#Rau jerked awake, nails digging into the soft grass.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, I didn't mean to startle you." Larz shifted uneasily. "One of our men, the last to leave Kanarek, has just caught up with us. He insists on speaking with you."

What could it possibly be this time! Rau wondered. These minor grievances, these niggly complaints only stole his attention from the grave task at hand.

Around them the army was packing up, stowing the supplies once again. Kholer would not wait for him to deal with the aggravations of administration.

"I have not the time." He waited for Larz to volunteer to handle the matter, but the Captain stood his ground. Rau bit back his annoyance. "Surely you can deal with him?"

Larz cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. "I think it best you speak with him yourself."

He followed the Captain's gaze, noting with growing irritation the wild-eyed soldier who anxiously awaited his attention. The nap he hoped would cure the pounding in his head had given him nothing more than bad dreams. Time would have been better spent on the march. The thought only added to his bad humor.

"Be ready to ride out at my command," he barked at Larz, who merely nodded, taking Rau's show of temper in maddeningly good grace.

He strode across the grass, cloak flying out behind him, and grinned as the sight of him made the youth take an involuntary step backward.

"Your Highness." The soldier snapped to attention. Youthful eyes stared back at him from beneath the plumed helm. Younger even than his brother, the one his father pledged his throne to. Rau fought back another wave of fury.

He waved away the title with an irritated flick of his hand. I don't have time for this. "Your report."

The soldier swallowed. His mouth moved. No sound came out.

"Make haste, Soldier. An entire army awaits you."

"Begging your pardon, Highness."

Rau let go a caustic breath. Would the entire day amount to nothing more than a string of petty annoyances? He wanted to shake the report out of him. But the youth looked as if he'd come apart if Rau so much as raised his voice, so he settled for leveling his most impatient stare at the hapless soldier.

"We were leaving Kanarek--"

"We?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Major Gernz and me. It was our duty to make one last check of the ruins after the rest of the army had departed for Hael."

"I would speak also with Major Gernz."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, Major Gernz is dead."

Rau rubbed at his temples. If the pounding would cease for one moment, perhaps he could think.

The soldier's words tumbled into his silence. Rau glared at him to continue."We'd nearly finished our tour, when we spied two riders in foreign armor upon the hill."

"Foreign?"

"Yes, Sir." His throat worked, no sound came out. The youth swallowed again. "Kanarekii armor. But old, like none I've ever seen. We rode up to question them, but the woman turned on the Major and--"

A streak of silver hair flashed across his mind's eye, followed by a pair of piercing, gray eyes. No, he thought desperately, it couldn't be. His father had cursed him with his superstitions. Rau reined in his imagination.

"This woman," he demanded, knowing already what the young soldier would say. "Describe her to me."

"I would not have known it was a woman, Sir, but for her hair. She didn't look Kanarekii, she was far too fair."

"And the man with her?"

"I didn't get a good look at him, Sir." And when Rau glowered at him, he added, "But I got the impression he was...older."

Fear burst inside Rau. His father's warnings, Gamaliel's superstitions howled in his mind. Pieces of the rumored prophecy fell into place. The mythical princess and the supposedly long-dead warrior. Rau swallowed the terror rising inside him. This festering obstacle must be dealt with right away, before word of it reached his father. Before rumors destroyed the morale of his army. No Kanarekii princess would stand between him and his well-deserved glory.

"In what direction did they ride, this woman and her companion?"

"Away from the city, Sir. Toward the desert."

Toward the desert, Rau thought. Toward the mountains and the fabled tomb of Zal-Azaar. There could be no other explanation.

# He found Larz at the head of the army. A long line of black-clad Haelian soldiers stretched in an orderly row through the trees.

Behind them, leagues of cadavers waited with patience only the dead could have. Soldiers at the tail end of the column eyed the dead with growing nervousness. Rau caught more than one quick sign made against evil as he passed. He didn't need to turn to see the dark looks they gave his back. None were brave enough to show their superstitions to his face, he thought with satisfaction.

"Your Highness." Larz drew himself up, prepared to give the order to ride out.

"Captain."

Larz snapped to attention, but his eyes quickly scanned Rau's face. The Prince watched as he absorbed the bad news there and prepared to receive his orders.

"I will not be riding to Kholer."

Whatever Larz was expecting, Rau's words took him visibly by surprise. "Sir?"

"Another matter requires my personal attention. I leave the conquest of Kholer in your capable hands."

"But Your Highness--"

Rau squelched his protests with a wave of his hand.The men were listening, an entire army of ears perked in their direction. Larz's eyes slid sideways, absorbing that thought. He opened his mouth to protest, then thinking better of it, backed his horse out of hearing range. Rau followed.

"You don't think there's truth to the rumor of the warrior-princess?" Larz leaned in close, lowering his voice despite the distance.

"Do you, Sir?"

"Of course not," Rau said with a certainty that didn't reach his heart. "But I must discover the truth to this woman's identity before rumor of her existence reaches the King."

Larz nodded in a agreement, though Rau read disapproval in the set of his mouth.

"And if there is substance to the legend of the Kanarekii heir, she must be stopped before she reaches the tomb of Zal-Azaar. I will not allow her to stand between me and the coast. I will not allow our great campaign to be damned to Al-Gomar's deepest hell and forgotten."

Larz cast a glance over his shoulder at the column of men and horses awaiting their orders. "Without the Amber, how are we to take Kholer?"

"Quite simple." Rau reached into the pouch at his waist and drew out a thick stake of Amber which he pressed into Larz's gloved hand. "You will have the Amber."

The Captain recoiled as if scalded. "Your Highness, I am not of Shraal blood!"

"The dead have weak minds," Rau said. "You need only lead them to Kholer and order them to fight. If the men believe you carry the Amber, they will obey your command." He fingered the Amber clasp on his cloak. "Besides, I control the Master Stone, you need only use this one sliver to maintain control."

"What if I cannot control the dead?" Larz whispered back. "Can we not set camp until you return?"

"With luck I will return before you reach Kholer."

"Forgive me for asking, Your Highness, but what if you do not?"

"Then you will do as I have ordered."

Larz read the threat in Rau's tone and fell silent. "Will you not take some men with you?" he asked, accepting at last his fate.

"I need not lead an army against one woman," Rau snapped. A multitude of eyes turned toward them. Rau sighted down the column and watched with satisfaction as each gaze turned abruptly away. Larz knew better than to argue. So did the men.

"I shall return victorious," he said with more conviction than he felt.

"May Moraah bless you, Sir," Larz said, his eyes fastening on Rau's.

"May Laalan, God of War, bless Hael," the Prince said and put the spurs to his horse.

The gaze of an entire army followed him as he rode down the long line of the column, back towards Kanarek, and the plains of Kor-Koraan.

CHAPTER SIX

Not a word from Riordan. Not even a glance in his direction during the long ride from Kanarek. In silence she ate the meal he prepared. Nhaille watched as she sat stonily staring into the flames, the firelight dyeing her hair crimson. Then like a shadow, she rose and crossed their camp. Slipping into her bedroll, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Nhaille bent over Riordan's sleeping form and frowned. So much pain, and he could bear none of it for her. Feelings twisted like a knife inside him, emotions he could never express aloud, thoughts he shouldn't even be having.

In any case, he had no words with which to comfort her. Comfort would only weaken her resolve. Kanarek's new Queen could not be spared even a moment of weakness. No, he couldn't feel sorry for her. Couldn't allow her to feel sorry for herself. With a deep sigh, Nhaille pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and went to seek his own bed.

# Riordan raced along the ranks of cadavers marching toward the sinking sun. He was among them. Somewhere. She knew it instinctively. The air was stifling, even in the twilight, and the dust kicked up by a myriad shuffling feet swirled about her in scarlet clouds.

She wiped dust from her eyes and swallowed hard on the urge to vomit. It was barely possible to breathe past the stench of rot and decay. She sucked the putrid air into her lungs and kept moving.

Filthy tatters were all that was left of their clothing. White bone showed through the ruin of their flesh and the rags of their clothing.

Some wore shoes, others tottered along unevenly on one boot. Still others had lost limbs, hands, arms, sometimes even a leg, yet they still stumbled onward, crawling when that was the only method of locomotion left to them.

In the center of the vast column she caught sight of a black wool cloak. On some invisible signal, the waves of cadavers parted to let her through. Suddenly she was standing before him, staring up at the terrible and imposing figure atop the dead steed. The column came to an abrupt halt. Corpses crowded around them. Waiting.

Towering over her, he seemed to stretch toward the sky. Riordan dragged her eyes upward. Skin hung from the emaciated legs of the long-dead horse he rode. Its matted hide was stretched tight over the outline of its ribcage. One of the stirrups hung by a strand of leather, and the boot that dangled from it was caked with a reddish brown substance she didn't want to contemplate.

Splotches of mud stained his cloak. The fine wool hung in tatters, barely covering the shriveled form beneath it.

From beneath the rags of his cloak, a pair of bony hands gripped the reins. As if seeing her for the first time, the cadaver turned slowly toward her. Riordan swallowed the scream working its way up her throat and forced herself to face him.

Dried blood curled in flakes from the dark ruin of his eye. Flesh puckered about the stake of gleaming amber. His skin hung in gray flaccid jowls. His thatch of ebony hair grayed with dust. Only his imposing eyebrows were as she remembered.

Staring out at her through one clouded eye, the King faced his daughter.

"Father," Riordan croaked out. "I don't know what to do. You must tell me."

But he merely turned that horrible face upon her. Shriveled lips mouthed the words, but he could issue no sound. Caught in his terrible stare, she couldn't look away. Words formed in her mind.

This is all your fault, Riordan. You should have listened. You should have believed.

"No!" She stumbled backward. Cadavers closed around her, cutting off her all routes of escape.Your fault, your fault... The accusation echoed over and over again in her mind.

"No!" The word was wrenched from her throat. Dragged down into the press of rotting bodies, smothered by the stench, she flailed against the powerful arms that gripped her, to find the grasp tightening, an immovable hand clamped over her mouth.

Suddenly it was Nhaille's eyes boring into hers, Nhaille's arm pinning her tightly to his chest, Nhaille's hand clamped over her mouth.

# Gods! She'd get them both killed yet. Nhaille swore under his breath. "Wake up, Riordan. You're safe. It was just a dream."

At last there was comprehension in her gray eyes. He loosened his hand, letting her drag in a shuddering breath. "You were screaming loud enough to signal Hael itself."

She went suddenly limp against him. "I saw him," she said into his shoulder. "In my dream, I saw him, Nhaille."

"Who?"

"My father."

He stared at her, shadows rushing across her face in the flickering firelight. Was she crumbling beneath the enormity of duty?

Nhaille wondered. Or did she have visions because the unleashed Amber called to her Shraal soul?

"Riordan, I'm sorry. I should never have allowed you to go to Kanarek."

She continued on in that strange flat voice, as if demons from her nightmare reached out to haunt her still. "The King spoke to me.

He said it was my fault."

"What was your fault?"

"The fall of Kanarek."

Traitorous hands buried in her hair. He shouldn't touch her, should not allow himself to get that close. But she clung to him like a child. "Not yours, I assure you," Nhaille said, stroking her hair. "You mustn't think that. Prince Doan-Rau of Hael engineered Kanarek's downfall. And you will avenge it."