Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [26]
Gylther'yel, the Ghostly Lady of legend.
She smiled thinly. "That does not mean I cannot attempt to catch you unawares," Gylther'yel said. "Your abilities grow stronger by the day."
"Abilities you taught me."
Gylther'yel accepted the compliment without a twitch.
"You are not ready," she said. Walker felt a stab of irritation.
"We have spoken of this before," he rasped, his tone flat in warning. "You tell me the same thing every year-that I am not ready."
"I am not about to question your methods, or even your need for revenge," Gylther'yel said. "I only question your timing. Perhaps another year of training-"
"My training is complete. I have struck the first blow," Walker said. "I have delivered my warning. My task is a matter of speed now, and I cannot stop."
"I understand, but why now, of all seasons?" Gylther'yel asked, her voice tranquil. "The snows are falling away and the sun is returning, but Auril still holds sway. The winter is not over."
"All the more fitting for my vengeance," said Walker. "Let them feel fear colder than the snows around them. I am at my strongest when a chill wind blows."
"And I am at my weakest," Gylther'yel countered. Indeed, Walker knew that the ghost druid was most powerful with her fire magic. "The cold is anathema to my powers."
"My deathday approaches-less than a tenday," Walker said. "It is a fitting time."
She continued despite his reply. "You are my guardian, my champion-what if they were to follow you back here? I have not raised you to bring danger to my doorstep…"
Walker smiled. "I did not realize you were so humorous, Gylther'yel," he rasped. Walker had watched the Ghostly Lady hurl fire and call down lightning to smite adventurers who strayed from the paths. He turned away. "Anyone foolish enough to challenge you deserves to feed the earth with his ashes."
Gylther'yel did not nod, but a hint of a smile crossed her golden face. "Still, I warn you against allowing your vendetta to harm my woods." Her face grew stormy. "If you fight here, you will be on your own, and if you fall, so be it. I will not interfere with the will of nature-"
"The strongest and fittest will survive, I know," Walker said. "But fear not. Even the fiercest wolf leads the wild boar away from its den-and family."
His silver wolf ring gleamed as he stood. Its single sapphire eye radiated a calm but dangerous light. It was silent, stoic, and resolute; like Walker himself.
"You speak true," the sun elf said. "Only your timing-"
He rounded on her. "I saw him, Gylther'yel!" he shouted, suddenly speaking in the Common tongue. His voice shattered and broke in his ears. "I saw the boy! He is important, I know it!"
With that, Walker sank to his knees, his hands over his face, racked by unknown tremors. His cloak billowed in the strong breeze and all was silent.
Gylther'yel moved as though to comfort him, but stopped, her attention turned to another face. Tarm, priest of the Justicar, appeared out of the shadows as though drawn to Walker's grief, trying to speak. She hissed at Tarm and the spirit retreated. His father had always feared Gylther'yel, the only mother Walker had ever known.
The ghost druid stepped back and folded her arms over her breast. "I am sorry, Walker," she said. "I remembered for a moment your sweet voice, wafting on the breezes that breathed through this place, before…" She trailed off.
His blue eyes opened. "Do not remind me of days that are gone," he said, speaking Elvish again. His ragged voice was bitter. "I remember the sword that silenced my song. Now all that remains is vengeance."
"Walker, I remember your song-" Gylther'yel started.
"The only song I sing is the scream of steel, the hymn of the duel," Walker said.
She was silent, bowing to his words.
"Do not fear for your lands," he said, rising. "This place is precious. It is the only home I have ever known. The only one I can remember." He turned away, looking into