Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [121]
The two of them stayed there for a moment, Arya holding herself up under the impaled Meris, who rested on his knees. Blood leaked from his mouth and he looked at the knight without comprehension.
Then madness returned to his eyes and, with it, rage. Meris spat blood on Arya's face, causing her to wince. Then, his hand scrabbled across the floor and seized her fallen, splinted sword. He slammed the hilt into Arya's forehead, knocking her back, stunned. As he rose, Meris didn't seem to notice the sword running through his side. He turned the splintered sword in his hands and loomed over Arya, ready to deliver the killing stroke.
Then he stopped as a chilling melody came from behind.
* * * * *
Meris turned.
Walker, standing again, sang a song of dark beauty, a lullaby to lead a sleeper into the endless night, a song of velvet softness and nameless fear. The words in lyrical Elvish, it was a song of mourning, begging for forgiveness, and promising vengeance.
Stunned, Meris looked at Walker for a moment, his eyes wide and staring. Then he came back to his senses and slashed the broken sword at Walker's head. The dark warrior ducked smoothly and reached out with both hands. He pulled the blade from Meris's side and stabbed it back into the dusky youth's chest.
Meris looked down at the sword and gave a weak gasp. The scout's limbs went limp and he sagged, but Walker caught his body and held his face up.
"Who?" he demanded. "Tell me. Who?"
He did not truly need to ask, for Meris had torn the bandage free of his left hand and he felt the truth keenly through his bare skin, in ghostly resonance, from the shatterspike. But some part of him had to be sure.
Meris smiled almost wistfully. "The Ghostly Lady," he said.
It seemed to Walker that he should be surprised, hurt, or frightened, but he felt nothing. Nothing but cold.
Then Meris's eyes slid closed for the last time.
Walker held the cooling body for a moment, looking into the face he had hated so much, the last of his tormentors and the one who had taken his dream from him.
Somehow, he felt no anger. Only sadness.
"How?" Arya asked as he helped her to her feet. "How did you do it? The name. I thought your name had destroyed you."
"Rhyn Thardeyn will always be my name," the ghostwalker said. "Never Rhyn Greyt."
Before they left the Whistling Stag, Walker looked back at Meris's body.
"Farewell, my brother," he murmured.
CHAPTER 23
30 Tarsakh
As the sun set, Walker stood in the center of Quaervarr's main plaza, his cloak billowing out behind him in the wind. The rain had passed and the clouds were clearing, but the fearsome wind still blew, threatening to rip cloaks from the backs of any foolish enough to go outside. Despite this, hundreds milled about the square, voices chattering and shouting. Though the place was abuzz with activity, Walker's silent and unmoving form went largely unnoticed.
The watch, with Captain Unddreth restored to command, had taken control of the courtyard quickly and was even now sorting out the prisoners. The surviving rangers-all fifteen of them, several too injured to move without assistance-were shuttled into the Quaervarr jail and, when that was full, to the very dungeons that had until recently housed Unddreth and others loyal to Geth Stonar.
The rangers would be held until such time as their ultimate fate could be decided, but Arya had dissuaded Unddreth from calling for the noose. Loyal men should not be punished so severely for defending their master, especially when they thought him to be a noble and virtuous hero, she had convinced him.
A courier had been dispatched to fetch Speaker Stonar back from Silverymoon, along with a cadre of watchmen for protection. They also sought to ascertain the fate of Clearwater and the other riders. One of the druids went along as well-the Oak House simply couldn't ignore the disappearance of two of their own, one their mistress.
In Quaervarr's main