Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [50]
"They are humans. That is enough," Gylther'yel said. Her words were calm and her face was composed, but her eyes were seething. "They come into the forest that I love, they murder the animals that are my brothers and they rape the trees that are my sisters. They bring axes. They bring lances. They bring fire." The bright flame burning in her palm diminished, as though she had just realized she'd held it. Gylther'yel turned back to Walker. "They carry death with them, child. Never will I accept them. They are a disease, a blight, a hungry flame."
"Not all-" Walker started.
"All!" Gylther'yel hissed, and her soft voice held the fury of thunder. "I am pleased when you kill them, for you purify them. Death is the only purity they can hope for, the only purity any of them can know-it is far more than they deserve."
Walker was about to protest, but then a soldier rose up behind the druid, sword raised high as he advanced on the petite elf. Walker held up his hands to ward off the man, hoping the gesture came off as peaceful to Gylther'yel.
The sun elf held up a delicate hand of her own, as though in reply, and Walker felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Sure enough, vines snaked out of the ground and wrapped themselves around the soldier's legs and body. The man gawked as the vines completely entangled him and twisted the sword out of his hand. The small sun elf turned toward him with a smile on her face.
"An example," she said. Then, addressing the soldier directly, "Take freedom in death."
"Gylther'yel, no!" Walker rasped. He stepped forward, but the wolves nipped at him.
The druid spoke words of power and pointed one finger at the guardsman. The shadowy radiance surrounding her hand shot toward the man with an unholy scream, one that might have been nature herself. The man's eyes glazed over and he did just as she had commanded. The vines held up the corpse in a mocking parody of an erect stance.
The sun elf turned back toward Walker, but now there was the business end of a long sword in her face. Holding the hilt, a pace distant, was the ghostwalker himself.
"Let them go," he commanded. "Do not argue."
Gylther'yel looked up the blade at Walker's face as though the weapon were not there.
"You care for these defilers?" she asked. "Have I not taught you better than this, these fifteen years?"
"I learn slowly, perhaps," replied Walker. He did not lower the shatterspike. "Let these men go free, or I shall leave instead."
Gylther'yel had no reply, except to widen her eyes, just for an instant.
Silence reigned as the two, mentor and student, standing apart, engaged in a contest of wills. The ghostwalker, with his determination and resolve, faced down his teacher, who had taught him everything he knew. The silent battle raged for some time. The only sound was the dazed captain's panting.
Then the sun elf closed her eyes and looked away, down ever so slightly. Walker nodded and lowered the sword.
"Go," Walker said to Unddreth and the remaining guards. "And never return."
They all looked at one another. Though neither the elf nor the ghostwalker had made anything more than the slightest of movements, all present in the grove knew they had witnessed a tremendous struggle, surpassing even the devastating druidic magic that had been arrayed against them. The soldiers stood, gathered up their arms and equipment, and moved to the bodies of their companions. They hesitated when Gylther'yel cast them a baleful look.
"Tell them to leave the dead for the earth," Gylther'yel ordered Walker.
The ghostwalker's cloak swirled in the wind, but Walker made no other move. The sun elf's lip twitched but she said no more.
They waited as the soldiers gathered their dead and wounded, slinging the former over their shoulders and helping the latter stagger back to Quaervarr. Unddreth gave Walker a deep, measuring gaze as the Quaervarr soldiers left the clearing-a gaze filled with respect-but the ghostwalker's eyes were fixed on the petite yet imposing sun elf before him. They waited until the soldiers