Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [54]
"You-" began his next question, but it cut off in a grunt as pain exploded up his leg from where she had stomped hard on his foot. He staggered back and a knee met his midsection. Walker doubled over, the air stolen from his lungs, but managed to reach up for his sword, still stuck in the wall.
The woman made no move to attack, but she kept her sword up as she stepped away from the wall. "A less honorable woman would have put that knee between your legs," she observed casually as she wiped a lock of auburn hair out of her face with her sword arm.
Walker managed to right himself, holding himself up against the opposite wall until his stomach cramp disappeared, and his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The knight saw that he was vertical again and smiled. "Now-"
Whatever the knight had been about to say became a startled gasp as she leaped back, barely avoiding a silvery blade through the ribs as Walker lunged. She slapped the sword away and fell back into a defensive stance, shield up and ready.
That was fortunate-for her-because Walker's second slash came not a breath later, slamming into her shield with bone-numbing force. The fine steel held, though the keen shatterspike left a wide notch in its surface.
The knight attempted to swing back, but Walker parried the sword out to his left, spun toward her, dropped the shatterspike, grabbed her wrist, and rolled along her arm, coiling up to her sword hand all in one smooth movement, holding her blade away from him. Then he punched her stomach hard with his off hand and slammed his palm against her sword hand, knocking the sword from numbed fingers. Uncoiling once more, he slammed her back against the wall, and held the point of a knife to her throat-a knife that he had slipped from his left sleeve.
In the space of a breath, he stood, back to her front, her right hand in his, holding her against the wood.
Walker hissed in her ear. "Now-"
She twisted her hand and pulled a dagger from his right wrist sheath. Walker's eyes widened, but the surprise did not stop his reflex. With his free hand, he slapped the blade away.
"Well, that's out of the way," she said, half jokingly, as the knife fell to the ground.
"What?"
"You don't understand," the woman said. "I'm not here to fight you-"
"Then why are you here?" Walker demanded, so harshly that the knight flinched.
Then, as though she had steeled herself with the same icy resolve that ran through Walker's veins, the knight's face went calm.
"Are we through interrupting each other?" she asked slowly and levelly.
"Are we?" Walker kept his voice calm.
"What kind of answer is that?" asked the knight. "Obviously, I'm in no position to surprise you with an attack, so it's really a matter of whether you-" Walker was impassive as he held the knife to her throat. The knight swallowed. "Right, well, let's assume that's a 'yes.' In that case, I'll tell you why I'm here."
"Indeed."
Though his rasp was chilling, the knight, unafraid, was staring into his sapphire eyes, a gaze that made him uncharacteristically uncomfortable. It was not a sensation he was used to. Fortunately, her eyes were drawn to a silver gleam on his finger-the wolf's head ring. Walker shifted his stance, pulling her attention from the ring.
"Will you do something for me?" she asked after a moment.
"Perhaps," replied Walker.
The knight lifted her chin, heedless of the blade poised there. "Allow me to speak without attacking?"
Walker's face was impassive.
"My name is Arya Venkyr of Everlund, Knight of Silverymoon," she said.
"Men call me Walker," said the man in black.
"I know," said Arya. "I have seen you before-"
"And?" Walker hissed, forcing her back to the former subject.
"I'm here on assignment to investigate the disappearances of half a dozen couriers-"
"Couriers?" asked Walker, unfamiliar with the term. He spoke Elvish more often than Common.
"Messengers," said Arya. "They have vanished over the last few tendays-"
"Then why are you here?" came the interruption.
Arya's