CHAPTER FOUR

"How can an old piece of stone possibly make a dead body walk?" The image did nothing to ease Riordan's nerves. The outdoors were bigger than she could possibly have imagined. Deprived of the keep's protective walls, she felt exposed. Each snap of a twig made her jump. Each time the wind whispered, she caught herself scanning the trees for danger.

"I've never seen the Amber work," Nhaille said, "but if the rest of the prophecy has come true, we must prepare ourselves for that possibility as well."

"Why would someone make a weapon like that?" It had never occurred to her to wonder why. Wondering would have been an admission of belief.

She was believing now, as fast as she could, trying to make up for nineteen years of denial. Her mind raced ahead, conjuring every dismal scenario imaginable. Strayhorn's swaying gait only served to augment the turmoil in her gut. Terror became nausea.

Each passing second made the possibility of vomiting an inevitability. Riordan grit her teeth. Vomiting was out of the question. She would not be sick in front of Nhaille and humiliate them both.

Nhaille scanned the horizon. "We can only guess what went on in Shraal minds. It is written they were not entirely sane. Shraal confined themselves to their opal cities, refusing to intermarry with the people of the plains. Inbreeding produced insanity, overcrowding."

"This whole thing is lunacy," Riordan ground out through clenched teeth.

"You'll get no argument from me there." Nhaille tightened the strap of his spiked helmet. Turning his head, he swept his gaze across the black silhouette of the hills, searching for signs of pursuit. So far there'd been none. Hael was certain of their victory.

Riordan glanced enviously at Nhaille and tried not to fidget. Armor seemed to suit him nearly as well as his own skin.

I should be so lucky.

Her helmet's leather strap dug into the tender skin behind her ears. Armor chafed everywhere it touched. She hated being encased in leather and mail, longed for the freedom of a simple tunic and breeches. Even Strayhorn whinnied irritably and tossed his head trying to throw off the spiked face plate.

"Once the Shraal realized their weapons could be used against them, why didn't they destroy them?"

"The machinery of war had already been set in motion. Perhaps they didn't know how."

"They made them."

"The knowledge may have been lost."

"A fine legacy to leave for me--" Riordan stopped suddenly. Her own words echoed through her head over and over again. "For me to clean up," she whispered finally.

Until now she'd been wandering around in a horrified daze, packing, organizing, trying to cram as much history as possible into her already overburdened brain. In one giant landslide the full impact of her task came crashing down upon her.

"Gods, Nhaille, I can't fix this mess. It's impossible!"

He rode in close and squeezed her armored shoulder. "Easy, Riordan. For now all we must do is make it across the desert alive."

"We have to stay alive long enough to find the Sword," she supplied.

"Right."

"What if we don't find it?" Gods, what if we do?

"According to the prophecy, we will."

Fear twisted within her, swiftly becoming anger. "And what if the prophecy is wrong? Has no one thought of that?"

"It has been right so far."

Riordan threw up her hands in frustration. Strayhorn, feeling the sudden slack on the reins, snorted nervously. Losing stride momentarily, he fell back into step with Nhaille's Stormback. "Fine, assuming that's right. Has nobody considered that maybe it can't be done?"

"It can be done," Nhaille insisted. "Hael had no difficulty turning the Amber upon us."

"Hael has an army! We have nothing, except a moldy old map!"

"For now," Nhaille said, maddeningly sure of himself.

Riordan reined Strayhorn in sharply. He protested vehemently, throwing up his head. "Suppose we find this mythical Sword of Zal-Azaar. Hells, suppose we do manage to assemble an army -- I'll even go as far as to believe that I'm capable of breaking through Haelian ranks, cleaving off the Prince's head and sending his soul to damnation in the Seventh Hell."

Nhaille waited quietly for her to continue.

"What then? What if I can't control it? What if I can't use it at all?"

The question hung between them.

"And even," Riordan added quietly, "if somehow by the will of the Gods I'm able to do all the prophecy says I will. That will not rebuild Kanarek. It won't bring my family back.""No." He peered into the shadows. "Defeating Hael is but the beginning of the task."

"Great." Riordan urged Strayhorn forward. "Just as long as we both realize what we're trying to do is impossible."

Nhaille nodded noncommittally, thinking that was the end of the conversation.

"By the Gods, Nhaille, I can't do any of this!"

The night echoed her words back at her.

"Keep your voice down! You'll do none of it if you lead the Haelian army straight to us. You'll be dead and Kanarek will be lost forever. I do wish for a moment you'd remember what's at stake here."

"I am acutely aware of what's at stake here. And that is why I am utterly terrified."

"You don't have to do this alone, Riordan," Nhaille said quietly. "I will be with you."

It was meant to comfort her, however, despite his forced bravado, in the darkness Nhaille didn't sound any more sure of himself than she did.

They rode in silence for several moments while the urge to scream built inside her. But hollering, as Nhaille pointed out, would be suicide.

"Did it ever occur to anyone that perhaps I just don't have it in me?" Riordan whispered finally. "What if I'm not capable of coldbloodedly chopping off someone's head?"

"Chopping off mine didn't seem to bother you."

"I was trying to beat you, not kill you, Nhaille. I just wanted to see the look on your face when I won."

"I'd never have given you the satisfaction."

His pitiful attempt at humor did little to calm her. Riordan frowned and swallowed hard on the bile rising to her throat. "How am I going to beat Hael if I can't even beat you?"

"Hael won't have The Sword of Zal-Azaar at their disposal."

"Hael has the Amber."

"They are not the same, Riordan."

"No, but they're equal in their potential for destruction."

"Not exactly."

"The Sword is stronger?" She couldn't remember that fact written anywhere. At least, it hadn't been in the book Nhaille kept beneath the marker in the cellar.

"The Amber is an older, cruder weapon." Nhaille paused, gathering his thoughts. "Early Shraal possessed the magic to reignite the parts of the brain that control walking, fighting. The Shraal ancestors of Hael declared war on the kingdom of Bayorek. The Amber was cruel in its efficiency. For a time it seemed Hael would win as the conquered territories found their own armies turned against them."

"So they created the Sword," Riordan supplied.Nhaille nodded. "It turned out Bayorek had their own Shraal sorcerers in the House of Khun. Faced with a weapon that could make the dead walk, they created another that left no bodies when it killed. Your Shraal ancestors created the Sword of Zal- Azaar."

"My ancestors were responsible for that abomination!" There seemed to be no end to the night's cruel revelations.

"That abomination, as you call it, may well be Kanarek's only hope."

Chastened, Riordan considered his point.

"War became stalemate," Nhaille continued. "Each faction tried to rule the world. It never occurred to them that it would be their own world they destroyed."

"That's why the plains of Kor-Koraan are barren to this day," Riordan said. That part was written in the book Nhaille kept hidden in the cellar.

"The wars of Bayorek lasted for generations."

"Why did my family keep the map of the Sword's resting place?"

"Shraal blood still runs strong in the line of Khun. Your mother's legacy."

"This curse comes from my mother?"

"Only those of Shraal blood can use Shraal Sorcery. The Shraal abandoned the ruined city of Bayorek and built a new city, Kanarek. Though they swore themselves to peace, the house of Khun kept the map to the Sword's resting place. In case Hael should rise up against them again."

"I wish I'd never seen it."

Nhaille shot her an impatient look. "One has only to look at you, Riordan, to see the resemblance between you and your Shraal ancestors."

"I guess they had no more choice than we do," Riordan said. "They were being annihilated."

"They were desperate, Riordan."

She stared into the darkness. "How can you be so sure there is Shraal blood in my veins? What if the resemblance is only skin deep?"

"It could very well be. But there has not been a child with your coloring born for generations. After the fall of Bayorek, those who were left of the Shraal intermarried with the darker races of the plains."

"I didn't get my coloring from my mother, then?" She always assumed she had.

"No," Nhaille said simply, then nothing more.

"And prophecy spoke of a fair-haired child. Is that what made my father believe?"

"Even your father came about his belief reluctantly. The alternative was oblivion."

"Kanarek was too much to risk, so he sacrificed me," Riordan said bitterly.

"He chose to save you, Riordan. Had you been in Kanarek, you'd now be dead."They rode in silence, hiding their thoughts under cover of darkness. Secrets hung heavily between them, all those personal matters Nhaille would never discuss with her. Curiosity tugged at her nonetheless. If she was to fight and likely die for Kanarek, then she wanted to know exactly what she fought for.

"Before we cross the desert," Riordan said suddenly. "There is something I must do." She didn't notice the imperiousness of her tone, but it brought Nhaille's head up sharply.

"And what is that, Your Majesty?"

His use of her title escaped her notice. "I want to see Kanarek."

Shock silenced him for a second, then he thundered, "Out of the question."

"Nhaille--"

"Riordan, that would be ludicrous. You might as well nail yourself to the city gates and wait for Doan-Rau to hammer a stake of amber through your right eye."

His brutal scenario drew a gasp from her. Taking that as acquiescence, Nhaille fell silent. But as in one of their duels, Riordan refused to give up so easily. "I still want to see Kanarek, Nhaille."

"I won't hear of it."

"I insist!"

In the darkness, she watched his eyes widen in surprise and anger.

"You may be my liege, Your Majesty." His voice hinted at the menace he was capable of. "But I have been entrusted with your safety, and I must refuse."

So much for my first order.

"You don't understand," Riordan said softly. Reasoning with Nhaille in such a mood was a delicate task. "I have never seen my home. I would like to see it now, what's left of it, in case..." She couldn't say it.

"In case of what?"

"So that if I don't come back, at least I will have laid eyes once upon my home."

Nhaille swore under his breath.

"Is that so much to ask? Especially since I have had so little of what I wanted in life."