Meanwhile, Bars worked furiously to hold off four rangers, his mismatched maces dancing and flashing like lightning. Though he could not launch a counter, the huge paladin put up a stunning defense, where he picked off every thrust, slash, and jab his opponents launched. Every time, they recoiled from the attack shaking their sword arms, which rung with the force of Bars's parries. Growling, Bars kept his duel at a standstill.
Fighting three men, Arya, not as nimble or as strong as her respective companions, more than made up for it in ferocity and cunning. She parried aside one ranger and immediately shield rushed the second, catching him off guard. She discarded her shield, which she had only held, not strapped on, and he had to fumble it out of the way with a clumsy downward cross of his two short swords.
The Nightingale shield fell to the dust, but Arya followed through and slammed her left fist then her left elbow into his face. The man staggered and collapsed backward, and Arya brought her sword back around just in time to parry the attack of a third ranger. She locked blades with him, then hooked a foot around his ankle and sent him staggering into the man she had left behind.
With a shout to the Lord Singer, the man on the ground slashed her across the front of the shin with his blade, but it was a weak blow, driven mostly by panic and not by skill.
Arya gritted her teeth against the pain and brought her sword plunging down into his chest. The man screamed and lay still.
'No mercy!' she shouted, slashing back around to deflect another seeking sword. The feral rage in her scream sent two rangers staggering back, doubtful looks on their faces.
By this time, two other rangers had closed on Derst's duel and were slashing and thrusting, but they only nearly hit the axe-wielder. The roguish knight kept dodging their blows, running in two low circles around the ranger with the axe, weaving the lanyard of his makeshift chain-dagger as he went. Finally, with the man fully wrapped, Derst slid past one of the swordsmen, put both hands on the thick lanyard, and yanked for all he was worth. The lanyard pulled tight around the man's legs, ruining his balance, and one ranger staggered into the other, sending both down in a jumble of limbs.
'Hail, lass!' shouted Derst as he leaped over another thrust, freed his lanyard, and kicked out, catching the ranger in the face.
' 'Arya,' Derst!' the lady knight snapped back. She parried a slash and punched the man in the face as though with a shield. Her fist had much less effect, but it was enough to send him reeling back. 'It's Arya! You want to be 'lad?''
'Oh, never that!' replied Derst. 'Sorry! I was going to ask-' he parried a seeking blade with his dagger, hooked his lanyard around the weapon, and ripped it out of the man's hands, '-whether you think a-' he dodged another swipe, '-promotion's on the horizon?'
'I concur!' rumbled Bars as he swatted a ranger aside like an insect. He faced four more, but they looked more afraid of him than he of them.' 'Tis not every day you fight almost a score of men with just your two friends!'
'Dashing friends,' corrected Derst as he parried a sword and gave the man a quick kick to the shin, putting him down.
' 'Tis not every day you win!' replied Arya as she narrowly deflected another slash. 'Fight now, talk later!'
Even with that chastening remark-or perhaps because of it-Derst continued right on chattering.
'They might even make you a Knight Protector for this!' he said. Then his brows knitted and he addressed his current opponent, blocking and parrying between each word. 'What's that, eh, chap? Equivalent to Captain? Colonel? General? No, surely not that high.'
He paused, expecting an answer. When nothing but another slash was forthcoming, which he dodged, Derst shrugged.
'Not sure, eh? Well, I guess I'll just have to find out.'
The man bellowed and thrust again, but Derst leaped high into the air, kicked off the man's arm, flipped over his head, and come down slashing from behind. The ranger went down.
One of Bars's opponents finally made the mistake of planting his feet incorrectly on the thrust, leaving an opening as he stumbled back-an opening Bars took. With a bellow to Torm, the paladin leaped at him, working his maces independently to knock the man's sword aside. Bars thundered over the hapless ranger, knocked him flat to the ground, kicked his sword aside, and brought down both maces on the head of a fifth man who had been seeking to maneuver around Arya. With two foes down, Bars landed back on the ground and continued his defense.
With a glare, Arya lunged at the two hesitating rangers. They fell back into defensive stances, unwilling to approach the fierce woman. She was thankful for the reprieve, since pain was lancing up her leg, even as she bit her lip to ignore it.
The momentary lapse in her duel allowed Arya a moment to glance after Walker, at the Whistling Stag. She could hear nothing from within, and that did nothing to calm her nerves. It was only a momentary glance, though, then the ranger was back, sword lancing for her heart.
Her heart…
'You are his only hope,' had been the wizard's words.
Arya slapped it aside and growled her frustration.
Meris ran into the Whistling Stag's common room only to find it deserted except for the innkeep Garion and a few regulars drinking at the bar. At the sight of the bloodied Meris, carrying a drawn axe, bursting through the door, all eyes turned.
'Oi, lad, wha' be the-' Garion began.
Running across the room, Meris slapped him across the face, silencing his next few words. Stunned, the big man staggered back and knocked a few tankards over-including the ale of a wizened old man who kept right on drinking air without noticing.
Wearing a haggard and hunted look, Meris grabbed up one of the drinkers-a drunken rake with long brown hair and a half-beard-and held the drunkard's body before him like a shield.
'Now, wait jes' a moment-' stammered Morgan.
'Silence!' shouted the wild scout. 'Malar's claws!'
He held the rake up between himself and the door, as though expecting a blade to come lancing for his heart at any moment.
Then a fist came out of the darkness behind him and struck the back of his head.
Meris staggered and fell, shoving Morgan away. He drew the main gauche from the rake's belt, though, and turned with the blade slashing, but there was no one to attack. There were only the other Whistling Stag patrons, who were even now fleeing up the stairs, with a surprisingly sober Morgan following them.
'Meris Wayfarer,' a haunting, ghostly voice called.
'Face me like a man, damned creature!' challenged Meris.
Walker appeared in a dark corner of the room before him, and Meris let fly with the main gauche. It stabbed into the wood wall and wobbled there.
'Dark as shadow,' intoned Walker. His voice, from no visible source, echoed around the room eerily.
Meris drew a throwing knife from his belt and looked around, but no one was there.
'You will die, Meris Wayfarer, Meris the bastard,' Walker promised. As he spoke, he stalked Meris around the room, passing between the shadows, always just on the verge of material presence. The drawn shatterspike glittered, as did the sapphire eye of his wolf ring, spectral as both were. 'For crimes against my family, for crimes against those I love, for crimes against the people of Quaervarr and the people of the Silver Marches.'
Walker stepped across a pool of light, and Meris threw the knife. It passed through the intangible ghostwalker and thunked into the closed door.
Walker continued. 'I am the silence of the grave, the shock of lightning. My passing is rain upon the mountains and wind through the plains. My rage burns in the Hells, and I will bring you to those Hells. I, the spirit of vengeance, promise you death.'
'Stay away from me!' shouted Meris, his expression terrified beyond belief. 'Away! Take anything you want! Leave me be!'
