Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [37]
Arya hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand. She didn't want to take it, but it was a seemingly good-hearted offer. The code of knighthood, to which she had sworn, would not permit a personal bad sentiment to interfere with duty. Unddreth was watching and weighing her; Arya knew the significance of her decision.
The stable boy appeared then, leading Arya's horse, Swift-fall, fully saddled. The crimson mare neighed in friendly recognition, but quieted when it saw Meris's black stallion.
"Oh look," Arya said pointedly. "My horse."
Meris sneered. "Suit yourself," he spat. He turned abruptly, dug his heels into his stallion's flanks, and burst away.
Unddreth nodded to her, a slight smile on his blocky features, and rode off.
Arya, not weighed down by armor, easily vaulted into her saddle and followed them. The stable boy ducked out of the way just in time, and the knight-errant was away, racing down the street to the house of Torlic.
* * * * *
The long sword came down over his head, and Torlic barely deflected it with both weapons. The black-clad warrior was deceptively slender-his frail build belied strength equal to even Unddreth's might! Torlic was on the defensive, constantly retreating, keeping his weaving blades moving to ward off Walker's blade.
"Is this it?" Torlic sneered. "You call this skill?"
Walker slashed diagonally, and Torlic parried, but the warrior in black slid the sword down the rapier and main gauche, locking the hilts on his own. He gazed into Torlic's eyes with something akin to fury. Torlic took that as a good sign.
"Having some trouble?"
No reply.
"What are you, mute?"
"Silent as the grave," Walker said calmly.
"That's not polite, my lovely boy," Torlic mocked.
Walker did not reply but gritted his teeth.
Torlic peered harder at his opponent. Walker was younger than he had seemed at first. "Impressive entrance, frightening dress, but no skill," Torlic said. "You have no business fighting a real man."
Walker smiled. Then he threw Torlic tumbling back with a heave of his shoulders. The half-elf rolled, blades held wide, and went into a crouch. He came up slashing, but Walker had not followed.
Rather, the dark warrior stood, eyes burning, in the center of the room once more. The only difference between now and when he had first appeared was that he held his mithral sword outside of his cloak, pointed down at the floor. The blade was touched with translucence, making it appear almost ghostly. Torlic felt the weight of Walker's presence once more, only now it seemed sharper, more focused.
"That's a shatterspike blade, is it not?" the half-elf asked. He looked at the nicks it had left on his rapier. "Interesting," he continued when no reply was forthcoming. "Come dance with me, boy, whoever you are," Torlic said, weaving his blade before him. "I wasn't careful before, and you caught me. It won't happen again. I'm through toying with you." He pointed his blade at Walker's eyes. "Dance with me, boy: I'll be the last thing you ever see."
Even as Torlic spoke the words, he could feel the heat bleed out of the room and Walker's stance become even firmer. It was almost as though the half-elf had just thrown down his blade and admitted defeat. Above it all, though, Walker seemed to pulse with an icy resolution that set the ever-confident Torlic back on his heels.
"I'm sorry, have we met?" Torlic asked, noticeably flustered. "Some fool I chased out of town? Some angry merchant I swindled? Some jealous, cuckolded husband? Lover? Some pretty thing I scarred?"
Walker was silent.
"You know, it doesn't matter." Torlic shifted his grip, turning his knuckles skyward. His blade flashed in the dim light. "Or, at least, it won't matter in a moment."
Torlic thrust forward, rapier flashing out like lightning and dagger whipping, ready to block a counter attack. Walker leaped at the last moment, seeming to fly back and under