Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [98]
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The rain dissipated and the lightning stopped.
Gylther'yel stared at the shadow into which Walker had disappeared. They had never spoken to each other so bitterly as long as he had been in her keeping-and none of the bitterness had come from Walker.
A memory of long ago flashed into Gylther'yel's mind-the most painful she possessed. It was a day not unlike this one, with angry clouds overhead, and a conversation not unlike the one she had just shared. It was the day that marked the dawn of her hatred of the humans.
It was the day her sister Wyel'thya had told her she was going to the fledgling town of Quaervarr on an overture of peace from the druids of the Moonwood. She taught them the ways of the druids, of coexisting with nature-the ways of peace. Then a lover had come, and a child: Lyetha Elfsdaughter.
The ghost druid, betrayed, had never forgiven Wyel'thya, refused even to see her when she sought out Gylther'yel's aid. Then Wyel'thya had grown sick, deathly ill…
It had been a human disease.
The sun elf had lost control of herself for the first time in her long life. Much of Quaervarr had burned that day, but the fledgling druids of Wyel'thya's order repelled Gylther'yel, the golden angel of the Dark Wood.
Alone, left for dead in the forest, she had learned of a new power, borne of her hatred of the humans and all life. She had become the Ghostly Lady.
Gylther'yel's eyes turned back to the shadows. A tear slid down her cheek.
"I loved my sister," she said. "But I never got her back, did I?"
Then the ghost druid let out a keening shriek that pierced both the Ethereal and Material and collapsed to her knees. The spirits remaining in the grove started and sped away as fast as they could manage from the enraged ghost druid. The force of that shriek caused all the songbirds and animals in the trees to shudder and die, their life-force wrenched from them.
All was silent except for Gylther'yel, who wept bitterly into the mud, screaming in rage and frustration.
Finally, Gylther'yel sniffed and wiped her tears away with the fringe of her cloak. There was one card left to play, and play it she would. Her face still red, she rose.
"Forgive me, Wyel'thya," she said. "Forgive me for prolonging his suffering. And forgive me now for what I must do to the last of our blood."
Spreading her arms like wings, Gylther'yel leaped into the air and blinked out of the physical realms, turning into a ghostly raven. Riding the winds left spinning by the storm, she soared to a little grove near the edge of the forest, where she had left that last card slumbering.
CHAPTER 19
30 Tarsakh
The guards at Quaervarr's only gate had seen many strange comings and goings in the past few days, but none quite so strange as this.
The storm had passed but the sky was far from clear. A gray sheet of clouds still obscured the sky. The air hung thick and heavy, and a lingering tension caused more than a few watchmen to shift uneasily.
Both did a double take when a figure-a watchman by his garb-appeared some distance away, seemingly out of the very shadow of one of the great firs that flanked the road. In that silence, they should have heard him coming almost a mile distant. The man took a few zigzagging steps toward them, lurched, and fell.
They ran to him. Clad in the ring mail of a watchman, the man lay on his back in the mud. His face and tangled hair were plastered with mud and gore, obscuring his features except for a black leather eye patch that covered his right eye.
"Aye, Belk, it be one-eyed Tamel, eh?" said one guard, a hefty man named Mart.
"What's 'e doin' in one o' our tunics? In't 'e one of the rangers?" the pock-faced Belk replied. Mart shrugged, but his eyes flashed with worry. Unddreth would have both their commissions if he found out they were more loyal to Greyt than Quaervarr. Though Unddreth seemed to have disappeared, it was better not to take chances.
Belk checked the man for a pulse and breath, but neither were there to be