Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [71]
Arya sat back, weighing him with her eyes. Walker made no move, except to look away into the darkening sky. His words had been simple, short, and seemingly empty, but expressed a pain that tore at her heart.
"Will you do something for me?"
"Perhaps," replied Walker.
"Sing."
* * * * *
The druid courier paused on her mare, furrowing her brow.
There was nothing unusual about the road, at least nothing she could see. The sun was shining and a stream trickled water down a side path. The wind was not overly cold today-it was, perhaps, the first warm spell Quaervarr had known in a long time.
"No worries, girl," Peletara said to her mount in the druidic tongue. "Just thought I heard something, that's all."
The chestnut mare snorted.
A crossbow bolt flew out of the boughs of a tree farther up the road, driving into one of the horse's eyes. The mare, killed instantly, fell, trapping the startled druid beneath her. The huge weight fell on her leg, snapping it, and Peletara gasped in pain. She looked all around for her attacker, struggling to draw her sickle.
A black boot stepped on her hand.
She looked up, following the length of black breeches to a mottled green and gray cloak that had, until just then, blended in perfectly with the trees.
Peletara recognized him.
"Lord…" she said. "Lord Meris?"
He smiled. Even as his sword scraped out of its scabbard, the attacker bent down and traced a finger down her cheek.
The touch of death.
* * * * *
Walker stiffened, as though something had gouged him. Arya reached out, but he shook his head.
With a troubled look, Walker turned to her.
"What?"
"Sing for me," she repeated.
Walker hesitated. Then he shook his head. "My song was ended," he said. "Fifteen years ago."
When he was distracted, Arya kissed him. She pressed her lips against his cold mouth, kissing him gently at first, then in passion and hunger. She could feel the heat that lurked beneath his icy lips, felt it begging for release.
She pulled back, staring into his eyes, and placed her hand on his cheek. "I want to hear the song they tried to end."
Then she was away from him again. He had pushed her back. "I cannot," he said. His voice was sad. "Not now. Not ever."
"But Walker…" Arya said.
Then, as though helpless to reply, he began to sing. Voice broken, song discordant and ragged, still there flowed a certain beauty through its shape, in the rise and swell of his music. Arya heard, rather than saw, the man he might have been, a golden god who had once sung in these woods but now walked in darkness.
After a moment, she became aware there were words to his song, words that flowed and ebbed with a melodious disharmony that was inexplicably balanced. They were in Elvish, and she did not understand them on a conscious level; the words cut to her soul.
There was pain, hatred, and vengeance. Walker sang of his death, sending images into Arya's heart that sent chills through her body. Without realizing it, she reached out to take his hand, as though to comfort him.
He ripped his hand out of her grasp so quickly the silver ring came off in her hand, but he did not notice in the singing, and she did not notice in the listening.
She found herself wrapped in the melody of his voice. Torn and shattered, leaping between notes no bard would play together, and perfect. The haunting melody enfolded her like a cool, dark blanket, and she felt her senses floating free of her body.
Walker's voice trailed off, but Arya, lost in his art, hardly realized it. Her heart was throbbing and breaking all at once. It was simultaneously the most blissful romance she had ever heard and the saddest tragedy she could have imagined.
When she finally looked up, she perceived, through tear-blurred eyes, that he was staring at her.
"Is that not ugly?" he asked. He had misinterpreted her.
"Walker-" she started.
"I am lost to you, Arya," Walker said, interrupting her. "All that remains is my task, and when it is done…" He trailed off, and the silence was palpable.
Bitter emptiness welled within her. "Walker," she said. "That's not your