was stained with tears, filth, and gore, but his eyes burned as fiercely as his ring's eye shone. Lightning cracked.
Walker pushed himself to his feet, clutching his arms around himself, and took a tentative step toward the tiny waterfall on the north end of the grove. He fell immediately, slamming his face into the dirt. Rain pounded his back and tore at his hair, even as his body shook with a coughing fit that threatened to tear him apart. He waited long, agonizing moments as the retching passed.
Then, when his coughing was done, Walker looked up. The spirit of Tarm Thardeyn stood on high, reaching down as though to lift him up. The old spirit's face was encouraging. Walker reached up for his hand-a hand he knew he could not touch. He thought he felt something, though-something of Tarm's spirit, a gift from beyond the veil.
It was a touch that gave him strength.
In firm silence, Walker levered himself up again, only to fall a second time after two steps. Stoically, burning with resolve, he rose and fell a third time, then a fourth, and a fifth, covering about twelve steps. The sixth time he stood, his legs finally fully supported him and he managed to limp toward the fallen shadowtop that made a natural waterfall in the creek.
When he arrived, he sank down beside the small pond and reached a shaking hand toward the water, as though to splash his face. He plunged his hand and arm into the freezing water and searched the bottom of the pool for a moment. His fingers closed on something hard and he pulled it up and out of the water. It was a simple wood box sealed with wax to render it waterproof. With a grimace, Walker broke the seal and pulled it open. Eight throwing knives gleamed up at him.
Loading them into wrist, belt, and boot sheathes, Walker gazed about the grove. His eyes lit upon Thin-Man's corpse. He hobbled over to it and gestured to the air.
A mortal observer would have thought him mad, but only because he lacked Walker's ghostsight. In truth, Thin-Man's spirit lingered over the corpse, caught in a state of confusion.
'Be free,' said Walker. 'Free as the wind through the glittering aspen leaves.'
Thin-Man gave him a smile and dissipated like mist caught in a stray sunbeam.
Rain dripping from his nose, Walker inspected the body, but not for weapons or armor, which he knew would be gone. He did not even notice the stench of a body dead for half a day. He appraised Thin-Man's shoulders and chest and shook his head. Too small.
He moved on to One-Eye's corpse, dismissed that spirit in similar fashion, then scanned the man's huge body. He frowned. Too large.
'What are you doing?' came a sonorous voice from behind him.
Walker closed his eyes but did not turn. 'Making ready,' he said.
'Why? Where are you going?'
'To Quaervarr.' He removed One-Eye's eye patch but otherwise left the body alone. He rose and went to Red-Hair.
'Why?' Gylther'yel asked. 'You are not recovered enough yet to go, and it would not matter. I have planted the seeds that will lead to Greyt's downfall. Your revenge will happen anyway. All is done.'
'Revenge is not why I go.'
When Gylther'yel did not reply, Walker turned to look at her. In her shadowy gown, untouched by the rain that drenched Walker, the sun elf looked radiant in the half light-a creature of beauty that did not belong in a scene of such misery and destruction.
He noticed that, surprisingly, the spirit of Tarm Thardeyn had not fled at her approach. Instead, his father stood calmly next to his grave, saying nothing. Walker took strength from his courage.
'You would not understand,' said Walker. 'I will go.' He started toward Red-Hair.
With a growl, Gylther'yel caught Walker's arm and held it with the strength of an enraged grizzly bear.
'You will not,' she said, her face drawn in rage and her eyes glowing crimson in the storm's light.
The ghostwalker looked back at her, his eyes wide with surprise. Since when had she touched him? To his knowledge, she never had.
He felt visions coming to him, flowing from her touch. Her psychic resonance, showing him her memories…
A dark night, laughter-the night of his death. Words… 'Whether you will or no.'
As though remembering herself, she released Walker's arm and backed away. Her face was calm, but her eyes remained furious.
'I forbid you to go.'
What vision had he seen?
'You have no control over me any more,' said Walker without emotion.
'I am your master and you are my champion,' argued Gylther'yel with steel in her voice.
'You sent killers after me, and you yet believe that?' Walker's voice seemed to cut Gylther'yel like a knife, but the ghost druid regained control in an instant.
'I sent them to kill that little harlot of a knight, not you, of course,' said Gylther'yel with a dismissive wave. 'It was for your own good-she was leading you astray, diverting you from your path. I am not about to throw away the fifteen years of work I spent on you, training and arming you, teaching you the powers you and I alone share-'
'But do you love me, Gylther'yel?'
The question set her back on her heels. For the first time Walker could remember, the ghost druid was speechless. Gylther'yel mouthed words, but no sound came out. She looked at Walker as though at a maddened animal.
Walker nodded sadly. 'As I thought.' He walked toward Red-Hair's corpse.
'You turn your back on me, on everything I have taught you, on the years we have spent together, running the forest as mother and son, all because you feel neglected? Oh I'm sorry, you spoiled child!' Gylther'yel spat. 'Love is not of nature, but is human artifice! You are better without it! The way I made you!'
Walker did not look at her. 'Farewell, Gylther'yel,' he said. Walker arrived at Red-Hair's corpse, sent the man's spirit away, and nodded, finding this one to his liking. He crouched down and began pulling off the man's clothes.
The ghost druid stared at him in shock.
'After all I have done for you. Even after I forgave you the female…'
With a grimace, Walker tore away the tattered remains of his tunic and slipped the Quaervarr watch uniform over his head. Then he strapped the sword belt around his waist.
Understanding seemed to dawn on Gylther'yel, and she stepped in Walker's way as he turned.
'Then she is what this is all about!' she said. 'Do not bother. Meris and his men probably dispatched her quickly, as soon as they had enjoyed her to the fullest. Your heroism is amusing, but there is no one left to save.'
'She lives.' It was a statement of fact.
'How can you know that?'
'Her spirit is not here with me,' said Walker with a shrug. 'So she has not died.'
Gylther'yel looked around then eyed him curiously.
'Why do you expect her spirit to be with you?' the ghost druid asked.
Walker looked at her. 'She loves me,' he stated. 'And I love her.'
Gylther'yel had no reply except to stare at him in shock.
Gliding around her, Walker crossed to the patch of grass where he and Arya had lain together and pulled something from a low fir branch. With a flourish, he threw his black cloak over his shoulder and stepped into the shadows, only to vanish as though he had never been there.
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
