A Second Chance

by Vasily Mahanenko

  Eredani’s expression remained unmoved, but a certain fidgetiness gave me to understand he was impressed with the demon’s ability to work with the white ropes.

  “Why do they call you Hermit?” I asked. We were moving out toward the heart of the forest, but it was boring to walk in silence.

  “Many years ago I left the Abyss and made it to Barliona,” Explained Argalot. “The spirit of Barliona accepted me, permitted me to stay, taught me the local magic, and gave me students, whom I raised to be the first demon hunters. The demons could not forgive my treachery. The supremes and highers call me “Traitor”. Such small fry as your Aniram do not look for trouble — sword law is soundly embedded in demons’ blood. That’s why I am her Apostate — one who has turned his back on his home. To the rest of these negligible beings I am the local god.”

  “Why do you hang out here? You could help in the battle against the demons, or work as a supervisor in the camp.”

  “I did work there, while everyone was happy with Uldaron. But his camp provides too few hunters, and they’re all weak. Many wanted to pursue their own interests, and not everybody got involved in the war against the demons. Certain individuals desired to expand their own sphere of influence and fill their purses, deposing my student from his position as leader. To begin with they shouted that Uldaron was a traitor, in cahoots with a demon. Even his subordinates were not pleased to have me working in the camp, so I was forced out. When the storm dies down, I shall return. I just need to bide my time. Welcome to my humble abode. I seldom have guests, so I live as I choose.”

  Hermit’s cave was a typical confirmed bachelor’s pad, meaning it looked more like a garbage dump than a living space. Gnawed bones, sticks, and other detritus were strewn all over the place. Beneath the ceiling was a perch where, judging by the claw marks, Argalot liked to hang out.

  Our host motioned with a paw toward a dark corner of the cave and said, “Eredani, show us what you can do. I want to be sure everything went smoothly with the binding.”

  My partner did as he was told and summoned his fish, which hung in the air in the balloon-like sphere Argalot had created. Eredani rattled off five seamless strikes, earning the demon’s praise.

  “Now I see it is a demon hunter who stands before me. So Uldaron decided to inflict your further training upon me? Didn’t want to bother himself? Never mind, I shall have words with him about that. I will train you. Now you have demons, you must learn to parley with them. You can either guess how to do that for yourselves, or I can tell you. What would you prefer?”

  “Is there a difference?” I asked, immediately getting a kick from Eredani. Clearly there was.

  “Certainly. It is far more useful to guess for yourself. How much more useful, I shan’t tell you,” said Hermit, grinning.

  “We’re all for a bit of guesswork,” said Eredani. “Will there be any clues?”

  “Clues?” Argalot’s face twisted with ire. “Are you serious?”

  “They don’t have to be direct clues,” I said. “We could play chess, and if we win, we get a clue. And if we lose, we don’t. I dare say it gets a bit lonely here, on an island, nobody to play with?”

  In the glimmer of the torches appeared a chessboard. I could reasonably suppose that Argalot at least respected the game, but I’d been on first name terms with chess since early childhood.

  “An interesting idea. Only we’ll be playing demon chess, agreed?”

  I turned to Eredani, but was met with a clueless look. Demon chess was apparently something new for the Barliona guru.

  “I shall explain the rules.” Argalot waved a hand and transformed the cave. Or rather the cave disappeared. And we were transformed into giants looming over an enormous chessboard.

  “This is a battlefield. Half belongs to the demons, and the other half to the citizens of Barliona. You’ll be playing for them, and I for the demons. My goal is to seize your territory and kill everybody. Yours is to get any figure to my end and hold it there for a couple of turns in order to gain weapons from the invasion. Meanwhile do not forget to protect your lands.”

  “And that’s the whole difference?” I asked, not really understanding the logic of the name of the game.

  “No. In demon chess it’s not so much the territorial position of a figure that counts, as its strength. Let’s say you decide to take a bishop with a pawn.” To make his point, Argalot took two elaborate miniature figures from a bag — a blue warrior and an enormous red monster. “According to your rules, the pawn takes the bishop. According to mine, if the pawn makes a move on its own, the bishop doesn’t worry overly. It ignores it or steamrolls it — whatever’s easier.”

  “That’s not all, surely?” Eredani asked, becoming interested in the parameters of the pieces. Attack, defense, HP. Everything just like in Barliona, but in chess form.

  “Of course not,” said Argalot, grinning mischievously. “We’ll add a little spice to your forces. This is the chess Argalot, and just like in real life, he’ll be playing for you.”

  An exact copy of Argalot appeared on the board, and the demon stroked the figure lovingly. Purified demon, unpurified demon — no difference. All demons were renowned for their propensity toward narcissism.

  “It’s a strong, almost immortal figure. But it’s sluggish. It can move one square every turn. And this is you. You’ll be playing as your own class.”

  Two horned and tailed figures appeared on the board, of which I instantly recognized one as Eredani, and the other, with some difficulty, as myself. My partner couldn’t resist twirling his figure to have a good look from all sides.

  “What does the class give us?”

  “Accessible spells and abilities. The first game is a test, the second for ratings.” Argalot tipped the figures of his own army out onto the field. Demons of all colors fell onto the board, jumped to their feet, and ran to take up their positions, just as though they were alive. A huge army of lowers and regulars was joined by a dozen archdemons, four highers, and one supreme. I looked at the properties of the supreme and understood we were goners if the creep got as far as our army — total annihilation of everything alive within a radius of ten squares. Opposing anything of such power would be nigh on impossible.

  “And this is your army. Behold!”

  He upturned the second bag and spilled the figures of archer-elves, warrior-dwarves, human priests, horses, and several catapults onto the field. Our half of the board became a fortress, with towers, a wall two squares thick, an entrance with hefty gates, and a moat one whole square thick. The figures shinned deftly up the walls and prepared for battle. We also had officers: Eredani, Argalot, supervisor Tarlin, and I played the roles of higher demons; Uldaron was the supreme, the commander-in-chief of our army, and just as sluggish and powerful as his opposite number.

  “And finally your spells.” Argalot continued to surprise. He overturned a large deck of cards onto the table. “Every turn you take one card, which you can use instead of an action. One turn — two actions. I’ll give you an advantage — we’ll imagine I have two opponents, each playing for themselves. Ready?”

  “Ready,” said Eredani and I in chorus. The rules were unusual and therefore interesting, so we just had to try it out.

  “The demons invaded, so they begin.”

  As was to be expected, we lost the first game. We fended off attack after attack, and also encountered another unpleasant peculiarity of demon chess — after being destroyed, the beasts were reborn from the Abyss every three turns. Our forces weren’t. We fought like gods, defending every inch of the wall. The slow supreme, able to move one square every five turns, managed to crawl to the middle of the castle and use his Assimilation ability to turn everyone into desiccated mummies. Uldaron was busy fighting three highers at once, so he couldn’t come to our assistance, and was killed a couple of moves later.

  “The game’s fixed against us,” concluded Eredani. “You can’t win when your opponent’s strength is boundless.”

&
nbsp; “Defense tactics are defeatist tactics,” agreed Argalot. “It’s impossible to defeat demons by defense alone.”

  “Are you saying the invasion will inevitably lead to the downfall of Barliona?”

  “If everything remains as it is, then yes. In order to survive, we must change our consciousness radically. Are you ready to play on, or shall we begin your training?”

  “Play. But first I want to change our classes. I’m a priest and Kvalen is a paladin,” announced Eredani, and the figures transformed so that Eredani’s figure was robed in white, and mine wore golden armor and carried a shield and an exquisite, twinkling sword.

  “That’s a tad impromptu, but I don’t remember it being against the rules. Shall we begin?”

  Kvalen, your task is to take the paladin’s card every other turn. Find me a Bubble. Move Argalot toward the right flank, then to their rear. We’re going on the attack.

  Once again the demons charged our castle. The smaller ones were cut down in droves, because instead of pawns Eredani had placed archers at the front, which destroyed the enemy as they approached. The more powerful figures took a little longer, but the catapults helped. First time around we’d used them too late. I acted strictly according to my partner’s instructions — I had about ten cards of different suits, and one Bubble. My Argalot had already reached the right flank and was ready to move to the rear. The enemy threw its main forces into the fray. The arch and higher demons went on the attack, sacrificing their own pawns left, right, and center.

  “Thundercloud!” Argalot buttressed the officers’ actions with a card, and the chess field was enshrouded in a dark veil. The paint began to peel off the archers and pawns, and their HP dropped.

  “Mass dispel!” Eredani made a counter-stroke, purifying his warriors. Evidently it was more convenient to play against demons as a priest. “Hammer of Justice!” The archdemon closest to the wall covered his head in terror, for hanging over him was a gigantic (by chess standards) hammer of pure Light.

  “Move forward. Shield of Ursula!” One of the highers moved a square closer, and above the head of the archdemon appeared a dark sphere, protecting it from damage by our hammer.

  “Dispel. Move catapult!”

  “Move. Shield of Ursula.”

  “Dispel. Move catapult!”

  “Demon roar. Dark immunity.”

  “Summon angel. Benediction of the wise!”

  “Move. Move.”

  “Catapult. Catapult.” The archdemon twitched for the last time and faded. A crashing stone sent him back to the start.

  “Dark mold!” Argalot’s resolve deserted him for the first time. He was shattered not to have been able to keep the archdemon alive, and forgot to perform his second action.

  “Dispel!” Eredani returned the favor, forgoing his second action.

  “Strike of Gildar!”

  “Sphere of assimilation!”

  “Face of fire!”

  “Wisdom of the fallen!”

  The combatants had utterly forgotten about making moves, operating using only cards, of which they had both built up plenty. Wanting to see their enemies respond quicker to the spells, they weren’t using their second actions. But I was — on the sly, casually, and not interfering in the battle between my partner and the demon. As soon as Argalot had made his move, I would move my figure one square, take a card, and give it to Eredani. He would unleash a retaliatory spell, slapping the card down on the board distractingly. They had both forgotten about me and were now staring unwaveringly at each other.

  “Armageddon!” the demon guffawed joyously, as an mushroom cloud sprang up over the fortress.

  “Bubble. Bubble,” Eredani responded unflappably, and the figures of the chess Argalot and Uldaron began to flicker in a golden sphere. I moved the figure of the demon one more square and wanted to take a card, but it wasn’t to be — Argalot laid his clawed paw down on the deck.

  “Not so fast,” he said. “You must be alive to use the cards.”

  Our turn was over, and the spells came into effect. The towers, walls, archers, warriors, and even Eredani and I simply disappeared from the chessboard. Armageddon spared nothing and no one. Uldaron stood alone, his head held high in expectation of the demons. The explosion had caused them no damage. Born of fire, they experienced only pleasure in the inferno.

  “Game!” Argalot clapped his hands in delight.

  “Not so fast.” Eredani threw the phrase back. His self-possession was enviable. “Your turn.”

  “Move supreme. Move… Wait! There were two bubbles! What?”

  At last Argalot beheld the consequences of my actions — our officer figure had reached the end of the board. Only one square remained. It was occupied by a fat demon, but it was no match for me, either in terms of damage, or of HP. One move and the officer would begin to receive weapons against the invasion.

  “The order has been given,” said Eredani. “Make your move. You may not use a spell.”

  Argalot exhaled heavily and treated us to a hostile glare. One of the higher demon figures moved a square closer to Uldaron, and our supreme could easily have crushed the lone, unprotected adversary, but that was not our plan. In two turns he would be reborn and undoubtedly appear alongside a figure we needed.

  “Miss a turn, miss a turn,” Eredani said. I made my move, flattening my opponent and taking his position. Just a little patience from our figure and the game was ours.

  “Curse you!” shouted Argalot in a fit of rage. The space around us roiled, collapsing the chess set and bringing back the cave. He accepted his loss and said, “You have one clue. Listen…”

  “Stop!” I said, raising an admonishing hand. “I know the correct answer.”

  “Well go on then, wise ass,” said Hermit, locking his fingers. “How do you parley with a demon?”

  “Give him what he wants?”

  “Are you asking or answering?” Argalot said, not taking the bait.

  “That’s no problem with my demon,” Eredani piped up. “It’s more animal than sentient being. Simple demands, simple desires. Just food and no pain. You relieved its pain, so all I have to do is feed it and hope it doesn’t demand a lady fish.”

  Hermit laughed. “True, true. But don’t worry, it won’t need a girlfriend. It’ll manage by itself somehow.” I didn’t have time to think about how a demon fish could satisfy its basic instinct on its own, before he explained: “You’re demon is a hermaphrodite. Just feed it. But what with?”

  “Are there any rats in this area?” I asked, remembering Dheire.

  “Rats?” Argalot was genuinely surprised.

  “Yes. Are there rats on this island?”

  “There were on the Island of Darkness. What do you want with rats? Are you going to scare Aniram?”

  “Master Dheire charged us with bringing him twenty pieces of rat meat. He’s a going to teach us a recipe, and then we’ll have something to feed—”

  I didn’t get to finish my sentence. Argalot laughed so hard the walls shook. “Give demon-rat meat to Dheire? Ha-ha-ha! That cook, that would-be Celestial acolyte? Ha-ha-ha! You know why he went into cookery? Because demons are afraid of fire. Uldaron won’t let him go, makes him train recruits, and he holes himself up in his little room and doesn’t show his face. What if some demon shows up? And you want to take him demon rats?”

  “He said it can be any meat, as long as it’s labelled ‘rat’,” said Eredani, backing me up. “Where is this Island of Darkness, and how do you get there?”

  “Well, I have warned you, but the decision is yours,” replied the demon. “If you go out of the northern gate of the training camp and head due west, in three or four kilometers you’ll come to the Lake of Tranquility. It’s this big puddle of concentrated Abyss, and the River of Darkness flows out of it. It’s a big lake. In the middle you’ll find what you’re looking for, but it’s difficult to get there, which is why recruits have never taken rats from there.”

  “It’s here, yes?” Eredani
unfolded the map in front of Argalot. “Here’s the lake, here’s the island—”

  “No,” said the demon in exasperation. “That’s completely wrong. The shoreline is shown wrong, there’s no outflowing river, and the island’s in completely the wrong place.”

  “Can you help us correct it?” I asked. “A master is called a master because he doesn’t make mistakes. If master Dheire says any rat will suffice, he must accept demon-rat meat. And in future he should choose his words more carefully.”

  “This map will get you to the island,” snorted Argalot.

  “Then tell us the easiest place to get to the island from. We need to know both shorelines, the features of the landscape, places where we can find ore and demon clover.”

  “Why?” he asked, surprised again.