A flat, vacancy came to his eyes as he grunted, startled. He slid off my point and crumpled to the sand, reddening it.
I felt no remorse or regret at the death. That should have alarmed me, but it didn’t. I was only glad I could summon brutal efficiency when needed. If, when all this was done, Celeste was gone and only the White Rose remained, it might not even matter.
I whirled, taking stock of the battle. It was going too well. Most of the enemy had fallen; hacked, stomped, bit, burnt, or riddled with Elvin arrows. Only the Black-Heart Knight still stood, battling with vigor. His sword was a red blur as he fended off Kodiak who had lost a forearm and was bleeding to death in the grip of a towering fury. Behind the knight, wolves gathered and crouched, a heartbeat from pouncing on the armored giant to lend their support.
I wondered why Faang and Azrael were not in the thick of things. Then I spotted them locked in combat with two new horrors brought to the field by the Gamesman. His monstrous pets possessed leathery skin, long beaks balanced by elongated skullcaps, and whipping tails with diamond-shaped pads at their ends. Their wings were triangular sails stretched between long arms and short, bandied legs. They were more flying lizard than bird, but not any dragon I knew of.
I looked to the sour green sky for more monsters and saw a third beast gyrating in a cloud of owls. The birds were killing it in increments, inflicting many tiny wounds that dribbled blood, yet the leathery flyer was taking a toll as well. Several snowy owls, reddened with blood, fell to the ground.
My heart felt a burst of pain for the loss of the small, valiant lives. Grimly, I wondered how many more surprises the Gamesman had waiting to spring on us. Surely there was a limit to the nightmares in his stables.
My gaze went to the Emperor’s Box where our chief tormentor lounged without a care. Face lit with childish glee, he surveyed the battlefield as I started toward him.
I swore to rip that expression from his face. Somehow, I would climb the wall, cross the crowded stands, and cut out his heart for him. Let him laugh at that!
The Dwelf caught up to me as I ran. “Heading into the thick of things without me?” Elwren huffed. “Why should you have all the fun when yonder villain is closer to my size than yours?”
“Come along if you want,” I sheathed my dagger, expecting to need a free hand for climbing, “but don’t get in my way.”
“Hah! You will need my strength to even get close.”
With that, he tossed his axe with a sideways swing that sent it flying in a horizontal spin until it bit deep into the wooden wall below the seats. The little man ran and hopped onto the haft of his embedded weapon. He reached to the top lip of the wall with one hand, and anchored in place, offered his other hand to me. He pulled me up to him and then boosted me higher, letting me climb him like a ladder.
And just like that, I was in the stands among the shocked spectators. I ran between seated patrons with Elwren close behind. I pulled ahead as the Dwelf paused to steal a few daggers from a pair of seated fops who were a little too fond of lace, brass buttons, and their current health to resist.
The Gamesman turned our way, drawn by the commotion. For a moment, he looked as if I had surprised him, but that had to have been mere posturing since his face never gave way to anxiety or fear thereafter.
I leaped and scrambled over the front wall of his booth to get inside, letting my rapier lead the way. I felt surprise that he left his scythe untouched in his sash. His pleased smile added to my discomfort. My hand tightened on my sword’s hilt as I took a step. I glowered and thrust my blade toward his black heart without compunction, despite the promise I’d made to D’elia concerning her son.
The Gamesman raised a hand in a warding gesture and my blade found resistance in the air where none should be. He’d raised a wall of air as a defense, yet I was not altogether stopped. I strained. My arm trembled with exertion as sweat dripped down my face. My sword inched forward with agonizing slowness. I put both hands on the hilt, leaning into it, shoving my feet hard against the floor.
I made little progress. I needed to divert the Gamesman’s concentration...
“Tell me...” My voice rasped. “What have you done with Silver Wolf?”
I jumped, involuntarily surrendering the precious inches I’d gained, as the wall thudded behind me. I assumed that Elwren was on the other side and would join me as soon as he managed to ascend.
The Gamesman had to know time was running out, yet he acted as if there were no cause for haste or alarm. Arrogant bastard. I wondered if life and death would ever be anything but a game to him.
He answered me with a questioning tone. “Silver Wolf…? Silver Wolf…?” His face brightened. “Ah, yes, I remember now! I threw him into the abyss.”
“What! Why?” My heart felt nearly too heavy to beat, held in the talons of an icy rage. “Never mind, bring him back—now!”
I heard movement behind me, then the sound of someone small dropping into the booth.
“I should carry a stool strapped to my back,” Elwren said. “There is never one handy when needed.”
The Gamesman’s smile widened as he eyed my companion. “What strange company you keep these days, White Rose.”
I heard a bestial shriek a demon might make, and winced.
“Dar’kyn blood!” Elwren cursed.
The scream cut off mid-warble, and I knew that at least one of the leathery flyers had been destroyed. Heartened, I pressed my point deeper against the Gamesman’s throat and crimson beads trickled down his neck. “I gave you an order!” I reminded him.
“Of course, and here is my response.”
I sensed another presence immediately behind me. Turning my head slightly, I caught an impression of something big and red from the corner of my eye. Elwren shouted a warning as I leaped to the side, giving up on the Gamesman for the moment. I landed en guard, anticipating an immediate attack. Instead of Silver Wolf, I faced the Red Dragon once more. He was silent, still, staring at me with shadowed eyes, broadsword in his hands.
“Kill her,” the Gamesman said. “She belongs with her son in my father’s courts. I am retiring this playing piece.”
The knight could not obey, for Elwren seized the Red Dragon’s armored leg as if it were a battering ram, and ran the hopping warrior into the side of the booth. The unlikely maneuver drew a twitch of mirth from my lips as I returned attention to the Gamesman—to where he had been a moment before.
The gilt throne was empty. I cast a searching glance across the booth without finding my foe. The coward had vanished.
Elwren stood over the fallen knight, stepping on his sword while slashing at him with a dagger. The Red Dragon lashed out with an iron-shod foot and the Dwelf went flying. He hit the floor and skidded to a stop against the Gamesman’s throne.
The Red Dragon climbed to his feet. “Enough! You have made the same mistake as the Gamesman. I am on your side.”
“What say you?” I could not credit this! As Elwren scrambled to his feet, the Red Dragon regained his sword. He turned to face me, eyes darkened by shadow, face unreadable.
“Did I not give you my word that the struggle between us was over when you cut off my hands? Do you think me so lacking in honor that I would break my word—however torn from me? I cannot oppose you, and I will not give up warfare. That leaves me with only one course.” He knelt and offered me the hilt of his weapon. “Before Heaven, I pledge my sword, my strength, and my will to your service. Name your enemies, and they will die as many times as you require ... my Queen.”
I approached warily, but the Red Dragon remained still, his head bowed in submission as if I were Fenris, inspecting some lesser wolf. My hand went out and settled on the offered weapon. My fingers curled around the hilt.
“I accept your pledge of service. Rise and take your sword to the field below. I am sure that the Gamesman will soon offer us a greater challenge than those already met.”
The knight surged to his feet and bowed. “As you command, White Ro
se…” He spun and lumbered to the front of the booth. After kicking out the wall, he dropped from sight onto whoever might be in his way. I heard an impact, groans, and curses, then shouts, as if someone were bulling their way through patrons to reach the field.
“Now that you have acquired a pet minotaur,” Elwren quipped, “perhaps we should return to the fight.”
But I had delayed for a reason. Stealthy steps had approached, stopping behind a hanging curtain in the back corner of the booth. I pointed my sword at the cloth cascade and shouted. “Come out at once, or taste my steel!”
The curtains parted. Gray emerged, minus his wenches and wine. All his daggers were in his vest as he sauntered closer, a pleasant smile on his lips. “Ah, there you are! I thought you might need a little help.”
I lowered my point and allowed him to draw near, yet I did not abandon caution, remembering the Gamesman’s penchant for impersonation. I only relaxed when my nose detected the reek of spirits clinging fondly to his clothing.
“This time, I will not decline your offer of assistance,” I said. “Come…”
I hurried to the edge of the booth and dropped to the lower seating. The crowd between me and the killing field was still parted from the Red Dragon’s eager passage. I crossed the space in a rush, leaping bench to bench, sword in hand. With a final jump, I left the stands. White sand rushed up at me. I rolled from the fall and recovered my feet as Elwren and Gray hit behind me, a pair of mismatched bookends.
I surveyed the field. The elves had the situation well in hand, having literally disarmed and dismembered the Gamesman’s players, stacking limbs like fire wood away from weapons to prevent the resurrecting warriors from becoming a nuisance. Enemy armor formed another pile, and enemy torsos were contained by a ring of firemares so the enemy might not chin their way back to their missing limbs.
It was a grisly scene worthy of Hell, but my heart hardened to it. This was all for Phillippe. Had this cursed city wanted peace, they should have left him alone.
Two leathery flyers were earthbound, either dead or dying, and had wolves tearing out and swallowing tasty morsels. The third hell-beast seemed to have vanished all-together.
For some reason, Azrael was not showing himself, but a chill in the air let me know he had come very close.
I searched for the rest of our forces, wanting to know how we had fared. The owls perched high on the arena walls. Faang was human once more next to D’elia. Their faces were solemn as they stood over the body of Kodiak. He had found the death he dreamed of, fighting beneath my banner. Diminished by the loss, I shouldered guilt over his sacrifice.
My teary gaze went to the body of the Black-Heart Knight. He did not stir with returning life. This was not surprising since his helmeted head had been ripped off and cast aside. In addition, the warrior’s chest plate was caved in and very flat—as though some massive, furry beast had stomped him into the ground, hammering his ribs to powder, bursting his internal organs. I was sure that Kodiak or Faang had done this, possibly both. If reconstitution was possible, it would take the black knight far longer than usual.
To my great surprise, Ty’hrall was on his feet again. Blood stained his beautiful white coat, but he wore no bandage and gave no evidence of a wound. I could have saved myself a great deal of grief had I earlier recalled that unicorns are potent creatures of the highest magic, famed for their healing virtue. I should not have been astonished that he could survive anything that failed to kill him instantly.
We were in full triumph, but it had cost us. More than a few elves wore bandages. Several were dead, draped with their own bright cloaks. I prayed their souls would find their way back to the forests of Avalon. A few wolves had blood matting their fur. One was dead. The surviving pack-mates howled their grief. The rest of us were miraculously unscathed by the tides of fate.
I felt guilt for having been spared, but thrust it away for later.
The battlefield lull started murmurs of discontent through the spectators. The show was now in peril, so I knew the Gamesman would soon have to put in an appearance—he would not let an opportunity for vainglory pass unclaimed. I swore to myself that the next time I had a sword point anywhere near him, I would run him through—repeatedly. Delay could serve no purpose. Once I breached the Farthest Gate, reaching Death’s Courts, I could use Silver Wolf’s true name to summon him from the abyss. The concession D’elia had asked me for had not served her son. Only the Gamesman’s death could do that, for nothing less would drag Death himself into this tiresome game.
The abrupt hush of the crowds warned me of trouble. I studied the masses and saw every eye fixed on the moldy sky. My eyes swung upward, widening as I discovered an immense shape writhing in the winds. A dragon hung there, black as soot, a scaled monstrosity larger than the battlefield around me. It possessed a familiar smirk I hated. The Gamesman! It was him, I was certain. This might even be his true form, revealed at last.
How was I supposed to kill such a monstrosity?
I became aware that Gray and Amberyn stood beside me. Tearing my gaze from the creature above, I met the elf’s stare.
“Have you any suggestions?” My voice was a small and distant thing coming through the silver mask I still wore.
Amberyn turned to his archers. “Send up a volley to announce our defiance!” He faced me again. “With any luck, the beast will come down where we can do real damage.”
“Yes,” Gray said, “we will bleed all over its pointy claws and fangs and thus have our revenge. Does anyone have some wine? I am becoming far too sober for this occasion.”
Several clusters of arrows flew straight to their marks as if assisted by magic.
The scaled serpent screamed indignation as he shed the attack like rain.
“Celeste.” D’elia joined me, her dark eyes intense. “Did he tell you about my son?”
I had no easy words to convey what I had learned, so I gave the truth to her without dissembling, “In a fit of spite, he cast your son’s spirit into the abyss. But I can still—”
Her scream of pain and outrage cut across the assurance of hope I tried to offer. Her hands emerged from her feathered cloak, holding the two white feathers I had last seen on the altar of the Great Hall. They glowed with a soft light, imbued with a shimmering power that now surfaced. The light-play washed down D’elia’s arms and engulfed her body.
Instinctively, I stepped back, along with Amberyn and Gray. Growing much larger, the spirit-caller abandoned her human form for one most unexpected. No sleepy-eyed owl confronted me, but a thunderbird with white and brown feathers, and fierce, bold eyes that promised vengeance. Her gaze shifted from me to the black dragon above. Her cruel, curved beak parted in a scream of hate as D’elia’s massive wings beat the air.
I further retreated to give her space.
She lifted into the air, crackling with white fire that might have come from the belly of a storm cloud. Unflinchingly, she tore toward the Gamesman.
I well understood—Hell hath no fury like a mother avenging her son. Even the black dragon paused in his roiling motions, daunted by the oncoming challenger.
The skies darkened to a muddy shade of forest green. Clouds gathered to watch. Lightning forked above the city in intermittent flashes. Powerful winds swept across the arena, a mere pittance compared to those that thrust the thunderbird toward her enemy like a rising star.
The firemares trumpeted nervously, pawing the ground as if they wanted desperately to run. Their agitation kept my attention on the battlefield as the unicorn crossed to me.
They are afraid it will rain, he said. They hate rain.
“Will it hurt them if it does?” I stroked my friend’s neck to assure myself he had truly recovered. My touch offered silent apology that he had been injured in my place.
Rain is coming, and the mares have been away from the Burning World for a long time. Besides which, their fires are dimming faster in this place than expected. They must soon return home.
“Th
en thank them for me.” I cast my concerned gaze skyward once more to where D’elia and the dragon tumbled entwined across the sky. “Open a door so the mares can go. We shall manage without them from here on,” I said.
Ty’hrall galloped away.
I called Amberyn over, my eyes still drinking D’elia’s image.
“The firemares must leave us,” I told him. “Place another guard over the prisoners.”
Dragon scream merged with thunderbird shriek. The sound went through me like a stab of fear—with creatures of such power, the first one to make a mistake must die at once.
Many times brighter than the sun, a blinding light filled the sky. The entire arena was absorbed into a white pall that swallowed everything whole. I could not even see the hand I lifted to shield my eyes. A crash of thunder shuddered the earth. The boom rattled my teeth and deafened me, as if God’s righteous fist had struck and webbed the world with widening cracks. I felt the sound in my very bones. The wonder of it all was that I had not been blasted from my feet.
My sight recovered. The arena and sky returned. Though it may well have been the same, the World of the Dead seemed darker, more forlorn, as the light passed.
Scanning the heavens, I hunted for some sign of D’elia. At first, I only saw the black dragon, frozen in the dark green haze. Then my gaze riveted upon a pale whiteness that tumbled earthward. It was the lax body of the thunderbird. My heart raced in fear for D’elia, for even if she still lived, I didn’t see how she could survive such a fall. I could only watch as the great winged shape dropped and slapped the sand limply. I ran to her, my heart full of apprehension.
Faang’s booming voice filled the arena as he screamed her name. He reached her first though I had been nearer. We both stopped, startled as a storm of gleaming feathers burst from D’elia. They faded in the air like passing dreams. The thunderbird was gone. My friend was revealed, unmoving, eyes closed, face serene.
The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) Page 25