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.

"Battering horse," Arya explained to the staring watchmen. "Just as good."

"Inside!" Unddreth ordered, leaping out of his saddle.

With a short cheer to the Nightingale of Everlund, the watchmen rushed inside. Arya slid off her steed, right in front of a startled Meris. She flashed him a quick, wry smile, drew her sword, and ran after them.

Meris's eyes smoldered.

They stood, Walker transfixed on the half-elf's sword, for a long moment, Torlic smiling with his offhand held artfully back and Walker with his eyes shut. The ghostwalker seemed almost translucent, as though the blade had stolen his very essence.

Then Walker's eyes opened. Torlic looked at him, confused.

The ghostwalker stepped to the right and became clearer, as though he had been but an illusion and was only now taking on solid matter.

The mithral long sword swept between them, cutting Torlic's sword neatly in two. Walker continued the spin, his left hand going out.

Too late, Torlic saw steel glinting in the ghostly man's hand. The dagger jabbed into his ribs. All the strength went from Torlic's legs and he collapsed.

The broken sword hilt tumbling from his shaking fingers, Torlic looked up at his opponent in astonishment. Walker shook his cloak, and the rapier blade swayed with it. The blade had gone right through his ghostly body and done no damage. Walker's body had only become material once the blade was outside his flesh. Now, it was stuck through fabric. Walker pulled it free and the blade came out sparkling clean.

Torlic saw, even as his vision swam in a sea of red, half a dozen guards rush into the room behind his attacker. He also could have sworn he saw a sad face flickering at the edge of his vision-the face of an old man mourning a loss.

Torlic had nothing at all to say as Walker slashed down with the shimmering mithral sword, angling for his head.

"You! Halt in the name of the Silver Marches!" Arya heard Unddreth shout from within as she ran into the house. The clashing of swords and more panicked cries followed the shout.

She rushed through the open door into the training room but pulled up short, along with three other guards in Quaervarr watch uniforms. They watched the spectacle before them, stupefied expressions on their faces.

Walker whirled among the guards as a dervish, his sword darting right and left to parry blows, whipping back and forth like a leaf in a hurricane. Three watchmen, including Narb and the hammer-wielding Unddreth, were hacking at the black-clad warrior, who stood over a corpse Arya could only assume had once been Torlic.

Rapier in hand, Narb lunged from the right. Walker leaped to the side, his cloak trailing in a circle as he spun away. Narb's rapier sparked off Unddreth's shield, causing the genasi to shout and falter in his low attack. Leaping over the swinging hammer, Walker whirled in the air, batting the third guard's sword out of the way and snapping up an elbow to strike the back of Unddreth's blocky head. With a confused grunt, the genasi staggered forward and fell bodily against Narb. They went down together in a heap.

Without hesitation-without even losing a beat-Walker stepped forward to engage the third guard, a ruddy-cheeked man whose movements had suddenly become much more frantic.

"What are you waiting for?" the cruel voice of Meris shouted almost in her ear. Turning, Arya saw the wild scout with a sword in one hand and a hand axe in the other. "After him!"

"Begging your pardon, Sir," one of the guards said. They had entered the room but hung back warily. "What good can we do against-"

Meris swung his axe around and lodged it in the doorframe with a thunk. He reached over and ripped the light crossbow from the watchman's belt. "Must I do everything?" he asked as he took aim.

"But ye'll hit Delem!" the soldier protested. He reached out to knock the weapon away, but not before Meris fired.

As though he sensed the projectile coming, Walker spun, but not out of its path. Rather, as it streaked for the hapless Delem's head, Walker shot out his arm to intercept the bolt. The ghostwalker scowled as it clanged off his left bracer, and the impact sent him stumbling away from Delem, shattering his momentum. The young guard, oblivious to the attack, seized the advantage and pressed after Walker.

"You see?" Meris said. He reclaimed his axe-and a chunk of the wall in the process. "Break his focus, and you win the battle. He's ours now." Then he charged into the fray, leaving the hesitating guards scrambling to catch up.