The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (21 page)

Just short of the bridge, I stopped as my feet refused to move.

Bauku noticed my knuckles whitening as I gripped the strap of my pouch.  I decided to make use of my fear to gain his sympathy, and did not hide my distress.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

I freed a hand.  Reached out, and gripped his arm tightly.  “I…I am sorry, but high places…scare me…a great deal.”

He stared at my face.  What he saw seemed to convince him my terror was real.  He stepped closer and blocked my view of the chasm.  His voice went soft, as though he soothed a skittish colt.  “Easy there, it will be all right.”  He walked backwards, drawing me after him.  “Keep your eyes on me until we arrive.”

Though his kindness might be subterfuge, I felt a small measure of gratitude that he did not belittle my fear.  He probably thought human women were delicate, intemperate creatures.  I did nothing to disabuse him of the notion.  If this made him underestimate me … all the better.

I was concerned at the sharpness of my reaction to the void below.  Would every height inflict such terrible dread from now on?  If so,
how would I manage the trip to the World of the Dead when the time came to lead a force back to the Necropolis?

Abruptly, I understood my reaction
.  Common sense was masquerading as fear.  Some buried instinct insisted on self-preservation despite the tasks I set myself

During my pause,
the warriors went onto the metal mesh sections that floored the bridge.  It was now my turn.  I locked my gaze on Bauku’s black eyes as if they were tunnels to a better, safer place.  The crossing stretched out into a long and tedious affair.  A large block of unmeasured time ground by until I suddenly stepped off the bridge, safe on the other side—though security could only be illusion in this place.

I shook in relief, and threw my arms around Bauku, letting him anchor me a moment as I recovered.  When I pulled away, I noticed that some enlivening color had come to his pale face.  Sensing advantage, I smiled warmly at him.  “Thank you for helping.  You must think me a fool … and a coward.”

“Oh, not at all, White Rose.  You cannot be faulted for lacking a man’s courage and strength.”

I looked around at a village made of gray stone with
brightly painted doors, exploring every imaginable shade.  Wooden shutters—speckled with amethyst, garnet, moonstone, and turquoise—bracketed glassless windows.  Some of the structures were two and three stories high.  All of them displayed an artistic refinement I had not expected from so brutish a people.  None of this had the look of a recently contrived gathering place.  The Dar’kyn had been here a great while, though new to the surface overhead.  I concluded that they had used roundabout tunnels before, and that the use of the crystal grotto itself was a recent improvement on things.

My warrior escort kept back a jostling crowd of villagers.  There were adults there, but mostly children, starved looking in jewel-bright jackets and gray trousers.  Voices rose like a storm wind sweeping in.  A
s news of my arrival swept through the village, the word “human” leaped about like lightning strikes.

A white-faced little girl with hair the color of rust pointed at me.  Her piping voice was clearly audible.  “Her ears are round!  Why are her ears round?”

I answered her as I passed, “Because rats bit off the tips.”

Her eyes widened with total belief.

Children are children wherever you find them, impressionable and given to faith until the world either beats it out of them, or hardens it into a weapon of the soul.

Bauku snorted amusement at my comment, turned, and bawled orders at the throng, “Make way!  Make way!  The White Rose is wanted by the king!  Let us through.”

Invoking the king opened the crowd before us.  I was marched with alacrity through winding, crooked streets to a monolithic structure.  It was a palace of black volcanic glass, surrounded by gray stone walls.  We passed the gaping jaws of a gate with a portcullis hanging overhead.  Since the iron grating was ready to fall, and chomp through my body with spear points, I did not tarry.

That danger past, I surveyed the obsidian palace, searching out its details. 
              Strangely, I saw no sign of guards.  This ruler did not seem fearful of his own people.  Short poles were set in the outer wall.  Wire baskets dangled.  Inside, red crystals cast bloody highlights that slithered like snakes over the face of the building.  A shudder went though me as I worked to suppress my imagination.  I was not helping myself, allowing thought such freedom.

Within this stronghold, Bauku expected to be rewarded for delivering me into captivity.  I was interested in seeing just what this
Dar’kyn king thought I was worth.

We ascended stairs to a porch supporting monstrous obsidian columns.  Beyond them, we reached a wall with a high arched opening.  It led into a large foyer with a mosaic floor.  Hurriedly crossing the images, one scene caught my attention.  I slowed to admire a rendering of willowy towers cresting a hillside.  The ivory buildings were set against a creamy blue sky.  Lower in the mosaic, armies clashed in battle.  This was an Elvin city under siege.

Bauku had stopped, and come back for me.

“What place is that?” I asked

He looked down, studying the floor as if seeing it for the first time, though I knew this could not be true.

“Tis’shiah,” he answered, “City of Dreams.  She guards the western passes of the Great Range.  We destroyed the city ages ago, but the Elves rebuilt her; they take pride in owning the first city.”

“The first city?”

“First built, the oldest city on Avalon,” he said.

“You talk as if you are not an elf yourself.”

Silence drew my gaze from the floor.  Bauku stared fixedly at me a moment longer then spoke.  “We are not, not since the burning of Tissiah.  We are Dar’kyn by choice.”

“I see little difference other than bleached skin, dark hair, and lightless eyes,” I said.

Bauku thumped his chest lightly with a fist.  “The true differences are in here.  We are not enslaved by the forests.  We dearly hold onto our individual destinies, making the world serve us, not the other way around.”

We left the hall behind, passing a set of doors to enter an empty audience room with a throne on a dais.  Braziers along the side walls provided orange lighting, adding a smoky
aroma to the air. 

I could not let what he said rest so easily. 
“But do you not have more similarities than differences?”

“You think too much,” Bauku warned.  “Do not let your curiosity detract from your beauty until after I have been paid for you.”

In other words, he wanted me silent.  My question had troubled him.

We approached
the center of the room.  Several guards remained behind me while others fanned out to either side.  Bauku held my arm possessively.  I think he meant his touch to reassure. 

A door opened in the wall behind the throne.  A thin, young man appeared, wearing loose robes of black silk textured with raised, embroidered leaf patterns.  His long black hair was held
in place by a red-gold band set with a black diamond.  It glittered like a mysterious third eye.  His nose was sharp, his mouth thin and cruel.  He possessed no beard.

He stood, ignoring his throne.  His cold gaze swept across my bowing, fawning escort, dismissing them wordlessly.  Bauku received a lingering, speculative stare that next raked me contemptuously.

“Is it a woman or a warrior,” the king asked.  “Surely not both?”

I decided then and there to despise this idiot thoroughly, though I kept such feelings from my face.

“Your Majesty,” Bauku’s oiled voice rolled out smoothly, “may I present the White Rose?”

The king nodded permission and Bauku drew me closer.  “White Rose,” the sorcerer said, “this is his exalted majesty, King Aracus, the Fist of Darkness, true sovereign of Avalon.”

If he expected me to grovel, Aracus was going to be disappointed.  I looked him over slowly, as he had with me, and displayed only mild curiosity.  “I appreciate your hospitality, but it will be better for you if I do not stay.”

“If you expect to be rescued, surrender hope and make the best of things,” Bauku said.  “No one will ever find you here.  Even the roots of the forest do not reach this deep.”

The king frowned at Bauku for having diverted attention to himself.  Aracus made a brushing away motion with his hand.  “You have played your part, and will be remembered, sorcerer.  Leave us to get better acquainted.  Take your men.”

Bauku looked as if he’d bitten into something sour.  He bowed.  “As you command…”

Apparently, Aracus thought he needed no guards underfoot to handle me.  I hoped to make him regret such arrogance.  Meanwhile … I turned to the sorcerer, taking his hands in my own as the guards filed out.

“One moment
, I want to thank you for your assistance earlier when my courage failed on the bridge.”  Chastely, I kissed his cheek in farewell.  He smiled, pulled away, and bowed to me before backing out of the room, pulling the hallway doors shut behind him.

I turned toward the king and sprung at him quickly, bringing up the dagger I had just stolen from Bauku’s belt.  I set the tip deep against the fleshy underside of Aracus’ jaw and smiled sweetly at him.  “Cry out and you die,” I promised.

“I thought you would try something like this.”  He sounded rather bored.  “I allowed your resistance so that a lesson might be driven home.”

I jabbed the knife in a little.  A drop of blood beaded on the point.  “What lesson is that?”

“That your life will forever hang upon my good will, for I am never powerless.”

The red slithers of light I had noted on the outside of the building appeared on the
inner walls of the room though there were no crystal baskets here to cast a glow.  The sliding streaks hit me as I jabbed the knife deeper, determined to kill the sorcerer-king.  Falling back, twisting, he barely saved himself from injury.  I would have pursued him, but bands of red fire wrapped my limbs.  The knife slipped from nerveless fingers as the ribbons sank into my flesh and blasted my thoughts into shards.  Muscles convulsed.  Agony raced along my nerves.  I screamed, falling.  More of the red light slithered over me, bearing down until it found a nesting place deep inside my flesh.

“Too late.”  He breathed the words ominously, like a sentence of death.

Finally, I could only lie there and pray for an end to punishment.  I wanted darkness to come and deliver me.  My heart screamed for Azrael.  But there was no hope he could reach me on
this
world.  It was
Aracus that leaned over me, his face awash with pleasure as he savored my pain.  The diamond in his headband danced with an ebon flame.  It had to be the talisman that controlled the living lights.

“It hurts, does it not?” Aracus asked.

The wiggles had stopped coming, but I could not answer, capable of little more than twitching my fingers.  I felt like a candle fully melted, waiting for someone to come along and scrape me up.  This potent attack might have been stopped had I worn my silver mask instead of carrying it in my pouch.  Now, was too late, nor could I pull out the mask without having it taken away easily.  Yet how could I have known such a defense would be needed?

After a while, I began to recover, raging inwardly that another throw of the die had gone against me—but I had finally learned my lesson: too many people were finding me altogether too predictable.  I needed more subtlety.  I needed to refine my strategies as well as deepen my resources.  One of which was the silver mask.  Hidden by a fold of my cloak, I took it in hand.

The dark joy in Aracus’ eyes dimmed as I gave him no reaction other than labored breathing and helplessness.

“Now you know why I have little need of guards to protect me within this fortress,” he said.

Within this fortress?  Did that mean that the red lights could not follow should I escape the building?  It was a small hope, but enough to build upon.

He moved away, recovered my stolen knife, and came back.  He gripped the weapon loosely, offering it to me hilt first.  “Want to try again?” he asked.

I shook my head side to side in vehement denial.

He smiled with impersonal malice, as if I were more challenge than person, and straightened.  “Good, you are not hopelessly stupid.  I will try to make this time of training easy on you.  Give me instant obedience, and I shall leave you your dignity before my court.”

Hatred flared in me, but I made my eyes show gratitude instead.  “Thank you, My Lord.  You are most kind.”  He searched my face carefully for mockery, but could not find it.  I had locked it away along with my rage.

The Gamesman had told me that I needed to stop leading with my heart and let reason alone serve me.  While I did not believe this to be always true, in this instance, I was ready to accept his counsel.  With emotions walled away, I explored options for breaking Aracus’ power over me.

He helped me to my feet and I displayed more weakness than I actually felt.  This drew a smile that kindled no warmth in his eyes.

“I dislike hurting those around me,” he said.