She looked down at the Sword's crystal length lying across her lap. If I'm not cut down by Rau's sword, you'll be my undoing. A shadow blocked her view of the stars. Her hand closed upon the Sword.

"You shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

Nhaille uttered a short laugh. "Obviously you knew it was me, or I'd already be dead."

"We may both be dead on the morrow," she said and winced at the fatality of her words. Pity was something Nhaille would never tolerate. A lecture was certain to follow.

"No." He took a deep breath of cool night air. "I do believe tomorrow, we will at least take the bite out of Doan-Rau's wrath. "You're just saying that." She glanced up at him, trying to read what lay behind the face he showed to her. Strangely, he looked confident.

"I believe it."

Riordan smiled. "Then I guess I'm obligated to believe it, too."

Nhaille's expression clouded. "You must be careful what you say now, Riordan. Even to me. Others are listening. You would not want your countrymen to hear you predicting their demise. Not when they've fought so hard already to give us this last chance."

The lecture, after all.

"Come," he reached for her hand. "One last rehearsal before the battle tomorrow."

Wet grass crushed beneath her boots. The night stilled. A breeze lazily ruffled the treetops. Moonlight speckled the ground between branches. Around her snores of the sleeping men rose in a quiet chorus. Riordan stepped into the clearing.

Slowly, she drew the Sword from its scabbard and looked around her. Seen through the Sword's consciousness, the forest teamed with life. Birds dozing in the upper branches, the glinting eyes of night life peeked out at her from beneath each bush. She slammed her defenses in place, walling off the Sword's keening cry. Forcing her will to the forefront, she held it before her like a talisman.

A fox scurried past her into the darkness. The Sword lusted for it. She squashed the urge to rush after it.

I'll decide which life is taken.

The Sword fought against the subjugation of its will, wailing inside her mind. With effort, Riordan silenced its call and cast about her for a suitable sacrifice.

Through the trees she sighted an unfamiliar aura.

"Nhaille!"

Her whisper brought him to the edge of the clearing. He peered into the darkness, squinting in the direction she pointed. He shook his head.

"What is it, Riordan?"

"I don't know. Something, coming toward us."

"I can't see it."

She forced the Sword's consciousness into the background and looked at it through her own eyes. Shadow seemed to swallow the faint pulse of life.

"An aura." She looked at it again through the Sword's awareness. "But not like yours. Very dim, except for a tiny flicker at the center."

"Be careful."

"You be careful," she ordered. "Stand back. I don't want you close to me while the Sword is drawn."

He obeyed without argument.She could hear it now, lumbering toward her. Something large. Far too big to be a rabbit or a fox. Smaller than a bear. Man- sized. Branches parted. She caught a glimpse of a tattered, filthy shirt.

And then she smelled it. The unmistakable taint of rotting flesh. It stepped into the clearing.

One of Rau's army. One of her countrymen possibly, or even a citizen of the equally ill-fated city of Kholer. Trailing ribbons of torn cloth and rotting flesh, the dead thing lumbered onward.

Suddenly, she understood. It's lifeforce was practically extinguished. Its aura was almost too pale to stand out against the darkness. It was the shard of amber that blazed with the illusion of life.

Lost, she realized suddenly. Unlike those on the battlefield, it seemed to wander aimlessly. Whatever had happened in the valley, contact had been broken. For a moment, she could only stare at the pathetic thing, the first she'd seen at close range. Sighting her, it staggered in her direction, reaching out toward the dim memory of human companionship.

Riordan swung the Sword into position.

Instantly, the ancient blade recognized its kin. The speck of amber flared brightly against the darkness. As if drawn by an invisible magnet, she leapt across the clearing in a single step. The zombie lurched toward her, impossible now to stop the rush of attraction.

She swung. The Sword sliced through the shadows, meeting the meager resistance of swollen rotting flesh. The dead warrior crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. A flash of amber blinded her momentarily to all but its glare. Like a puddle the soldier's remnants rushed up the crystal blade and vanished.

Belatedly, she slammed down the barriers. Dying thoughts poured into her brain. Sluggish memories of its lost life, images of smoke, horrid cries of slaughter echoed through her mind. Riordan choked them back.

Like a whirlpool, they pulled at her, threatening to drag her down into deep waters. She fought her way through the vortex of muddled thoughts, emerging suddenly into clarity. And then in her mind, she felt one last thought of gratitude and peace.

Light blazed up around her. The Sword, having not received the meal it expected, hungered for more.

With a strangled cry, Riordan thrust the blade into the soft grass and stepped back. Shaking her head, she tried to clear her mind of the dead warrior's thoughts: overwhelming grief, the desperate longing for final peace.

"Gods Nhaille, they know!"

He approached cautiously, waiting a few paces behind her.

"They know," she repeated in utter horror. Dying thoughts still swirled in a tiny walled-off portion of her mind. "Even in death they know what's been done to them."

"It's all right," he said softly. "If we are victorious no one will ever suffer their fate again."

"I felt it in my mind." She left the Sword and rested her head against him, feeling the warmth of his arms come up around her. "I know what it's like. It's horrible beyond belief."

His arms tightened, pressing her close, but Nhaille said nothing.

"When I was small," she said, to no one in particular. "I was afraid of dying. Even when I knew what lay before me, death was still my greatest fear. Never did I think I would be afraid of not dying."

"You will be victorious, Riordan. You must believe that.""Yes," she whispered. "I have to be." Riordan looked at the dark splashes that stained the grass. "That is the alternative."

She was silent a moment, content to lean against him, drawing back her strength. "Nhaille?"

He looked down into her face.

"If something goes wrong. If I am not the victor. If it looks like I'm about to fall prey to Doan-Rau, there is a thing I would ask of you."

Nhaille stiffened, drawing in a ragged breath. He paused, suspecting a difficult request was coming, then said, "Ask, Your Majesty."

"Take the Sword and cut me down. Death no longer frightens me. Make certain I don't suffer that poor soul's fate."

She watched the color drain from his face. "Do not ask that of me, Your Majesty," he whispered.

Riordan refused his plea. "Nhaille, it has to be you. There is no one else I trust." She seized a handful of his shirt, pulling him close.

"Do not leave me to suffer my father's fate, I beg of you!"

He pulled gently from her grasp. Silence lengthened as he stood staring down at her. "You have my word," he said at last. His hand covered hers. "Come, you must get some rest before sunrise."

Riordan sheathed the Sword and began to walk with him back to camp. The flicker of a thought caught flame. She turned it over in her mind, examining it from each possible angle.

She realized suddenly she'd stopped walking and that Nhaille was looking back at her in concern.

"The Sword..." she muttered, as much to herself as to Nhaille.

He waited for her to continue.

"When the Sword destroyed the body, it also destroyed the Amber."

She watched realization creep across his face, dawning suddenly into hope. Riordan seized his arm.

"That's it," she said shaking him vigorously. "The piece of the puzzle the Shraal were never able to understand."

"If the Sword and the Amber were made to counter each other..." Nhaille began.

"It stands to reason that if the Sword can destroy the Amber." Her voice rose in excitement, she forced herself to whisper, "And if exposed to a large enough piece of it, the Amber might destroy the Sword."

"They're attracted to each other," Nhaille supplied, "because they cancel each other out."

"That's it. The one vital step the Shraal left out of the process."

"They did the opposite. They separated the two."

"But burying them in the mountain didn't stop us from digging them up."

"We need to bring them together."

Nhaille considered this turn of strategy solemnly. "I think you're right."

Riordan sucked in a long breath. "At last I know what I have to do." She gazed through the trees, seeing in her mind the valley beyond. "First I must defeat Hael. Then I must destroy both the Sword and the Amber so they can never be used against us."

# They lay side by side, the Sword between them. A discreet distance away, a Kanarekii soldier stood guard. Riordan watched the slow climb of the stars across the sky. Dawn was scant hours away, exhaustion weighed heavily in every bone. And still she couldn't sleep. Plans formed, were discarded and reformed in her mind. Try as she may, she couldn't staunch the flow of them.

She glanced at Nhaille to find him very much awake and lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.

"You should sleep, Riordan."

"I can't."

"Try harder."

"My mind won't stop working."

He sighed and turned toward her. "Neither will mine."

She moved the Sword within arm's reach past their heads and snuggled in close.

"Nhaille, I--"

He caught her meaning immediately and glanced nervously in the guard's direction. "Riordan, the guard."

"To hells with the guard. Who is he going to tell? Our few remaining countrymen?"

"It's not right."

"So you keep saying."

He gazed back at her, his expression already softening as he weakened.

"Surely by now, it has all ceased to matter. Our false modesties, our ridiculous proprieties, our foolish gossip, what use are they now?"

In the shadows she saw the ghost of a smile drift across his face. "Your Majesty, you argue just like your father."

"Meaning you often lost."

"I don't believe I ever won."

"You're about to lose again."

He did smile then, and she caught a rare glimpse of the real Nhaille that lay beneath the iron facade of duty and obligation. He shook his head. "Between the two of you--"

She smothered his words with her mouth. Smothered her fears in his warmth, in the one thing between them that was simple, good and natural.

Afterward, in the last hour before the dawn, they nuzzled close together, heedless of the guard, the Sword ready at her fingertips.

And slept.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Wet grass crunched underfoot. Black shapes of men moved silently through the trees. The hot breath of horses came in puffs of steam. In minutes the pale light of dawn would stream above the hills. Men worked quickly, silently, stowing gear, breaking camp.