The Fighters: Ghostwalker

by Erik Scott Debie

  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.

  Chapter 10

  28 Tarsakh

  Arya did not know how long they had been traveling through the forest, Swiftfall picking her way between fallen limbs and avoiding holes in the ground. The deeper they went, the darker it became and the less at ease she felt. The silence of their ride did not help. Walker was far from talkative. Nightmares had gripped him earlier, and he had called out strange words she had not recognized, but they seemed to have passed, leaving him silent.

  At first, she had filled the quiet with the tale of how she came to be in Quaervarr, of the vanished couriers, and of her suspicions about Greyt. Now, the knight divided her focus between ducking under tree branches and thinking about the mysterious man slumped against her back. He had long since stopped murmuring, and now she didn't know if he were even still breathing.

  "Walker?" she asked. "Still with me back there?"

  When there was no response, Arya turned her head back to look at Walker. He sat slumped, eyes closed, on the back of the horse. "Walker?" she asked in a frightened whisper. "Are you—still alive?"

  His eyes flickered open and his intense blue gaze found her worried face.

  "Of course," said Walker. "I shall speak up if I feel about to expire."

  Arya looked away, hiding her relief. At first, she was upset he had frightened her, and that his voice had been almost mocking, but she laughed. It was appropriate, since she had sounded like a frightened little girl.

  "Was that a jest?" she asked with a half smile.

  Walker did not reply except to release her waist.

  "What's the matter?" asked Arya, worried again, clutch­ing at his hand. He felt so cold, even through the glove.

/>   "I can sit on my own," Walker said. She heard a tiny elf touch to his voice.

  "You've lost that much blood and now you can sit on your own?" Arya asked, doubtful.

  "Healing." His rasping voice was soft.

  "No one heals that fast," Arya said. "You were on Kelemvor's doorstep when I pulled you onto Swiftfall's back. How—"

  Walker's right hand came up from her side. In the moon­light, a tiny sapphire glistened from within a silver wolf's head ring wrapped around the fourth finger.

  "You have many secrets, it seems," said the knight with a nod of approval. "Lone wolf."

  Walker nodded. Looking away, Arya bit her lip in thought. She was familiar with rings that healed their wearers—a warrior in the field did not always have a priest's healing at hand—and how powerful such rings could be. Still, she did not know how healed he was.

  "Put your arms back around me," Arya said finally. "I don't want you falling off—I'm too tired to pick you up again."

  Walker hesitated, but he did as he was told. She supposed the order was half for his benefit and half for hers. It was bitterly cold and though his arms were not overly warm, Arya welcomed them. His proximity reassured her against the dark of the forest.

  That was what she told herself, at least.

  "Talk to me," said Arya after a moment. "I've told you all about myself; what about you?"

  "What shall I tell?" asked Walker. His voice still rasped, but he did not sound so deathly now. "I walk with ghosts. I have my task. That is all."

  "Your task... you mean killing people?" She felt him wince at her harsh tone, and she quickly amended. "People who wronged you? Hurt someone you loved? Greyt? The others?"

  Walker said nothing and silence fell again.

  "I'm still not convinced you're not the one attacking those couriers, you know," Arya observed after a moment. "It's quite a coincidence, that I run into you exactly when I'm investigating those attacks—"

  "Yet you aid me now," Walker replied. "Why?"

  Arya paused. "My ... Lord Greyt wants you dead, and that's enough for me." She was not sure why, but she stopped herself from drawing a connection with her step-uncle. "The same man is trying to kill us both, whatever his plans might be. Then the man's son, gods above, he's just as dangerous—"

  Walker perked up. "Meris?" he asked, interrupting.

  Then he stopped and looked around. "Wait." His arms were gone from around her waist.

  Arya had been about to respond, but the urgency in his voice cut her off. "What is it?" she asked. Swiftfall whin­nied and paced nervously.

  "Something draws near," said Walker. "Something powerful."

  He swung down from Swiftfall's back, landing on his feet and appearing not the least bit weakened.

  "What is it?" she asked again.

  "Stay there," Walker said. "I shall look."

  Then he vanished into the air, as though he had never existed.

  "Walker?" asked Arya, surprise in her voice. She could no longer even feel his living presence. She and Swiftfall seemed alone in the dark forest. "Walker!"

  * * * *

  "Walker!" came her panicked cry.

  The ghostwalker did not answer, but it was not out of rudeness. Rather, he understood that she would not have heard his voice had he spoken. Ethereal himself, he would be just as hidden from whatever approached.

  In the Ethereal, the night was not as dark, or perhaps it did not seem so because everything was gray and blurry. Arya and Swiftfall were luminous beings seen from that realm—so vibrant that their flesh and bones seemed made of blazing sunlight. The knight looked around frantically, trying to find him, and Walker felt an odd twinge of regret that he had not given her more warning before he had shifted into the Ethereal plane.

  It was difficult to see beside the shining horse and rider, but Walker was immediately aware that the three of them were alone. The spirits that always seemed drawn to him had vanished as though driven away by some greater force.

  Walker bit his lower lip in thought. What could frighten spirits of the dead?

  It did not take more than a moment for his question to be answered, for in that moment a huge, roiling creature of flame emerged from the trees ahead of them.

  Walker's eyes widened as he looked up at the creature. Vaguely human-shaped, it towered over him like a giant composed entirely of shadowy fire.

  The most significant thing he noticed, though, was that the creature existed on this—the Ethereal—plane.

  He had heard of elementals, but never a beast of this ghostly sort—nor did he have any idea how to battle one. He did know two things, however: being ethereal would not hide him, as had been his intention, and the beast was coming fast.

  Drawing his shatterspike, Walker stepped back into the Material and put his hand on Swiftfall, as though he could command the horse to carry Arya away with but a touch.

  Indeed, his sudden appearance startled the animal, even as his ghostly aura had unnerved it. Carried past the realm of comfort, the horse panicked and snorted.

  "Run!" he shouted to Swiftfall. "Flee!"

  Then he rushed toward the elemental. Though it was invisible on the Material plane, the creature, in all its fiery fury, was fully visible to his ethereally sensitive eyes.

  Arya, however, did not share his ghostsight. To her, the ghostwalker charged toward empty air.

  "What? What are you—"

  Her voice trailed off as the creature manifested, shim­mering out of the Ethereal directly in front of her.

  The forest erupted into an inferno of gray-silver fire, translucent flames shifting like ribbons of burning silk. It made no sound—even the raging flames, which should have roared, burned silently. The ghostfire elemental loomed over her and pulled back one of its massive tendrils. Arya, shocked at its sudden, majestic appearance, stared into death itself.

  "Arya!" shouted Walker.

  He slashed down into the mass of flame and the weapon pulsed with cold, ghostly power. It bit into the elemental, disrupting its essence and causing the creature pain. It bucked and turned toward the ghostwalker, growing a new fiery arm to lash at him. Walker stabbed his sword at the creature, warding it off, and ducked its swipe. He retreated and the elemental followed.

  The knight, broken from her spell, swung down from Swift­fall and slapped the horse's rump. With a whinny, Swiftfall ran and Arya stalked back toward the ghostfire elemental, drawing her sword.

  "What are you doing?" hissed Walker as he thrust at the elemental again and ducked its countering swing. "I told you to run!"

  "You told Swiftfall to run," corrected Arya. "I have no intention of leaving you behind!"

  She slashed her sword into the elemental with all her strength, but the blade passed through the ghostfire with no effect. "What, by Torm's blade?"

  "I told you to flee for a reason!" shouted Walker. "Your blade is useless! Look—"

  His warning cut off, incomplete, as a fist of ghostfire slammed into him. The elemental was certainly material enough to knock the man tumbling back through the air. Walker's body cracked against the thick trunk of a fir and he slumped to the forest turf, momentarily dazed.

  The opponent with the stinging sword defeated for the moment, the creature turned its attention to the opponent whose hair resembled its material body in the moonlight.

  The knight ducked as fiery tendrils struck out at her and scrambled back, leading the creature from the inert Walker. As she went, she uncorked a potion from her belt and splashed a silvery substance onto the sword. It suddenly glowed in the firelight with a cold blue radiance. "Come!" she shouted. "Come, demon-spawn!"

  The elemental was only too happy to oblige, and flames roiled as it flowed toward her. Before Arya could escape, the creature raged around her. Arya swiped, slashing at the beast with her fine steel, but the blade swished through the ghostly flame with no effect. The elemental flickered between the planes, such that it was only really there half the time—the other half of the time, it was hope
lessly ethereal.

  She ducked an attack and slashed again, and this time the sword did not pass through harmlessly. Instead, the blade bit into its essence, causing it pain.

  The creature swung a huge, fiery tendril at her, and Arya drew up her shield desperately. The ghostfire arm, however, passed right through the stout steel shield and struck Arya's arm full force. The knight screamed as the ghostfire tore at her flesh, her strength, and her spirit. Arya fell to her knees.

  The scream jolted Walker from his stunned daze and the ghostwalker climbed to his feet. He ran toward the elemen­tal, retrieving his blade from the ground. The elemental raised a fist in the air, preparing to bring it down on the staggering knight, but Walker lunged in and stabbed his shatterspike into its fiery depths. The creature whipped away from Arya.

  Walker snapped his blade up to block the elemental's swipe. Its punch did not pass through the weapon, enchanted as the shatterspike was, but the force threw Walker to the ground. The ghostwalker struggled to rise, but the elemen­tal slammed its arm down on his sword again, crushing him to his knees. The elemental flowed over him and held him down, manifesting entirely into the Material world, preventing him from rising.

  The forest was suddenly lit with red, raging, material flame, and those flames licked at Walker around the sword. He gritted his teeth against the heat. Walker delved into his ghostly focus and distanced himself from his body so that he could ignore the pain.

  Arya, seizing her opportunity, slashed at the elemental with two hands on her sword hilt. The temporarily enhanced blade cut into its fiery body but had little effect. The elemen­tal countered and the knight managed to block the incoming punch with her shield. Though the fire did not strike her flesh, the force of the blow sent her reeling back. A second strike sent her flying into a fir tree on the other side of the clearing, where she crumpled to the ground, thrashing and moaning.

  Amidst the pain of the flames, Walker blinked through the blood in his eyes and looked at the elemental standing over him. He stopped moving, allowing his body to go limp as though he had died from the flames. It was not a difficult task, for Walker could feel his flesh blistering and blackening and see that his bracers were white hot. He could endure, though, if only he could convince the elemental to leave—