swung the gyrspike, keeping the sword blade against his arm.
Eyes wide, Walker managed to duck the flail by throwing himself on his back.
Bilgren followed through and took the weapon behind his back, turning it like a staff, and the blade came back around his right side. Walker leaped to the opposite side of Bilgren's body, but the barbarian kept the weapon slashing after him. The ghostwalker managed to parry aside the sword blade but the spiked ball clipped his shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground.
Intense pain lashed through Walker and blood flew from his lips. He pushed on the earth, trying to force himself up from where he lay on his belly, but he could not muster the strength. He tried to summon up the ghostly powers that would allow him to escape by walking through the very earth, but the necessary focus eluded him. For the first time in the life he remembered, Walker felt his resolve and his calm slipping away.
The rangers laughed and jeered all around him. A flat, emotionless expression was painted across Meris's dusky face, but something burned in his eyes.
In those eyes, something… Anger, yes. Rage, yes. But something else…
Looming over him, the bearlike Bilgren spun the gyrspike over his head. 'Not used to facing death, are ye, dark man?' the raging barbarian roared like a lion. 'How does it feel? To know I be about to crush ye-'
'Sir Bilgren!' a voice shouted from somewhere.
Startled, the barbarian watched, stupefied, as a lance stabbed into his shoulder, lifting him up and out of the circle.
Holding the other end of that lance, Arya burst into the circle on the back of a charging steed. The confused Bilgren, borne aloft on her lance, flew back and crashed bodily into the full trader's wagon. Nightingale-and-Moon shield in one hand and lance in the other, Arya scattered the surrounding rangers like children with her furious gaze and, more tangibly, with the hooves of her war-horse. Her lance now freed, Arya swung it around in a wide semi- circle, knocking half a dozen rangers to the ground.
'Up!' Arya shouted to Walker. She dropped the lance and reached down.
Somehow, the ghostwalker managed to muster his strength and rise to one knee. He reached up, caught hold of her hand, and pushed himself up as she pulled. Together, they hauled him onto the horse. Arya gave a shout and the steed leaped through two rangers, throwing them to the ground, and sprinted away from the battle, south toward the center of Quaervarr.
'Strumpet!' came Meris's shout, and a light axe whirled end over end toward them. Arya got her shield up in its way and the weapon skittered off Everlundian steel.
'Wh-what are you doing?' Walker choked out, blood trickling down his chin.
'My turn to save your life!' the knight replied with cheery ardor. She flicked the reins again and the horse leaped into a full gallop.
'Head west…' Walker murmured. 'My grove-'
Arya nodded and spurred the horse toward the outer gate of Quaervarr.
Meris's rangers were in hot pursuit, running full out as fast as their legs could carry them. Thus, when a rope suddenly came up between the two old gates, fully half a dozen were caught off guard, took it in the chest, and stumbled to the ground. The rope fell as two men dressed in tabards of the Knights in Silver stepped out from the sides of the gate.
'I don't know how you talked me into this one, Derst,' the larger man rumbled. 'Covering their escape-'
'The old duty and honor trick,' his weasel-faced companion said. 'Gets you every time.'
Spinning the two light maces he held, Bars laughed grimly, conceding the point.
'Stay with me, Walker,' whispered Arya, surprised at how worried her voice sounded.
They had burst out Quaervarr's main gate, not slowing as the stunned guards threw themselves into the mud. Bearing her two riders, Swiftfall leaped with a whinny into forbidding cold.
More than any pursuit, Arya feared for the wounded man who clutched her waist so fiercely.
That grip was inexplicably distracting, but as they rode, the arms slipped and the hug loosened bit by bit as Walker lost more and more blood. Thus, even as his touch filled her with an unexpected tingling, it also wracked her with a sense of dire urgency. She spurred Swiftfall on all the faster, heading south.
'Drink this,' said Arya, handing him a potion from her belt. The vial was marked with the Dethek rune for healing. Walker choked down the milky liquid and nearly gagged, but the potion spread its healing warmth through his body. 'It's not much, but Swiftfall can get us to Silverymoon this night-'
'No!' Walker hissed so sharply that Arya started. 'No… I cannot… leave…'
Arya opened her mouth to protest, but shut it once more. 'All right, all right,' she said. 'Where do we go then?'
'West,' said Walker. 'West to my grove…' He trailed off into silence.
Frightened, Arya started to ask if he were awake-or even alive-but at that moment, the ghostwalker leaned his head against her strong back, repeating his directions in a whisper.
Arya turned Swiftfall to the right, toward the Dark Woods. 'We'll be safe, old lass,' she said to the horse, stroking her mane. 'No one will think we ran where you can't run.'
They broke into the woods and left the road to Silverymoon- and safety-behind.
Greyt's rangers were up long into the night, pounding on doors and interrogating townsfolk, looking always for the two knights-one huge, and one tiny. After a short skirmish, the knights had disappeared, and try as the rangers might, the knights were nowhere to be found. Oaths, growls, threats, and even the clashing of weapons filled the air, and little of Quaervarr got any sleep.
Meanwhile, on the edge of town, beneath the eaves of a certain Bullot Feyfoot's stables, a loud oath was heard, seeming to come from the air. A stray dog, hearing the curse, yipped and backed off from the invisible barrier its nose had struck just an instant earlier.
'Derst, where the Hells are you?' Bars asked aloud. The invisible paladin shifted and almost lost his balance, nearly falling to the cobblestones. He could not, after all, see his feet.
'Right here, actually,' came a voice from beside him. The suddenness made Bars jump, then fall.
'Beshaba's horns!' Bars covered his mouth as though to pull back the foul words. Since he couldn't see his hand, he poked himself in one invisible eye.
'Watch yourself there, you big oaf,' said Derst. 'You almost crushed me!'
'I can't 'watch myself,' orc-brain!' shouted Bars. 'Your Tyr-cursed potions made us invisible, remember?'
'Well, obviously…' he trailed off. 'I always find invisibility comfortable, don't you?'
'How do you turn the damned things off?' growled Bars. 'I feel… disconnected, as though I'm outside my body. A ghost.' Like Walker, was his next thought, with a chill.
'Oh, you're all right,' replied Derst in a tone that indicated he had rolled his eyes. 'Well, I suppose I'm used to it, and my senses are a little sharper than yours. I'm tempted to just leave the invisibility on and let your small brain figure it out.' Bars felt a heavy tap on his shoulder, a light push, and Derst shimmered back into visibility.
'See, it's that simple,' said the wiry knight. 'You remember how I told you not to hit anyone until-' Then a heavy force struck his stomach, and the smaller man doubled over with a gasp.
The paladin faded into view. 'You're right, that was simple,' said Bars, cracking his knuckles.
Derst just moaned.
'Funny, didn't mean to hit you so hard. Right then, Sir-Plans-A-Lot, what now?'
Slowly, Derst recovered himself and stood up straight. 'To the stable,' he muttered. 'There's a trap door, used by those who Har-er, do business with me, in certain unpleasant circumstances a little like these. Tight quarters, though.'
'Joyous,' Bars said glumly.
