'Tempt not the spirit of vengeance,' came the voice. Walker materialized right before him, his pointing finger but a hand's breadth from the scout's face. 'He comes for you.'
Then Meris's expression changed and his feigned terror vanished. 'Perhaps not, Rhyn,' came the searing reply.
No matter how fierce and skilled the three knights were, they knew it was only a matter of time before the rangers realized they outnumbered the knights. With renewed vigor-aided by simple assessment of the enemy forces-the Greyt family rangers fought back with greater confidence, with multiple men going to attack each of the knights in a coordinated fashion.
'It's about time for that backup plan, Derst!' Arya shouted, parrying and running, keeping the four rangers that were now her opponents from surrounding her.
Several more were moving her way, though-maneuvering to get at her flanks. Without armor or a shield, Arya would not be able to fend off more than one or two attackers.
'Backup plan?' Derst asked dubiously, evading a swipe, rolling under the man's arm and gouging him in the thigh with his dagger. A ranger cut along his back, leaving a long red line, but Derst only grimaced, dodged, and fought on.
'You used to be a thief!' roared Bars. 'You always have a backup plan!' A pair of daggers shot in, seeking his flesh. He batted one aside, and the hand that went with it, but accepted a stab from the other. A knife wound for a broken hand would be more than a fair trade-under other circumstances. 'And it's about time for that plan!'
'You know,' panted Derst, even as he snagged a sword with his chain-dagger, only to have the thick leather snap in two. The cutting blade nearly sliced his arm in two, and it was only Derst's reflexes that pulled it out of the way. Frowning at the destroyed weapon as he dodged and eluded his attackers, Derst finished the sentence. 'I think you're right.'
The door of Greyt's manor burst open and a score of men-some watchmen, some businessmen, even a couple noble dandies-with the gigantic Unddreth at their head, burst out, captured swords and daggers in their hands. With cries of 'Quaervarr!' and 'The Stag!' they rushed to join in the fray.
Derst had always had a talent for opening locks-and more than enough experience with cell doors.
'How's that for a backup plan, lass?' shouted Derst. Then he dived away from a frightened ranger and corrected himself. 'Sorry-Arya. How about this development, eh?'
There was no reply.
'Arya?' he asked again.
The ghostwalker gave Meris a bittersweet smile in reply. 'Rhyn Thardeyn died long ago,' Walker said. 'That name holds no power over me.'
'No, no it doesn't,' Meris said. 'But your true name does, doesn't it, Rhyn Greyt?'
Walker hesitated, shock spreading over his face, and his body wrenched fully into the physical world. Immediately, Meris slashed his axe at the ghostwalker.
Stunned, Walker managed to deflect the axe, but it hooked around the shatterspike. Meris ripped the weapon from Walker's hand, spun it, caught the sword's hilt, and turned it into a stab. With his bracer, Walker managed to turn the killing thrust into his shoulder. The hand axe darted low and hooked around Walker's leg. Blinded by the pain in his shoulder, Walker couldn't resist as Meris yanked him from his feet. Walker's head slammed into the hard floorboards and the air fled from his heaving lungs.
'Your mystery is your power, Rhyn Greyt,' said Meris, 'is it not? Your betrayer told me this. Not so confident without your secret, are you? You didn't even know, did you?'
Walker was speechless.
'Oh yes, brother,' Meris said over him, spinning the shatterspike in his hand. 'Lyetha loved our father first- before Thardeyn, the old priest. When Greyt wouldn't marry her, Lyetha turned to Thardeyn to hide you. And to think, all that time pretending that you were Thardeyn's-all for naught. I always suspected, but I didn't know. Until now.'
How did he know this? Who could have told him? Lyetha? She would never have…
'Why?' Walker managed to croak through the lights dancing across his eyes. He felt so weak, so unsure, so unfocused.
A memory flashed through his head, a memory of Meris: The boy stood over him. The look in his eyes; no anger, no passion, no sadness, no softness. Not even pity. Only hate.
Meris pulled the shatterspike out of Walker's shoulder and looked at its sparkle.
'How poetic, an avenger killed with his own sword,' he said. 'What do you say to that, Walker? You're a poet, right? Or perhaps it is really my sword, eh?'
Walker stared up at him defiantly.
'Rhyn, you've been deceived,' said Meris as he held the sword between his legs and buckled the axe to his belt. His hands freed, he stripped his gauntlets so that he could kill Walker barehanded. 'I did what I did fifteen years ago for my own gain and, well, because I've always hated you. You inherited all our father's qualities-singing, courage, charisma-and I took all his faults-ambition, violence and, well, madness.'
Meris shared a private laugh with himself. No one joined him.
'And you probably would have taken his wealth when you came of age. The truth would have come out, I knew-somehow.' He growled. 'And that's 'why,' really. My father would've spared you in the forest-the coward. He just wanted to frighten you, but I took the healing ring off your finger.' He trailed off with a smile. 'You were the first sibling I killed, even if I didn't know it at the time. Now you will be the last as well.'
Flashes of the forest swam in his mind-the rapier that rammed through his chest, that cut his throat and ruined his voice. Greyt's sword. But the healing ring…
The boy with eyes filled with hate loomed over him. The wolf's head ring sparkled in his hand. 'Let's hear you sing now,' he said as his father's sword descended.
A tear slid down Walker's cheek. How could Meris have known this? Walker had not even known. Who knew Walker's name? Who knew what only Lyetha could know? Who could have betrayed him?
Walker did not know, and now it was too late.
Meris laughed. 'And here, look at me, gloating over my victory like my old man!' A chuckle. 'Can't forget that ring-my father's ring.' Meris knelt and pulled the wolf's head ring from Walker's finger, tearing away much of the improvised covering as he did so. Then he leaned over and ran a finger along Walker's cheek.
The touch of death.
'Well, Rhyn, let's hear you sing now,' Meris said as he raised the sword over his head.
In a distant grove, among verdant trees that seemed to weep in the winter's breeze, a ghostly golden figure stood atop a huge, overturned boulder and looked into the sinking sun.
'It is done,' Gylther'yel said with a sigh.
'Meris!' came a shout.
The wild scout hesitated and looked. Wild-eyed, Arya stood across the room, sword in hand. She wore almost as much blood as cloth-not all of it her own-and her hair blazed in the lamplight.
'Arya,' Walker managed. 'No…'
The lady knight bent her knees and held the blade low.
'Come, bastard,' she growled. 'We are not done yet, you and I. We have had this dance waiting from the beginning.'
