The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (40 page)

Death’s eyes lost themselves in green flames that spread out across his face.  Growing tremulous, his frame expanded; his flesh became deep shadow, spreading massive obsidian wings to fashion a great canopy.  His new proportions forced me to lift my head sharply.  I watched his monstrous face melt at last, baring the skull beneath.  Though devastatingly impressive, this form did not compare to the great black dragon that Abaddon had worn in the sky above the arena.

Death was still acting with restraint—for now.  We had yet to see the true power he could bring to bear should we continue to annoy him.

Yet justice demanded that we not run away, and common sense too; for there was no place Death and his reavers could not follow, save Avalon, and none of us wanted even such an enchanting world as a prison.  This needed to be settled here and now.

Wary of what might come, and needing room to fight, my forces withdrew a ways.  I stood my ground with my family close beside me.  Silver Wolf joined me without hesitation.  Being dead, he had moved beyond fear of all—except the abyss which he risked once more by siding with me.  He shed humanity, shifting into a beast of silver moonlight.

The phantom wolf was first to leap to the attack.

Faang and D’elia joined the assault as bear and owl.

The rest of the animals attacked in a silver wave, unwilling to sit out the struggle.

I would have plunged in myself, but grew distracted.  The scent of the rose pinned to my cloak waxed stronger, enveloping my senses, a hint from Heaven I needed to unravel.

Death thundered his displeasure with dark winds howling out of his black-fire core.  The blast caught up my forces as if they were tin soldiers.  They hurled across the sprawling chamber, into the dark mirrors where they became charcoal wraiths.

Knocked from our feet by the explosive force, Amelia, Phillippe, and I remained free, as did Azrael who kept his feet easily.  He rushed to shield me should Death send a more direct attack my way.

I climbed to my feet and despaired of victory, yet I could not relent, not without knowing my son was not only free to leave, but would be allowed to live his life unhindered hereafter.  I would surrender on those terms alone.  Running from Death would serve no purpose other than gaining us a temporary respite.

I prayed that I, too, could raise the stakes in this game.  I clawed my rose loose, and flung it upward at the grinning skull.  Death stared doubtfully at the soft missile that spun at him from my hand.  I think he very much doubted his eyes.  Apparently, he had not heard of the stilled gears beneath my Necropolis, rendered useless by a single rose and Heaven’s blessing.

My aim at his face was off.  Death’s shadow-fire body consumed my flower, leaving no trace behind.

“Was that supposed to accomplish something?” he asked.

I hope so.

Death arched backwards, his skull-face turned toward the distant vault of ceiling.  A horrible shriek escaped him that I felt throughout my bones.  I thought at first he was laughing at me, but the sound quickly became one of distress.  A fountain of white light erupted from his mouth and eyes.  The torrential energy shot to the ceiling and curled back as Death shrank before my eyes, much of his substance consumed.

Moments later, he lay curled at my feet, human once more, the white light extinguished.  Fumes wisped off his pained features.  The rose had acted as a force for balance, bringing Death to my level so I could deal with him.  I had to act before he regained his unnatural advantage!

I turned to Grandmama, holding out my hand.  “Lend me your sword.”

She saw that I already held my own, but trusted me enough to hand hers over without question.

I went to Death as he forced himself to his knees, and lifted my sword’s point under his chin, forcing him to raise his now human face that I might stare into his eyes.

“I could take my son and go, but you would recover and come after him again.  Must I kill you to settle this?”

“Your friends would stay in the mirrors if you did that,” Death answered quickly.

I nodded.  He indeed held hostages against me.  I offered him the hilt of Amelia’s weapon.  “I thought that would be your response.  Then let us resolve this in a civilized fashion.  Duel me.  If I win, my son’s fate is left in my hands.”

His hard face relaxed to a sinister smile.  “And if I should win, will I be rewarded with more than victory?”

“You will have me as your heir.”  Phillippe’s manner was just short of contempt.  “Is that not what you want?”

Death stood, taking the rapier I offered.  His gaze on Amelia revealed the hunger that burdened him.  He said nothing, but his desire was clear.

Amelia nodded her head in agreement.  “Very well, if you win this match, I will return to your side once more.”

“To my side
and
to my bed?  Will you truly be
mine
once more?”

A dangerous glitter danced in Grandmama’s eyes.  “I will be at your disposal.”

“As long as we are bargaining,” I said, “Should I win or not, I expect the release of my friends and that no punitive action will be taken against them for supporting my cause.”

Keeping his stare on Grandmother, Death waved away my words as though they were inconsequential.  “Of course, I am never petty in victory.”

“You have not won yet,” Azrael reminded his former master.

Death looked at Azrael and spoke.  “I have had tens of thousands of years to master the sword.  Do you really think I will lose?”

I was getting heartily sick of everyone telling me how invincible they were, as if battles were won with words.  Yet I could play that game as well.  “Abaddon did not expect to lose,” I lifted my point, assuming a ready stance, “yet he did.”

Death turned a cheerful smile my way.  “Then let us see just how good you are.”

I had been watching for sudden movement, but his attack flashed in and I only barely managed to parry the thrust, more by luck than anything else.  Nor did he relent, but forced me to give ground before a flurry of blows that severely tested my skill.  Hard as it was, I veered in my retreat instead of backing straight away.  This let me slide away from much of his power and slow him down as he realigned his body constantly.

I caught the timing of his strikes and rallied to match his blinding speed.

He hastily parried my point from his face and lost momentum.  I pressed the opportunity, circling him, drawing the dagger that I carried sheathed at the small of my back.  I hated to break a sword belonging to my grandmother, but would hate losing the match even more.

My movements brought Grandmama into view over Death’s shoulder.  Though I now held my own, her eyes were wide, locked upon my face, as she bit her lip.  I thought she wanted to tell me something, but feared to be a distraction.

Guessing my intent and knowing the significance of the etched runes on Amelia’s sword, Death did not leave me uninformed.  “You cannot break this blade.”  He sounded disgustedly far from winded.  “It is made of soft silver, as are all Elven blades, and has therefore been strengthened with spells that your dagger cannot defeat.”  Death’s smile chided me for overlooking such an obvious detail.

Very well!  If I could not break his blade, I could still deflect it with the dagger and plunge my rapier through his miserable black heart.

Having taken my measure, Death relaxed his pace to enjoy the bout.  “Nothing to say?” he asked.  Our blades clashed and clattered a musical accompaniment to his words.  “But we really must get to know each other better, Granddaughter.”

I snarled as his point flicked a small cut on the outside of my sword arm, a painless kiss I knew I would feel once the heat of battle passed.

Trying to break my focus, Death rambled on, “I would not have neglected you with my attentions had I known you were part of our family, dear Celeste.”

He did not fool me with such obvious sentiment.  He fought with his mind as well as his sword, hoping to play my emotions against me.  I would not let that happen.

He sighed heavily, dramatically, when I failed to respond to his goading.  “Is wagging steel so difficult, you must ignore good manners?  I am
talking
to you.”

I was quite aware of that.  However, I also knew that Phillippe’s future and Grandmama’s dignity depended on my sword.  I was even prepared to let Death sheath his blade in my flesh, so long as I could inflict a more telling wound in return.  I did not have to remain unscathed.  I did not even have to survive this duel.

I only had to win!

Something of my feeling must have shown in my face, or flashed from my eyes, for Death turned grimly silent. 

In fairness, I had to admit he was better than I with a blade.  His single weapon effortlessly matched the two I used.  That did not mean I could not win, only that I would have to find an unconventional way to do so.

His rapier blurred as he returned to an unrelenting tempo.  I missed a parry and consequently, my left shoulder caught his point.  It sliced in deeply.  Blood seeped down my arm, soaking into the white leather I wore.  I don’t know if some trick of my own mind occurred, or the crimson now adorning Death’s blade made a difference, but it became easier to track his rapier’s movements.  This was fortunate because he launched an onslaught that drove me back despite my best efforts.

Time stretched out as our blades flashed faster than our minds could direct.  Death recoiled slightly, about to surge in and utterly overwhelm me.

I used the tiny respite to shift sideways, once more beginning a circle, but he advanced diagonally to cut me off.  We ended up moving laterally with each other until our rapiers locked hand guards.  Our contest of skill became a test of strength.  I did my best to hold fast.

With a mercurial switch of tactics, Death yielded a step, carrying me back with him.

“Oh, come now!” he cried.  “Are you really trying?  Here, let me help you—I will retreat a while so you can pretend to have a chance.”

I accepted his invitation, and let my left arm dangle, releasing the dagger.  I needed him to believe my shoulder injury was worse than it was.  I took the edge off my speed to convince him I was nearly done in—which was not that far from the truth.

Retreating, he laughed at me.

A blinding fury splashed crimson fire across my mind, and there in my soul, the dark bud that I feared trembled, straining for release.  The black rose wanted to open and drench the world in darkness.  Already, the loosening petals leaked a hideous strength into my spirit.  The infusion of power cut through my fatigue like a barrage of grapeshot.  My sword arm became refreshed.  My form acquired precision and speed that I knew would not last, unless I sacrificed myself completely to my inner darkness.

No!  I would not do it.  Not until I knew there was no other way!

Death stopped laughing, and drew me into a tight circle.  He no longer wanted to surrender an advantage to me.

Returning to an area we had previously fought over, I lost my
footing, slipping on blood I myself had shed.  I hissed as I painfully smashed a knee into the floor.  Exposed beyond recovery, this was as he intended.  He had used our environment to his advantage and I was angry with myself for not thinking of it first.  He was many lifetimes ahead of me in experience, and it was telling!  Had he not made the classic mistake of playing cat and mouse with me, the match would never have gone this long.

In a show of bravado, Death let his point drop.  He retreated, addressing me in a soft voice.  “You have won my admiration.  Your valor has cooled even
my
anger.  Whatever lies between us, you have my respect, granddaughter.  It would be a shame to break you now, and earn Phillippe’s undying enmity.”

I paid little attention to his words, trusting none of them.  My lungs heaved, filling with deep breaths, as my borrowed strength waned.  The pain in my shoulder grew from moment to moment as the muscles stiffened.  Blood still trickled down to my empty hand—my life draining away as I knelt there.

Somehow, I had to end this better than I was doing.

“Yield now.  Join my household,” Death offered, “and your son will not be lost to you.  Where is the sense in continuing?”

I stood with a dreadful effort, and set my face into a mask of unrelenting strength, clinging to the lie.  I could not let him know how close I was to utter collapse.  My voice joined the illusion, hard and heated, “I cannot lose.  I
will
not!”

I put my hope upon a
coup de main,
praying I had enough speed and power for a sudden, decisive win, holding nothing back from the attack.  My feet thrust against the black marble floor, straining to their utmost.  A wave of muscular movement traveled up my body.  My hips shifted to feed me power as I lunged to close the distance.  I turned my shoulder into the thrust of my sword, and gave everything I had with a fierce scream of exertion.

While thrusting for his heart, my bloody hand released the pin that secured my cloak.  I was glad now that I had not discarded the garment at the beginning of the duel, for as Death deflected my thrust and struck at me again, I flung the shrouding material over him.  The pain in my wounded shoulder was a savage thing that wrung an animal whimper from me.