihilated themselves.

"That is true. Our options are severely limited now."

My options have always been limited. Riordan smothered her self-righteous anger. It served only to strengthen the Sword's bloodlust.

"Since we spoke of other things last night..." She watched Nhaille's defenses slam shut on his thoughts and continued quickly.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to tell me about the Sword."

Nhaille drew an obvious breath of relief.

"Before I have to draw it again," she finished. "It would be better than trying to instruct me while I have its tip pressed against your heart."

"That it would," he said and shuddered.

She met his gaze. "I'm sorry, Nhaille. When I think of what could have happened--" "Put the matter to rest, Riordan. It was not your fault, and I am still in one piece."

His calm dismissal made her furious. "Don't make excuses for me! All my life I've been expected to sit still while fate walks over me."

He stared at her dumbly.

"Did it occur to none of you that I might have a brain of my own, that given resources, I might be able to change the course of fate?"

"Riordan--" he began, but she continued, raising her voice to drown out his words.

"If you really believed Hael was going to wipe us out, why didn't we launch the first strike?"

"That would have been a declaration of war. Think about it, Riordan."

"I have been thinking about it. If I'd been Queen, if it had been my kingdom, I'd have wiped out Hael as soon as I heard the prophecy."

"And what would have in return for your rash move? Two kingdoms locked in a vicious battle of your making. A land battered and barren, never to support life again. And all because of your own superstitions!"

His sudden anger shocked her to silence.

"It's fine to speculate long after the fact and the decision was not yours to make," Nhaille continued. Would you really have destroyed Hael knowing that you'd never be certain whether your actions were justified? And what would you have done when Hael rebuilt itself and declared war on you?"

"War was coming sooner or later."

"Only a fool would hasten war."

"In the end, what does it matter?"

"It matters, Riordan. Never think it doesn't. Thoughts like that will only get you into danger with the Sword."

Bitterness rose up inside her, despite her vows. "My father didn't really believe, did he? Yet he was content to sacrifice my life and a great deal of time for the possibility."

"That is not fair to his memory. I know he agonized long over his dilemma. With your mother dead, he had no one to share the burden."

Riordan shot him a bleak look. It didn't matter how long he'd debated or how much pain the decision had cost him. She'd been deprived of his love, of the life she might have had.

"I'm not obliged to share his opinions simply because we're blood kindred," she snapped.

"No." Nhaille frowned severely. "But you must alter your thinking. Do not forget, the great wars of Bayorek were fought by like- minded people. And do not forget the result."

That if nothing else, got through to her. Images of the lifeless plains of Kor-Koraan, the gutted towers of Bayorek flitted through her mind. Images from the history books. A land blackened by war, lying utterly useless for centuries. Until its people rebuilt their kingdoms from its ashes.

In time to start another war.Though she was loathe to admit it, Nhaille was right. Her way of thinking would lead her right down the Shraal's path to impulsive decisions, to ill-conceived declarations of war.