The Deadwalk (18 page)

I'm getting too old for this.

Damn, he thought. Damn the cold and the damp ground. Damn the war that came
too long after his youth. Damn the wound that would likely cost him the use of
his right sword arm. Damn it all, he couldn't die just yet.

Somehow he had to find a way to stay in the saddle a few more days.

Peering over his shoulder, Riordan winced at the sight of his mangled arm.
Penden rummaged in his pack for a needle and sutures. Riordan pressed the
wineskin closer.

Nhaille shook his head. “We have not the time. We should already be on the
march to Hael.”

“And kill us all from exhaustion? The men are weary, and so am I. We fought
hard today. We're deserving of a couple of hours rest to patch our wounds.”

She was bandaged herself, her armor hanging open so as not to chafe the
wound. Though lines of strain creased the corners of her eyes and tightened her
mouth to a grim line, injury hadn't slowed her down much. She'd sat through
Penden's ministrations, jaw set, teeth clenched tight together. Not a sound from
her, even as the needle pierced her flesh. Even after the effort of wielding
both the Amber and the Sword, she was still milling among the ranks, offering
words of praise and encouragement, worrying after Strayhorn who'd bolted when
she was thrown from the saddle.

Riordan, he noted, hadn't drunk from Penden's wineskin, either.

He'd known this day would come. He'd trained her for duty, prepared her as
best as he could to command an army. He'd tried to prepare himself for the day
when she would be his commander. Now that day had arrived, he was reluctant to
relinquish the post.

It didn't help that the Queen was fussing over him as if she was his
nursemaid instead.

And he was but an aging soldier, a man twice her age who had no business
doing what he'd done with his liege. Dark thoughts led him to the realization
that it could never work. Assuming they survived the war, Riordan would ride
home victorious, to rebuild Kanarek and reign as its Queen. He would be nothing
but a crippled war hero.

Nhaille looked back at Riordan and was shocked to find her smiling.

“Look!”

He sighted down the line of her arm, wondering what could possible amuse her.
Hills dyed crimson in the setting sun were dotted with moving black specks.

“It would seem Hael doesn't care for our company.”

Haelian soldiers, racing back toward Hael and the sanctuary of the Master
Stone.

“We did it!”

They'd won at least this first battle. His duty was done, he realized.
Riordan commanded the army. Riordan made the decisions. He was but a foot
soldier. That thought mingled with pain blackened his mood further.

“Riordan, it was but one battle. Do not forget that Hael still awaits us.” He
moved to rise, to drag himself back upon his horse and ride toward Hael himself
if she refused to listen to reason.

“I haven't forgotten.” She pushed him gently back down. “But I'll see you
patched back together first, Captain.”

Penden had the needle ready. The sharp penetration of metal into his flesh
made him grind his teeth. Another pain to be endured on top of the numbing agony
that cut from shoulder to wrist. Nhaille shut his eyes, leaned back against her
as the last of his strength left him. He heard Penden's grunt of dismay as he
attempted to close the ragged wound, felt the press of the wineskin against his
lips.

And surrendered to the oblivion it offered.

#

The trumpet blasted through pain-clouded thoughts. Nhaille grasped
left-handed for his sword, getting it half way out of his scabbard before
consciousness dawned.

“You don't need the sword.” A cold hand closed around his. He started,
recognizing Riordan as the shadow that bent over him in the predawn light. “It's
just the morning signal.”

It didn't look like morning. The horizon had barely turned from indigo to
gray. Rain seemed likely. Though she moved stiffly, still favoring the wounded
side of her chest, the damp and the darkness didn't stop Riordan. Already she
was dressed in full armor, the Sword slung about her hips, the Amber's power
stone still lodged in her belt. It had taken nothing short of outright threats
to get the Riordan he used to know out of bed. The Sword's hunger spurred her
on. Or maybe it was just a headlong rush at destiny after all those years of
waiting.

She walked now through uncharted territory. There was no longer any useful
advice he could give. He didn't know what it felt like to have a million souls
clamoring in his mind, tearing him up inside. He wanted to reach out to her, to
take her in his arms one last time, regardless of the pain that radiated out
from his shoulder in a shower of needles, regardless of what the soldiers around
them thought. He wanted to shelter her, if only for a moment, from the
consequences that awaited her. But Riordan moved like a woman possessed, with
her father's single-mindedness

Fatigue weighed every muscle as he got to his feet. Sleeping on the cold
ground only added to the agony in his shoulder. The weight of years of planning
and weeks of worry descended on him in one massive stroke.

Gods Arais! Whatever made you think I could do this? But a young man never
thought of the reality of approaching middle age. A young man never thought
beyond the next moment, beyond the glory of being the recipient of the King's
great faith.

Riordan walked among the men as if she'd been commanding an army all her
life. And they regarded her with the awe due a legend come to life.

Movement caught his eye. Nhaille turned to find Riordan standing at the edge
of the summit, the stake of Amber in her hand. Below them, the army of the dead
marched out toward Hael.

He watched them go, fallen Haelians, Kanarekii in stages of decay too
advanced to be recognizable, newly-dead Kholeran. If he looked long enough, the
King would pass below them and he would have to look again on his dear friend's
walking corpse.

Jewels caught the setting sun. Remarkably, the diadem still perched on the
King's head, turning Nhaille's gaze in his direction.

“Let him go.”

He became aware of Riordan standing beside him.

“Leave him be, Nhaille. He's made his choice. This is what he wants.”

When had it happened, this strange reversal of roles? When had Riordan become
the commander and he her loyal servant?

Relief flooded him. The decisions were no longer his to make alone. The
course of the war no longer lay in his hands.

One of the soldiers led their horses toward them. It seemed Strayhorn had
been found. The warhorse didn't look any worse for the ordeal he'd suffered.

“We must go,” she said softly. “As you advised me at some length earlier,
Hael will not wait for us.”

Nhaille watched the King march past him until his lurching form was lost
among the leagues of his fellows.

“No,” he agreed, mounting stiffly onto Stormback's saddle. “Hael most
certainly won't.”

He was bone tired as never before. The biggest battle of Nhaille's career lay
before him. Perhaps it was his wounds, or maybe seeing Arais in the ranks of the
dead, weeks more decayed than last time. Or perhaps it was seeing the child he'd
raised step into his footsteps without so much as ripple.

Kanarekii soldiers poured over the hilltops, down into the highway. The
remnants of the Haelian and Kholeran army staggered after them. She had become
everything he'd hoped she would, he thought with a shiver of revulsion and
admiration. The army of the dead flowed before her, more smoothly than it ever
had for Doan-Rau.

Shraal blood burned in her veins. The innocent child he'd known was forever
lost, replaced by a wild-eyed woman he scarcely recognized. A woman who could
wield the Sword that felled the kingdom of Bayorek--and then abandon herself
with as much fervor to their love-making.

Nhaille shuddered again in the cold dawn air. From his hilltop perch, he
watched as the army chewed up the ground before it, each footstep taking them
closer to the destiny that awaited them in Hael.

He stood on the precipice of great events.

And he no longer had the stomach for any of it.

Hael. The city crouched on the horizon like an animal poised to spring.

Riordan reined in and looked up at the towering spires. In the tallest of
those towers was Doan-Rau. And somewhere in the labyrinth of winding corridors
was the Amber's hiding place. Before the day was done, she’d have destroyed them
both. Or died.

Not the best mood in which to greet the morning. Beside her Nhaille looked up
at the great towers with the same trepidation. Riordan suspected it was only his
iron will that kept him on his horse during the long ride from Kholer. Deep down
she feared the day's fighting would be the end of him. But he refused to leave
her side, even after the most elaborate of her threats. And she didn't want the
men to witness any more of their quarrels.

The army collected uneasily behind them. Riordan slammed down her visor,
trapping her fears inside, away from prying eyes. She didn't want the men to
sense the raw fear within her.

Above them, Hael waited.

Unlike Kanarek, whose wide avenues she had memorized through the map Nhaille
kept hidden in the root cellar, Hael had a claustrophobic opulence. Dark streets
doubled back upon each other in an order that defied comprehension. Buildings
perched upon each other, monuments to different ages, different architects.
Leering above the poverty of the lower streets, the towering palace took up the
horizon. Its gilded roof was a sharp contrast to the bowels of the dark crowded
streets below.

Massive wooden gates were slammed shut against them. Archers by the dozen
manned the walls.

Just beyond range.

“We just can't go riding up to the gates,” Riordan mused. “Once Rau knows
we're in range, he'll bring out the Master Stone and the army will be his.”

Nhaille studied her fiercely. “I know what you're thinking, Riordan. And I
like it not one bit.”

She studied Nhaille sitting rigid with pain atop Stormback. Though she was
prepared to die in battle, now that the moment had come, she found she couldn't
send Nhaille into battle to die. Love has weakened me, she thought. But I don't
regret it, not one bit. However, if the Captain guessed her line of thinking
he'd be furious.

“We have no other choice,” she said aloud. “Only I can destroy the Amber. If
we announce our presence to the entire countryside, Rau will have this battle
won in a matter of minutes.” Imitating Nhaille, she finished, “And I like that
line of thinking not one bit.”

Nhaille drew his mouth into a grim line but didn't refute her orders. When
had things changed between them? she wondered. When had the Captain started
taking orders instead of giving them?

“Nhaille, I have to go in there myself. There's no other way.”

“I'm coming with you.”

“No!” She couldn't humiliate him in front of the men. She couldn't order him
beyond the lines of battle because of his injuries. “I need you here. In case I
fail.”

In case Rau captures me. In case I become a foot soldier in the army of the
dead. His grim expression told her she didn't need to say the words aloud.

“No.” The finality in his tone brooked no argument. Apparently, the Captain
wasn't taking orders so well, after all.

“I need you out here to create a distraction. Give the archers something to
do while I'm trying to find a way in.”

He frowned, and she knew her logic was sound. He didn't need to like the idea
to carry out her orders. But was he strong enough for the task she had in mind?
Riordan weighed her options and decided she had no choice.

“Here!” She slid the Power Stone from her belt. Nhaille's eyes widened. He
backed Stormback sharply away in reflex.

“Your Majesty, have you lost your mind!”

“Most probably weeks ago. But one lunatic knows another. Only a maniac can
deal with Doan-Rau.”

“Absolutely not!”

She crowded Strayhorn in beside him. “You must take it, Nhaille. If I'm
carrying it, Doan-Rau will know my every move. With you at the gate, controlling
the Amber, he'll be distracted from my movements with the Sword. Hopefully until
it's too late.”

“They'll tell him you're not with us.”

“No they won't.”

He looked at her then as if she were more insane than Rau. “And why is
that?”

“Because they will think I am with you.”

She glanced around for Nhaille's cousin. “Coren-Nhaille-Penden!”

Penden looked up in surprise. “Your Majesty?”

“Your helm and cloak, Soldier.”

They were both staring at her now, as if she'd taken complete leave of her
senses. With one last questioning look at her outstretched hand, Penden handed
over his helmet and undid the clasp of his cloak. Silver-blonde hair gleamed
white as the sun as she removed her helm and fastened Penden's beneath her chin.
She handed her own to Nhaille's cousin, who took it and wordlessly donned it
along with her cloak.

A tight fit, but he crammed it down over his ears and regarded her nervously.

“You will ride beside Nhaille on Strayhorn.”

He dismounted. With a questioning glance he handed the reins to Nhaille.

“Do as Her Majesty orders,” Nhaille said curtly as she swung down from
Strayhorn's back.

The warhorse objected to a strange rider. He tossed his head, threatening to
unseat the unfortunate Penden.

“Easy.” Riordan snatched at the reins. The majestic beast snorted at her,
plainly unhappy about this new arrangement. But he calmed at her gentle words
and permitted Penden to sit astride him. Riordan swung up onto Penden's
horse.

Amber flashed, a golden knife in the sunlight. “I wouldn't ask, Nhaille, not
if there was any other way. If we march straight into Hael all will be lost.”
She held the golden knife out toward him. “You know the lore as well as I do.
And there is no one I would rather trust with my kingdom or my life.”

“I am not of Shraal lineage,” Nhaille insisted, staring at the blade as if
touching it would scald him. “I was never meant to command the Amber. Remember
what happened with Larz.”

“I haven't forgotten. But it is only for a couple of hours at most.”

“Against the Master Stone, against a mind like Doan-Rau's I will be
lost.”

“Hopefully it won't come to that.” Riordan gazed at the gates that barred
their way. “And if it does we may be marching side by side in Rau's army on our
way to conquer Golar.”

The gravity of that comment got through to him. Nhaille reached for the
Amber.

Only his quick intake of breath betrayed his surprise. Riordan remembered her
own first contact, the terrifying sensation of dead minds pressed against her
consciousness and pitied him.

“Focus your thoughts,” Riordan said. “Do not let it steal too much of your
strength. The dead require constant guidance, not brute force.”

Nhaille's eyes narrowed as he concentrated. Riordan watched him closely. He
seemed to be bearing the strain well enough. Hold on just a little longer, she
thought desperately. If I'm successful, then we can all go home. But in order to
do that, first she had to destroy the Master Stone.

“Start making a commotion. Get their attention on the gate and not on the
soldier sneaking in the back door. Keep the men back. Let them underestimate the
numbers in our ranks, thin as they are. Put the dead on the front line.”

He nodded, his eyes creased at the edges in concentration, his jaw set
against the mental agony and the physical pain of his wounds.

“May Moraah, Goddess of Courage shine upon us. ”

“And on you, Riordan.”

Not her formal title this time, betraying the fact that Nhaille was
desperately afraid. We may never see each other again. She thrust the thought
from her mind. Please be all right, Nhaille. Riordan straightened Penden's loose
helmet on her head. “See you soon.”

“Wait!” Penden urged the reluctant Strayhorn up beside her. Reaching down
into his boot, he drew his dagger. “For luck, Your Majesty.”

“For luck,” Riordan repeated and slid Penden's dagger into her own boot.

He offered her a tight smile, then turned away to carry out her orders.
Riordan cast one last look back at Nhaille's back, stiff against the burden he
carried and her spiked helmet bobbing on Penden's head. She put the spurs to his
horse and headed back into the scrubby foliage for a scouting mission about the
periphery of Hael.

#

“Enemy at the gate!” The cry rang through the palace. Rau ran for the
balustrade. Beyond the city gates he could just make out the black forms of men
assembling. A booming thud resounded off the towers. Riordan-Khun-Caryn knocking
at his front door. He'd expected as much. The outright challenge was very much
her style, as it had been her father's before her. Not much subtlety to the
Khun-Caryn clan. Just as he'd thought, the Kanarekii had not one whit of sense
when it came to strategy. Did you really think you could win against me, here on
my own ground?

Another ominous boom sounded across the square. Apparently so. Desperation
obviously clouded her thinking. An easy battle. One soon over. He could feel it
in his bones.

He turned back from the wall, heading in the direction of the castle's
inner-most chamber, with its hidden treasure. His father would be shouting for
his presence in a matter of seconds, but before he dealt with the King and his
entourage of dithering old fools, a moment's reflection was needed.

Shouting came from all directions. Men thundered down the stone stairs,
racing for their bows, their swords, and their horses. He spied his father's
steward in the halls below and ducked down another passageway. Soon enough he'd
have to deal with the I told you so's, soon enough he'd have to listen to his
father's endless list of recriminations. If he must face his father's
disapproval, he might as well have all the facts. Facts even the keen-eyed
watchmen on the wall couldn't give him.

Rau unhooked a large brass key from his belt. The heavy door swung inward.
Though the stone chamber had no windows, the center of the room glowed with
gentle amber light. He stepped into its radiance.

Soothing waves of welcome washed over him. He opened his mind, admitting the
Amber's touch. Since he'd fled Kholer, the emptiness had roared its silence in
his mind. It was as if something vital had been cut away from him and he keenly
felt its loss. He stretched out a hand, laying it flat against the Amber's
warmth.

Heat seared into his palm, rushing upward through his veins into his heart,
into his mind. Rau allowed his consciousness to flow outward with it, down the
invisible strings that bound him to the soldiers in the army of the dead.

Clustered at the gate, he felt their failing minds and quickly laid his own
will over them. But the mind that defied him was stronger than he'd ever
imagined. With indomitable will it held to the pathetic minds of the dead,
urging them forward into his territory, into his father's kingdom.

Rau cursed viciously. He felt further, testing the barriers of that mind that
blocked his efforts like a stone wall. The power stone he could feel, a bright
gleam among the dim minds of the dead. And yet, somehow it didn't feel like
Riordan, though it certainly held the stamp of her stubbornness. Rau sent his
consciousness further still, searching after the Sword's cool brilliance.
Nearby, he was certain of that. As his father had proclaimed, the Kanarekii heir
had brought the abomination to their very gates.

Was it the Sword that allowed her to hold on to those pitiful failing minds
with such tenacity? Had she found some way to combine the two magics? The
thought left him trembling.

No matter, he thought with renewed purpose. He had the Master Stone. He would
win out over the pathetic numbers of the Kanarekii rebellion.

Rau placed both hands against the Amber and flung the full force of his will
against the forces of Kanarek.

#

There had to be a way in. Riordan peered through the dense screen of branches
at the stone wall that blocked her passage. A chip in the masonry, enough to get
a foothold. Something. Anything!

And what of the guards on the wall?

Nothing was impenetrable. She'd scaled the magenta mountains.

She crawled deeper into the foliage, leading Penden's horse behind her. Just
a couple of chinks in the stonework and a lucky arrow from one of the Kanarekii
archers to take down the guard, that was all she needed. Behind her she heard
the resounding boom of Kanarek's battering ram working on the city gates.

Retain control, Nhaille. Just a few moments longer, long enough for me to
scale the wall.

It was all a matter of timing. Hers, Nhaille's, Rau's. She poked her head out
of the brush, sighting a patch of deeper shadow in the wall's pattern.

The tempo of the battering increased. Heads turned in the direction of the
gates. Riordan crawled from her hiding place, keeping low in the deep grass. A
few more feet, just a few more feet and another distraction. She was almost at
the wall.

Standing in its shade she looked up at the soldiers on the battlements above
her. A loud splintering echoed across the city. Heads turned. Bows cocked.

Just the distraction she'd wished for. Riordan sprang. Grass rushed by under
her feet. She flattened herself against the wall. Shouts ricocheted above her.
She wedged the toe of her boot into the stone and grasped the chipped masonry.

Each reach tore at the edges of her wound, making each move a silent agony.
She felt blood seeping through the material of her shirt to rest in a sticky
pool against her leather armor. Riordan ground her teeth against the pain and
hauled herself upward. Boots pounded the stone above her. Riordan sucked in her
breath, pressing herself flat against the wall. Just a few feet more.

Keep them occupied, Nhaille! Just a few moments more. I promise I'll never
ask another thing of you again.

Almost there. She scrambled higher.