Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [100]
In the end, Walker was not fooled by Greyt's magic.
"Today dawns a new day in the history of our fair town, here in the frontier of the Moonwood," continued Greyt. "Or, should I say, today marks the end of an era. For too long, a dark scourge has haunted these woods and our fair streets, a scourge that walks without sound and wields merciless steel-a scourge some call Walker, and some the Ghost Murderer." There were grumbles in the crowd. "Well, no longer! Today, my son Meris and I have brought to an end the terrible reign of the Ghost Murderer!"
Cheers greeted this. Walker-standing there, listening to the announcement of his own death-might have smiled were he not overcome with enmity for the man speaking.
Greyt waited for the cheering to die down before continuing. "This very last eve, my son slew him, with the help of several of my servants." With this, he indicated the gathered rangers. Gieves and Darthan nodded shortly. "We have also apprehended the Ghost Murderer's accomplices-three renegade knights from Silverymoon."
Gasps sounded from the crowd. Walker's brow furrowed.
"Surely you recall three strangers who came into town, led by a woman, asking questions? Lady Arya Venkyr, who came to Quaervarr on a mission to investigate missing couriers-couriers she and the Ghost Murderer slew! Along with her two companions, they sought to find what we knew of the ghastly crimes, so they could continue them at will!"
There were a few murmurs among the crowd refuting this. Some called for proof, others for motive.
Greyt had the perfect answer.
"She is a Malarite spy! See for yourselves!" With a flourish, he produced a small, carved claw on a leather thong, old bloodstains decorating its fingers. Startled cries ran through the crowd as many recognized the dreaded holy symbol of the beast god of the Black Blood. "This was found around Lady Venkyr's neck-it provides all the evidence we need, even if her damnable actions were not known!"
The crowd erupted in cries of terror and beseeching calls. They begged Greyt, their great champion, to defend them. A few even cried for Arya's death.
Walker gritted his teeth and tightened his grasp on the sword he held beneath his cloak. He had to exert all his terrible will to keep from striding forward to confront Greyt.
He caught a flash of a grin across Greyt's face, but no one else seemed to notice. "Fear not, friends of Quaervarr!" he called. "These vandals and thieves will not go free. The Ghost Murderer has already paid the penalty for his abominable crimes, but the traitor knights will also be punished. This eve, at sunset, the three shall hang in this very plaza, where all of you may bear witness to the consequences that await traitors and servants of darkness."
Silence gripped the plaza. Few remembered such brutal justice being meted out, even in this frontier town. Even those who had called out for executions were struck by the realization that it might actually happen. Then, slowly, several men in the crowd-men Greyt had planted, Walker thought-began to clap. The applause picked up, louder and louder, until cheers sounded from the crowd. In moments, the name of "Dharan Greyt" and "Quickfinger" were the dominant calls.
Walker had taken it all in stride, but he could listen no longer. Arya! The name resounded in his mind, followed by an image of the knight's face.
He could not allow this. This was wrong, and not only because the one he loved faced execution. This was wrong because three innocent people would pay for Greyt's crimes, three innocents who fought against those crimes. What was more, this monster undermined the town's stability-questioning its leaders and stirring up popular opinion against good, just people. More than just three knights would die in the chaos. Death was the only outcome of such madness.
Walker did not know where this sense of justice came from-perhaps from the same center that made him feel a twinge of sorrow over every man he killed unnecessarily, over every guard, every ranger, and every