Free The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) by Morgan Blayde

Leech’s attention to me. 
    The loudness of hooves suggested an immediate arrival, but I would not let myself get distracted.  Hunched forward, I jammed my shoulder into my enemy’s midsection, driving away his breath, forcing him back several steps so I could fall upon the closest weapon.  It turned out to be the barbed whip.  Its handle came to my hand as I rolled, the energy of the fall carrying me to my feet again in a smooth roll.  I suspected I was doing it correctly this time, and would have no bruises from the spill.
    I had no experience with using a whip, but the ghost within me had no trouble.  The lash cracked like the break of Judgment Day, slashing across the Leech’s face.  The braid cut to the bone, twisting him into a defensive posture with his arms reflexively guarding vital targets.  Acting with a relentless fury, my arm repeated the maneuver and more cracks reverberated in the narrow street.  I became a relentless machine, finding purpose in motion as I struck out at the abomination.  Soon the creature’s clothing became blood-drenched tatters that matched the skin underneath.
    The Leech fell under the rain of blows, huddling face down as his back ripped open, spurting blood.  I flayed deep muscle from bone while the miserable worm sunk in upon himself, turning old and decrepit once more.  His bellows of pain shrunk to piteous mewling, but my arm did not slow its vengeance.  Even when I would have changed over to the sword to finish him mercifully, my body continued, driven by another will, that of Silver Wolf.
    He knew and hated this creature.  I felt a backwash of vicious satisfaction and a rage that went beyond any I had known before.  The doctor had at least one death coming to him, and Silver Wolf was making sure he got the most unpleasant one available.  Whatever past issue fermented this black savagery, being the instrument of its delivery left me soiled and violated--though I’d invited this upon myself. 
    Unicorn and rider barred my way.  The elf slid from the saddle with fluid grace, confronting me without a weapon as the unicorn went off to the side to wait.  The elf looked at the mask I wore and spoke to the spirit within me.  “Enough, Wolf.  Do not destroy yourself by destroying him.  Besides, avenging Myla is my right, no matter what oath you swore.  You are her friend, but I am her husband.”
    My arm relaxed, dropping to acknowledge his superior claim.  Breath ragged from exertion, I coiled the whip, unmindful of the scratches I gathered from the barbs.  I held the ugly thing out to him as my lips formed words I could not anticipate, “Take it then, and let justice be done.”
    He refused to take the whip.  “There are not enough deaths to fill the void in my life.  I have no time for useless indulgence that cannot bring her home.”
    “Hold!” a young voice cried.  “Who breaks the sanctity of the game?  This interference is intolerable!” 
    I shifted my weight to the side and pivoted to see the latest intruder, recognizing his midnight-blue robes, the silver chain he wore, and the scythe in his hand.  He was identical to the miniature image from the game board at the tavern.  The Gamesman had finally stepped out of the wings, taking center-stage.  My stare of hate clung to him, for here was the one who had stolen my son’s soul, callously condemning his body to a lingering death.
    Unimpressed by the Gamesman, the elf answered with cold contempt.  “Silence whelp!  My affairs will ever take precedence over your piddling wishes.  You and your cursed game are nothing but a break of wind.  As for your father, Death shall be held accountable for holding captive a princess of Avalon.  Tell him, ‘Death-slayer is coming.’”
    A princess of Avalon .  All of us were fighting for something precious it seemed.
    The Gamesman s aid, “Amberyn, I might have known it would be you causing this ruckus, breaking my rules.  This city is as far as you