With a glare, Arya lunged at the two hesitating rangers. They fell back into defensive stances, unwilling to approach the fierce woman. She was thankful for the reprieve, since pain was lancing up her leg, even as she bit her lip to ignore it.
The momentary lapse in her duel allowed Arya a moment to glance after Walker, at the Whistling Stag. She could hear nothing from within, and that did nothing to calm her nerves. It was only a momentary glance, though, then the ranger was back, sword lancing for her heart.
Her heart…
"You are his only hope," had been the wizard's words.
Arya slapped it aside and growled her frustration.
Meris ran into the Whistling Stag's common room only to find it deserted except for the innkeep Garion and a few regulars drinking at the bar. At the sight of the bloodied Meris, carrying a drawn axe, bursting through the door, all eyes turned.
"Oi, lad, wha' be the-" Garion began.
Running across the room, Meris slapped him across the face, silencing his next few words. Stunned, the big man staggered back and knocked a few tankards over-including the ale of a wizened old man who kept right on drinking air without noticing.
Wearing a haggard and hunted look, Meris grabbed up one of the drinkers-a drunken rake with long brown hair and a half-beard-and held the drunkard's body before him like a shield.
"Now, wait jes' a moment-" stammered Morgan.
"Silence!" shouted the wild scout. "Malar's claws!"
He held the rake up between himself and the door, as though expecting a blade to come lancing for his heart at any moment.
Then a fist came out of the darkness behind him and struck the back of his head.
Meris staggered and fell, shoving Morgan away. He drew the main gauche from the rake's belt, though, and turned with the blade slashing, but there was no one to attack. There were only the other Whistling Stag patrons, who were even now fleeing up the stairs, with a surprisingly sober Morgan following them.
"Meris Wayfarer," a haunting, ghostly voice called.
"Face me like a man, damned creature!" challenged Meris.
Walker appeared in a dark corner of the room before him, and Meris let fly with the main gauche. It stabbed into the wood wall and wobbled there.
"Dark as shadow," intoned Walker. His voice, from no visible source, echoed around the room eerily.
Meris drew a throwing knife from his belt and looked around, but no one was there.
"You will die, Meris Wayfarer, Meris the bastard," Walker promised. As he spoke, he stalked Meris around the room, passing between the shadows, always just on the verge of material presence. The drawn shatterspike glittered, as did the sapphire eye of his wolf ring, spectral as both were. "For crimes against my family, for crimes against those I love, for crimes against the people of Quaervarr and the people of the Silver Marches."
Walker stepped across a pool of light, and Meris threw the knife. It passed through the intangible ghostwalker and thunked into the closed door.
Walker continued. "I am the silence of the grave, the shock of lightning. My passing is rain upon the mountains and wind through the plains. My rage burns in the Hells, and I will bring you to those Hells. I, the spirit of vengeance, promise you death."
"Stay away from me!" shouted Meris, his expression terrified beyond belief. "Away! Take anything you want! Leave me be!"
"Tempt not the spirit of vengeance," came the voice. Walker materialized right before him, his pointing finger but a hand's breadth from the scout's face. "He comes for you."
Then Meris's expression changed and his feigned terror vanished. "Perhaps not, Rhyn," came the searing reply.
No matter how fierce and skilled the three knights were, they knew it was only a matter of time before the rangers realized they outnumbered the knights. With renewed vigor-aided by simple assessment of the enemy forces-the Greyt family rangers fought back with greater confidence, with multiple men going to attack each of the knights in a coordinated fashion.
"It's about time for that backup plan, Derst!" Arya shouted, parrying and running, keeping the four rangers that were now her opponents from surrounding her.
Several more were moving her way, though-maneuvering to get at her flanks. Without armor or a shield, Arya would not be able to fend off more than one or two attackers.
"Backup plan?" Derst asked dubiously, evading a swipe, rolling under the man's arm and gouging him in the thigh with his dagger. A ranger cut along his back, leaving a long red line, but Derst only grimaced, dodged, and fought on.
"You used to be a thief!" roared Bars. "You always have a backup plan!" A pair of daggers shot in, seeking his flesh. He batted one aside, and the hand that went with it, but accepted a stab from the other. A knife wound for a broken hand would be more than a fair trade-under other circumstances. "And it's about time for that plan!"
"You know," panted Derst, even as he snagged a sword with his chain-dagger, only to have the thick leather snap in two. The cutting blade nearly sliced his arm in two, and it was only Derst's reflexes that pulled it out of the way. Frowning at the destroyed weapon as he dodged and eluded his attackers, Derst finished the sentence. "I think you're right."
The door of Greyt's manor burst open and a score of men-some watchmen, some businessmen, even a couple noble dandies-with the gigantic Unddreth at their head, burst out, captured swords and daggers in their hands. With cries of "Quaervarr!" and "The Stag!" they rushed to join in the fray.
Derst had always had a talent for opening locks-and more than enough experience with cell doors.
"How's that for a backup plan, lass?" shouted Derst. Then he dived away from a frightened ranger and corrected himself. "Sorry-Arya. How about this development, eh?"
There was no reply.
"Arya?" he asked again.
The ghostwalker gave Meris a bittersweet smile in reply. "Rhyn Thardeyn died long ago," Walker said. "That name holds no power over me."
"No, no it doesn't," Meris said. "But your true name does, doesn't it, Rhyn Greyt?"
Walker hesitated, shock spreading over his face, and his body wrenched fully into the physical world. Immediately, Meris slashed his axe at the ghostwalker.
Stunned, Walker managed to deflect the axe, but it hooked around the shatterspike. Meris ripped the weapon from Walker's hand, spun it, caught the sword's hilt, and turned it into a stab. With his bracer, Walker managed to turn the killing thrust into his shoulder. The hand axe darted low and hooked around Walker's leg. Blinded by the pain in his shoulder, Walker couldn't resist as Meris yanked him from his feet. Walker's head slammed into the hard floorboards and the air fled from his heaving lungs.
"Your mystery is your power, Rhyn Greyt," said Meris, "is it not? Your betrayer told me this. Not so confident without your secret, are you? You didn't even know, did you?"
Walker was speechless.
"Oh yes, brother," Meris said over him, spinning the shatterspike in his hand. "Lyetha loved our father first-before Thardeyn, the old priest. When Greyt wouldn't marry her, Lyetha turned to Thardeyn to hide you. And to think, all that time pretending that you were Thardeyn's-all for naught. I always suspected, but I didn't know. Until now."
How did he know this? Who could have told him? Lyetha? She would never have…
"Why?" Walker managed to croak through the lights dancing across his eyes. He felt so weak, so unsure, so unfocused.