The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (35 page)

17. THE KILLING FIELD

Screams rent the air.  The surcoats of the armored men ignited as the firemares charged by.  Those without iron’s protection were transformed into screaming torches.  The rest would be baked in their armor soon enough.  Some of the men rolled in the sand to extinguish their clothes.  Another ripped and flung his flame-wreathed rags from his body, only to catch an arrow in the throat.  More silver-tipped arrows pierced enemy warriors that tried to abandon the field,
thunking
deep into flesh.  Those not killed outright shrieked and flopped until dying—often helped along by the flesh-rending, bone-chomping jaws of a wolf.

It was not a sight I wanted to see, but Phillippe’s need steeled my nerve and kept me grimly to task.  I wheeled my mount for another charge, and I saw Kodiak closing in on the Black-Heart Knight—giant against giant.  The bear used a massive paw to send the warrior’s shield spinning away like a child’s kite.  The knight went to a two-fisted grip on his sword, standing his ground with monumental confidence.

Was this duel meant to end Kodiak’s life?  I hastily dropped that train of thought, as an enemy flung a two-sided axe at me.  Not wanting to damage my rapier with a block, I hugged my firemare, hanging on her side to avoid injury.  My legs lost their grip on the saddle as the axe passed over me.  I dropped into a crouch.  A scream caught my attention.  The thrown axe had caught Ty’hrall in the neck.  Crimson splattered his white coat and the bleached sand as the unicorn collapsed.

God, no!

Amberyn fell clear and rolled to his feet.  He cursed furiously, as he scrambled over to the unicorn, and yanked the axe out.  A fresh fountain of blood gushed, reddening the elf’s hands.  He ripped off his shirt and used it to apply pressure, staunching the bleeding.  Tears streamed from his eyes.

I choked on grief, staring through tears of my own, as arrows picked off a warrior closing on me.  I locked my pain away for later, for the battle was far from over.  My mount had continued on without me, so I was alone as I spun back to confront the advancing knave who had thrown the axe.

He had a sword ready, and watched me hungrily, bloodlust in his eyes.

I drew my dagger so I held a weapon in each hand.

He charged.

There was only time for instinct and reflexes.  My sword caught his blade while we circled left.  I brought the knobs at the base of my dagger’s blade across my opponent’s short sword, striking sharply near the hilt.  My opponent’s firm grip, resisting my force, actually worked in my favor—I was not disappointed.  He stared at the six inches of steel that remained to him, then moved closer, intent on stabbing me with what remained, as I surged toward him.  My dagger caught his thrust and carried his stub of a blade off to the side, while I plunged my rapier straight into his wicked heart.

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 Rose…”  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.