The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (9 page)

The Gamesman drew closer, lured by the obsessive anger of the elf lord.  “You expect to fight your way past legions of reavers, alone?”

“Who said I needed to fight?  The ancient magic serves
me.  You are not the only one who knows how to bend the walls of time and space.”  The elf lifted a foot and brought it down sharply on a hand that was reaching for his ankle.  It was the Leech, seeking enough strength to crawl away, failing yet again.  Without looking at the wretched doctor, Amberyn strode to his mount and sprang, mounting. 

He brought the unicorn over and handed me a flask from his saddlebags.  “Take this.”  I sensed that Amberyn spoke to me this time, and not Silver Wolf.  “It is water from my world.  It will sustain your life and grace your efforts.  I know not why my old friend allies himself with you, but it is enough that he has.  So long as you carry his mask, you carry my blessing.”

He added unknown words that flickered in the air like fire, resonating in every corner of my mind.  I thought this to be Elvin, the language of pure magic.  His benediction complete, he reached down and touched my head.  Weakness and hunger left, and I felt a reserve of strength I had not known since stepping on the bridge.  He kicked his mount into motion, returning to the furious haste that stylized his passing.

The mask I wore slipped loose and I lost the sense of another within my body.  I caught the mask before it
clattered to the bricks.  I felt the urged to stare in wonder at the silver wolf face, but forced away the desire—there were more pressing needs.  I held the flask under my chin while gingerly slipping the mask into my pouch.  The flask followed.

Next, a
flick of my wrist shook blood off the fouled whip, letting it snake out as I advanced on the Gamesman, ignoring the Leech.  The Thief of Souls had far more to answer for than the doctor.  I shouted at Abaddon, “How dare you speak of this game as having sanctity, you cheat!  You have set forth a puzzle with no solution.  Your only purpose is to destroy hearts by offering false hope.”

My arm lifted to deliver a blow with the whip, but I hesitated as the Gamesman lifted hands to purchase a moment.  “Wait!” he cried.  “What you say touches upon my honor.  I assure you, the riddle of the gates can be solved
—most easily in fact—though putting the solution into practice will be infinitely harder.”

“Why should I believe you?” I demanded.

He shrugged.  “It does not matter if you do or not.  My champion is here.” 

Before I could look around, my wrist was seized in an iron grip.  I gasped from the pain, then came a sharper cry as the bones threatened to break.  A dark presence lifted me off my feet.  I swung against a black-armored giant that
—if sundered—would have made three normal men.  A visor hid his face.  Through tears of pain, I saw that the Black-Heart Knight had approached without sound.  I could not understand how anyone so big, in full armor, could be so silent. 

His other hand caught my chin, holding my face toward the Gamesman, forcing me to give him my undivided attention.  I was getting exceedingly tired of helplessness being thrust upon me.  The Gamesman crossed to stand immediately before me.  Did my vulnerability excite him?  It was hard to tell since his features were hooded and shadowed. 

Thankfully, it seemed to be the day for heroic intervention.  Beyond the Gamesman, I saw Azrael.  He had returned.  His eyes were bright, stabbing from the darkness of his hood with a glare that hazed the air between us.  Extending from his cloak, his hands were clenched.  They trembled with a frightful fury.  His voice thundered, “Release her!”

Can they hear him?  Can they see him?

Apparently so—the Gamesman turned swiftly, drawing his sickle.  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.  “I ordered you not to…”

“…Interfere?  That is your crime, not mine.”  The dark angel snatched the Leech up by the scruff of the neck, and dangled him from one hand.  “This one’s duel is not over as yet.  He is
still officially in play.  You are interfering in his match.  I challenge your right to do so.” 

“You dance upon the head of a very fine technicality, reaver.”

“Never-the-less,” the dark angel continued, “I am right in my challenge.  Now, unless you want me to tear your champion apart with my bare hands, you will make him wait for the appointed time.”

The Gamesman did not answer with voice or gesture, but the Black-Heart Knight released me, letting me drop and sprawl on the
hard bricks—something else I was tired of doing.  The Gamesman turned my way, crouching to speak to me.  His tone held an amazed curiosity, “What is it about you that commands the loyalty of imperfect strangers?  Not beauty alone, though you have enough of that.  You are warping my game beyond reason.  I should impose a penalty and banish you.”

“Do it!” I said.  “Do it a thousand times, and a thousand times I will return, and a thousand more besides!  You cannot take the light of my world without finding my blade flying forever at your heart.  I am fated to destroy you.  Shall I call your secret name and prove it to you?”  I massaged my aching wrist, rotating and testing its function.  “Throw me back to my world and I will summon you there to face me where you have little advantage.”

“You cannot know my true name.”  He sounded uncertain, before strengthening his voice.  “That is a lie upon your lips.”

I did not truly know his name, but I could make an excellent guess from the way he had laid out the game, and the city, requiring everything to revolve around him, as the stars of night revolve around the pole star, Polaris.  I lowered my voice, murmuring provocatively.  “Shall I whisper it to you?”

His eyes avoided mine, as he deferred the test.  “You have no time for jests.  The reaver is right.  You have a match to finish.  And since the elf lord gave you assistance, it is only fair that I balance the scales.”

The Gamesman stood and walked away from me, his black giant a step behind.  They joined the reaver.  The Gamesman extended his weapon, setting the flat of it against the Leech’s sunken chest.   

The doctor’s wounds closed instantly.  His thin limbs swelled with power as Azrael released him.  The Leech wavered on his feet for a moment, but then grew steady.  He lifted his head and offered me a look of such deep hatred, there had to be no room left in his heart for any other emotion.  With help, I had beaten him and hurt him, leaving him humiliated—as he had left so many others.

“White Rose!”  He spat my title as if it had become his favorite curse.  “I will destroy you!”

I climbed to my feet and went to retrieve my sword.  With it in hand, I felt immeasurably better.  I answered the vile physician, “Easy enough to say, Leech!  But where is your weapon?”

The doctor wrenched the hand-scythe from the Gamesmen, breaking toward me in an all-out charge.  After taking only a few steps, he flung the weapon, hoping to catch me by surprise. 

Had I tried to tell my sword hand what to do, the slowness of the thought would have ensured disaster. Fortunately, years of conditioning made a quick, unthinking response second nature.  Even as the glittering whirl of danger registered on my mind, I pivoted my blade on its balance point to deflect the scythe.  With blinding speed, I took my sword through a spin which flung the hand scythe back where it came from.

The c
rescent blade buried itself in the Leech’s chest, releasing a spurt of blood.  The man crumpled with bulging, empty eyes, face slack with disbelief. 

I walked over, ready to kill him again, expecting resurrection any moment.  I needed to force an eternal surrender from him, as I had from the Red Dragon.  This was the only hope I had of reducing my enemies in a city where being killed only inflicted a most fleeting inconvenience.

I put my foot on the Leech’s throat and bent to grip the scythe’s handle.  A sudden, hard wrench freed the blood-splattered weapon.  I waited. Nothing happened.  Finally, I lifted my gaze to the Gamesman.  “What is wrong with him?  Why does he not heal?”

“He died from
my
weapon.  Those that taste its edge are removed to my father’s realm.  Soon, his illusion of flesh will fade and his shade will not be back.  This game piece is permanently retired.  Pity...”

“Pity?” I stepped toward him, making no effort to hide my murderous intent.  “There is no pity in you or you would never have stolen my son from me.”

Sword in hand, the Black-Heart Knight stepped in to shield his master.  I advanced anyway.  With the scythe in my hand, the ironclad giant no longer daunted me.

Ever silent, h
e used an arm to sweep the Gamesman back, retreating into the street.  The knight’s visor stayed centered on the small crescent blade I brandished.  He seemed to fear it.  This encouraged me to lunge, picking at the vents in his helmet with my sword’s point.  I knew I needed to draw his broadsword into play so I could slip past it and use the scythe to deadly effect.  The knight failed to cooperate, falling steadily back, step-by-step, wary of my tricks and my blade. 

“You are not playing fair.”  The Gamesman’s complaint lacked heat, echoing with laughter.

I felt disappointment that he was unafraid of me.

He said,
“I am going to have to insist on you giving me back my property.” 

“What if I do not?”

“Then your son’s spirit shall suffer heavily for your intransigency.” 

The threat stopped me cold.
  I eyed the distance to the

Gamesman.  If I could kill him fast enough, Phillippe would be safe.  But the Gamesman might vanish in a blink, leaving my son to take abuse for my conduct.  I could not chance it. 
I believed the Gamesman capable of carrying out his threat.  Defeat left the taste of ashes in my mouth.

“And you speak of fairness?  Very well,” I cast the weapon at the knight’s feet
but spoke to Abaddon, “take it, you vile little monster, and choke on it for all I care!”

“My Lady,”
He stepped forward to claim his prize and wag a finger, “you should not lead with your heart.  The game is an intellectual puzzle.  Reason alone will serve your ends.”  He picked up his scythe and straightened.  “I really ought to be angry with you, mucking up my duels as you’ve done, behaving in the most outrageous manner as a guest in my domain.  But the truth is—things were getting stale.  I like your fire, your passion and desperation, and your cunning … oh, my!  We have never had a White Rose quite like you.”

“It thrills me to be your plaything.”

“Oh, you snarl with such irony!”  The Gamesman uncovered his head, baring a pale hairless face framed with ebon hair.  His eyes were glossy onyx stones, dark and bright at once.  He looked about four years younger than my Phillippe, but I had no doubt that he was eons older. 

“You have questioned my honor and fairness.  I do not have to defend them to you, but I will, just this once.”  He smiled.  “I’d advise you to pay attention.”

I did.  Anything I learned here might well prove invaluable in helping my son.  I kept my killing urges pinned underfoot, and opened my ears to every nuance of his voice. 

“The Riddle of the Farthest Gate can be solved without special knowledge.  It does not matter that the city itself keeps changing.  The street routes are not part of the solution because the city and its inhabitants are ‘outside the game’.  The only important elements are the players, the outer gates, and the hub of the city which is the only fixed point.  Each gate has a different pattern on the door.” 

He paused for a deep breath, gaze turning inward.  I assumed he wrestled with how much information to share.

“The Farthest Gate is not the farthest from the one you entered, nor the one at the end of the longest route, as I have led many to believe.”  He paused for dramatic effect, making sure he had my interest.  “Once you pass the hub, the Farthest Gate becomes the one by which you first entered the city.  Thereafter, it is the only way you can go anywhere.  That gate is therefore different for each player.”

I remembered the engraved rose on the gate that opened for me.  Apparently, all I had to do was reach the hub, take my leave of the Gamesman there, and find the Rose Gate again.  Passing through it, I would win the contest and win the right to call for my son’s release. 

I
t was not an impossible task after all, but I remained suspicious.  There was a burr somewhere under the saddle he offered me, something he was leaving out of the explanation.  I knew this as well as I knew my own name.  “What are you not telling me?” I wondered aloud.

“Only this, the right gate will never come to you at either of the city’s access points unless you have the
Key
.  To get the
Key
, you can either search the city until the end of time, or challenge my champion at the hub’s arena for it.”

Again, the
key!
  Amberyn had mentioned it too.  “What exactly is this key?”

Laughing, slowly fading from my sight with his
knight beside him, the Gamesman’s words were last to go.  “Not what—it is who—and that is my secret to cherish, unless you think you can persuade my giant to tell you.”

I had no choice.  I would have to do exactly that.