She made him a peace offering of her smile. "Then perhaps my loyal subject will forgive me for my bad humor."

Nhaille inclined his head. "I am your servant, Your Majesty."

"No, you're not Nhaille. You're my friend."

Her declaration took him off guard. She watched his expression soften as he accepted her offer of friendship. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "As you are mine."

She noticed the lines beneath his eyes and at the corners of his mouth were deeper than they had been even a few days ago.

Her friendship, it seemed, had its price.

#Moonlight etched the sand with blue shadow. The percussive hiss of sand punctuated each gust of wind. But Riordan paid the desert's quiet beauty no heed. The beat of one tiny heart absorbed her senses.

Her hand closed around the crystal hilt. She slid the Sword from its scabbard. Nearly invisible, it caught the moon's glow in a flash of molten silver.

The Sword's consciousness poured into her mind. Like a cold puddle it lay there, flooding all other thought.

"Concentrate." Nhaille's voice was barely a whisper on the wind.

Riordan wrapped her will about the Sword's and forced it into a low mutter in her mind. Almost bearable, as long as she didn't listen too closely to its seductive murmur. She opened her eyes and looked around her.

The desert stood out in sharp relief against the darkness of the sky. Beneath each rock, each scrubby bush the essence of life glowed like a beacon. Rabbits, mice, lizards in their burrows. She heard the rush of their quick panting breaths, the whisper of blood through tiny veins, the thump of miniature hearts, overlapping.

She released her hold on the Sword, momentarily giving it free rein. In the deep shadow of a rock, the lifeforce of its intended victim beckoned. A large mouse. Through the Sword's consciousness, she could see the inky gleam of its tiny eyes, the soft down of its pelt. Its aura blazed against the darkness. Riordan crept closer.

Like a divining rod, the Sword swung into position. Covering her footsteps beneath the wind's low sigh, she inched toward her miniature prey. The Sword sliced the shadows. The little creature looked up suddenly, its eyes bright with fear. It froze against the darkness. Belatedly, it sought its escape. Riordan sprang.

The Sword pierced its tiny breast. A sharp cry, surprisingly loud, echoed off the rock above. It struggled, briefly. Its lifeforce raced up the Sword, entering her with an electric shock. A blinding flash lit up the ground around her. Slowly, it faded. When she looked down, the small corpse had vanished into the Sword.

Mouse thoughts echoed in her brain, urgent and alien. She felt its tiny body cling to the dissipating thread of life, felt it accept at last the seductive call of death. Riordan cried out at the strangeness of it, her own fear mingling with its last dying thoughts. Desert wildlife scattered for the safety of their burrows.

"Riordan!" Nhaille's voice seemed to come from very far away. She remembered vaguely she ought to be listening. But the Sword, once its appetite had been tempted, hungered for more.

"Put the Sword down!"

She heard the command, desperately wanted to obey. Riordan turned toward the sound of his voice. The brilliance of his lifeforce froze the breath in her throat.

The Sword wanted him. Desire warped her thoughts, turning them from Nhaille's orders to its own dire purposes. And if the Sword wanted his soul, so did she.

"Focus your thoughts."

Nhaille's voice was lost in the roar of the Sword's hunger.

"Exert your will."

Her foot slid forward. She dragged it back, only to find the other inching in his direction. Oblivious to her will, her arm extended, the Sword's point reaching toward the lifeforce that blazed like a torch in the darkness.

Riordan hauled her arm back, but the Sword would not be dissuaded. Slowly, she felt her elbow straightening. "Gods, Nhaille,"

she ground out through clenched teeth, "I can't!""Yes you can, Riordan. Concentrate!"

For a moment she envisioned it vividly: the Sword plunging into his chest, the shocked look on his face, the blood blackened by the darkness, and lastly, his lifeforce rushing through her. His thoughts pressed next to hers in her mind.

"No!"

She dashed past him, tearing mind and body from the Sword's grasp. It hurt. Agony seared her brain, every muscle screamed in protest.

Something scurried away in the darkness, low to the ground. She seized on this new direction, hauling the Sword with her.

A grunt. A dying shriek, quickly silenced.

Riordan speared the Sword into the ground. Flesh parted under its razor-sharp edge, tiny bones crunched. Then it plunged into the sand and stayed there.

Rodent thoughts assaulted her mind. The Sword grasped after its elusive lifeforce, catching it, suspending it in time and space. The bright stab of its fear sliced through her mind like a knife. This time she opened her mind to feel it, then let it go.

Strength fled her. She crumpled to her knees and knelt there panting.

"Well," said a voice behind her. "That was marginally better than last time."

She looked up at Nhaille silhouetted against the moon. "It always wants you. Why?"

"You have strong emotions where I am concerned."

A fact, calmly stated. Well, at least he's starting to accept it. "Emotions that could get you killed," she said.

Nhaille offered his hand. His skin was warm to the touch after the coolness of the Sword. She let him pull her to her feet and into his arms. Soothing hands stroked her back.

"It's all right, Riordan. You haven't killed me yet."

She looked up at him, the moonlight gilding his hair. "Nothing would be worth it if I did."

# Bevan hefted the axe which he'd been about to lay into the side of a smoldering building and tested its weight. After weeks under the Amber's control, independent thought was foreign. He clung to the tendrils of his intermittent thoughts, clung to the concept of revenge. He flexed stiffening muscles and tested the axe's weight again. Spurred by will alone, his decaying arms obeyed.

Around him, a gathering of dead slaves stared back at him, awaiting his next move. Bevan turned his one rotting eye toward the line of Haelian soldiers sitting idly upon their horses while the army of the dead accomplished the ugly work of leveling the city of Kholer. The assembly of slaves followed his gaze.

Oblivious to the multitude of eyes upon them, the soldiers baked in their armor under the sun and talked of families back home and the leave to come. Through the Amber Bevan found he could hear the sluggish thoughts of the other dead. He sent out an order of his own. Shaken from their stupor, the dead raised their battle axes.

"Hael?" one darkly tanned soldier said to his fellow. "Why would you want to stay inland? When this," he encompassed the tumult around him in a wide sweep of his arm, "is all over, I intend to take up residence in Golar by the sea.""Assuming we conquer Golar," said the other soldier. A tremor of unease betrayed his voice.

The tattered rebellion crept closer. Bevan seized his thoughts of revenge and held fast, closing his mind to all else.

"Of course we'll take Golar! Within the month, half the map will belong to Hael. Once we've been decorated for our," a wry smirk twisted his mouth, "bravery, we'll have our pick of the spoils. Me, I've got my eye ona plot of land overlooking the ocean."

The other soldier cast a glance over his shoulder to be sure they weren't overheard. "What do you think of the rumors? About the Sword? About the warrior-princess?"

"Rumors!" He spat in the dirt. "Remnants of Kanarekii espionage I say. A pitiful defense at that. Did they really think tales to frighten children would scare off the Haelian army?"

His companion shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Behind them, Bevan raised the battle axe and threw the sum of his last conscious thought encouraging the other dead to follow suit.

"More than rumors I'd say. Didn't you hear what happened to Major Gernz?"

"Gernz had not the stomach for the task, nor the courage to risk desertion. He faked his own death."

"Loraan was supposedly with him when he died. The man's spooked. Been looking over his shoulder all week like he saw a ghost."

The other soldier snorted in disbelief. "The ghost of Major Gernz, I'd wager."

He turned to survey the battle behind him. Bevan struck.

The blow toppled the warhorse. With a shriek of agony, the magnificent animal crumpled, unseating its rider. Man and beast floundered on the ground. The soldier reached for his sword, only to receive the edge of Bevan's battle axe instead.

His companion reined swiftly about, in time to see the hoard of corpses surging toward him like a rancid creek overflowed.

Skeletal hands gripped his legs. A swipe of his sword did nothing to stem the endless tide of them. Screaming, he was yanked from his horse. His desperate shrieks disappeared beneath the press of dead bodies.

Victory--such an alien concept to Bevan, it took a moment for the knowledge they were winning to seep into his decaying brain.

He summoned his thoughts, sending out the order for more of the dead to join them. One by one the former victims of Kanarek turned from the pillage of Kholer and advanced on the soldiers of Hael.

Larz reined in on the rise and stared in horror at the tide of bodies surging toward the Haelian lines. In terror Haelian soldiers backed away from the rising tide of dead bodies. Shouting above the chaos, the Captain ordered them back in formation. But they balked at venturing further into the fray. It took a frightening amount of cajoling to get his orders obeyed.

He was rapidly losing control of the Amber. With each lapse it became harder to regain command. Fear battled for control of his mind, causing another lapse in his concentration. Above all, he didn't want to end up one those shambling dead bodies.

Haelian soldiers thundered past him. He stared aghast at the turmoil breaking loose. Against the dead they were vastly outnumbered. This wasn't supposed to happen. Something had gone terribly wrong with the Amber.

# "Steady now."

Riordan flowed through the shadows like liquid darkness, intent on the lifeforce that waited only a few feet in front of her. Coyote.

Crouched on the low hill, it tipped its snout toward the moon. Its undulating cry swept through her. She hugged the shadows, keeping the Sword close to her body so its translucent light wouldn't give her away. Easier to stay hidden now that they had the foliage of trees and shrubs to conceal them.

"Remember what happened last time."

Nhaille's voice was devoid of accusation. But the warning lodged in her mind. She had to master the Sword. The entire coast depended on her ability to do so.

"This time you must maintain control."

Riordan opened her mind, slowly, a little at a time. The Sword's cold consciousness flowed into every space she left it. She forced her iron will against it, confining it to the tiny parcel in her mind. Still it taunted her, murmuring seductive thoughts. She ignored it and focused on the task before her.

In the moonlight the desert was a surreal pattern of light and shadows, flecked with bright spots of life. The coyote's essence glowed brightest of all. Riordan flattened herself against the ground and crept toward it.

"Careful," Nhaille cautioned. "Remember surprise is always your best ally."

Providing it isn't the Sword that surprises me.

Grass tickled her nose, she kept the Sword pressed to her side. She knew this maneuver well. Had practiced it many time under Nhaille's tutelage but never dragging the Sword of Zal-Azaar at her side. And her last few attempts had been embarrassingly unsuccessful.

The coyote sniffed the midnight air. But she was standing up wind, and it soon went back about the business of broadcasting its keening cry over the countryside. Riordan peeked cautiously over the edge of the summit.

With the victim in plain sight, the Sword's hunger soared. She slammed the force of her will against it and was horrified to find her effort succeeded only in marginally dampening the Sword's desire.

Summoning the totality of her will, she smothered the flame of the Sword's yearning. It rebelled, battering the walls of her control, demanding its desperate hunger be appeased. Riordan concentrated on moving slowly forward. She swung the Sword into place.

Air whistled by her. Ground rushed by beneath her feet. Another aborted howl, then the resistance of soft flesh and jarring bone.

Bracing her consciousness for the onslaught, she drove the blade home. Blood splashed in black droplets across her boots and leggings. The coyote uttered one last agonized cry and fell silent.

Animal thoughts ran rampant through her brain. For an instant she saw the black and white world through its panicked eyes, felt the pain lance through its side, the rush of warm blood leaking into the sand. As if she died with it, she felt its last thoughts fading into darkness.

Unfettered, the Sword's desire roared to life. Riordan knew that if she turned, she'd see Nhaille's life blazing against the darkness.

Its appetite whetted, the Sword hungered for more.

Desire raced through every vein. She felt it from head to toe, reveled in it, became it.

Cold reason dampened her ardor. People depended upon her. She had to do better. At first the task overwhelmed her. But the tighter she wound her will about the Sword's hunger, the easier it became. Slowly, she forced its presence back into the tiny corner of her mind. Clenching her fist on the Sword's crystal hilt, she lowered it to the ground.

Still, it would have been so easy to whirl upon Nhaille. Her mind turned the thought over, considered it.

With a cry, Riordan thrust its point into the damp earth and let go."Much better." Nhaille walked up the hill toward her, smiling broadly. Her success pleased him.

"Marginally better," she said, using his words.

"Greatly improved from my vantage point."

He was trying to encourage her. Nhaille rarely offered compliments.

"Not so greatly improved from mine," she told him reluctantly. "I still could have killed you. The thought was in my mind. I couldn't help it."

"But you managed to control it."

The relief in his voice was obvious. He didn't think I could do it. The thought made her angry. Fear overruled annoyance. A near miss, Nhaille had every right to be concerned. Perhaps deep down he was as terribly afraid as she.

"I managed to control it," she admitted. "But just barely. It could easily have gone otherwise."

"It didn't. Now you know you'll be able to accomplish the grave task set before you."

Riordan thought of the few miles that still lay between them and Kholer and her rapidly approaching destiny. Too soon. She wasn't at all prepared.

"Nhaille, this is insanity. Wielding the Sword in battle against the Amber is not like cutting down coyotes and rabbits. I'm not ready."

Even in the shadows, she could make out the somber look on his face.

"It matters not. We've run out of time."

# In a flurry of hooves, Rau crested the hill and gaped in dismay at the chaos below him. What should have been the clean lines of black and red, the Haelian army deteriorated into a riot of color nearly overwhelmed by the brown decay of the army of the dead.

He had to look several times at the scene to understand it. Soldiers who should have been supervising Kholer's downfall now stood hip deep in mewling bodies that clutched and tore at their uniforms.