Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [118]
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