The Deadwalk Read Online Free PDF

him in displeasure.
    But I have made us great. Our praises will be sung for hundreds of years. He
wondered absently why that thought did nothing to lift his mood.
    The memory of Kanarek's King staring lifelessly at him in defiance had taken
root in his mind and refused to leave.
    The man was dead, he told himself sternly. All expression died with him. It
was his imagination, nothing more. He stared into the night as the sound of
merry-making faded.
    For a moment his vision misted and he had a sudden image of a silver-haired
woman staring down at him with piercing gray eyes. The vision was gone as
swiftly as it came. There was nothing before him but a flash of gray against the
black sky. Dawn.
    Rau contemplated the empty goblet. He turned to go back into the now quiet
hall.
    Suddenly, he whirled and tossed the wineglass high into the sky.
    Caught in the light of the lanterns, it flickered, then crashed to the
cobblestone like a falling star.
     
     
     
     
     

The Deadwalk
    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