Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [52]
Greyt waved his hand through the air. "So?" he asked, his head rocking woozily.
"He's fairly tipsy," Derst observed quietly to Bars.
"Done in by Moradin's hammer," the paladin agreed.
Arya seemed not to notice. "I really must be able to continue my investigation into the disappearances of the couriers, and anything related to Walker could help to-"
"Didn't I tell you to leave that alone?" interrupted Greyt. He rose from his chair and pulled himself up to face her.
"He smells terrible," Bars murmured to the roguish knight.
"Like you did last night, after spilling that venison stew all over your tunic," replied Derst under his breath.
Brows arching, Bars gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Arya screwed up her face in distaste at Greyt's foul breath. "Excuse me, Uncle, but I am on an assignment from Silverymoon to investigate the disappearances-"
"What's this preoccupation with Walker all of a sudden?" asked Greyt, cutting her off. Arya's companions looked at each other. "It almost sounds like you're infatuated with him." Her mouth dropped open. "Ah yes, dark and mysterious… is he handsome? A thrilling lover?"
"Well, that was uncalled for," Derst said with a frown. "Aye, Bars… Bars?"
Though he did not speak, it was clear that Bars agreed, for he flushed, stepped forward, and dropped his hands to the maces at his belt.
Greyt saw this and his face skewed up in a crooked smile.
"Oh, a hero, eh?" He pushed his slim chest out and stepped right up to the hulking paladin, a man nearly twice his size. The Lord Singer stood a step higher, so their eyes were almost level.
Bars refused to back down before him, and Greyt laughed in his face. "The gallant knight stands to defend his beleaguered lady, the way all the stories and ballads tell; all flowery, all heroic… all lies."
"Take back what you said," Bars said. Greyt flashed a mocking smile in the paladin's face but did nothing of the sort. "I won't ask again."
"Very well," Greyt said with a shrug. "I take it back, then."
Bars gave him a long, measured look-one that the Lord Singer answered with a gaze of haughty disdain-and backed away. The Lord Singer grinned, put a finger to his forehead, and broke down in a laughing fit.
"Heroism," he cackled.
"Please, uncle," Arya said. "You are drunk."
"Yes, yes I am," the Lord Singer replied with a dazed smile.
Then he lunged forward and seized Arya before either of the other knights could react. He pulled her face to his and went for her lips.
He ended up on the ground clutching at his groin where Arya had kneed him.
"G-get away from me!" stammered Arya.
The Lord Singer, nearly unconscious from drink and pain, was in no position to argue. The three knights hurried out the door, Bars trying to convince Derst that it was all right because the knave was drunk, Arya casting her step-uncle warning glances, and Derst exclaiming at the top of his lungs that they had both taken leave of their senses. Meanwhile, Greyt, face flushed and brows knitted with fury, struggled to growl at them.
Arya Venkyr would regret this, step-niece or no.
CHAPTER 9
28 Tarsakh
As storm clouds rolled overhead and the residual light from the setting sun faded, Walker made his way back to Quaervarr with a heavy heart and a head full of worries. His sword felt leaden in its scabbard and his clothes similarly weighty because of the light rain. As he had expected, the ghost druid had been nowhere to be found in the grove, but he had still felt her presence, watching him. And, as always when he felt her eyes upon his back, the ghost of Tarm Thardeyn was nowhere to be found.
Any other man may have feared Gylther'yel's retribution, but Walker thought little of this course of events. This was simply the way of things with his teacher, the only mother he had ever known: a mother who neither loved nor forgave.
Elves' memories were long and their scorn hot, she often said to him, and after fifteen years he knew it was the truth. But there was nothing