Control slipped away from her, further into Haelian hands. Riordan tightened her grip on the Sword's hilt in a desperate attempt to keep Rau from using both the Sword and the Amber to his advantage.

Understanding hit in a blaze of light. Instead of grasping after control of the Amber, Riordan felt out through the Sword, searching after the wisps of souls it had claimed. She felt them there within the depths of its consciousness, drew them to her. Feeble minds of those that had marched in the army of the dead joined Haelians warriors who had paid with their lives for Rau's ambition. Some would not be turned, but others rushed toward her plea.

Strength rushed into her. Riordan reached out with the sum of her soul and made one last desperate grasp for control. The onslaught took Rau by surprise. She felt the momentary lapse in his concentration and poured her mental army into the breach.

Rau's mind slammed against her control. He battered the wall of their collective will, but the wall held. Slowly, they pried the Amber from Rau's grasp.

Riordan sagged back against the Amber. Glancing into its depths she found the army of the dead back in Kanarekii hands. Guards in the chamber subdued the dead. Penden's men still had Hael's King and his Heir firmly in hand. But Nhaille leaned against the stone wall as if it held him up."You don't hold the Amber as well as you proclaim," Marik-Rau said into the uneasy silence.

Riordan leapt across the space between them. With one swipe of the Sword, she tore through the King's robe, leaving a trickle of red blood against the velvet. "Do not forget, Your Majesty," she snarled, "that I do have sole control of the Sword of Zal-Azaar.

If you don't surrender, I will send you and every Haelian citizen to the halls of Al-Gomar. And I will not stop until Hael lies in ruin, just like Kanarek."

Getting no answer, Riordan pressed the Sword deeper into his chest. Cloth tore. Blood seeped along the crystal blade.

"Surrender Father," Tanin-Rau said suddenly. He cast a worried glance at the Sword. "Don't damn me to die on the blade of that thing."

And this is the coward he would put on the throne instead of me, Rau growled within her mind.

Riordan leaned on the blade. The king gasped in sudden pain. "What will it be, Your Majesty?"

"Hael surrenders!" he said quickly.

"Give the order," Riordan said. "Stop the fighting."

Marik-Rau nodded.

Riordan withdrew the Sword. To Penden, she said, "Take him to the balcony. See that he does give the order. Round up the rest of his advisors and throw them in the dungeon. I'm sure there is one. I can't imagine a Haelian palace without such accommodations."

Penden and his guards hauled the old king across the hallway to the balcony overlooking the square. In the Amber she watched as the fighting slowly abated. Haelian soldiers lay down their swords. She gave the order to the dead to stand aside.

Through the ruin of the door, she saw Penden dragging Hael's King and his son back down the hallway. Their weight supported the old man who, his kingdom lost, now sagged lifelessly in their arms.

"Nhaille."

His head came up, turning his haunted gaze upon her.

"My father. Have the men find him. Bring him to me."

His jaw hardened at the mention of his friend. But he nodded and gave the order. Riordan turned back to the Amber. In the depths of her mind, she felt the flicker of Rau's interest.

"Don't even think of it Rau." She placed the flat blade of the Sword of Zal-Azaar inches from the Amber's surface. "Make one move and I'll drive the Sword right through it. Don't think for a moment I wouldn't. I'm sick to the death of all this fighting, of Shraal weapons and Shraal evil."

You wouldn't, he insisted. No one knows what would happen.

"I do," she said in utter weariness. "And trust me, you wouldn't like it."

Rau was silent, though his essence seethed with anger. She wasn't foolish enough to think him beaten though. Wouldn't put it past him to make another attempt for the Amber's control in a last ditch effort to save all he'd fought for.

Riordan pressed the Sword closer to the Amber.

Movement on the periphery of her vision brought her head up sharply. She heard Nhaille's startled gasp. In the doorway stood the barely recognizable remnants of a human being.

"Father."

Slowly, he turned his face to gaze at her through the last failing vision of his right eye. Shriveled lips moved stiffly without sound.

"I've done all you asked of me," Riordan said softly. And then, "I've done the best I could."

Now isn't that touching, Rau sniped.

Kanarek's king shuffled toward her. Awkwardly, he turned his head, looking at last upon the Sword of Zal-Azaar. Withered facial muscles moved in what could have been a grimace.

Riordan felt with her mind through the Amber, searching after the last vestiges of his thoughts. But if he still had thoughts, they were lost in the maelstrom of others' minds and she couldn't spare that much of her energy. Not while Rau hung in the balance, waiting desperately for any last lapse in her concentration.

"I wish you'd told me what you wanted me to do once it was all over," she said aloud.

"Riordan--" Nhaille started to say something, then fell silent.

"I wish you told me something, anything."

If he heard her, the King made no sign. His gaze fastened on the Sword.

"You didn't think I could do it, did you?"

None of us did, Rau admitted with a hint of grudging admiration.

"Don't do this to yourself, Riordan." Nhaille's voice cut through her thoughts. "This self-torture has no purpose. None of us can change the past."

And a pity that is, Rau remarked, refusing to be quiet even now.

"You never told me what you wanted me to do about you," she told her father. "This wasn't an outcome you planned on."

"No one wants to plan for their death," Nhaille said quietly.

But the King was still staring, one-eyed at the Sword.

The Sword! Understanding hit her full force. What other outcome could there be?

For an instant their minds linked. The King bowed his head.

The Sword clove the air between them. She heard Nhaille's startled intake of breath, the wet thud as her father's head rolled from his shoulders. She shut her eyes, not wanting to look upon the further ruin of his body.

Fragmented half-thoughts poured into her mind. At last peace, she thought he said. Then his mind was silent.

Sensing her distraction, Rau's will flexed to spring.

"No!"

Riordan gripped the Sword of Zal-Azaar with both hands and swung. A blinding flash of light erupted as it hit the Amber's surface. Then, like two magnets rushing toward each other, the Sword sliced cleanly into the stone.

The world rippled, time and space running together. Beneath them, the ground rumbled. The palace shook as if rattled in a giant hand. In her mind she heard Rau's startled scream, followed swiftly by the shrieks of a myriad voices. Human, male and female and high airy screams of long dead Shraal poured into her mind. Jagged thoughts pierced her consciousness, ancient memories, scenes of cities long lost.

The world folded in on itself, dragging Riordan with it. Darkness emerged the victor, claiming everything.

# Riordan lay on a smooth tablet of rock. Above her the sky was streaked with magenta. Sunset. Stiffly, she rose and looked out over the desert around her.

Tall spires rose from the plain in the distance. A city, but not one she knew. The diffuse half-light around her cast no shadows.

Beneath her bare feet, the sand was soft and warm.

She looked down suddenly, finding the Sword still within her hand.

It didn't work, she thought, desolation overtaking her.

But then she noticed the translucent robes that swished about her legs as she walked. Opal fires ran the length of the fabric, changing spectrum as she moved. She squinted into the distance, studying the city on the horizon. Something about it was familiar.

Something she should know.

Bayorek. She couldn't say how the knowledge came to be in her mind, but she knew with certainty this was the Bayorek of the legends. Before the fall of the Shraal.

I'm dead.

The thought didn't frightened her. With a deep sigh, she turned in the direction of that far off city and began to walk, dragging the Sword behind her.

Spires, twisted like rope, rose above the horizon. The gates swung open as she approached.

Inside, the city teemed with life. Tall, thin, silver-haired Shraal swarmed about their business. No one spoke to her. No one touched her. They endured her curious stares as if she didn't exist. Yet when she approached, they moved courteously aside.

Above the city, tall spires formed the upper floors of the palace. A road of crystal marked the path. Riordan put a cautious bare foot onto the strangely warm pavement and started toward it.

Unfamiliar speech wove itself in silver threads around her, snatches of the forgotten language she recognized from the historical scrolls Nhaille insisted she read. Exotic cooking smells tantalized her senses. And all the time, the waif-like Shraal drifted around her, as if they merely sensed rather than felt her.

Palace doors admitted her into a cool temple-like entrance. Pillars of polished crystal flanked the sides of the vast hall. In the center, a sweeping staircase wound its way to the upper floors. Riordan followed.

Her feet whispered up the stone staircase to the gilded halls on the level above. She wandered down the golden halls. Pictures were embossed in gold on the walls. Scenes of Al-Alaar, the highest of the Seven Heavens. Depictions of Al-Gomar, the lowest of the Seven Hells. A door more richly decorated beckoned at the end of the hall. She stopped before it. With a rush of air it swung smoothly inward.

Against the walls stood a solemn line of Shraal. Their opal eyes glittered as she passed, moving unerringly toward the golden throne at the end of the cavernous chamber. The Sword hummed as she dragged it across the smooth floor after her.

Riordan came to a halt before the heavily decorated throne, afraid to look up into the terrible face of the Shraal who sat there.

Look! Her subconscious urged. You'll never know unless you do.

And so she dragged reluctant eyes up toward the ferocious being on the throne.

The Shraal had a face that could have been cut from crystal itself. Hard planes shaped his face. His opal eyes glowed with the fire of the stars themselves. With a shock she recognized the shadow of her own features on that imposing face.

There wasn't an ounce of fat on the willowy body that bent earnestly toward her. Yet there was unmistakable strength in the pale hand that extended, palm facing outward.

"Well done, child." The words echoed in her skull.

Slowly, she drew up the Sword, handing it to him hilt first.

The Shraal hefted the blade in his hand and gazed at it wistfully. "Too long the Sword of Zal-Azaar has been the scourge of our kind. And our descendants," he said, fastening jeweled eyes upon her.

"Have I done the right thing, then?"

In answer, the Shraal raised the Sword high above his head. Those terrible eyes bored into her skull. He brought the Sword down in one glittering bolt. Light lanced through her mind.

Riordan pitched forward. Falling into blinding light, she was lost in its brilliance.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Riordan!" Nhaille's voice pierced the radiant fog. She swam upwards, groping toward the sound. "In Nuurah's name, speak to me!"

"Is she dead?" She recognized Penden's voice followed by Nhaille's muffled curse.

"She's not dead." Nhaille's voice was edged with indignation. His hand moved gently across her face. "See, she breathes."

Eyelids, heavy as lead, refused to obey her. Like hauling on a heavy door, Riordan dragged them open. Faces swam above her: Nhaille looking haggard and drawn as if he would collapse at any second, but refused to until he knew she was safe. Penden hovered uneasily nearby. Levering her arms beneath her, she tried to sit up only to come crashing back down into soft pillows.

Golden cloth decorated the canopy above her. She felt with her hand, finding a silk coverlet beneath her fingers."Where am I?" The words rasped from her throat. She swallowed past a mouth gone dry as sand.

"The King's bed chamber," Penden said from behind Nhaille's left shoulder. "Figured he wouldn't be needing it anymore."

Nhaille glowered at his cousin who fell sharply silent.

"Do we still hold the city?"

"Hael is in Kanarekii hands," Nhaille said but offered nothing more.

"And the dead?" Damned if she'd let him get away with these fragments of answers.

"Dead."

Riordan felt within her mind, finding only silence. Her eyes widened. "They're gone."