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 like water.

This is the ghost world, she thought. From here, we step into Shadow.

An ephemeral man lunged at her out of the darkness, so violently and with such rage burning from him that Arya screamed and clutched at Walker. At the same time, a wave of panic washed over her.

"I am here," came a voice, a deep and resonating voice, along with a wave of comfort. The angry spirit spun past her and continued on its way, jabbering about orc chieftains it had faced.

A wave of sadness not of her own making swept through her.

"Gharask is an old spirit-the father of Dharan Greyt. He has haunted Quaervarr for fifteen years," said the voice. "Kept there by anger, rage, and helplessness. Perhaps tonight we will set him to rest."

Caught up in Walker's arms, Arya felt herself borne away on wings of shadow. The angry spirit, and the gathered multitude vanished, along with the darkened buildings of Quaervarr. Soon, Arya found herself in the woods, where Walker continued his slow steps, each of them covering dozens of paces.

Then there came a scream, jolting Arya's attention to a spirit who ran beside them. Her face was blurred, but when Arya focused upon her features, they shifted and cleared. She was a comely woman, younger than Arya, but her features were lined with wrinkles of madness and her eyes burned with impotent wrath. There was a bloody wound in her breast.

"Why? Why? Why?" she asked, repeating the word again and again, building in volume until it was so loud that it stung Arya's ears. The spirit wept black tears, which disintegrated in the smoky air.

"Chandra Stardown?" asked Arya, as she recognized the spirit. She had known Chandra in Silverymoon-both had served under Sernius Alathar as cadets, but Arya had not seen her since her promotion into the order.

Chandra's spirit seemed stunned for a moment. Then she burst back into her demands, reaching for Arya.

"Why! Why! Why!"

Startled, Arya cried, "I know not!"

At this, Chandra paused again, but then gave a wrenching scream, stunning Arya to silence, and reached at her with fingernails grown into claws. The knight gasped and reached for her sword, but a warning hand clamped down upon her wrist.

"Whatever you see, do not reply!" repeated Walker. "I am here-I am the only one here!"

Arya started to argue, but then the spirit gave a gasp and vanished, as though it had suddenly fallen from a galloping horse they rode. Chastened, Arya clung to Walker, her only protection in this strange and fearful place. They continued their trek through the Shadow.