When Meris appeared, Unddreth stopped and looked at him warily. "We don't need your help, Wayfarer." The surname was a condemnation, akin to calling Meris a bastard directly.
Though the edge of his mouth twitched slightly, Meris ignored the genasi as though Unddreth's voice, the crashing of boulders, were but the breeze. He extended his hand. "Come."
Arya took a step back. "My thanks, but I'd rather ride with Unddreth," she said, narrowing her eyes.
"That brute's horse can barely carry him," Meris said. He smiled, an expression that might have been pleasant had Arya not known him better. "Let me make amends for my rude behavior earlier."
Arya hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand. She didn't want to take it, but it was a seemingly good-hearted offer. The code of knighthood, to which she had sworn, would not permit a personal bad sentiment to interfere with duty. Unddreth was watching and weighing her; Arya knew the significance of her decision.
The stable boy appeared then, leading Arya's horse, Swift-fall, fully saddled. The crimson mare neighed in friendly recognition, but quieted when it saw Meris's black stallion.
"Oh look," Arya said pointedly. "My horse."
Meris sneered. "Suit yourself," he spat. He turned abruptly, dug his heels into his stallion's flanks, and burst away.
Unddreth nodded to her, a slight smile on his blocky features, and rode off.
Arya, not weighed down by armor, easily vaulted into her saddle and followed them. The stable boy ducked out of the way just in time, and the knight-errant was away, racing down the street to the house of Torlic.
The long sword came down over his head, and Torlic barely deflected it with both weapons. The black-clad warrior was deceptively slender-his frail build belied strength equal to even Unddreth's might! Torlic was on the defensive, constantly retreating, keeping his weaving blades moving to ward off Walker's blade.
"Is this it?" Torlic sneered. "You call this skill?"
Walker slashed diagonally, and Torlic parried, but the warrior in black slid the sword down the rapier and main gauche, locking the hilts on his own. He gazed into Torlic's eyes with something akin to fury. Torlic took that as a good sign.
"Having some trouble?"
No reply.
"What are you, mute?"
"Silent as the grave," Walker said calmly.
"That's not polite, my lovely boy," Torlic mocked.
Walker did not reply but gritted his teeth.
Torlic peered harder at his opponent. Walker was younger than he had seemed at first. "Impressive entrance, frightening dress, but no skill," Torlic said. "You have no business fighting a real man."
Walker smiled. Then he threw Torlic tumbling back with a heave of his shoulders. The half-elf rolled, blades held wide, and went into a crouch. He came up slashing, but Walker had not followed.
Rather, the dark warrior stood, eyes burning, in the center of the room once more. The only difference between now and when he had first appeared was that he held his mithral sword outside of his cloak, pointed down at the floor. The blade was touched with translucence, making it appear almost ghostly. Torlic felt the weight of Walker's presence once more, only now it seemed sharper, more focused.
"That's a shatterspike blade, is it not?" the half-elf asked. He looked at the nicks it had left on his rapier. "Interesting," he continued when no reply was forthcoming. "Come dance with me, boy, whoever you are," Torlic said, weaving his blade before him. "I wasn't careful before, and you caught me. It won't happen again. I'm through toying with you." He pointed his blade at Walker's eyes. "Dance with me, boy: I'll be the last thing you ever see."
Even as Torlic spoke the words, he could feel the heat bleed out of the room and Walker's stance become even firmer. It was almost as though the half-elf had just thrown down his blade and admitted defeat. Above it all, though, Walker seemed to pulse with an icy resolution that set the ever-confident Torlic back on his heels.
"I'm sorry, have we met?" Torlic asked, noticeably flustered. "Some fool I chased out of town? Some angry merchant I swindled? Some jealous, cuckolded husband? Lover? Some pretty thing I scarred?"
Walker was silent.
"You know, it doesn't matter." Torlic shifted his grip, turning his knuckles skyward. His blade flashed in the dim light. "Or, at least, it won't matter in a moment."
Torlic thrust forward, rapier flashing out like lightning and dagger whipping, ready to block a counter attack. Walker leaped at the last moment, seeming to fly back and under the blade. His trailing foot caught Torlic's wrist and knocked the blade harmlessly high, and his other foot struck the half-elf in the chest, knocking him back. As though not exerting himself in the least, Walker rolled backward in the air and fell to his feet. His cloak flowed behind him.
Torlic staggered back, righting himself with effort, only to find Walker standing before him, that same stoic expression on his face.
Impressed, Torlic slashed right, and left, then right again, but Walker dodged each blow. Whirling, Walker knocked the rapier away, but Torlic allowed the parry to spin him the same way, and his dagger shot out. The half-elf sneered, thinking this to be a deadly strike.
Walker continued spinning as well, and, to Torlic's astonishment, he floated into the air. With matchless grace, Walker leaped over the chest-level thrust. The shatterspike slammed down, and Torlic barely managed to block it. The blades sparked and the half-elf staggered back.
When he looked up, blades held low, Walker landed and faced him, nonchalant, his sword held down.
Torlic was shaking with anger. "Enough," he snapped.
With a furious snarl on his lips, the half-elf came forward in a rush, low to the ground, balancing on the balls of his feet. As he ran, Torlic waved his weapons around him in a whirlwind flurry, faster than any but the greatest duelist could follow. As he came on, he jumped, rolled, cartwheeled, and twirled through the air, in a confusing and dizzying charge.
This devastating acrobatic rush, seemingly reckless but actually tight and controlled, was an elf technique Torlic had used to slay his greatest enemies in his adventuring days. No ore chieftain, no fencer, no knight, no swordsmaster had ever been able to stand against it.
Leaping headfirst, Torlic lunged at Walker, both weapons before him. The ghostly man took a single step back and swept his sword as though to parry. As he flew through the air, Torlic snapped back then forward with his right arm, bringing his rapier just out of line with Walker's parry and punching it forward again. Walker's sword swept through the seemingly vanishing rapier, making no contact, and Torlic threw the main-gauche wide, as though deflected, to disguise his feint.
The rapier, pulled and thrust just in time to avoid the parry, darted for Walker's chest.
Torlic gave a triumphant cry as the blade drove through Walker, lancing his heart and punching out his back.
Arya spurred her horse ahead, but the guard's horses crowded the road and so she arrived at Torlic's townhouse with the last of the guards. When she arrived, several of the soldiers were already milling around the door and two were slamming their shoulders against it. Meris had dismounted and was standing among them, snapping at the watchmen pounding on the locked door.
"Swords inside," a watchman shouted as Arya pulled up next to them. "I hear steel!"
"Mielikki's scowl. We need a battering ram!" another cursed.
"Stand aside!" Arya shouted.
Protests on their lips, the watchmen turned toward her, but then their eyes went wide in shock and they leaped aside. With a pump of her legs, Arya's reddish mare slammed both hooves into the shut portal. The door caved in with a crash and its hinges snapped.