Meris made no move to sheathe his weapons, even though he knew they would be useless against this spectral apparition.
You are not afraid, the feminine voice said in his mind. It was obvious that the other rangers heard it as well, for they cringed and gasped.
'No.'
Why? It seemed she was more amused than angered.
'How do you know me?' asked Meris.
That is not an answer, she replied.
'But it will suffice. Tell me how you know me, and I will tell you why I do not fear you.'
The Ghostly Lady smiled, and it was a beautiful if unnerving expression. She drew mistlike fingers along Meris's cheek and he was surprised to feel a cold, physical touch. Stunning in the moonlight, her face had a smooth, hungry look to it that excited Meris's body in ways he had not imagined-even in the arms of the barmaids and hunters' daughters of his youth, even when he looked upon Arya's lovely form.
Then she laughed. 'I do not need to answer your question, Meris Wayfarer,' she said aloud, and he was surprised to hear her voice in his ears. 'For the answer is written upon your heart: you do not fear me, because you fear nothing. You have overcome your last love and, with it, your last fear…' She fixed his eyes with her own. 'Your father.'
In a flash of movement, Meris drove his long sword through the Ghostly Lady's heart.
A long breath passed between them. Then she looked down at where the weapon protruded. No blood oozed from her breast. It had passed through her like so much mist. In contact with her ghostly body, the blade became chill as ice, but Meris held it even as the cold burned his hand.
'Impressive,' she said.
He held it as long as he could, gritting his teeth, but it was too much. With a gasp, Meris let go, and the sword stayed, borne aloft in her body. The elf smiled.
'You have great spirit, Meris Wayfarer.' She slid away, and his sword fell to the ground, chilled. She seemed unhurt. 'I am Gylther'yel, and I need your aid.'
Meris's eyes narrowed. 'My aid?' he asked as he rubbed his hand.
She nodded.
He looked down at his long sword, white with cold. 'My sword?'
'Let it lie,' replied Gylther'yel. 'I will find you a greater, when you have accomplished your task for me.'
'And that is?' A little smile tugged at the corners of Meris's mouth.
'Rats infest my woods. I want you to remove them.'
Arya and Walker sat together in the grove, bathed in moonlight, their eyes only for one another. The sun had set and moon had risen, but they hardly noticed, holding one another through the night, relaxing in blissful eternity. The grove lay peaceful around them and Selune smiled down from high overhead.
Arya hardly believed it. It had all happened so fast. She felt as though her entire world was to be found in Walker's arms. All seemed right.
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. The duality of her feelings struck her as profoundly tragic and beautiful at the same time.
'Walker,' Arya said, looking away. 'Tell me something.'
'Perhaps.' The voice was cold.
'Will there ever be peace… for us?'
'Peace,' Walker mused. 'When the last one falls, will I find peace?'
Arya would not relent, though. 'When this is finished-when I've found the missing couriers and you've killed enough men-did you mean what you said… about dying? Or…' She bit her lip. 'Or can I see you again?'
