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

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