Pawn's Gambit

by Darin Kennedy

  “My Queen,” the King said, “I tire of all these interruptions. Bring that inbred nag to ground and for once, finish a task.”

  The Queen nodded and raised her scepter to the sky, its serpentine head erupting in a black inferno that flew at Rocinante like a blazing battering ram. Undaunted, the horse continued his mad descent, racing headlong toward his fiery rendezvous. A moment later, the racing stallion’s form was lost amid a dark conflagration of burning steel and shattered glass.

  “Rocinante,” Lena screamed. “No!”

  Audrey grasped Steven’s hand and squeezed it tight. “What now?”

  “Hold on,” Steven whispered. “I wouldn’t count our horse out of the race quite yet.”

  As the splintered fragments of five stories of the tower’s face rained down, the King dropped back into a defensive posture, his arrogant mien mingled with watchful apprehension as he raised his shimmering broadsword to eye level. “My Queen and Pawn, keep your eyes open. This is far from over.”

  “But—” The Queen’s rebuttal was cut short as Rocinante reappeared in a flash of silver and bore down on the King’s position. The King leaped to one side, avoiding the hammering hooves of the horse’s first pass, and brought his broadsword above his head.

  “You are a brave beast indeed to face me without your rider,” said the King as Rocinante circled for a second charge, “but bravery will take you only so far. Unlike my Queen, I have faced your like before.”

  “Rocinante,” Lena screamed. “Don’t.”

  The stallion raced at the King a second time, and again, the King dove to one side. This time, however, he expertly brought his broadsword around in a sweeping arc and dealt a glancing blow to Rocinante’s flank.

  “First blood,” the King shouted. “Go now, beast, and stand with your master. You have well proven your mettle, but continue this and I will be forced to put you down here and now.”

  Without missing a stride, Rocinante lowered his head and circled around for a third run at his armored target. Laughing, the King raised his sword for another strike.

  “That bastard’s going to kill him,” Lena cried. “Can’t we do something?”

  “I don’t know what you want me to do, Lena,” Steven said. “We even breathe funny, his Pawns will turn us into pin cushions. We almost lost you once today, Audrey and Emilio as well. I can’t risk it.” Steven winced as the King dealt Rocinante a second blow, the slash leaving a crimson gash across the horse’s broad chest. “I’m sorry, but Rocinante’s on his own.”

  “Perhaps I can help,” came a gravelly voice that outstripped even the howling wind.

  “Who?” Steven’s eyes darted left and right.

  “Sorry.” The disembodied words reverberated from the rubble at the courtyard’s center. “Still pulling myself together.” The pile of shattered stone and concrete shifted one way, then the other, and then rose like clay on an enormous potter’s wheel.

  “What the—” Emilio stammered.

  Resembling a serpent formed of jagged stone, the rubble encircled Steven and the others and continued to grow. Stone upon stone and row upon row, a shape began to take form.

  A wall.

  “Their Rook,” shouted one of the Black Pawns. “He’s alive.”

  The King’s gaze shot to the center of the courtyard, his eyes cold as he caught sight of the mounting mass of rock and debris.

  The momentary distraction cost him dearly.

  Rocinante reared before the King, his front legs working like pistons. A spray of blood flew from the King’s head as one of the horse’s flailing hooves clouted him across the temple. The platinum crown flipped end over end into the waiting darkness, and the force of the blow flung the King to the ground. His sword clattering useless on the brick of the courtyard, he scrambled backward to evade Rocinante’s trampling hooves.

  “Stand down, beast, or face my fire.” The Queen stepped between the King and the furious stallion, a maelstrom of black flame swirling in the air above her head. “I won’t miss a second time.”

  The horse shot a hesitant look back at the circle of White with equal parts fear and fire in his equine eyes and let out a questioning neigh.

  “Come on, boy,” Emilio shouted. “Get away from her.”

  Rocinante spun and sprinted for his master with a triumphant whinny.

  “Run, boy,” Lena screamed. “Run.”

  As the horse neared the huddle of White, the Black Queen crouched by the fallen King, all the while barking orders at the octet of Black Pawns.

  “The King is down,” she screamed. “Fire, damn you, fire!”

  As one, the archers drew their bows and launched a volley of black arrows into the cluster of cloaked forms at the courtyard’s center.

  “Phalanx.” The word was out of Steven’s mouth before his mind could fully grasp what was happening. The octet of shield bearers appeared a split second before the eightfold assault hit, the tight semicircle of steel joining the now waist-high wall of concrete and brick rising around them. Though an impressive perimeter, both shields and stones still allowed a single arrow to pass.

  “Oh, God…” Audrey whispered as she fell to her knees, the dark fletching of the shaft protruding from her abdomen hidden among the billowing folds of her cloak.

  “Audrey!” The eight Pawns screamed in unison as the color drained from Audrey’s cheeks and into the rapidly enlarging crimson circle on her gown’s ivory bodice. An all too familiar panic gripped Steven’s heart as their Queen fell limp to the pavement.

  “Archie.” Steven’s voice cracked. “Help her. Please.”

  “I’m on it.” The priest knelt by her side as the dark archers surrounding them launched a second barrage. “Just keep them off us.” Archie closed his eyes to pray.

  The curved wall of shattered concrete and brick continued to grow, extending to include the circumference of their small circle and leaving only a single door at its base. Within seconds, the structure was complete, a thirty-foot high embodiment of the tower seen on chessboards across the world.

  Steven shifted seven of his phalanx of Pawns to cover the lone entrance. Two deep beneath the arched doorway, they raised their shields and prepared for the worst. The eighth Pawn remained inside with Audrey, who by the silver light of Archie’s healing touch appeared to be getting paler by the minute.

  A moment later, Rocinante passed ranks through the Pawn defense. Skirting Archie’s hunched form as the priest ministered to Audrey’s injuries, the horse joined Lena and Emilio along the wall’s inner periphery and lowered his head before his young master and mistress.

  “Good boy.” Lena ran her fingers down the stallion’s broad neck, but recoiled in fear as her hand came away hot and sticky.

  “No.” Lena leaped to the side as Rocinante’s knees buckled and the horse fell. She gasped at the three feathered shafts jutting out of his neck, flank and hindquarter.

  “Steven,” she yelled. “Rocinante’s hurt. He’s hurt bad.”

  Emilio hunkered down by the wounded horse. “Archie,” he asked, the emotion choking his voice, “will whatever it is you do work on a horse?”

  “I believe so, but it’s taking all I’ve got to keep Audrey’s bleeding from getting worse.” The priest wrung his hands, his eyes darting side to side. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  In a rush of memory, Steven’s subconscious took him back twenty years to the summer of his eighth birthday. His family vacationed in San Antonio that July. He remembered it well. The old church from a different time stuck in the heart of a modern city. The ancient tree that stretched from one end of the courtyard to the other. The detailed diorama of the battle resting under glass in the busy gift shop.

  Surrounded by a seemingly infinite legion of troops dressed in blue and red, the situation depicted appeared unwinnable. Steven remembered asking his father what happened to all the brave men that fought from within the fort that day.

  “They all died,” his father whispered. “That’s the less
on of the Alamo, Steven. Sometimes you fight even when you know in your heart it’s over.” The words left a lump in Steven’s throat even as the mocking voice of the Queen dragged him back to the present.

  “We can keep this up all night, Bauer.” She hurled a flaming sphere of darkness at the phalanx of Pawns, the fireball exploding above the tower’s arched doorway. “Even your run of luck won’t last—”

  “Silence, Magdalene.” The King rose from the ground and retrieved his sword. “Did I not make myself clear? This battle is over.” He looked to the eight Blackfoot archers around the periphery of the courtyard. “Pawns of the Black, hold your fire or face me.”

  Sullen, the Queen lowered her scepter. Her hate-filled eyes locked with Steven’s eightfold gaze as the King shifted his attention back to the tower.

  “Surrender, Bauer.” The King’s edict reverberated in the space. “I know full well your Queen is wounded. She might yet be saved, but not if we waste what precious time she has on yet another pointless skirmish.”

  “She’s fading, Steven.” The certainty in Archie’s tone brought home the King’s words. “I don’t know how much longer she’s going to last.”

  “Can’t you do something?” The rattle in Audrey’s breathing chilled Steven to the core. “Fix her like you did me?”

  “Her wound is much deeper than either of yours. I’m afraid if I try to pull the arrow, she’ll bleed out before I can do much of anything.”

  A trickle of crimson ran from the corner of Audrey’s mouth and down her pale cheek.

  “But, Lena was in worse shape—”

  “Yes, Steven, and that took all of us, along with everything I had. We have neither the time nor the energy to commit to such an endeavor right now.” Archie’s voice grew quiet. “If we give in, at least for the moment, stop all of this, perhaps he would allow us to save her. Maybe the horse too. All of us could live to fight another day.”

  The glint in Archie’s eye that unnerved Steven before had returned.

  “No.” Steven pounded the wall. “This is bigger than Audrey, bigger than us, even bigger than Zed and his Legion of Doom out there. The King said it himself. All that matters is the balance of power at the end. I say we tip that balance in our favor.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Archie asked.

  Donald Bauer’s words echoed in Steven’s mind. “The best defense is a good offense.”

  “If they want to start this Game with a few Pieces missing from the board, I say we oblige.” Steven stepped around Rocinante’s injured form and grasped Emilio’s shoulder. “Are you with me?”

  Emilio ran a trembling hand down the bleeding stallion’s flank and stood. “Let’s go get those bastards.”

  Lena lowered her head and turned her resigned gaze back to Rocinante’s wounded side. Though she didn’t say a word, her eyes spoke volumes.

  “Take these.” Steven handed Emilio his shield and pike. “They aren’t yours, but they’ll serve you well.”

  Emilio strapped on the shield and brandished the long pole arm.

  “And you’ll—”

  “The seven Pawns at the door will fight with you, but I will stay with Lena.” Steven rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “No one will touch her. I swear.”

  Emilio cast one final look at the brave young girl at the horse’s side and joined the remainder of the Pawns at the tower’s opening.

  “Rook?” Steven shouted up into the darkness of the tower structure. “Can you hear me?”

  After a long pause, the gravelly voice spoke, as if waking from sleep.

  “I can, though everything’s strange. Your voice seems to be coming from somewhere… inside of me?”

  “Where are you?” Steven’s voice echoed in the space. “Somewhere in the tower?”

  Several seconds passed before the stony voice answered, an undercurrent of growing panic evident in its wavering tone. “I think I am the tower.”

  Archie flinched at the Rook’s confused response.

  Steven rushed to his side. “What is it, Archie?”

  “Oh, nothing,” the priest answered a bit too quickly. “Audrey’s stable for the moment, though I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

  Neither the rapid rise and fall of Audrey’s chest nor the pool of blood forming between Rocinante’s belly and Lena’s bent knees filled Steven with confidence. “Stay with them. Do what you can. Either way, this will be over soon.”

  Steven turned his head upward to again address the Rook. “Are you still there?”

  “You.” The Rook’s trembling voice echoed in the space. “You’re called Steven?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Steven Bauer.”

  “In that case, Steven Bauer,” the gravelly voice demanded, “can you tell me what the hell is going on?” The trepidation in the Rook’s crescendoing voice boiled over into anger. “In the last half hour, I’ve been shot off a skyscraper, had some idiot try to rescue me only to let me fall, and now, as best I can tell, I’m the latest construction project in downtown Atlanta.”

  Was that a joke?

  “Listen. Try to stay calm.” Steven brought his voice low. “What’s your name?”

  “Niklaus.”

  “Listen, Niklaus. This will all make a lot more sense later, but understand your world has just become a very dangerous game of chess, and you’ve been tagged as one of the Rooks.”

  “Rook,” came the stony voice. “And that would make you what, exactly?”

  “A Pawn in this stupid Game, not to mention the idiot that tried to save you before.” Steven took a breath. “I didn’t mean to let you fall.” His gaze fell to Audrey’s pale face. “It was out of my hands.”

  “Well, Steven the Pawn,” said the gravelly voice that came from nowhere and everywhere at once, “I don’t claim to understand a bit of this, but right now we’ve got a bigger problem. Those archers are coming around the base of the tower from both sides and they’re nearing the door. What is it you need me to do?”

  30

  Crown

  The divided band of Blackfoot warriors closed on the tower door from either side, bows slung and axes drawn. As the lead of each quartet caught sight of the other, all eight froze in place, and as one, turned to face their King. At his silent nod, they charged the arched doorway, but rather than two ranks of foot soldiers in white, the octet of Black Pawns found an enormous stone rolling into place from within the tower. After seconds of frustrated silence, the eight stowed their weapons and put their collective shoulder to the barrier, but despite their best efforts, the stone wouldn’t budge.

  The Queen let out an impatient sigh and joined her Pawns at the tower’s base. “Is there a problem, Wahnahtah?”

  “Their Rook’s barrier,” the lead Pawn said. “We cannot move it.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Stand aside.”

  The Queen brought her serpentine scepter above her head and closed her eyes. Ebon fire swirled like a microcosmic cyclone about her weapon’s fanged head as strange electricity flashed in the sky between the two towers of glass and steel. After a long moment, her eyes shot open, their usual green replaced by utter darkness.

  “Pawns of the Black,” she whispered, “prepare your assault.”

  A streak of lightning split the sky and struck the raised scepter, sending the Queen’s body into spasm. The dark flames mixed with the indigo spark from above, spinning faster and faster until the pulsating globe of darkness achieved critical mass and flew from the Queen’s outstretched arm. With a deafening boom, the fireball struck the colossal barrier and split the enormous stone in two. The resultant explosion shattered several stories of windows in both towers.

  “Now, Wahnahtah. Through the breech.”

  Eager to penetrate the White’s last line of defense, the first of the Black Pawns clambered through the narrow opening as the others fell into line. One after another, they charged the narrow aperture, but as the sixth made his way into the darkened tower, anxious shouting ech
oed from within. A moment later, the remaining two Pawns turned and addressed the Queen.

  “Your Highness,” they stammered in unison, “they’re not inside.”

  “What?”

  “The six within have scouted the entire structure.” The lead Pawn’s face grew blank as he looked through another set of eyes. “There’s no one in the Tower. They’re… gone.”

  “But that’s impossible. Where could they…” Cold comprehension blossomed on the Queen’s face. “Get them out, Wahnahtah. Get them out!”

  As the last Pawn to enter the tower scrambled back toward the narrow opening, a voice like an avalanche echoed between the two skyscrapers, uttering a single, unmistakable word.

  “Now.”

  The tower convulsed, the entire structure listing from side to side as if in the throes of a massive earthquake. The battlements shook themselves apart, and fell to the courtyard below.

  The Queen screamed as she spun around on her floating dais of darkness and dove away from the tower, her desperate leap all that kept her from being trapped under the tons of rock and mortar that plummeted down as the castle disintegrated. Of the two remaining Pawns, only one reacted in time, his twin crushed beneath the tower’s main parapet as it fell to the earth.

  Scrambling to their feet, the Queen and the remaining Pawn looked on as the thirty-foot tower imploded, the screams of the Pawns within drowned out by the horrendous cacophony of stone on falling stone. As the last remnants of the devastated structure settled into place, the Queen surveyed the debris and spat her adversary’s name.

  “Bauer.”

  Glancing back across the courtyard for guidance from the King, she was surprised to find neither rage nor disappointment in his ancient, yet unlined face, but instead an expression of wry amusement.