The Deadwalk (12 page)

Gently he maneuvered her until she felt him pressed against her moist
opening. For a moment she was afraid and almost called out to him to stop.

No, she thought desperately. This one act of love I will claim for myself.
Riordan pressed herself against him.

The brief pain was less than she anticipated. Letting her eyes drift shut,
she followed his gentle movements.

Sensation rippled through her. She gripped his shoulders.

Yes, this one thing will be mine. Before I have to do the rest of it.

Prisms of sunlight danced before his eyes. With a curse, Nhaille scrambled to
his feet.

The sun had already climbed high into the sky. He looked about him urgently.
All seemed in order. Oblivious to the lengthening day, Riordan still slept,
breathing softly. Nestled against her, the Sword caught the sunlight and
reflected it in rainbows on the rock around him. An efficient beacon for their
many enemies.

The Sword had spent the night pressed between them like a lover. Its intimate
proximity made him shudder in revulsion.For a moment he hated what it was, what
it would do to Riordan. Rage seized him and he wanted to smash it against a
rock.

Riordan stirred in her sleep, burrowing deeper into the blanket. Likely the
first good sleep she'd had in days, he thought, envying her abandon. Then the
full weight of his actions settled upon him.

Gods, Arais! What have I done? All the promises, the vows swept away in one
thoughtless moment. Her chastity, her virginity, he'd claimed for himself when
he'd solemnly sworn to protect her.

He was not some sixteen year-old soldier on leave, ripe to be persuaded by
the first pretty face. He should never have allowed her to talk him into such a
thing. He should never have weakened to his own selfishness. Whether or not they
were victorious, nothing good could come of this new arrangement.

Her frank and honest desperation touched him, mingling with his concern for
her. For days, he'd tracked Rau's footprints, afraid to the depths of his soul
he'd lost her. Terrified that when he burst into the chamber it would be
Doan-Rau who wielded the Sword and Riordan dead. Relief weakened his
resolve.

And so he'd given her the only comfort he had to offer.

What a lie that is, his conscience countered mercilessly. Is that what you'd
tell her father? Truth is you desired her. You took advantage of her fear, her
willingness. And after you'd sworn to protect her. You're a disgrace to your
dead King's faith in you.

Unaware of his torment, Riordan murmured in her sleep and turned over.

He reached out and gently shook her shoulder, careful not to touch the Sword.
Its power worked in devious ways. It had corrupted him. Blame not the Sword. The
deed was yours. His conscience would not even allow that small lie.

Nhaille shook her harder. “Come Riordan, you must get up. We've
overslept.”

She sprang awake, much as he had, searching instantly for the danger sure to
be creeping up on them while they slept in broad daylight. Then her gaze
softened and she looked up at him.

“Nhaille--”

There was a tenderness in her smile that hadn't been there before, betraying
the intimacy they'd shared.

She had a knowledge of him he'd never meant to reveal. He swallowed another
pang of shame. Never again he'd vowed. But Riordan conjured feelings long
buried. Things he'd not thought of since...

Nhaille slammed the door on his thoughts.

“We must hurry.” The words came out more sharply than he intended. “We've
lost valuable time.”

Bewilderment registered in her eyes, followed swiftly by hurt. He loathed
himself for causing it. But what had taken place between them must not be
allowed to happen again.

“What is it, Nhaille?” She reached for him, refusing to be so easily
discouraged. “Are you troubled by what happened last--”

With a warrior's skill he evaded her. “Riordan, the day will not wait for
us.”

Walls came up around her thoughts. Hurt showed plainly on her face, but she
absorbed the verbal blow with no more than a blink. Without another word, she
rolled up her blanket, gathered up the Sword and strode toward Strayhorn.

With a temper like hers, he should have suspected she'd be as passionate as
she was beautiful. A brief memory of her sweaty body pressed against his, her
hands tangled in his hair, flitted agonizingly through his mind. With a cry, he
choked it back.

And fled like a coward toward the horses after her.

He felt her eyes boring into his back as they rode out. As he feared, her
silence was fleeting.

“You're angry with me.”

“No,” he said in a tone that discouraged further discussion. I'm furious with
myself. But Riordan, once she seized upon an idea, would not be dissuaded.

She was silent a moment, and he could almost hear the gears of her mind
turning. “If I'm not to your taste, you should just say, I would understand.
It's not as though I'm expecting a proposal of marriage. I'll likely be dead
within the month, anyway.”

“Gods, Riordan! It's not that. Have done with it. Please!”

“Is there someone else?”

The question nearly stopped his heart. Was she hell bent on torturing him? He
reined in between two cauliflower bunches of crystal. “There's no one else.
Hasn't been for nineteen years.”

“What is it then?” She looked him full in the face. Tears gathered in her
eyes. “I thought--I thought that you found it as pleasurable as I did.”

Pleasurable? Indeed, it had been wonderful. But to tell her that would only
lead him down the path to further oath breaking. Not to mention the eventual
breaking of her heart. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to
appease her and set the conversation onto a more comfortable track. But the only
words that crossed his lips were a hoarse plea. “Riordan, I beg you!”

The desperation in his voice got through to her when nothing else had. She
shut her mouth and fell silent.

#

What in Al-Gomar, the deepest hell, could it be now?

Riordan shook off the seductive vestiges of sleep. The sudden of abundance of
rest left her sluggish, dull-witted. Obviously things were not as they were last
night. She had no idea what had changed.

Clearly Nhaille's conscience still troubled him. Why, she couldn't fathom. In
a few short weeks they could both be dead and it would cease to matter. His
promises to her father, her chastity, would be so many ashes. Just like
Kanarek.

Was it regret? Did he wish their relationship, now consummated, undone,
banished?

Riordan brought her brows together in a deep frown. By his utter abandonment
to their passion, she'd assumed the pleasure they'd shared was mutual. But when
it came to ways of men, she had to admit she was hopelessly ignorant. Nhaille
was the only specimen she'd had the opportunity to examine up close. Even after
nineteen years, the turnings of his mind mystified her.

Why, if he'd enjoyed what they'd done together, was he acting as if he was on
the way to his own funeral?

Perhaps, she thought with a sudden pang of embarrassment, he'd merely
participated out of kindness, obliging her desperate wish. Maybe he felt nothing
for her beyond his oath to her father.

Shame brought another stinging wave of tears to her eyes. Had Nhaille bedded
her only out of mercy? Could a man feign such passion?

I lost my heart to you long ago. His enigmatic words echoed in her mind.
Damned if she could figure him out.

Even in the dirtiest duel, simple rules could be followed. Stab your enemy
more times than he could wound you, and the victory was yours. In love, the
rites were not so clear cut.

Should I be declaring victory or defeat? Her thoughts wandered after him as
Nhaille put the spurs to Stormback and rode past her. Strayhorn followed
automatically.

The brief respite from war was over. Her last wish had been granted.

With a deep sigh, Riordan gripped the Sword's crystal hilt. Well, that's one
regret you won't be able to use against me, she told it silently and was
relieved to discover it was true. This morning she felt wholly human. Memories
of their passion crowded out the Sword's seductive call. Whatever fate had in
store for them in the next few weeks, she vowed not to regret their one night
together.

Beneath her hand the Sword thrummed softly. Her fingers stroked its cool
smoothness. I'm here, it seemed to remind her.

Taking a deep breath, she emptied her mind. Its will nudged hers. Slowly, a
little at a time, she let it in. This time the sensation was not as suffocating.
She squeezed its influence into a small box in her mind. By exerting her own
will she found she could maintain a margin of control, allowing for the fact
that the Sword was not drawn and no ready victim awaited it.

Riordan looked around her. Seen through the Sword's consciousness, the
landscape stood out in sharp relief. The sky above was so blue it stung her
eyes. Tiny fissures and cracks spread across the rock around her like veins. If
she concentrated, she could almost hear the earth breathing.

Shraal sorceries were very much tied to the land, she realized. A source of
their great strength. Every outcrop, each rocky summit, even the individual
grains of the crystalline sand vibrated with the same tone as the Sword. The
entire landscape sang to it. Beneath them, the earth thrummed with a low bass
tone. Smaller rock emitted higher pitched notes. Carried aloft above it all the
wind through the mountains wove a soprano melody.

Riordan dropped her hand. The song faded until there was only the
ever-present whine of the wind.

“It knows.”

Startled from his own thoughts, Nhaille looked back at her.

“The world knows the Sword is drawn.”

“Yes.”

She rode abreast of him, and he looked over at her guardedly. Riordan noted
the plea in his gaze and nearly laughed.

All right, Nhaille, you needn't worry. We will speak of something other than
last night.

“Through the Sword I can feel the,” she paused, searching for the right
words, “pulse of the land.”

“The Sword draws its power from the stone of which it is crafted.”

“From the ancient earth.”

“Right.” Her intuitive understanding seemed to please him. Then again,
perhaps it was merely relief at a new topic of conversation.

“And if the land recognizes it as one of its own, then so would the
Amber.”

“Undoubtedly it does.”

“Then Doan-Rau will know where I am.” She considered the impact of that
knowledge realizing for the first time how interconnected Shraal sorceries were.
A weapon drawn leagues away affected another. No wonder the Shraal had nearly
annihilated themselves.

“That is true. Our options are severely limited now.”

My options have always been limited. Riordan smothered her self-righteous
anger. It served only to strengthen the Sword's bloodlust.

“Since we spoke of other things last night...” She watched Nhaille's defenses
slam shut on his thoughts and continued quickly. “Perhaps now would be a good
time to tell me about the Sword.”

Nhaille drew an obvious breath of relief.

“Before I have to draw it again,” she finished. “It would be better than
trying to instruct me while I have its tip pressed against your heart.”

“That it would,” he said and shuddered.

She met his gaze. “I'm sorry, Nhaille. When I think of what could have
happened--”

“Put the matter to rest, Riordan. It was not your fault, and I am still in
one piece.”

His calm dismissal made her furious. “Don't make excuses for me! All my life
I've been expected to sit still while fate walks over me.”

He stared at her dumbly.

“Did it occur to none of you that I might have a brain of my own, that given
resources, I might be able to change the course of fate?”

“Riordan--” he began, but she continued, raising her voice to drown out his
words.

“If you really believed Hael was going to wipe us out, why didn't we launch
the first strike?”

“That would have been a declaration of war. Think about it, Riordan.”

“I have been thinking about it. If I'd been Queen, if it had been my kingdom,
I'd have wiped out Hael as soon as I heard the prophecy.”

“And what would have in return for your rash move? Two kingdoms locked in a
vicious battle of your making. A land battered and barren, never to support life
again. And all because of your own superstitions!”

His sudden anger shocked her to silence.

“It's fine to speculate long after the fact and the decision was not yours to
make,” Nhaille continued. Would you really have destroyed Hael knowing that
you'd never be certain whether your actions were justified? And what would you
have done when Hael rebuilt itself and declared war on you?"

“War was coming sooner or later.”

“Only a fool would hasten war.”

“In the end, what does it matter?”

“It matters, Riordan. Never think it doesn't. Thoughts like that will only
get you into danger with the Sword.”

Bitterness rose up inside her, despite her vows. “My father didn't really
believe, did he? Yet he was content to sacrifice my life and a great deal of
time for the possibility.”

“That is not fair to his memory. I know he agonized long over his dilemma.
With your mother dead, he had no one to share the burden.”

Riordan shot him a bleak look. It didn't matter how long he'd debated or how
much pain the decision had cost him. She'd been deprived of his love, of the
life she might have had.

“I'm not obliged to share his opinions simply because we're blood kindred,”
she snapped.

“No.” Nhaille frowned severely. “But you must alter your thinking. Do not
forget, the great wars of Bayorek were fought by like-minded people. And do not
forget the result.”

That if nothing else, got through to her. Images of the lifeless plains of
Kor-Koraan, the gutted towers of Bayorek flitted through her mind. Images from
the history books. A land blackened by war, lying utterly useless for centuries.
Until its people rebuilt their kingdoms from its ashes.

In time to start another war.

Though she was loathe to admit it, Nhaille was right. Her way of thinking
would lead her right down the Shraal's path to impulsive decisions, to
ill-conceived declarations of war.

Riordan shook the clinging hands of hatred from her mind. “How am I going to
wield the Sword without repeating the Shraal's mistake?”