The Deadwalk by Stephanie Bedwell-Grime Page A

the soldiers around him paused in their breathing. For
the first time since he'd embarked upon his quest, he'd doubted.
    In its nest of crystal, the Amber waited. Rau crept closer, afraid for a
moment to touch it lest he be struck dead.
    Men formed a fence behind him. Nothing to do but go on. The air around him
crackled as his fingers met its cool surface. In that moment, Doan-Rau, Prince
of Hael thought he had won for himself the ancient throne of Bayorek. It was
destined to be.
    Still his father had not believed. His entourage of aged advisors scoffed
even as he rode up to the gates, bearing his great prize. They'd not believe him
still, if old Wincott hadn't died.
    Destiny again. Why else would the old counselor have perished on the eve of
his return?
    A demonstration, they demanded. A spectacle he swore they'd have.
    With the whole of his father's counsel room waiting in hushed anticipation,
Rau chipped off a sliver of Amber and slid it into Wincott's right eye.
    At Rau's command, as his father's most trusted advisors watched in
open-mouthed astonishment, Wincott's body rose stiffly from its pallet. Only one
more spectacle was needed to secure their devotion.
    The thing that had been Wincott waited blank faced for its orders. Rau
motioned for Larz to hand the cadaver his sword.
    Larz stared back at him in uncomprehending silence. Then, sure he hadn't
misunderstood, the Captain drew his sword. With a last pleading look in Rau's
direction, he handed the sword to Wincott. The corpse took it. Rau scanned the
soldiers that lined the walls of the audience chamber.
    “That man over there,” he said indicating one with the tip of a black-gloved
finger. “Kill him.”
    The soldier shrank back in horror. He would have bolted from the chamber, had
Larz not restrained him.
    On Rau's order, the cadaver advanced upon the hapless soldier, sword raised
for the killing blow. In horrified fascination the soldier watched the cadaver
move toward him.
    It would have killed him, Rau thought with a smile. Not his intention, of
course. He'd waited until the sword was a hair's breath from the soldier's
breast, then called the order to halt.
    Wincott froze. The soldier fainted. In that glorious moment, Rau won the
support of his father's advisors.
    Ah yes, Rau thought grimly. These demonstrations were indeed necessary.
    So why was there a chill running between his shoulder blades in spite of the
warmth of his cloak and the blazing sun? Why did an old man's superstitions
haunt his dreams, piercing even his most drunken stupor?
    Rau and Larz circled back, taking their places at the head of the army. The
brief dissension now effectively subdued, the long line of soldiers and horses
flowed easily across the landscape. Featureless flatlands gave way to the gentle
swell of hills and lush vegetation. Rau was grateful for the occasional shade of
trees after miles of scrubby brush.
    But though the terrain was easier going, the nagging sense of doubt would not
allow him to relax. Fragments of his father's mocking words echoed in his mind.
Could there really be some long-hidden Caryn heir even now plotting his
demise?
    “Fairy tales,” Rau muttered with a cynical laugh.
    If Kanarek had such a weapon, why had old Arais-Khun-Caryn not used it in the
hour of his most desperate need? Last night's vision was nothing more than a
drunken hallucination. The House of Caryn were noted for their dark hair and
darker eyes. The blonde phantom was merely an embodiment of his drunken desire
for female company, a symptom of the strain of a lengthy campaign.
    The memory of those slate-gray eyes boring into his made him shudder. If
destiny offered the warrior-princess as one last test, he would have to destroy
her. Nothing would stand between Rau and his great legacy.
    Rau jolted to his senses. Beside him, Larz waited patiently, as if for an
answer.
    “Captain?”
    Larz cleared his throat. “I was asking, Sir, if we should not call