Walker had gone through so many times he hardly even felt the itchy tingling running through his body.
Hardly, that is to say, except for four particular wounds. With the deaths of Greyt and Meris, the flesh they had broken could finally heal. Though he would carry the scars, and speak in a whisper to the end of his days, Walker felt nearly whole.
Then a pain seized him and Walker's tranquil frown dipped.
That was when he knew he was not fully whole. He had one task still to complete, one last wrong to set right, one last crime to avenge. He had one last life to take.
Shifting into his ghostsight, Walker turned to the side, expecting to see the spirit of Tarm Thardeyn, who had always given him silent guidance. But there was no spirit there.
Walker smiled. He remembered watching the spirits of Tarm and Lyetha fade, reunited at last in death. He also remembered the gentle, sweet emotion that had swept through him at the time-love, the kind of feeling Walker knew when he looked upon Arya Venkyr.
Arya.
Walker looked over at her as she addressed a body of gathered citizens, much as Lord Greyt had done in the past. She had cleaned her hair and wounds after the battle, and Bars had applied his healing touch to her as well. The knight was radiant in the fading sunlight that filtered through the clouds, the silver of her armor gleaming and her hair burning. As though she noticed him watching, she drew herself up straighter and tiny spots of red bloomed in her cheeks.
How could she ever understand what he had to do? How could he explain it to her?
Walker decided he could not. He simply had to do it.
With a sigh-a gesture that would have seemed foreign to him a few days ago-he pulled his cloak around his shoulders and walked away.
Smiling broadly at the shouts of support, Arya turned away from the crowd and massaged her throat. Shouting for such a long time had worn out her voice, but it had been worth it. Her mission was accomplished: the threat to stability in the Silver Marches removed. Finally, she could relax.
A strand of auburn hair blew in her face, and she brushed it aside. As soon as she had done so, though, she realized something was amiss.
Walker was not there.
Gripped by sudden, unreasoning panic, Arya scanned the plaza. She caught sight of him at last, striding toward the main street of the town, as though to leave.
'Walker!' she called, breaking into a run. At the sound of her voice, he stopped and let her hurry to his side. She put gauntleted fingers on his arm. 'You're going?'
Rather than looking at her, Walker's eyes were far away.
'All my scars are healed, all my enemies dead,' he said. 'All but one.' He put his hand over his heart.
Confused, Arya covered that hand with her own. Walker smiled at the touch.
'I don't understand,' she said. 'Who else is there?'
'My teacher,' replied Walker. 'She who taught me my powers. She who betrayed me.' He paused, as though digesting that. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and sad. 'Gylther'yel, the Ghostly Lady.'
'The spirit of the Dark Woods?' asked Arya. 'The folk legend? She actually exists?'
Walker nodded. 'And she is powerful,' he added, 'much more powerful than any foe either of us has faced, able to level armies with a sweep of her fingers.'
'Armies?' she mouthed. Walker moved to go, but Arya held his arm tighter. 'You can't go now-wait until there are more of us! Wait until we find Clearwater and can muster up a score of warriors, Legionnaires, Knights in Silver, wizards of the Spellguard-'
'No,' said Walker. 'This is my fight, and my fight alone. No man or woman will die in my place.'
His fatalistic tone made Arya's heart race. 'Wait, at least, until you are fully rested-'
'If I do not confront her now, I will never find her,' replied Walker. 'Her spies are even now on the wing, going to tell her all that has transpired today. I must fight her now.' Arya frowned, but Walker was firm. 'I will heal as I walk.'
The knight did not understand, and she bit her lip.
He took another step, but still Arya held him back. He turned to her, his eyes cold and hard, and Arya swallowed. She had meant to argue, but the determination she saw in those eyes told her that it would be no use. She closed her eyes, fighting within herself for words, and when they finally came, she fixed him with a gaze as full of resolve as his own.
'Then I am coming with you,' she said.
'You are not…' 'Walker started to argue, but then he trailed off. He did not need to look into her steely eyes to know argument was useless. 'As you will. But if you are to come-' With a twist, he removed the wolf ring and offered it to her. 'You will need protection.'
'But-but you need healing,' she protested.
'The shadows will provide,' said Walker.
Though she did not understand, Arya found herself trusting him. She slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It felt heavy, but she took reassurance in its weight. She nodded then took a step away, meaning to call for her horse.
This time, it was Walker's turn to grasp her arm and stop her.
'You will need no horse for this journey,' he said.
Arya slid out of his grasp and eyed him. 'How do we journey, then?' she asked, hesitant to be away from Swiftfall and her trusty lance.
'The only way Gylther'yel will not hear us coming-along the most silent of paths.' He extended a hand silently to her. 'The Shadow.'
Arya shivered. 'Can she not see ghosts, if she is a ghost?' asked Arya.
'Not the Ethereal. The Shadow,' he said. 'This is the only way.'
The others in the plaza had observed the two by now, and Bars and Derst were walking over, wearing questioning looks.
'Take my hand,' said Walker, his eyes gleaming.
Arya gnawed on her lip, indecisive. Though she wanted to delay, to explain to her brother knights the reason she had to go, or even ask them to accompany her, she felt Walker's need for haste.
'The grove!' she called out to Unddreth, Bars, and Derst. Then she stepped into Walker's reach and clutched his outstretched hand.
Instantly, shadows surrounded them and the world seemed to turn black. Walker wrapped his billowing cloak around her and took her firmly in his embrace.
'We walk the shadowy realm beyond the Border Ethereal-the Shadow Fringe-where our travel will be quickened,' explained Walker. 'Whatever you may see, whatever you may feel-remember that I am with you. Whatever else speaks, do not reply. Cling tightly to me-I will not forsake you.'
Arya nodded.
Then, as Walker took a step forward, she followed him into the shadows.
Arya felt her lungs fill with smoke, and she could not breathe. As they stepped between worlds, all the colors of Quaervarr and even the sun seemed to fade to a dull, bleak haze. She felt a tug, as though the very darkness pulled her in. Her gorge rose and her stomach danced. The afternoon sunlight became muddy, as though the sun were but a smoldering torch behind thick spider webs.
Surrounding her were a multitude of moving figures, all engaged in different activities, from pacing back and forth, to acting out duels, to mumbling or shouting incoherently. Their faces were blurry, obscured as though by a hand that had smudged their very being and wiped their features from sight. She started, seeing the men and women who had been in the square as mere blobs of light, and she became aware of the heat flowing from them
