But it is the pawn in the middle who starts the opening gambit sometimes . . .
It was a peculiar thought and he could not say what had caused him to summon it. Chess was a game he had once played avidly, but not during the past few years. In the end, the expedition had demanded his complete devotion. There had been no time for games.
"Issss there no hall in thissss accursed place that doessss not sssstretch on and on and on?" the Dragon King complained. The strain was beginning to show on the drake. Not only had he exhausted much power in escaping his prison and capturing Manee, but he was expending even more keeping the gnome secure while also, at least so Wellen assumed, probing for any sorcerous surprises left by the citadel's former master.
It rose through the floor, clad in black mail and plate armor, simply decorated but skillfully crafted. A helm obscured all trace of the fighter's countenance. In his gauntleted hands, the dark knight held a battle-ax nearly two-thirds the size of Wellen himself. As for the mysterious warrior, he topped the Dragon King in both height and build.
"A challenge?" mocked the drake. "No challenge at all!" He raised his free hand.
The newcomer glowed liquid-metal red.
Purple suddenly snarled and withdrew his hand as if something had bitten it. While he rubbed it, the silent guardian took two steps forward, then shifted a square to his right, bringing him parallel to the rounded form of Serkadion Manee.
Another figure, also black, rose behind the original position of the first. This one was smaller, but clad in nearly identical armor. He looked no less threatening for being shorter, although the ebony mace and shield he carried might have had something to do with that. The second guardian took two steps forward, then also waited.
The Dragon King hissed.
Scarlet tendrils of sorcery entwined the two attackers.
The larger one shook them off like so much mist. He took another step forward, then two to his left so that he ended up facing Xabene, who quickly backed away to where Wellen was standing.
After a brief struggle with the drake lord's attack, the second warrior took a single step toward the party.
Behind the black figures, two more, identical to the smaller one, joined the confrontation. Far to the scholar's left, a different gladiator rose. This one was almost as tall as the lead figure, but slimmer and carrying a crimson longbow. A sleek, glittering arrow of gold was already notched.
"We have to go back to the libraries," Xabene whispered. "I don't think the Dragon King will find these so simple to defeat!"
Nodding, Bedlam glanced back in order to locate the doorway . . . and found that it no longer existed. "It seems we have no choice in the matter." He faced forward again and squinted. "The other door is still there."
"But we have to go through them first."
Beside them, Purple heard everything. "They are nothing! I have disssscovered their weaknessss."
He held up his ensorcelled captive for the warriors to see. "I have your masssster here! Ssssurrender or I will kill him now!"
The archer took several steps forward until he was even with the original guardian. The Dragon King spun around and held Serkadion Manee between himself and the bowman, but the latter did nothing.
The shorter warriors all took one step forward.
It struck Wellen then what sort of predicament they faced. This hall was not simply decorated like a chessboard by chance. Rubbing his chin in thought, he happened to glance ceilingward.
"Xabene!" he whispered.
She followed his gaze.
More than half a dozen ebony warriors stood scattered on the upper walls and ceiling. They seemed not at all put out by the fact that in some cases, they stood completely upside down. Most were identical to the ones already confronting the trio, but there was one wearing black raiments and an obscuring hood who resembled some insidious cleric.
All of those clinging to the walls and ceiling were armed and eyeing the intruders below.
Hearing Wellen's voice, the Dragon King turned just enough to see the humans. When he caught them staring up, he glanced that way. "Dragon of the Depthssss!"
The archer released his arrow.
It might have been an exceptional shot, but Bedlam was almost positive that only chance made the bolt miss Serkadion Manee, who still hung unknowing and unprotected from the massive Dragon King's hand. Hampered by his living baggage, Purple could not turn in time to avoid the arrow. He was, however, able to react fast enough with his sorcery to cause it to deflect. A normal arrow would not have concerned the Dragon King, but it was doubtful that Serkadion Manee would have been satisfied with such for this macabre, life-size game.
Yet another dark knight rose through one of the squares, this one out of the wall to their left. Though armored like the others, it had a definite feminine shape and in its hands it carried a jeweled scepter.
"Pawns, knight"—the scholar studied one of the archers, then continued—"rooks, I suppose, then bishops, and now a queen." Wellen glanced hurriedly around the mind-wrenching corridor. "But where's the king?"
"What are you talking about?" the enchantress muttered, her eyes still on the unsettling tableau above them.
"This is some bizarre and deadly chess game!"
If the drake lord heard them this time, he said nothing. His hands were full in more ways than one, for several of the stygian figures were moving toward him, each one following a peculiar movement pattern. Even the ones on the ceiling and walls were shifting closer. So far, only the archer, Serkadion Manee's idea of a rook, had posed any problem, but the attackers were slowly cutting off the party from any hope of escape . . . and there was no telling what powers the queen or the yet-to-be-seen king controlled. There might even be more than one. Who was to say that the gnome's version of chess was the same as the one the scholar was familiar with? With so large a board and so many dimensions, Wellen would have added pieces. He suspected that Manee had done just that.
The Purple Dragon unleashed another spell. Mist enshrouded the chessmen, for a moment bringing all movement to a halt. More was expected if the drake's irritation was anything to judge by. Hissing, the Dragon King muttered under his breath. The mist took on a greenish tinge.
The nearest pawn fell face first onto the floor and faded away.
"Ha!" Encouraged by his success, the Dragon King increased the intensity of the green mist. The knight in front remained still, but the other pieces moved closer, as if the death of one had strengthened the others.
Wellen saw the queen raise her specter. He was caught in a quandary. Warn the Dragon King? Let him be attacked? Either way he and Xabene lost. They needed the drake to save them from these silent sentinels, but they also needed the chessmen to rescue them from the clutches of the dragon.
He was saved that decision by the Dragon King himself, who noticed the queen at the last moment. The jewel in her scepter glowed a warm rose. Purple's eyes narrowed and darkness seemed to come from them. He reached out and swiftly blocked the queen's scepter. A crimson flash was all they could see, then the darkness vanished. The queen slowly lowered her royal weapon and stood there as if nothing had happened.
"Can't we do anything?" the enchantress asked. "I have some power! Perhaps I could pull one of those from the ceiling onto some of the ones coming toward us!"
"Do nothing!" the scholar uttered in sudden inspiration. Perhaps they were not in so great a danger after all!
She looked at Wellen as if he had lost all sense of reality. "If we do nothing, we die."
"If we do nothing," he responded in as low a voice as possible, "then they may ignore us completely. So far, they've only attacked the Purple Dragon!"
"I think I would prefer not to wait until they have killed him. By then we'll be surrounded!"
He nodded. "When I said do nothing, I meant only in terms of attacking them. I think that they may only be interested in the Dragon King"—Wellen pointed at the archer above—"or else we would have been dead already."
&nb
sp; The original chess piece, the knight, finally attacked. With a rapid one-step, two-step run, he moved close to the Dragon King. He brought the axe up and around in a vicious arc, his speed so astonishing that the drake lord barely had time to react. Not trusting to his spells at so close a range, the reptilian monarch stumbled backward. It almost proved a fatal mistake, for Serkadion Manee's weight made just enough difference that the drake nearly fell.
Cursing, the Dragon King shot a glance at the frozen figure. With little ceremony, he dumped the still form of Manee on one of the squares a few feet back and to the side. In his now-free taloned hands materialized an incredibly long, curiously curved sword. No human that Wellen had ever met could have wielded so great a giant, but the Dragon King did so with ease.
He moves and acts with confidence, the scholar noted. How long has he held this spell from the eyes of his brethren? One would almost think he had been born in such a body and not shaped himself through masterful sorcery!
The ebony knight brought the axe around again, this time in a downward arc. The gleaming head missed its target by less than a foot, but it forced Purple back another square. If he was not careful, Wellen thought, he would be in danger of stepping on---
Serkadion Manee was no longer lying prone on the square where he had been so roughly deposited.
Xabene noticed it at the same time. "The gnome!" she hissed. "He's escaped!"
It hardly seemed possible, but there was no sign of the libraries' creator. Wellen could not even say exactly when he had disappeared.
A golden streak flashed by them, narrowly missing him. Reflex action made him fall to the floor away from the path of the bolt.
"We may die whether they intend to kill us or not!" he managed to gasp.
There was no response from the sorceress. Fearful that she had somehow been struck down by the arrow, despite the fact that he was almost certain it had continued on, Wellen rolled over.
Xabene was gone.
Something heavy and metal crashed to the floor beside him. Not Xabene, as his mind first imagined, but the knight who had crossed weapons with the Dragon King. The helm was cracked and for the first time he caught a glimpse of the warrior within.
The sight almost made him sick. Within the armor, thankfully only barely visible, was the mummified visage of a man. By the explorer's calculation, he had been dead for years. There was hardly anything but dried skin and bone. By comparison, Shade almost looked robust.
Then, to his horror, the head began to turn slowly toward him. He scrambled back.
Something that would not be denied pulled him from every direction.
The chessboard corridor and his macabre companion faded. For the first time, Wellen welcomed a teleportation spell, regardless of where it might be sending him.
A darkened chamber formed around him. He breathed a sigh of relief . . . and looked up at the looming specter of a huge, ebony-armored warrior clad in scarlet cape and crown and bearing a long scepter upon which was fixed a rainbow gem whose power even an inept novice like Wellen Bedlam could sense.
He had found the king of Serkadion Manee's chess game at last . . . or perhaps the king had found him.
Chapter Nineteen
The black king continued to stare in silence. Wellen remained where he had materialized, uncertain if even the slightest movement was allowed.
After a long, breath-holding wait in which the ebony figure did not stir, the scholar began to wonder if he had misjudged the situation. He looked at the visored head and dared talk to it. "Are you the one who saved me?"
Nothing. Yet, knowing the abominable thing that must lie within, he could not take a lack of response as meaning that he was safe. "I'd like to stand, if you have no objections to that."
He decided to take the silence for agreement. Wellen slowly rose from the floor, his eyes ever locked on the monarch of night. The armor spoke of a being gargantuan in proportions, larger than even the humanoid form of the Dragon King. While such giants were not unknown among humanity, it was possible that the armor enhanced its wearer, made the thing within appear larger than it was.
Either way, if it chose to strike him down, he doubted he would be able to defend himself.
When he stood before it, and it did not react, the shorter scholar took a step toward it. Still nothing. He continued until he was well within arm's reach. The scepter did not rise and crush his skull. The gauntleted hand did not seize him by the throat and squeeze.
He reached up and touched the black king lightly on the chest. The chessman might as well have been a marble column for all he moved.
"Praise be!" Bedlam exhaled. Thinking of the need for a weapon, Wellen tried to take the scepter. It was held so tight, in fact, that it was more likely he would end up crushed under the fallen figure of the king if he continued. Exasperated, Wellen stepped back from the monstrous toy and finally studied his new surroundings.
Choking down a gasp of disgust, Wellen for the first time saw the other playing pieces of the gnome's macabre game. A full score at least, all surrounding him, a legion of the dead. There were a few more black pieces and an entire range of white. There were duplicates, too, evidently in case one of the others became too damaged to use again. They were the only things he could see in the chamber, but that was not surprising, since the only illumination was a pale blue ball just above him.
He was alone. No Xabene. No Serkadion Manee. Where they had vanished to he had no idea. Worse, where he had vanished to was a complete mystery. Just how vast was the gnome's citadel? The libraries alone were a phenomenon in size, but now he was discovering corridor after corridor and room after room.
There was little choice but to seek a way out of this place and hope he could find Xabene. Then, the two of them would have to find a means of escaping Manee's paradoxical pentagon. What happened between the Dragon King and the gnome was of no interest to him. Wellen merely wanted his freedom.
Choosing a direction unpopulated by the grisly warriors, the explorer started out. The throbbing in his head had begun again, although he could not say exactly when, but here it was fairly useless. There was too much within a near distance that was genuinely a threat to the would-be warlock. His ability informed him of nothing he did not already know about. Had one of the chessmen raised a weapon against him, Bedlam would have been no better warned.
If this was the extent of his powers, then he doubted he would ever be a competent sorcerer. At this point, he doubted he was much more competent at anything.
He found, to his relief, that the blue light followed him as he progressed. It would at least be possible to wander about without having to worry about walking into something in the dark. The illumination was still not the best, but it always kept a yard or two of the path around him visible, which had been more than he could have hoped.
Now if only I can find a doorway or a gate out of this chamber! The fear that this was a place accessible only by a teleportation spell had already occurred to him, but Bedlam tried not to think about the possibility. If such was the case, then he was doomed to capture, or even worse, to die here and become one more rotting corpse.
Wellen increased his pace.
After what he estimated to be at least three or four minutes, WeIlen began puzzling over the lack of walls. Not once had he noticed one, not even when he had stood in the midst of the chessmen. Looking up, he realized that there was no visible ceiling either. Only the floor beneath his feet, the blue globe floating over his head, and the horrific army he had left behind seemed to exist. There was no sound, save his breathing and his footfalls. He might have been in limbo.
Limbo . . .
He came to a dead halt, trying to hear again the voice whispering in his head. Had it been his imagination? A single word, one sounding more like a gust of wind than speech, that was all it had been. Just a trick of his anxious mind?
Mind . . .
Again, a single word! "Is someone there?"
The proverbial silence of the tomb
was all that greeted him, but Wellen was certain it had been another who had spoken.
"Where are you?" His voice did not echo. Even sound died here.
Died . . .
This time, Wellen thought he noted a direction. It was difficult to say if he was imagining that, too, for the voice still appeared to exist in his head alone. Yet, he felt that turning to his right and walking in that direction for a time was the correct choice. Perhaps the only choice.
"Please," the scholar whispered, running a hand through his hair as he tried to think. Despite a quick and lengthy stride, Wellen still saw nothing. "Who are you? I don't mean any harm."
It could all be another game, either Serkadion Manee's or the Dragon King's, but he doubted it. With each other to have to concentrate upon, neither could waste time on such a game with him.
Having little other choice, he continued walking. Wellen guessed that he might be underneath the rest of the citadel. Perhaps this was a storage area for Serkadion Manee's abandoned experiments or his monstrous toys, if the chess pieces were any indication. Either way, the scholar only cared about escape.
No escape . . .
"No escape? But . . ." He closed his mouth. The voice within was not speaking of his fate, but rather its own. For the first time, he sensed the mournful, beseeching tone, the sense of agony and loss.
The cry for release.
More than mere words were being conveyed into his head. Emotions. Vague memories. A warning.
Its fate could be his, if he was not careful.
"But where are you?" He had to find out what the source of the voice was. He needed to know if he could free it from whatever torment held it. Wellen had to find out if he could avert his own fate.
Legends of the Dragonrealm: Volume 04 Page 30