The spoils of Kholer, his by right of conquest, lay ripe for plundering in the castle. Buildings, which by now should have been no more than smoldering ash stood remarkably intact.

Before his eyes one of his men tumbled from his horse to a chorus of flat lifeless screams. Zombies fell upon him like hungry sharks.

The stench of the dead, no longer confined to one quadrant but scattered across the city, rose in a sickening wave above the battlefield. The still air did nothing to dissipate the stench. Having been away from it for several weeks, the odor hit him as though he'd run straight into a brick wall.

Horrified, he watched as yet another of his men fell to the dirt and was trampled. His eyes scanned the field for Larz' plume, noting with growing horror how few plumed Haelian helms he could pick out. From the chaos on the field his own worst mistake laughed back at him.

Panic gripped him, real and immediate. He'd lost it all. Everything he'd worked for, destroyed by his own hand. An electric jolt of undiluted rage coursed through his veins. It couldn't be so. He wouldn't let it.Cool logic seized his thoughts, setting them at once to order. A setback. Like many others before it. He would deal with it. Set things to rights. The prize would still be his.

Never should he have left this conquest in Larz's hands. Though capable, Larz was merely human. Shraal blood did not run in his veins. Larz did not have Rau's natural affinity to control Shraal sorcery.

Rau snatched the Amber clasp from the neck of his cloak. The power stone caught the sun in a golden burst of light. He wrapped his fist around it. The shard of stone, impossibly sharp, tore into his palm. He looked down to see crimson droplets splash down the front of his cloak. He watched as tiny beads of blood ran along the Amber's spear and disappeared into the stone.

The Amber had been bloodied. And now, tasting his blood, it wanted more.

Spreading out, as if through the deep roots of a tree, his consciousness bled into each fleck of amber on the field. His mind recoiled, but he forced it onward, down into the depths of a multitude of dying minds.

Plunged into a world of half-thoughts and fleeting thoughts, he fought to regain his control.

Decaying minds tore at his consciousness, fraying the edge of his mind. Rau gathered the threads of his will and hauled them tight, resisting the force that threatened to shatter his mind and send him careening over the edge into insanity. Slowly, painfully, he layered his will upon the weaker minds of the dead.

A million barbed spikes assaulted his senses. Clutching his head, Rau stumbled backward. The Amber tumbled from his hands. It struck a rock, rebounded.

Poised on the edge of the hill, it teetered for a second, then plunged down the slope.

Below him, the army of the dead stopped in their plunder, looking up in amazement at the black-clad figure towering above them.

With a cry, Rau leapt from his horse and scrambled after the stone of power.

His fingers closed around empty grass. The amber rolled from his grasp, continuing its career downhill. Encouraged by the lapse in control, the former army of the dead continued their revolt with renewed fervor.

Grass crushed beneath his flailing feet. Rau skidded into slickness. Balance eluded him and he tumbled face down. Ahead of him the Amber bounced merrily downward.

With each revolution, he caught a glimpse of the tumult in the valley below. Haelian riders seemed to disappear into a swarming mass of dead bodies intent on their destruction. For each one his army hacked down, another rose in its place to continue.

Missing limbs, sometimes even half a body, the dead fought on.

Rocks bruised ribs, despite the thick leather of his armor. He rolled, wedging one leg beneath him. Haelian soldiers rushed past him in aid of those downhill. Rau threw himself away from stampede of trampling hooves.

Gods, don't let them crush the Amber!

As if enjoying his mad dash after it, the amber ricocheted off another rock, coming to rest finally among a thatch of grass. He dove after it.

The impact squeezed every ounce of air from his lungs. His fingers closed around the shard of amber. Panting, Rau tightened his grip and flexed his will.

Strengthened by fury, his power flowed outward. Like a black wave it poured down the hill into the fray. Their thoughts of rebellion interrupted, the dead stared up in confusion.

Hooves smote the ground in front of him. He looked up into the sun to find Larz towering over him. An expression of extreme relief brightened the Captain's face."Very good to see you, Sir."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the brush ahead something moved. Small things scurried out of its path. Nhaille tensed, his hand going automatically for his sword. Irresistibly, Riordan found her fingers curling slowly around the Sword's hilt. Its curiosity aroused, it wanted whatever was there in the bushes. She eased the Sword from her scabbard, noting that Nhaille did the same. His eyes shifted to the side, carefully watching the shadows around them. She glanced behind them. But the path, now shaded by the deeper darkness of trees, was empty. Nhaille urged Stormback to a slower trot and she crowded in beside him. He looked sideways at her, warning her to silence. In the gloom she saw the dull gleam of his sword.

Impatient with desire, the Sword roared in her mind. It fixed on the flicker of life, demanding urgently she make claim in its name.

Her own instincts urged her to turn tail and run. But Nhaille rode steadfastly onward, his eyes fastened on the darkness ahead of them. The Sword goaded her toward the life that beckoned, toward the feast it hoped to have.

Nhaille raised his hand, bringing them to a halt. Riordan waited, the Sword half drawn, her mind holding its influence in tight rein.

He whistled. The sound echoed off the nearby rocks, dying quickly into silence. The wind ruffled the treetops, snatching at the wisps of silver hair that escaped from her helm.

From the bushes came an identical signal. Dark shapes gathered around the trunks of trees.

Riordan tensed, going for the Sword. Nhaille's hand seized her wrist.

"Not to worry, they're ours."

Her eyes widened, looking at the bedraggled lot that crawled out of the brush. Kanarekii uniforms, more modern than their own, yet having seen hard wear. Elbows, knees showed through threadbare patches. Their spiked helmets were battered and dented.

A line of rigid jaws and grim expressions greeted her.

It took all her resolve not to bolt as the group surrounded her. She turned to Nhaille for reassurance, and in doing so, shook loose more of her hair.

A collective gasp went through the gathering as tendrils of her silver-blonde hair fell to her shoulders. As one they knelt before her.

My subjects. And now I will truly have to be Queen. Dismayed, Riordan realized she didn't have the faintest idea how to begin.

Her stomach clenched. The Sword's desire flared. She dragged in a deep breath, slammed the Sword back into her scabbard, and faced her subjects with a calm she didn't feel.

# About time, Nhaille thought as the dark-clad warriors stepped from the bush. He'd been watching the bushes for several nights now, praying the rebellion hadn't fallen prey to the city's fate.Beside him, Riordan sat rigidly on Strayhorn, staring at the motley array of Kanarekii before her. It came to him suddenly, she didn't have a clue what to say, had no idea what the etiquette entailed. Should have taught her palace protocol, he realized about a decade too late. Until now it hadn't seemed as important as the details of survival.

"Riordan," he whispered. "They're still on their knees."

She came to her senses with a start.

"Rise." The command cut through the night air, unmistakably imperious. The gathering looked up at the severe woman on the horse and leapt to their feet. Eyes shifted to the crystal blade belted to her hip, then nervously back to Nhaille.

"As you've deduced," Nhaille said. "This is Riordan-Khun-Caryn. Your Queen."

Their gazes flickered briefly to her face then fastened once again on the Sword.

"And yes, that is the Sword of Zal-Azaar."

Jaws tightened, he suspected only their training prevented them from taking a step backward.

"Precious few of you."

"Yes Captain." One of the men stepped forward. A recent scar cut across his right cheek. Trouble, Nhaille deduced. And not long ago. "Haelian riders patrolled the area for some time. We lost quite a few men in skirmishes with them."

"And now?"

"According to our sources, yesterday Hael attacked Kholer."

Nhaille swore.

Riordan looked across at him, pale and regal in the darkness. "You were right, Nhaille. We're out of time."

Our people, he thought with a stab of rage. Kanarekii countrymen, struck down in their homes, then deprived of their rightful rest and sent scurrying across the countryside to turn others into the same abominations.

"My father?"

The question sprang from Riordan's lips before he could warn her otherwise. A dozen pair of eyes fastened upon her. Riordan swallowed, and Nhaille watched her squirm under the scrutiny of those politely inquiring eyes. The press of bodies clearly made her nervous. Getting used to the constant company of others would be a difficult adjustment for her after so many years in relative solitude. "Is my father still among them?"

The leader looked quickly from Nhaille back to Riordan, dragging his eyes away from the Sword. When it was plain that Nhaille would not to intervene and he'd have to speak to the Queen himself, he said, "Yes, Your Majesty. It pains me to tell you he is."

She absorbed the information with a nod. The Kanarekii waited expectantly for her to say something else. "Are there more of you?"

"Several bands, Your Majesty. Stragglers here and there."

Not enough to do Hael any serious damage, but they had the Sword. Now was the time to put the prophecy to the test, the hour of Kanarek's revenge. No matter what happened, Hael would never forget the name of Riordan-Khun-Caryn, nor the Sword of Zal-Azaar.

"Then I suggest we gather what is left of our countrymen," Riordan said, "and make haste for Kholer."# Conspicuous, that's what they were. Nhaille glanced back at the line of Kanarekii warriors that rode behind them. Why not just unfurl the banner and announce our arrival to Hael?

But there wasn't any other way he could think of to move an army (dare he even think of such a small gathering that way) across the countryside. Each whisper sounded inordinately loud in the quiet air, every horse's footfall a stampede. At least there are more eyes watching our back. That one thought eased his mind. At least now we needn't do it all ourselves.

A low whistle brought swords to hand. He peered into the darkness and strained his ears for the familiar series of notes. Nhaille was sure his heart beat loud enough to be heard across the countryside as they waited. The whistle was repeated.

He whistled back.

Brush parted. A small band of men stepped into the road. A salute. "Captain." A voice long forgotten. Coren-Nhaille-Penden.

There was gray in his cousin's hair. The sight forced him to consider his own age, which was only a few years younger than Penden. Gods, do I look that bad myself?

Nhaille returned the salute. "Greetings cousin."

"Very good to see you, Sir. We heard rumors. We feared the worst."

He cast a discreet glance at Riordan, taking in the Sword in that one glimpse. Military discipline took over. No gawking as the others had done. Penden bowed. "Your Majesty."

Riordan accepted the show of allegiance with a nod. "How many are there of you?"

"Ten with me. Another fifty or so, scattered across the hills."

"Weapons?"

Nhaille smothered a smile at her imperial tone, amazed at how quickly she had assumed control, though he could tell she was still terrified underneath.

"Stores hidden here and there," Penden said. "Not a lot, Your Majesty."

Another nod. She seemed to have come to the same realization he had. Any pair of hands was a help in the battle.

"Spread the word. Call in the men. Arm yourselves with anything you can lay hands on. We ride for Kholer."

A horse whinnied nearby. One of the men led Penden his mount. He took his place behind Nhaille while his men melted into the night to carry out the Queen's orders. Their numbers grew with each day. And while it felt good to have the kinship of their countrymen around him, family at his back, it also felt oddly stifling. He doubly pitied Riordan for having to adjust so quickly to being surrounded by people.

He noted Riordan's discretely nervous glances at the men around them. In her lifetime, she'd never seen a city teeming with life, never witnessed a crowd in motion. Homecoming would be difficult, he realized, thinking for the first time about the future.

For both of them.

# Chaos reined in the valley. Riordan stared over the summit into the bowl carved by the hills. The valley seethed with writhing bodies.

Haelian soldiers hacked at leagues of the dead, on foot and from horseback. Bodies littered the hillside, the recently dead scattered amongst those in a state of advanced decay.

Soldiers of the dead. Riordan squinted into the dying sunset. But why are they just lying there? Another thought occurred to her.

Has something gone wrong with the Amber?

Beside her Nhaille was apparently coming to the same conclusion. "Prince Doan-Rau is about to realize the folly in riding across the countryside after you."

"We should attack now," Riordan said. "Surprise, as you're fond of reminding me, is a good ally."

"No."

"No?" Not the answer she expected. She turned toward Nhaille, conscious of the curious eyes of the Kanarekii warriors upon them. Eyes followed her every movement, hung on her every word. "And why not, Captain?"

"Night approaches. Darkness will hide us. If we attack now, Rau will be prepared for us come morning. Let him waste his energy on this mutiny. We'll hurt him all the more if we attack at the stroke of dawn."

She didn't like this new strategy. But Nhaille's argument made sense. There were precious few of them. Even with the Sword they'd be vastly outnumbered. Once the surprise was sprung they'd have no other tricks to gain the advantage. The long trip exhausted them. Better to rally their strength. Better to give herself one last night of practice before she had to wield the Sword in battle.

"All right," she said finally. "Move the company out, back toward the forest, where we'll be hidden by the cover of trees. We'll break camp before dawn and ride into Kholer just as day breaks."

Nhaille turned to give the order.

# In the forest the darkness was complete. No fires were lit, they couldn't risk the discovery of their one and only surprise. A cold dinner. An even colder bed awaited them. But the men, who'd spent the past few months with only the cold hard earth for a pillow, made no complaints.

Riordan sat with her back against the broad trunk of an ancient tree. Between the branches above her the diamond points of stars dotted the sky. The damp ground seeped through the leather of her armor, but her thoughts caused more discomfort than the coldness.

The moment has come. Finally, I'm going to have to do all that was prophesied of me. Only unlike the prophecy, I'm unlikely to survive.