The Deadwalk by Stephanie Bedwell-Grime Page A

son.
    No matter. When the coast is mine his acceptance will no longer matter. Not
even my father will be able to deny my brilliance. Taking a brief sip from his
canteen, Rau smiled to himself. They will sing my praises to Golar and
beyond.
    Maybe not my praises, he added with a sharp laugh out loud. But it will be my
likeness upon their coins, and my standard flown above their cities.
    Rau fingered the spike of amber in the pouch at his belt, cousin to the
broach at the neck of his cloak. And I shall place the Kanarekii Princess beside
her father at the head of my Army of the Dead.
    After all, it's only right that families stay together.
    Rau laughed maniacally at his own humor.
    #
    Nhaille hadn't uttered a word in hours. Not since she'd recklessly blurted
out that foolishness about the vision. Instead he listened to the wind, his dark
brows drawn, his mouth a grim line. She concentrated, but whatever caught
Nhaille's attention eluded her.
    Surely they couldn't be after us so soon.
    He straightened in the saddle, and she watched as his expression darkened
from somber to murderous.
    “What is it?”
    Nhaille signaled urgently for silence. Riordan scanned the low dunes around
them. Nothing.
    Desperately searching for a source of refuge, he motioned toward a low
outcrop of rock. Dismounting, she led Strayhorn toward it. The ever-present wind
drilled sand at the shallow opening, obliterating their footprints. They huddled
in the indentation, urging the horses in behind them. The shadows were
impenetrably dark after the sun's blinding light. Nhaille's eyes flickered in
the darkness, warning her to silence. He clamped a hand over Stormback's nose.
She mirrored his actions with Strayhorn. Crammed in beside the horses, they
waited a veritable eternity.
    Then, among the dunes, nearly tracing their own footsteps, there was
movement. Riordan sunk deeper into the recess, pressing herself against
Strayhorn's flank. Her heart hammered in her ears. She was certain even her
shallow breath could be heard above the wind.
    A rider passed in front of them a short distance away.
    For one disorienting second, Riordan saw her premonition superimposed upon
the scene before her. She blinked gritty eyes. No, this was reality. From her
hiding place, she peered out at him into the glaring light of the sun.
    Wind tore at his black cloak with angry fingers. It billowed out behind him
like great wings. The crimson plume on his helmet waved back and forth like a
flag. But it was the flash of amber at his throat that froze the gasp upon her
lips.
    Riordan's eyes slid sideways, locking with Nhaille's. He held her gaze,
willing her to silence.
    Several paces away, the rider paused, listening intently. Her heart froze in
her chest. Indrawn breath burned to be released.
    Indigo eyes flickered over the landscape, sweeping by the shadows that
concealed them.
    Don't see us, Riordan flung the sum of her will at him.
    A wall of sand blew momentarily between them. The rider wiped a hand across
his face, then spurred his horse onward.
    Riordan slowly released the breath she'd been holding. Shutting her eyes in a
fervent prayer, she sagged weakly against Nhaille.
    The rider plodded steadily away from them, his black form a dark smudge in
the brilliance. Together they watched him go. The horses whinnied nervously,
unhappy at being forced into such tight quarters.
    “Doan-Rau,” Riordan whispered. A statement, not a question. Without a doubt,
she knew him from her vision.
    Nhaille nodded. “He hopes to be heir to Hael and all its conquered
territories.”
    “He is not heir to Kanarek,” she said with venom. “And if I have my way,
he'll not live to be heir to anyone's territory.”
    Nhaille offered no answer to that, merely stared at the rider's rapidly
disappearing tracks. “Let him put some distance between us.”
    Riordan watched as he disappeared out of hearing range and flung the sum of
her wrath after him.