Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [47]
Talthaliel said nothing.
"And my son," Greyt mused. "What of him? Will he fulfill the vision any time soon?"
"There is malice in his heart, but not in his mind… yet, at least," replied the seer. Greyt's expression became dubious. "My two-fold vision will hold true: Your son will come to kill you, and your son will not defeat me."
Greyt smiled. He so enjoyed knowing the future before his opponents did.
CHAPTER 8
28 Tarsakh
Spirits of the dead ebbed and flowed around him, whispering of hunts long past and unfulfilled dreams, but Walker, as always, hardly listened. He sat legs crossed, staring into the blurry, bleak world of the spirits, and thought.
Two of his foes lay dead and two were alive. Indeed, the spirits of Drex and Torlic hovered around him, silently awaiting the completion of some unfinished business.
Walker's death had come at the ends of four weapons, and four hands had held those weapons.
At least, he thought so.
Dying had shattered his memories; he could remember hazy fragments about the murder and only flashes from before that. As far as Walker was concerned, his life began that night fifteen years ago. He fully remembered his attackers only when they spoke the words he could not forget, the words they had spoken that night long ago-
Instead of focusing fruitlessly on the past or on the future that inspired no interest, Walker thought about the present. Two men were dead and two were going to die. He knew Greyt was one of them, and he would soon know the other for certain. Drex had said Torlic's name, but the half-elf had not pointed him toward a third. Walker had to know, and he simply could not remember.
As though drawn to Walker's violent thoughts, Tarm appeared. His father had vanished before the fight with Torlic and had not reappeared since. Was he reproaching his son for his task of vengeance?
"I avenge us, father," said Walker, though he knew the spirit would not reply. "Why does this displease you? Is this not the justice you worshiped? What regret do you wish to express?"
Tarm was silent, as always. Not once in fifteen years had he answered his son's queries.
"Will you not speak to me?" Walker demanded. "Am I not your son?"
Silence.
A stray thought passed through his mind and became the focus of his attention. It was the face of a woman-the woman with auburn hair. Who was she? Why did she stick in his mind? What did she have to do with his task?
He turned to ask his father-in the hope that he might be able to decide for himself by hearing his own words-but Tarm vanished.
It could mean only one thing.
A sparrow that flickered in and out of the Ethereal world flapped down out of the sky. The blurry remnants of spirits flinched away, terrified. The tiny bird, as it landed on a fallen twig, did not seem to notice.
You did it again. It accused in its ghostly voice, which no mortal would have heard. Or, at least, no purely material listener.
Walker did not dispute the point. He had been waiting in the grove for Gylther'yel to return, and he had known what she would say.
Indeed, two nights past, he replied in the same ghostly tongue. The pale bird grew larger, its wings became arms, and its beaked face grew into smooth elf features. The dancer Torlic has joined the woodsman Drex in death. Lord Greyt knows they were not isolated attacks. He will quaver in terror.
He breathed out and allowed his body to return to the Material world. Vibrancy returned to his surroundings. The grass became green in place of dead gray, and the trees waved soft needles, not skeletal limbs. All around him, he saw soft life where before had lurked only death.
A dubious elf face awaited him. The ghost druid stood, a deep gray cloak wrapped around her bare golden flesh-Gylther'yel disdained excessive clothing when she ran or flew through the woods in wildshape. "Terror?" Gylther'yel said without mirth. "I hardly think two murders in the night will inspire