That was fortunate-for her-because Walker's second slash came not a breath later, slamming into her shield with bone-numbing force. The fine steel held, though the keen shatterspike left a wide notch in its surface.
The knight attempted to swing back, but Walker parried the sword out to his left, spun toward her, dropped the shatterspike, grabbed her wrist, and rolled along her arm, coiling up to her sword hand all in one smooth movement, holding her blade away from him. Then he punched her stomach hard with his off hand and slammed his palm against her sword hand, knocking the sword from numbed fingers. Uncoiling once more, he slammed her back against the wall, and held the point of a knife to her throat-a knife that he had slipped from his left sleeve.
In the space of a breath, he stood, back to her front, her right hand in his, holding her against the wood.
Walker hissed in her ear. "Now-"
She twisted her hand and pulled a dagger from his right wrist sheath. Walker's eyes widened, but the surprise did not stop his reflex. With his free hand, he slapped the blade away.
"Well, that's out of the way," she said, half jokingly, as the knife fell to the ground.
"What?"
"You don't understand," the woman said. "I'm not here to fight you-"
"Then why are you here?" Walker demanded, so harshly that the knight flinched.
Then, as though she had steeled herself with the same icy resolve that ran through Walker's veins, the knight's face went calm.
"Are we through interrupting each other?" she asked slowly and levelly.
"Are we?" Walker kept his voice calm.
"What kind of answer is that?" asked the knight. "Obviously, I'm in no position to surprise you with an attack, so it's really a matter of whether you-" Walker was impassive as he held the knife to her throat. The knight swallowed. "Right, well, let's assume that's a 'yes.' In that case, I'll tell you why I'm here."
"Indeed."
Though his rasp was chilling, the knight, unafraid, was staring into his sapphire eyes, a gaze that made him uncharacteristically uncomfortable. It was not a sensation he was used to. Fortunately, her eyes were drawn to a silver gleam on his finger-the wolf's head ring. Walker shifted his stance, pulling her attention from the ring.
"Will you do something for me?" she asked after a moment.
"Perhaps," replied Walker.
The knight lifted her chin, heedless of the blade poised there. "Allow me to speak without attacking?"
Walker's face was impassive.
"My name is Arya Venkyr of Everlund, Knight of Silverymoon," she said.
"Men call me Walker," said the man in black.
"I know," said Arya. "I have seen you before-"
"And?" Walker hissed, forcing her back to the former subject.
"I'm here on assignment to investigate the disappearances of half a dozen couriers-"
"Couriers?" asked Walker, unfamiliar with the term. He spoke Elvish more often than Common.
"Messengers," said Arya. "They have vanished over the last few tendays-"
"Then why are you here?" came the interruption.
Arya's brow wrinkled. "The couriers, they-"
"No, why here-why follow me?" corrected Walker. "I know nothing of your couriers."
"You do know something," she said. "Something that will help in my invest-"
"I know nothing of your couriers," repeated Walker.
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" asked Arya. Walker turned the knife he held to her throat. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take your word-"
"Indeed," said Walker.
Then he took the blade away from her throat, though he made no move to release her. He did not even realize he was still holding her until she tilted her head, examining his face.
"It was you, wasn't it?" she said excitedly, as though making a discovery. "You saved me. You're not as old as I thought-you can't have seen many more winters than me. Why do you wear your collar so high? What are you hiding?"
Not answering any of her questions, Walker released her and stepped away, toward his fallen sword. She stood there for a heartbeat, massaging her stung wrist. Then, as though remembering something, she clutched the trailing edge of his cloak and stayed him.
"You're going after one of Greyt's friends, Bilgren," Arya said, holding him back.
Walker shrugged, as if to concede the possibility.
Arya continued. "Turn back. Knowing my… knowing him, it's probably a trap."
Walker smiled. "It matters not," he said. He turned. "If you knew how I am committed, you would not stop me." He pulled his cloak out of her grasp and stalked away.
"Wait!" Arya shouted, not knowing why. She had almost let him fade away into the shadows, but something within wouldn't let her.
He turned, showing no emotion at all in his face, but she could tell he was confused.
The rush of words burst out of her faster than her mind could hold it back. "I wanted to thank you for saving me the other night."
Walker's expression did not change, but Arya could feel something shift. That had startled him. He stood still for a moment, gazing at her, and she felt none of his bitter, icy resolve burning at her. Instead, he seemed almost a simple man gazing at her through the darkness.
"You are welcome," Walker said quietly. He turned, bent low to retrieve the weapon, then headed back toward the street. Then he paused and looked back.
"What is it?" Arya asked, knitting her brows in confusion.
"I apologize for frightening you," said Walker. "You were in no danger." His voice was soft, almost gentle.
It is the curse of quick words-when one shouldn't respond, they come, and when one needs to speak, they are mysteriously absent. When Arya could not form a reply, Walker bowed his head and turned to go.
Arya blinked. What a quandary this man seemed: a creature of darkness, with vengeance burning in his eyes, and yet he had saved her. Arya felt the same conflicting duality as she looked upon him. On the one hand, his cold stare frightened her, and the rage she had seen in his eyes sent chills down her spine. But on the other, he intrigued her, taking her beyond her initial curiosity. And something told her that he hid much behind those blue eyes, beneath that black cloak…
That thought made her blush, but she hadn't meant it that way. Too much time around Derst, perhaps.
Now, Arya realized with a start, Walker was going back into the shadows, but slowly. There was more he wanted to say, she could sense, but he did not have the words. Something about the way he carried himself and the way he moved set her heart to racing.
"Stop!" said Arya without meaning to. She realized she'd stopped him a third time.
Walker turned back, and his eyes appraised her. "You possess courage," he said.
It sounded almost mocking, and Arya puffed out her chest. "Why do you say that?"
Walker may have smiled behind his high collar. "You do not fear me."
"Should I?"
Walker's gaze was her only answer.
Arya felt her defiant spirit flaring, and a retort came to mind. Her mouth was moving first, though, before she even considered what was to come out.
"Evil holds no terror for me," said Arya, baiting him.
"Then you should feel terror indeed, for I hold no evil for you," said Walker. "Only vengeance for my foes."
"Vengeance is evil," she argued.
"Vengeance is beyond good and evil," replied Walker.
They were silent for a long moment. Then, leaving it on that cryptic note, Walker turned and walked away.
Arya made to follow him but stopped, a thought having occurred to her. She reached in her pocket and fingered the gold amulet she had accidentally taken from Greyt's manor. She ran the other way down the alley.