"Ahem," Derst said, clearing his throat. "We're still here."
Walker and Arya, remembering themselves at last, pulled apart and turned. Though she had moved to the side, Arya still held his hand tightly, a warm touch that threatened to swallow Walker's focus.
The sounds of battle were still coming from beneath the manor. Bars and Derst had freed the other prisoners, who even now fought Greyt family rangers underground.
The three knights were covered with sweat and grime, clad in simple tunics and leggings rather than armor, and speckled here and there with blood-none of it apparently theirs. Their borrowed and improvised weapons (Derst's being a dagger, leather thong, and flask) were in sorry need of repair. All three seemed tired, weak, and totally unprepared for a fight except for the grim expressions they wore-looks that would cause the most hardened warrior to wince.
In perfect shape to wade into battle.
Walker nodded. "Well met," he said.
"Well met indeed," said Bars, extending his hand. "Arya's told us much about you. Well, not really that much… Well, aye, nothing. Um
… Well met." He trailed off and left his arm out for Walker to take.
Walker looked down at the extended arm and took it, to his great surprise.
Derst shook Walker hand. "I thought you'd be taller," he mumbled.
"I'm glad you got to meet," said Arya. "Especially since we're probably all going to meet Kelemvor in his underworld soon."
Walker needed no words to explain what they were about to do. He merely pointed.
"Bah!" exclaimed Derst. "You're always the pessimist, Arya."
"Aye, how many rangers can Meris have?" rumbled Bars. "A dozen? Two? Babe's play!"
"Easier than poking a chest full of goblins with a rapier," agreed Derst. "And besides-are they the legendary Knights in Silver? No. We are." He paused. "The legendary."
"Right," agreed Bars. "The Knights in Silver have never been defeated on the field of battle, and for good reason. Each of us is worth twenty of them!"
Arya, none-too-confident, looked at Walker for support, but the ghostwalker only smiled. She rolled her eyes.
"Men," she said.
"Aye," agreed Derst. Then, after a pause, he looked at Walker. "So-what's our plan?"
Walker turned and looked down the darkened hallway. He bent and slowly retrieved the discarded shatterspike sword.
"The front entrance?" Bars said, bemused. "Smells like an ambush."
"Bah! Meris would never expect us to be so stupid as to go out the front!" put in Derst with a laugh.
Then, when no one laughed along with him, his face grew serious once more.
"We're not, are we?" he asked, looking to each one for a reply.
None were forthcoming.
The ghostwalker peered at each of the knights. Then, without a word, he began walking resolutely down the hallway.
A smile lit on Bars's face.
"I like that plan!" he said. He hurried behind Walker.
Derst and Arya looked at each other, both equally stumped.
"Well, I suppose there's always my foolproof backup plan," said Derst. Arya arched an eyebrow.
"Proof against you, you mean?" Arya asked.
"You know me," Derst said with a shrug. He indicated the hallway with an open hand, and followed Arya when she ran after Walker.
When they arrived at the closed double doors, Walker held up a hand to stop them. He turned to address the three knights, who shared his determination. They drew steel.
"We do not know how many rangers await," said Walker. "I will go first."
"Suit yourself," Derst whistled. He hid behind a small table. "I'm comfortable, being alive and everything."
Bars nodded, pressing himself into the corner between the door and the wall.
Arya was not as yielding. She stood next to Walker, stubbornly clinging to his arm. When he looked over at her, her eyes were firm. "I'm coming with you," she said.
"This is the only way," Walker replied calmly but firmly.
"But, Walker, I have to tell you-"
His steely gaze cut her off and told her Walker would brook no argument.
Biting her lip, Arya took Walker's hand and squeezed it.
"Be wary," she said.
Walker nodded, squeezing her hand back to show he understood. Then Arya took up her place opposite Bars.
The ghostwalker closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. His focus returned, dampening the hot rage to a cool fury, shuffling it behind icy walls of control. Deep in his dark resolve once more, Walker opened his eyes, prepared.
Sheathing the shatterspike, Walker stepped to the doors, pulled them open, and walked out, arms wide open…
Into a hail of arrows.
Chapter 22
30 Tarsakh
Arrows from two dozen bows shot for him, arrows seeking to turn Walker into a human forest. The ambushing rangers were fully confident the battle was over before it had begun, for there was no way Walker could dodge or deflect so many arrows. The arrows shot right through him and slammed into the open doors, carpeted floor, and walls inside Greyt's manor, and more than a few bristled from the end table behind which Derst hid. Arya stifled a scream, covering her mouth. Bars and Derst looked at one another, shocked.
Walker just shook his head. It was all just as he had expected.
As the rangers, standing in a rough line in the middle of the plaza, looked down at their bows as though the weapons had betrayed them somehow, Walker raised his head and continued to stride forward. As he came, they realized they could see through his body; he was translucent, like a ghost.
More than a few of the twenty-four rangers gasped in terror, seeing the vengeful spirit of folk legend, and their limbs shook. The others, old and hardened veterans all, gazed at Walker in doubt and disbelief.
The two dozen men stood in front of the Whistling Stag, which rested across the way from Greyt's manor. Walker nodded. That must have been where Meris had fled.
"I am the Spirit of Vengeance," said Walker. His matter-of-fact words were soft, but they projected throughout the square loudly enough to reach all their ears. "I am the son of the Ghostly Lady of the Dark Woods, who brought the fires of heaven upon Quaervarr a century past. I was born and live in darkness, I breathe retribution, and I sleep to the screams of the damned. I fear no living thing, man or woman."
He paused, waiting while all that sank into his foes, but he need not have bothered. The rangers were trembling.
"I have slain your champions, and one alone awaits me," he continued. "My fight is with Meris Wayfarer, not with you. I offer you this one chance to throw down your weapons and to quit Quaervarr and the Moonwood forever."
Many of the guardsmen looked hesitant and afraid, but the reminder of Meris, their new lord, seemed to snap them out of it. Not that they knew loyalty, but as much as they feared the black specter before them, they feared the cruelty of Meris Wayfarer more. After all, one man could not defeat two dozen men, no matter his power. No ranger threw down his arms-indeed, many fitted more arrows to the string or drew swords.
"Then it seems I have no choice," said Walker, slowly drawing the shatterspike and continuing to walk toward them, "but to kill you all."
Half the rangers replied by aiming for Walker once more, and half tightened their grip on their weapons.
The ghostwalker made no sign of changing his calm walk until the first ranger, two short swords in his hands, lunged at him, screaming the name of the late Lord Singer.
Walker whirled, his blade out and dancing in the breeze. It cleaved one sword in two then snapped against the man's arm, sending him away screaming. A second ranger thrust a long sword at Walker from the other side, a blow that was deflected with perfect timing. The ghostwalker brought the sword up high, then threw the ranger off and continued walking, as though the man had never attacked. This ranger looked at his sword, saw that it was still whole, and swung at Walker's back. At the same moment, the dozen rangers with bows drawn fired upon the ghostwalker.