Must be sweltering in it! Rau suppressed a grin. Protocol was protocol. This was the palace, after all.

Beside him, the wizened Gamaliel was nearly overwhelmed by his robes of crimson. The brilliant hue only served to wash the color from his pallid face. But his beady black eyes were ever watchful, absorbing every nuance in the vast gathering around him.

For several moments Rau lingered on the outside of their circle, waiting patiently for the King to take notice of him. He loathed palace protocol, rarely adhered to it in private. But a victory celebration was not the time to flaunt social conventions. He waited, knuckles white against the crystal chalice and tried to keep an equally tight grip on his composure.

"Ah," said the King, at last looking up. "Congratulations are most definitely in order for a successful campaign."

Rau bowed to his father.

"Well executed, Your Highness," Gamaliel agreed with a deep bow of his own.

Prince Rau raised his glass with much flourish. "To Kanarek."

He took a sip of his wine and grinned at his own sarcasm. When he looked up, however, his father's gaze held his own with disturbing seriousness.

"To the Shraal, ancestors of us all," the King countered, raising his own chalice, "who invented the magic that has seen us victorious."

Rau glowered briefly in his direction, then swiftly hid the expression behind the rim of his glass. Would he never earn the man's praise, he wondered, choking back rising anger. All his life he'd watched as the adoration he so desperately sought was bestowed upon his younger siblings. Surely his father could spare some encouragement for his ambitious heir. Fishing for the compliment he craved, Rau raised his glass again.

"Today Kanarek, tomorrow the coast."

"Gods willing," the High Priest amended swiftly, loathe to tempt fate.

With arrogance fueled by a good measure of wine, the Prince scoffed openly at Gamaliel's warning. "Kanarek's King makes a fine soldier, don't you think?"

His father's glance flickered in warning from the wineglass back to Rau's face. Rau read the warning in the look and promptly dismissed it. Draining his glass, he motioned for a servant to refill it. "Not only do we have that wily old fox under our command, we have the riches of an entire kingdom at our disposal." He shook his head in wonder at his own genius. "And our good friend, the King of Kanarek, is poised to be nemesis of his own kind...." He gulped down yet another glass of wine and beamed openly at his father. Surely this time the approval would be forthcoming. "You have to admit, it is a brilliant plot."

"Hush!" The High Priest glanced furtively over his shoulder at the crowd.

"The valley is not yet won," the King said. "Surprise was our ally in the conquest of Kanarek. By now the others will be warned." "The valley will soon be ours," Rau insisted. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a petulant child. What was it about his father that reduced him to an awkward boy long after he'd proved his manhood in battle?

"Let us hope so."

"Even if they took to the hills with every kitchen knife and pitchfork they possess, we will defeat them easily. And then they'll find themselves drafted into our army of the dead!"

"No battle is ever easy," the King admonished. "Never forget Hael will have to reign over this vast kingdom once it is established."

"That worry is for another day," Rau dismissed his father's worries with false bravado. Not what he wanted to hear on the eve of his victory. Apparently, the parental admiration he'd sought was not forthcoming. He searched the crowd for his peers. Alas, no one under fifty was to be found so close to the King.

He looked back to see a meaningful glance pass between King and Priest.

"Do not forget the legend of the warrior-princess."

Rau gaped at his father. The fear in the old man's voice made him shiver despite the heat.

"Surely you don't believe that nonsense of prophecy and another heir?" Rau threw up his hands in frustration, remembering too late the crystal chalice that went sailing off into the gathering. Wincing, he watched as it crashed in a rain of crystal shards amongst a band of revelers.

Taking the gesture for a celebration of his conquest, the crowd applauded.

Having no option but to continue the charade, he bowed to his admirers. A black-robed servant appeared at his elbow with another glass. Behind him, he could feel the watchful eyes of the King and his most trusted advisor boring into his back. He swallowed his embarrassment and turned to face them. "The House of Caryn now reside among the leagues of the dead," he whispered harshly into the silence. "I know, I counted them myself."

"It is a foolish man who tempts fate," Gamaliel warned. "Do you not think it strange that you razed the city of Kanarek and came away with neither the Sword nor the map to its hiding place?"

The comment brought a sobering scowl to Rau's face. "The Sword of Zal-Azaar is as much legend as the story of the warrior- princess."

"Is it?" the old man asked. "Have you never wondered what happens to the souls that once inhabited the bodies of your dead warriors? Have you never wondered why the legends spoke of two weapons?"

"Their souls mean nothing to me as long as their bodies do my bidding."

Giving the Crown Prince a long disapproving glance, Gamaliel shambled off, only to stop in the shadows several feet away. "The Sword of Zal-Azaar was made to counter the jewel that lies at the center of your strategy," he said quietly. "And if you were wise, you'd not mock its name."

Uttering a deep sigh, Rau watched the old priest depart. "Honestly father, I don't know why you retain him."

"He is an old and trusted friend."

"Well it's time you found another. Gamaliel grows feeble in his old age."

His feeling of euphoria was rapidly deteriorating into one of despondency. He wanted nothing more than to be gone from the obligations of court and free to celebrate his victory in a fashion more deserving of the months of work that had led up to this day.

But his father was still staring at him with that same disapproving, worried look on his face. And he'd not yet given him leave. His deepening frown finally drew the King's pity. As if realizing he'd not given his son a word of praise, he asked suddenly, "Have you no friends of your own to share our victory with? No special lady?"

"For my consort," Rau scoffed, "Only the mythical princess of Kanarek will do."

His father shot him a cold look. "Watch what you wish for."

"You don't really think she exists?"

"Foolish is the man who underestimates his opponent," the King said. "Remember that, son."

Rau's eyes narrowed and he finished his wine in a single gulp. Spying a familiar figure in the crowd, he said quickly, "Ah, there is Captain Larz. By your leave, sir?"

Without waiting for his reply, Rau dove into the crowd.

He bypassed Captain Larz with no more than a nod, deciding suddenly that in his present mood, his own company was preferable. Smiling and nodding, enduring a multitude of congratulatory slaps on the back, he made his way to the balcony on the far side of the Great Hall.

Mercifully, it was unoccupied. He slumped against the cool marble. The night was unseasonably warm, the heavy satin cloak with its amber clasp was annoyingly hot. Long, brown hair clung to the back of his neck in sweaty curls. Belatedly, he regretted not tying it back in its customary braid.

Tossing the cloak over the marble railing, he debated shedding the leather vest laced tight across his broad chest. He couldn't run the risk of being caught on the balcony of the great hall clad in nothing but a linen shirt and breeches, he decided. That was for another sort of celebration all together.

It should have been the finest night of his life. He had planned to wander through the King's ball, collecting comments and drinking wine until the world retreated behind a haze of drunken euphoria. And then he had planned to take his pick of the banquet of women decorated in multi-colored silk. Perhaps two or three, he reflected grimly. But instead he'd gone searching for his father's approval, and therein lost the stomach for the rest of it.

Months of work had gone into this venture. Years in fact, if he counted the portion of his youth lost pouring over the dusty old scrolls in the chapel. It was there he'd first come across the old rhyme about the Sword and the Amber.

The desert is a shade of night Of blue shadow and bone white light Across the arid desert sea The crystal mountains call to me

There within a tomb of stone Lies a blade that owns my soul Now I believe I've glimpsed Hell's fires Let the desert be my funeral pyre The haunting poem stayed with him as he passed from youth into manhood. And one day a disgruntled prince had looked out over the confines of his father's kingdom and decided to turn a boy's dreams into a man's reality.

All those months, baking under the merciless desert sun, searching by every map ever set to parchment for the Amber's tomb.

Endless scorching days and freezing nights spent in the saddle, while the vicious winds drove sand into every layer of clothing and every crease of skin.

And yet, he had been victorious. He had conquered Kanarek. Rau glanced back into the room that still pulsed with color and laughter, finally sighting his father's purple cloak.

"I did this for you," he told the King's unsuspecting back.

Still, a line from the rhyme nagged at the edges of his mind, one he hadn't shared with his father.

Let their kingdoms fall before me And I shall be her rightful Queen.

The Shraal had it wrong, Rau thought. He would be the rightful King. He would rein over the entire coast.

A shadow moved between Rau and the light. He tensed momentarily, going for the sword slung low across his hips. But the shadow smiled and moved into the beam of light shining through the doorway.

"Your Highness."

"Captain Larz."

"At your service."

Rau burst into raucous laughter. "That you are, Captain. Won't you join me?"

"A glorious night," Larz offered, eyeing his commander nervously.

"That it is." Turning away to hide the extent of his drunkenness, Rau leaned his forearms on the railing and stared down into the square. One of the soldiers had tumbled into the fountain. A group of giggling young ladies were trying unsuccessfully to pull him out. Larz, following the Prince's gaze, recognized his man in the fountain and shifted uncertainly.

"They fought hard for our victory," he said at last.

The women's laughter drifted upward to the balcony, followed by a loud splash as the drunken soldier slipped once again from the ladies' grasp.

"A hard campaign," Rau agreed, and almost chuckled at the concerned look on Larz's face. "They deserve their night of merriment."

Larz relaxed visibly. "And you, Your High--"

The Prince dismissed the title with a wave of his hand. Though they shared a camaraderie in battle, in the palace Larz was a model of decorum. "Rau," he insisted. "We are alone."

"Yes, Sir." Larz glanced at the soldier who, now sobered by the cold of the fountain, was clambering to his feet under his own power. "I'd have thought to find you out among them."

Rau sighed. "At court we must keep up appearances. Rest assured, I'll have my celebration later."

"When we take Kholer."

"The night we take Kholer, I shall run nude through that fountain," Rau said. "Regardless of what my father thinks."

Unsure whether to smile, Larz merely nodded.

"There will be weeks of hard battle between here and Kholer."

"Our army grows with each village," the captain said and shuddered visibly. In an attempt to cover the reflex, he tipped his goblet high.

Rau looked down into his own and found it empty. He glanced up at Larz. "The legend of Zal-Azaar, do you believe it, Captain?"

Larz snorted. "Stories to entertain old women and frighten small children. No more."

"What makes you so sure?"

The captain fidgeted with his gauntlets.

"If the tale of the Amber turned out to be true," Rau prompted using his father's argument to cover his doubts, "why not the Sword and the mythical princess?"

"That is a question for men greater than I," Larz said.

"Perhaps." Rau stared into the darkness.

"You don't believe in the warrior-princess," the captain asked anxiously. "Do you, Sir?"

"Of course not." His certainty sounded forced, even to his own ears.

For a moment neither made any further attempts at conversation.

"Well," Larz said at length, "I must see to the men." He laughed with forced cheerfulness. "We don't want them tearing up our city in their zeal."

"Good night to you, Captain."

This melancholy mood was not going to pass, Rau thought bitterly. Behind him the crowd of dignitaries was thinning. The ice- sculptures on the banquet table had melted into silver puddles, and the lavish spread looked as though it had been plundered as thoroughly as Kanarek. Empty goblets cluttered every flat surface. A few had even been thrust into the hands of marble statues and wedged between the branches of the potted topiary. Exhausted servants desperately tried to keep the carnage to a minimum and failed.

Rau turned back into the humid air. Despite the heavy perfume of honeysuckle, it was as if even the sky pressed down upon him in displeasure.

But I have made us great. Our praises will be sung for hundreds of years. He wondered absently why that thought did nothing to lift his mood.

The memory of Kanarek's King staring lifelessly at him in defiance had taken root in his mind and refused to leave.The man was dead, he told himself sternly. All expression died with him. It was his imagination, nothing more. He stared into the night as the sound of merry-making faded.

For a moment his vision misted and he had a sudden image of a silver-haired woman staring down at him with piercing gray eyes.

The vision was gone as swiftly as it came. There was nothing before him but a flash of gray against the black sky. Dawn.

Rau contemplated the empty goblet. He turned to go back into the now quiet hall.

Suddenly, he whirled and tossed the wineglass high into the sky.

Caught in the light of the lanterns, it flickered, then crashed to the cobblestone like a falling star.