Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [80]
All except…
With a start, Arya remembered what had brought her to Quaervarr and the strict orders that demanded she return to Silverymoon with her news.
Without thinking, she broke free of Walker's arms and stood. She scanned around for her equipment, and finally found it beneath a tree on the edge of the clearing.
"What are you doing?" Walker asked, rising from where he had sat beside her.
"I have to go," Arya said. "I'm sorry, but I have to."
"No, you do not." Walker stepped to her side.
"I have to report Greyt's activities," argued the knight. "My findings, my suspicions… Grand Commander Alathar needs to send more knights to-"
"No more knights!" snapped Walker, so fiercely Arya whirled to look at him. She made to speak, but he collapsed to his knees, awful coughs racking his body. Arya reached out to comfort him, but he flinched away.
Finally, Walker looked up. "No more knights," he repeated.
"But-" Arya began.
"Fill the town with swords and Greyt will be untouchable. He will twist free of any hold your order puts on him, I promise you that." Walker's eyes burned. "Leave Greyt to me."
Arya noticed he had not said anything about Meris but she dismissed it. "Walker, I cannot allow you to-"
"Leave them to me," he repeated coldly. His eyes sent a chill down her spine. "Justice will be done."
"And 'twill be, when I return from Silverymoon at the head of twenty Knights in Silver, a hundred from the Argent Legion, and half a dozen from the Spellguard," she argued hotly. Arya felt her natural defiance flaring.
"Greyt and his henchmen will be dead long before you get here," Walker said.
"Walker, my honor does not allow for vigilante-"
"Damn your honor!" he shouted. "Damn all honor. How many lives has honor destroyed? How many innocents has it slain? It is nothing. It is worse than nothing."
The color drained from Arya's face. This man she had shared herself with, this intoxicating, mysterious warrior she had known only a brief time but with whom she felt she had spent a lifetime, was spitting upon the knighthood she loved so deeply and the honor that gave her life purpose. That honor bound her more tightly than chains of steel, but she remembered the soft, tender grasp of Walker's arms. Which held her heart tighter-honor and its obligations, or love and its freedoms?
These things warred in Arya's heart in that moment, and the scrape of steel as her blade left its scabbard told them both which had won.
"My duty lies to the south," said Arya, pointing her sword toward Silverymoon. "Stonar and Lady Alustriel must be warned. I'm sorry. I have to go. But I'll come back. I promise. Just do not try to stop me."
Walker's eyes, burning upon her face, fell. He looked away, focusing on some object unseen a little ways away.
Arya nodded, sheathed her sword, stooped, and slid on the greaves of her armor. She looked back, her eyes firm, but Walker's gaze remained averted. Seeing that the ghostwalker did not protest, she picked up her breastplate.
Then his voice came, soft and calm. "You do not have to go."
Arya hesitated as she adjusted the breastplate into place, but only for a moment. She fit it snugly around her breasts and smooth stomach. The armor was perfectly fitted-her father had paid the finest armorers in Everlund for no less.
"Yes, yes I do," said Arya. She fell to the clasps.
Walker's deep blue eyes were tangible on her back, and she tried not to feel them.
"I do not want you to go," he said.
Arya looked sidelong at him. "You have your task, I have mine," she said with determination and not a little bitterness. "You can come with me if you want, but I cannot stay here. I don't have that choice. My duty compels me to go."
Walker had no reply to that. The last breastplate clasp snapped into place. She slid a steel vambrace around her right arm and fastened the clasps.
Walker gazed upon her with an expression that was like sadness as she put her armor on piece by piece. Arya's hands shook in nervous agitation, though she knew a profound calm.