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

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