Meris nodded and frowned.
'What is it?' Greyt demanded. He drew himself up taller. 'You have something to say?'
Meris stared at him angrily for a moment then looked away.
'I will not fail, Father.' He turned on his heel and stalked out the doors of the study.
'See that you don't,' Greyt growled.
The door slammed shut, and Greyt smiled authentically for the first time that day. It always pleased him when things turned out exactly as he wanted.
Business needed to be tended to, though. He allowed the elation of the last few moments to settle, then he set the glass on the sideboard and poured himself another. He slipped an amulet out of his tunic-a piece of amber in a rough ovoid shape-and rolled it between his fingers. The amulet was warm.
'You heard all that, I suppose?' he asked aloud.
'Of course, Lord Greyt,' a disembodied voice said immediately. A gaunt form clad in a gray robe shimmered into being, shedding invisibility the way one slips out of a blanket. 'All three interviews.'
'And?' He did not look up but kept his eyes fixed on the amber gemstone.
'You acted more or less correctly,' the cloaked man said. His voice was calm and level. Though magical power seemed to surround him like a corona, Greyt was not disturbed. 'The Beast must be wary of the Spirit of Vengeance.'
Greyt knew the cryptic names were references to Bilgren and Walker respectively. 'And Arya?' Greyt asked.
'The Nightingale is suspicious,' the wizard said. 'She searches for the killer of the couriers, and she suspects that the Spirit of Vengeance might be that killer. She also suspects, however, that you might be that killer.'
Greyt dismissed that with a snort. 'But who is he?' asked the Lord Singer. 'Don't play the mysterious cloaked figure with me-take off that cowl and tell me who he is!'
'Who?' the man asked as he pulled back his cowl. Beneath, the pale skin of a moon elf sparkled in the candlelight, and emerald eyes glittered.
Greyt rounded on the wizard. 'You know very well 'who' I mean!' he shouted. 'Who is Walker?'
The wizard spread his slim hands. 'You have made many enemies in your travels, my lord,' he said. 'I know not who he is. Only that his vengeance is old.'
Greyt was about to shout again, but he bit his tongue. 'Talthaliel,' he asked sweetly, running his finger along the amulet. 'Why do I keep you around?'
'Because I am useful,' the wizard replied matter-of-factly.
'You are,' Greyt said. 'And why are you useful?'
'I see many things,' Talthaliel said.
'And how do I have power over you?'
'You have that,' the diviner replied, nodding at the amber crystal on his necklace.
'Exactly,' Greyt said. He clenched his fist around the gemstone.
'You may stop,' Talthaliel said. 'I shall do as you ask.'
'That's better,' Greyt said. 'Now tell me who Walker is.'
'I cannot,' replied the diviner. 'Powerful magic shields him, magic I cannot pierce. Not his own magic, but that of a protector. I can feel the other shielding him-a powerful, ghostly presence, but certainly alive.'
'Then he is not a ghost,' Greyt said.
Talthaliel shook his head. 'A mortal man with magic on his side.'
'You can tell me nothing else?' Greyt asked.
'Only that he can be killed, and the Wayfarer is eager to do so,' Talthaliel said.
'You are maintaining the communication barrier around Quaervarr?'
'As you command,' Talthaliel said, nodding. 'Several attempts have been made to pierce my magic, but the druids do not approach my skill. Nor do they come to town often-there is little suspicion. None will hear of your activities to undermine the Lord Speaker.'
'Still,' Greyt said. 'With some murderer killing people, questions will be asked. Someone could go to that trollop Clearwater and ask for a sending to Silverymoon or even Everlund-Unddreth already has, and I could only deflect him this once. If they realize that someone is keeping a barrier up, our plan would be ruined. You and I cannot battle the Argent Legions or a handful of the Spellguard from Silverymoon. The last thing we need right now, while Stonar is gone, is someone running for help.'
Talthaliel said nothing.
'And my son,' Greyt mused. 'What of him? Will he fulfill the vision any time soon?'
'There is malice in his heart, but not in his mind… yet, at least,' replied the seer. Greyt's expression became dubious. 'My two-fold vision will hold true: Your son will come to kill you, and your son will not defeat me.'
Greyt smiled. He so enjoyed knowing the future before his opponents did.
Chapter 8
28 Tarsakh
Spirits of the dead ebbed and flowed around him, whispering of hunts long past and unfulfilled dreams, but Walker, as always, hardly listened. He sat legs crossed, staring into the blurry, bleak world of the spirits, and thought.
Two of his foes lay dead and two were alive. Indeed, the spirits of Drex and Torlic hovered around him, silently awaiting the completion of some unfinished business.
Walker's death had come at the ends of four weapons, and four hands had held those weapons.
At least, he thought so.
Dying had shattered his memories; he could remember hazy fragments about the murder and only flashes from before that. As far as Walker was concerned, his life began that night fifteen years ago. He fully remembered his attackers only when they spoke the words he could not forget, the words they had spoken that night long ago-
Instead of focusing fruitlessly on the past or on the future that inspired no interest, Walker thought about the present. Two men were dead and two were going to die. He knew Greyt was one of them, and he would soon know the other for certain. Drex had said Torlic's name, but the half-elf had not pointed him toward a third. Walker had to know, and he simply could not remember.
As though drawn to Walker's violent thoughts, Tarm appeared. His father had vanished before the fight with Torlic and had not reappeared since. Was he reproaching his son for his task of vengeance?
'I avenge us, father,' said Walker, though he knew the spirit would not reply. 'Why does this displease you? Is this not the justice you worshiped? What regret do you wish to express?'
Tarm was silent, as always. Not once in fifteen years had he answered his son's queries.
'Will you not speak to me?' Walker demanded. 'Am I not your son?'
Silence.
A stray thought passed through his mind and became the focus of his attention. It was the face of a woman- the woman with auburn hair. Who was she? Why did she stick in his mind? What did she have to do with his task?
He turned to ask his father-in the hope that he might be able to decide for himself by hearing his own words-but Tarm vanished.
It could mean only one thing.
A sparrow that flickered in and out of the Ethereal world flapped down out of the sky. The blurry remnants of spirits flinched away, terrified. The tiny bird, as it landed on a fallen twig, did not seem to notice.
You did it again. It accused in its ghostly voice, which no mortal would have heard. Or, at least, no purely material listener.
