Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [111]
"It seems, however, that all I had to do for your name," said Meris, "was kill you."
He turned and started for the door.
But it was only to stop. He had noticed something new about the ring-something he had not seen before. Meris squinted to see. There was tiny lettering on the inside, elegant letters scripted in Elvish.
" 'It is easier to destroy than to create,'" he read aloud. He touched his stubbly chin as though in thought. "Stupid sentiment. Why create when others will do it for you?"
With a derisive laugh that echoed through the halls, Meris walked away from the corpse of his father, toward the door. As he opened the door, he slipped the ring on. Then he stepped out.
Lancing from the shadows, a blade bit through the white leather and into his stomach.
* * * * *
In the darkness of her prison cell, Arya could see a light approaching down the dungeon corridor, and a feeling of foreboding hit her such as she had never known before. So the great and mighty Lord Greyt had finally ordered her murdered. She would almost welcome death to free her of the pain of watching Walker die, of sending her dearest friends to their deaths, and of knowing that such a twisted lunatic as the Lord Singer was soon to be the most vaunted hero in the land.
Almost.
The knightly oaths that bound her, however, would not allow Arya to give up. Even if it was hopeless-even if everything else was gone-at least she could try.
She swore. This perverted peace, even if Greyt brought it about, would inevitably fail. The Lord Singer was no friend of Alustriel or the Silver Marches. The rebellion of Quaervarr would bring war-innocents would suffer and die for nothing, all so his mad heroism could hold true, a version of heroism he himself admitted to be false!
Burning with resolve, Arya strained at her bonds, her mind racing to formulate an escape plan. She tried to call for Bars and Derst, but the two slept soundly across the way, and her gag allowed only muffled grunts. Arya knew she was alone. Perhaps, if the guards were to come close, she could trip one and get her manacles around a throat…
But then she heard startled gasps from down the hall and the light vanished. Straining her eyes, Arya looked out but could see only darkness. Everything was silent and absolutely still. She could not be sure why, but she felt that a battle was going on, albeit a short one, though she could not hear the screams of either men or steel.
"Illynthas, shara'tem," came a whisper, and a light the size of a torch flame gleamed into existence inside her cell, a man's length from her.
It was an eerie, blue-green light that shone from a crystal high overhead. Arya looked up at it, then allowed her eyes to slide down, along a long staff of black wood, down to a thin hand that held it aloft. That hand extended from black robes that swathed a gaunt figure, a figure with glowing green eyes that seemed to bore into Arya's very soul.
The dark figure made a little gesture, but it was not an attack. Her bonds crumbled and fell away, passing into nothingness before they touched the floor. Arya blinked in disbelief.
"I offer freedom, Nightingale," said the mage. "And a warning: you are his only hope."
Arya's brow furrowed. "What? What do you mean? Who are you?" she asked.
"Someone who is doing what he should have done long ago," the mage replied. He extended his hand as though to help her up.
Still wary, Arya took that hand and, with the mage's help, got to her feet.
"What-" she started, but he was gone. Where her hand had held his, there was only a sword: her sword.
The knight looked around in wonder, but the mage had vanished as quickly as he had come, and there was no sign of his passing, except for the open cell door.
And that terrible omen: "You are his only hope." Heart pounding, sword in hand, Arya rushed out to release her companions.
* * * * *
In another corridor, not so far away, Meris's eyes slid from the dagger stabbing into his belly to the hands