"He didn't get the chance," Meris said curtly. Behind him, the gaunt steward rushed in, red-faced, apologizing over and over for the intrusion.

Greyt waved him away. "A bad day?" he asked. "Didn't find sport to your liking, eh?"

Meris stomped over to the Singer's desk and slammed down a black leather bundle. It clattered on the thick oak. "Tell me he's just a shadow now," he said angrily. Then he whirled and strode out, his feet pounding the creaking wood under the carpet.

"I need to get that fixed, it seems," Greyt said of the floor as the door slammed.

The words trailed off as he looked at the leather pouch Meris had deposited on his desk. He wasn't about to touch it, but it consumed a moment of his attention.

He went back to making notes, but the rhymes would not come. He was forcing the ballad and, like all art, it could not be demanded. Greyt threw the ink quill down on the desk.

A disgusted frown twisted his face and he seized the bundle, wincing when something within scratched him. Ignoring the blood that welled from his finger, he ripped it open, threw the contents down on the desk, and drew back in shock.

It was the snapped blade of Drex Redgill's wood axe. There was a bit of blood on it, where the jagged edge had torn through the leather and cut his finger.

Torlic spun back and around, bringing his rapier singing up to parry his opponent's blade. The glittering blade snapped down and thrust under Torlic's guard, but the nimble half-elf simply twisted his rapier around and sent the thrust out harmlessly wide.

The blond watchman Narb, Torlic's opponent, slashed right to left, and the half-elf picked off the attack with a neat, almost casual parry. An attack high followed by a thrust low met similar fates, parried with quick flicks of Torlic's wrist. Narb lunged-a strike Torlic easily dodged-and faltered. Torlic sidestepped Narb and slapped him twice on the backside with the flat of his blade, making a "tsk" sound in his throat. Torlic covered his yawning mouth with one dainty hand.

Angry, the youthful watchman lunged at Torlic, but the half-elf leaped back, spinning to land on his toes. The dancing half-elf flicked his sword back and forth, tempting his opponent.

"Try harder, Narb," Torlic said. "I haven't broken a sweat yet."

The two fought in Torlic's training room. It was a wide, open square with walls lined with weapons and practice dummies. Members of Quaervarr's Watch used this training arena for dueling and for working on their sword skills. Most of them took instruction from Torlic himself, whose sword's sharpness was surpassed only by his tongue. If fencing was his hobby, criticism was his habit.

Narb, shaking his golden mane, growled a negative. "Sorry, Captain," he said. He turned away and took a few steps. He limped from where Torlic's blade had slapped his thigh. "Me bed's callin' me louder than your sword."

Narb was handsome and young, and it was clear that Torlic had picked him for exactly those traits. The vain half-elf loved the company of men he found lovely-and enjoyed proving his superiority over them even more. Narb fingered the scar running down his otherwise flawless face, remnant of a recent rapier wound.

"Tired, are we?" Torlic asked. "Too warm? Or perhaps you're not properly motivated. Do you need another scar?" He cut his light rapier through the air, then stretched his arms.

Narb's face paled.

"It's a little too warm, I agree," said Torlic. He turned to open the window, letting in the cutting chill of the breeze.

The young watchman was walking away when Torlic cleared his throat.

"Narb, you work for me, remember?" he asked without looking back.

At the door, the watchman stopped. "Yes, but-" Narb started.

"Put up your guard," Torlic said. "I'm not done with you yet."

As he turned, Narb opened his mouth to protest then staggered away, gaping.

As though he had stepped out of the air itself, Walker stood between them, the fringes of his cloak rustling in the breeze from the window. Spikes of hair shifted around his face. His arms were hidden inside the black cloth of his cloak. His cold eyes-beautiful in the way that thunderstorms are-were fixed on Torlic.

"Your replacement seems to…" Torlic started, but his voice trailed off as the crushing weight of the ghostwalker's will fell upon him. His knees felt weak and the rapier in his hand grew heavy.

"Send him away," Walker rasped.

Torlic seemed to gather his senses again. "Go," he said to Narb without taking his eyes from his new opponent. "This is a duel between me and the dark gentleman."

"Should I call Unddreth?" Narb stammered, trembling with exhaustion and fear.

"Yes," Torlic said. He flicked his eyes toward the watchman. "There will be a corpse to cart away when I'm done."

Walker said nothing, but a hint of a smile might have creased his mouth-behind the high black collar.

Narb wasted no time in leaving, and the two listened to his rapid footfalls and the outer door slamming shut as he dashed off. Torlic tossed the rapier from hand to hand, cutting it through the air in practice moves.

The man in black did not move.

"So, Walker-if I may call you so, lovely boy-how long would you guess we have?" Torlic asked. His voice was almost lewd. "It's a disorganized Watch, and Unddreth is a heavy sleeper-"

"How soon do you wish for your death?" Walker asked.

"How about not at all?" Torlic asked with a whimsical smile. "How soon do you wish-"

Walker stepped aside as Torlic's blade flashed past.

Faster than the eye could follow, the half-elf had darted forward and thrust, thinking to end the battle right then. Walker swept a silvery long sword out of the folds of his cloak and knocked the rapier to the right, then parried to the left when Torlic tried to reverse his strike. Walker leaped away, his cloak swirling around him, and brought the blade left to right, low to high, throwing the rapier up wide when Torlic thrust a third time.

As the half-elf danced back, his offensive momentum spent, Walker continued his spinning attack. Eyes popping wide, Torlic barely got the sword up in time to knock the blow high enough to keep it from taking his head from his shoulders. Walker's mithral blade screeched against the rapier and Torlic pulled his weapon away as quickly as he could. He leaped back and wove his blade through the air to distract and ward off his opponent.

The warrior in black charged, ignoring the whipping blade. Torlic dived aside of the slashing long sword and turned a somersault on the floor, coming up with a main-gauche in his left hand, drawn from his belt.

Walker slashed in with the long sword, and Torlic hooked it on his rapier's basket hilt. He pulled his left arm back to jab, but Walker's fist was faster. The half-elf went tumbling backward, his face stinging, but he kept a firm hold on his weapons.

That was fortunate for him, since Walker was right there, slashing again.

"My lady, what…?" asked Garion. The voice trailed off as Arya shot the innkeeper a burning look. She would clearly brook no delay. The blows to her head had left her dizzy but intent.

She had to find the man in black, the mysterious Walker she had heard about in whispers. She felt almost desperate to see him again. He frightened her, but he intrigued her; thus, he frightened her all the more.

Arya threw open the door to her room and darted inside,, ignoring the snoring bodies of Bars and Derst in the middle of the floor. Apparently, they had both tried for the bed but neither had made it.

Arya knew she didn't have time to don her plate armor, so she grabbed her shield and long sword before rushing down the stairs.