Pawn's Gambit

by Darin Kennedy

  “Your Majesty,” she said. “The White have disappeared. I fear they have managed to escape.” After a pained pause, she added a single whispered word. “Again.”

  “Don’t worry, Magdalene.” The King gestured at the cloud of dust that floated above the destroyed tower. “It would appear they haven’t gone far.”

  The Queen jerked her head around to find Steven charging across the rubble at her. She yelped in pain as the blunt end of Steven’s pole arm bore down on her unprotected wrist and sent her weapon flying.

  “Phalanx.” At Steven’s command, his one became seven and surrounded the Queen, the gleaming razor tips of their pikes all leveled at her supple neck.

  “For Rocinante!” Emilio leaped from the billowing dust cloud and charged the remaining Black Pawn. Still dazed from the loss of his seven brethren, the lone archer scarcely raised a hand before Emilio brought him to ground with a single blow to the jaw.

  “How does it feel, pendejo?” Emilio lowered the pike’s shining point at the Pawn’s chest. “Little different when the blade’s at your neck, wouldn’t you say?”

  The dark-skinned warrior squinted up at him through the trickle of blood coursing down his face, but offered no response, choosing instead to maintain proud silence.

  “Enjoy your momentary advantage, Bauer.” The Queen rubbed absently at her bruising wrist. “But don’t forget the same rules apply to both sides of this Game. Quite the irony if it were White rather than Black that incurred the wrath of the high and mighty Arbiters.”

  “You’re in no position to be making idle comments, Maggie.” Each of Steven’s seven doppelgangers advanced their pikes an inch. “As I understand it, those same Arbiters have been anything but attentive of late.”

  If the Queen felt the least bit of fear at Steven’s words, she kept it from her face, her icy stare filled only with cool contempt, the only true emotion Steven guessed remained in the woman’s black soul.

  “So.” The King watched from his vantage across the courtyard, “Grey’s errand boy has teeth. Impressive.”

  Steven disengaged from the phalanx of Pawns, leaving the Queen under the watchful eyes of the remaining six. “You must be Zed.”

  “Indeed.” The King scowled at Steven’s use of his proper name. “I suppose you think that infinitesimal piece of knowledge gives you some sort of advantage?”

  “Perhaps. No one knows the rules of this Game better than you, your Highness, and gauging from the fact we’re standing here talking instead of fighting for our lives, I’m guessing Audrey was right. Like it or not, we’re off limits till the main event.” Steven’s lips curled into a smirk. “Sucks doesn’t it?”

  “Ah, the baby bird stretches its wings.” The King sheathed his sword. “Grey has truly found a worthy champion in you, Bauer—brave, resourceful, insightful.” His eyes narrowed. “But still so very stupid. Do not presume, little man, to quote the rules of this Game to one of its very authors, regardless of whatever limited understanding you believe you’ve obtained from your esteemed mentor. Truth be told, his conception of the Game is at least as biased as mine.”

  “I’ve seen Stonehenge, you bastard. I know what you did.”

  The King laughed. “I have no doubt Grey has shown you exactly what he needed you to see to bring you to his side. He always did value blind loyalty. Regardless, the outcome today will remain the same. You put up a brave front, Bauer, but the fact that my Queen is still breathing is rather damning evidence that you are far too weak to be of any concern to me.” He gestured in Emilio’s direction. “Meanwhile, the boy there, for all his bluster, can barely keep his knees from knocking. Look at him. So sad, all that power wasted on one so young.”

  Steven glanced to his right and knew the King was right. Despite his bravado, Emilio’s eyes were wide with as much terror as rage.

  “The Arbiters require that you live.” The King rested his hand on the jeweled hilt of his sword. “Anything beyond that is open to interpretation. I saw the wounds my Pawns dealt both your horse and Miss Richards. I suspect your Bishop, wherever you have hidden him, is far too busy keeping your lovely young Queen alive to be of much assistance.”

  Steven tensed at the King’s calculated words, but held his tongue.

  “Knight and Pawn alone to face a King.” Zed’s words dripped with false concern. “Your cause is lost.”

  “Then,” interrupted a stony voice from the remains of the ruined tower, “I suppose they’ll have to leave the heavy lifting to me.”

  The rubble folded and shifted, flowing and twisting until the shattered brick and concrete took the form of a gargantuan man of stone. Fifteen feet high and as broad as a dump truck, the rugged colossus stared down on them like an angry god. Then, as a butterfly shedding its chrysalis, the rough outer stone fell away and revealed the rippled white marble skin beneath. The Black Queen and Pawn each caught their breath, and even the King gazed at this latest addition to Steven’s band with some measure of respect.

  “So, Steven,” came a voice that made James Earl Jones sound like a soprano, “is this the guy who ordered me shot off a skyscraper?”

  “That’s him.” Steven mouth turned up in a half-smile.

  “Would you rather I pound him into the ground or knock him into next week?”

  “And so. Now the Rooks come out.” The King raised his hand, his fingers curling into a fist. This simple gesture was answered with a massive boom. Then another. And another.

  At the far side of the courtyard, a gap formed in the dark wall and a colossal female figure passed the jagged opening. Over a story high and formed of black stone and mortar, the monstrous form trudged in their direction. Her every step shattering windows as well as the pavement at her feet, the Black Rook came to rest behind her King.

  “What is your will, my lord?” Her words reverberated through the space like the rumble of an earthquake.

  “That depends.” The King drew himself up straight and locked gazes with Steven. “It would appear, Bauer, that we have reached an impasse.”

  The King’s taunting words were followed by another, softer voice, one far more familiar.

  “Castling so early, old friend?”

  His fedora and overcoat somehow dry despite the rain that still surrounded their small oasis from the storm, Grey strode across the devastated courtyard and stood before them.

  “Good evening, Steven and Emilio.” He shot a glance in the King’s direction. “Zed.”

  “Grey.” The King took his hand from his sword. “So, old friend, you’ve decided to take an active role in your own inevitable downfall. It’s been so different this time, only matching wits with the hired help.”

  “The ‘hired help’, as you call them, just decimated your front row and nullified your Queen in short order.” Grey crossed his arms. “Perhaps you should not be so quick to dismiss.”

  “You know as well as I do that Pawns are expendable.” Zed turned his gaze on Steven. “Did you tell your protégé that, old friend? He was all wound up before regarding our altercation at Stonehenge, but does he know about Antarctica? How you managed to pull that victory from the jaws of defeat?” The King’s mouth broke into a wicked smile even as Grey’s face twisted into a frustrated scowl. “Hmmm… didn’t come up, I suppose.”

  Grey let out a single sarcastic laugh. “If only I cared as much about the fate of my Pieces as you do yours.” His eyes narrowed below the brim of his grey fedora. “At your hands, each of mine have already tasted of the sacrifices that come with playing this Game of ours, and yet, they still remain. Regardless of what you bring to bear against us, White will again persevere.”

  Zed inhaled to speak, but Grey cut him off, his tone harsh and insistent. “My side is now assembled, and yet you persist with this petty engagement. Are you really in such a rush to curry the Arbiters’ displeasure?”

  “Hmmph. I have seen no trace of their influence here this night.” Zed motioned to the phalanx of Pawns surrounding his Queen. “In fact, it appea
rs the Arbiters care little about the indiscretions of either side anymore.” The King’s lips turned up in a smirk. “Plus, to my reckoning, a Piece still exists among the White that remains to be claimed. It is unfortunate the Hvítr Kyll lies lost among the rubble. Without it, you have no King.”

  Steven stepped forward. “And that, your Highness, is one assumption too many.”

  The Rook knelt down, so he could speak eye to eye with the King. “Do you think I left them inside that dark tower with nothing to light their way?”

  “Steven?” Grey asked.

  The Pawn closest to Grey produced a small white bundle from behind his shield. An audible hum filled the space.

  “What?” The King stared, mouth agape. “How?”

  “The cloak.” Grey smiled. “Brilliant.”

  “It was the only way to keep it quiet.” Steven peeled away each layer of the folded cloak, the drone of the pouch growing louder every second until the throbbing sound shook his teeth.

  “Strange,” he said, “it’s louder than I’ve ever heard it…” He looked into Grey’s eyes and knew the answer before he even knew the question.

  “Yes, Steven,” Grey said. “I am the last Piece.” He shot a sidelong look at the Black King. “In every iteration since the Game’s inception, I have served as the White King with Zed as my opposite.”

  “I knew,” Steven said. “When I first saw the Black King, I knew.”

  “You aren’t a part of the Game yet, old man,” the Queen said. “Zed could still remove you from play with no repercussions.”

  “Foolish woman, you know not of what you speak,” Grey said. “Do not think because you have tasted of the power inherent in the Game that you are its master. Not even your King, armed, armored, and an armsbreadth away would dare interfere at this point.”

  The Black King remained silent, though his cold eyes didn’t leave Steven’s hands as they worked at the Hvítr Kyll’s silver cord.

  “Open the pouch, Steven,” Grey said. “Time to bring this phase of the Game to a close.”

  Steven presented the pouch to Grey and the Black King turned his back on the entire assemblage and strode off into the rain.

  “Come,” he said. “Let them have their little victory. The Game is nigh, and we will soon see how well the White fares without the Arbiters’ much vaunted protection.”

  The ring of White Pawns bristled as the Black Queen scrambled to her feet, but at Grey’s subtle nod, opened to let her pass.

  The Black Rook held fast for a moment, staring strangely at the alabaster form of her opposite, and then turned to join the King. Her every step sent a tremor through the courtyard.

  “Till next time, ‘pendejo’,” the Black Pawn said, offering Emilio a jaunty salute as he rose from the ground and collected his axe.

  With a grunt, Emilio threw down Steven’s pike and grabbed the nearest White Pawn by the shoulders.

  “We’re letting them walk? In case you forgot, these people spent the last three days trying to kill us.” Emilio ground his teeth as he watched the Black Pawn swagger away.

  “What about Lena?” Emilio drew Steven close, his breath hot on Steven’s cheek. “And Audrey?”

  The perceptions of the missing eighth Pawn, actively ignored to that point, flooded Steven’s mind.

  Lena crouched by the window in the King tower above, her head bowed in prayer.

  Archie kneeling between his wounded Queen and Rocinante, a hand over each of their hearts as his lips worked the silent chant holding death at bay.

  And Audrey.

  So pale. An unbidden image of an open grave flashed through Steven’s mind. Though his every instinct screamed to stay there by Audrey’s side, Steven tore his mind’s eye from the scene above and answered Emilio with words he only half believed himself.

  “We have to let them go, Emilio. It’s the only way.”

  A moment later, the King snapped his fingers and the four forms vanished in a bubble of inky darkness. The rain returned in earnest as if the storm bore them a personal grudge.

  “Tell me we had no choice.” Steven turned on Grey. “Tell me we didn’t let those murderers go for no reason.”

  “We can discuss tonight’s events later,” Grey said. “For now, we have business to conduct and wounded friends that need our attention. The pouch, if you will.”

  For once, Steven didn’t question, and instead held wide the mouth of the ancient artifact that had proven both blessing and curse in his life. Then, as if he had rehearsed the moment a thousand times, he knelt before Grey.

  “My King.”

  “Rise, Steven,” Grey said. “This is no time for ceremony.”

  Steven came to his feet and waited for what was to come. After a brief meditation, Grey reached his arm deep into the white leather’s glowing aperture. Soon, the pouch shone brighter and droned louder than at any time in Steven’s brief tenure as the White Pawn. The deafening roar shook the surrounding architecture with palpable force while the blinding radiance from the pouch’s mouth lit the entire concourse as if it were midday. The light and sound buffeted him like a cyclone of silver radiance, and then, with one final burst of brilliance, the pouch went dark and silent.

  The roar of the storm compounded the ringing in Steven’s ears, while the blue haze burned into his retina along with the fractured kaleidoscopic perception of seven pairs of eyes left him helpless. Tortured seconds passed as the Pawns’ vision readjusted to the darkness, their collective gaze eventually drifting to the circular object that rested in Grey’s hand.

  A simple crown of platinum, its burnished surface shone with an inner glow as if fresh from the forge. Though no stones adorned the grey metal, the glyphs inscribed along its surface shone in the night, the language they represented so old no record remained of its existence. Foreign yet hauntingly familiar, like so many things since he was brought into the Game, the ornate characters spoke to Steven, telling stories of a forgotten place and time.

  Grey studied the circle of metal with brooding eyes, removed his battered fedora, and placed the crown to his brow. In a shimmering flash, Grey’s attire shifted from its usual drab tones to blinding white, his dark overcoat iridescent for a moment before unfurling into robes more suited for royalty.

  As the transformation continued, his already anachronistic clothing shifted into armor and trappings not dissimilar to that of the Black King. Still, while Zed’s raiment had been ostentatious in its extravagance, Grey’s somehow maintained that understated quality that permeated the man’s every word and action. The sword at his side gleamed as if afire, and as the golden radiance washed across the wizard’s ancient visage, the lines of centuries that marked his face were washed away.

  “Thank you, Steven.” Grey sheathed his sword. “The gathering is now complete. One task remains, and then we rest.”

  The seven Pawns gathered close and melded back into one.

  “Are we too late?” Steven asked.

  “I believe not,” Grey answered, “though I sense our Bishop is nearly spent. He has poured more of himself into the others than is wise. He cannot go on this way.”

  “Let’s not waste another second, then.” Steven motioned for Emilio and Niklaus to rally around him. “Stay close, everyone.”

  He held aloft the pouch and with one final deafening pulse, the quartet disappeared, leaving only a spiral wisp of white smoke in their wake.

  31

  Pieces

  Steven stared out the window at the lake that had served as an aquatic playground throughout his childhood. Memories played across his mind’s eye: exploring the far shore with his mother, feeding the Canada geese every spring, fishing with his dad by the tall sycamore in the corner.

  No wind touched the lake’s placid surface. No cloud blemished the azure sky. Not a single bird broke the welcome stillness with its morning call. Rocinante stood in silence, chewing at the tall grass at the water’s edge.

  A quarter mile out, Emilio and Lena sat unmoving in Steven�
�s old rowboat, allowing the sun to brown their skin and the water’s invisible current to take them wherever it would. Neither of the young couple had said much over the last thirty-six hours, and Steven didn’t blame them. A part of him mourned their lost innocence, though he recognized the alternative was far worse.

  A knock at the front door set Steven’s heart racing. He checked his pocket before answering and breathed a sigh of relief when he found his icon’s marble dark without even a glimmer of radiance. Steven turned the deadbolt and opened the door to find a diminutive older woman wearing a worn-out Mickey Mouse sweatshirt waiting on the porch.

  “Steven.” The woman peered across his shoulder into the house. “What a surprise.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Chatsworth.”

  She brought her gaze back to Steven. “Didn’t know you were in from Chicago.”

  “Yeah.” Steven did his best to evince a smile. “Hanging out at Dad’s for a few days.”

  “It’s good to see you. You and Don having fun catching up?”

  “Yeah. Mostly catching up on some sleep today, though.”

  “Is he in?” She poked her head in the door and looked around.

  Steven stepped into her field of vision. “He went into town.” He hated lying to a woman who had babysat him for years when he was young, but he couldn’t risk revealing anything close to the truth. “He should be back later on today.”

  “It’s funny. He wasn’t here yesterday either. He’s usually such a homebody. I wonder what’s gotten into him lately.”

  “Me too, Mrs. Chatsworth.” More than you could possibly know.

  “Oh, Steven, you’re all grown up now.” Her mouth spread wide in a friendly smile. “You can call me Marge if you want. I’m not all that old, I like to think.”

  “All right… Marge. Will do. Do you want me to leave a message?”

  “Sure. Tell Don I dropped by to line up dinner next week. You’re invited too, if you’re still around. I’m itching to try out a new recipe. Don can handle food with some kick, right?”