Across the Game Board

     Beneath the silence, it waited.

     Footsteps sounded through the stillness, wrapping about the relaxed figure as he made his way toward the room's heart. A single table lay in wait, and with a casual nonchalance he slipped into the waiting seat and surveyed the surface with a cunning eye. Dark pieces covered their playing field, polished ebony for his own carefully prepared agents. He smiled to himself as he gazed over them, perfectly arrayed across the board. Already he could see the first moves of the game playing before his eyes, the elegance of the game widening that knowing smirk until white teeth flashed the stillness.

     A commotion broke the silence, shattering the delicate peace for a fleeting moment as the second player entered the arena. Her pieces were growing restless on the far side, clamouring for their long-awaited moment in the limelight. Striding confidently toward the table where the painted wooden pieces waited, she moved with less grace than her counterpart, something she compensated with a grim determination. Where he smiled as he surveyed the pieces, she fell into her seat with a dark gaze at their playing field, taking in the scattered pieces.

     She had spent endless days playing Battle for Meridell in preparation for this, but now she was before her opponent she could not help but feel it in vain. Such a simplistic version of their reality.

     What was done, was done. She just had to trust her instincts now, and believe in her skill. Even against one such as him. Her fingers twitched toward the sleeves of her worn jacket; the others had wanted a more fitting raiment for this showdown, but somehow the battered grey jacket felt comfortable on her shoulders, like a companion on the long road bringing them this far. Looking up she could see the handsome Moehog in his striking suit of black and silver, dark Halloween features framed by that long white hair, looking every part the gallant champion.

     What they wore would mean nothing here. Blue Zafara in a tatty jacket or handsome Moehog in regal attire, it would make no difference. This was a battle of wits, not looks.

     Her fingers twitched toward her sleeves again. Perhaps it was about more than just wits.

     Their eyes met across the game board, two sets of pieces carefully laid out between them. It was time.

     'Ladies first,' the Moehog said politely in his elegant baritone.

     She just scowled. White moved first in games; why would this be any different?

     Her fingers closed about the white knight placed on the board before her in the centre of their battlefield. The staple piece of the battlefield, in the most simple of movements. Nonetheless she still held her breath as she moved the piece. Advance.

     The game had begun.

     He regarded the move with a lazy eye, one eyebrow moving so slightly to acknowledge it. It seemed she did not want to play properly from the start. A pity; he had held such high expectations. He had played so many games with so many, the chance to play an opponent able to do something a bit different was one he had relished.

     An apathetic hand reached out and knocked the ebony relief of an armour clad Skeith forward toward the approaching knight. If she wanted to play such bland tactics, he would use the same. The only difference was his pieces were far superior; no rabble of knights could overwhelm the trained force of the Brute Squad.

     Blue fingers twitched again, reaching for her sleeves. Sharply she pulled them away, and drew a deep breath to try and calm her nerves. No amount of determination was enough to face down her fears facing this foe. She needed to do more than face him: she needed to truly believe she would defeat him.

     Her eyes scanned the other pieces. Agents of all nations scattered the board. Her infantry alliance from the three great nations of Meridell, Brightvale and Altador would hold for now, but the Brute Squad was too great to be held so simply. She would need to support them, and soon, or this game would end before it had even started. Unless she tried a different strategy.

     The wooden piece was pulled back to where it had started. She held her breath.

     The piece fell. Panicked eyes looked up across the board to where a new piece had moved: a cold black Bori in robes of painted red. She could feel the Moehog's conceited smirk on her as she realised his move, see it twist still further as her mind raced to keep up. Automatically her fingers leapt for another piece, ready to pull it in and fill the gap.

     No.

     The voice echoed in the back of her mind, staying her hand as it closed about the wooden pieces. She needed to be calm, to think it through. Her foe was a puppeteer, playing his strings about all he touched. The stories of the Duchess rang in her mind, of how he had brought her down before she had even realised she was in his game. His manipulation of the board was masterful, and only by refusing to cow to the strings could she hope to defeat him.

     So what to do? Her forward line had been defeated by the magical artillery of the Red Erisim, rather than drawing the Brute Squad into her snare. Now they had an open path into her side of the board. Defeat would be inevitable unless she could block the gap.

     It was her turn to smile as she pulled the white carving of a Royal Skeith across to fill the space. Meridellian Knights. They would hold.

     A disgruntled scowl crossed the handsome Moehog's face as he watched the pieces move across his field. An obvious ploy, no different to the last. Did she really want to play it this way?

     The armoured Skeith moved in. Deadlock. Both pieces were negated as they met in the middle, too evenly-matched to take the other, or fall to it.

     Her last move negated, the Zafara cast a quick eye across their map again. The field was a flatland between the mountains surrounding Altador, cleft through the hills to give an even plain for their contest. There was no advantage to either side here, nothing to exploit. No easy traps.

     The air seemed to crackle with excitement as she played her move. Drawing in the Brute Squad's main force, she finally pushed the heavy-set Tyrannian Grarrl behind, blocking off their retreat with the impregnable wall of a Tyrannian defence. No bombardment of magic would stop the hardy Tyrannians, thriving for centuries in the harsh environ of the plateau, beset by the flames of volcanoes and the constant threat of monsters pulled from stories.

     No easy traps. No easy ways out either.

     A new sound carried on the draught as it whipped cold about the Moehog's legs; cheering. One small victory on the board and already pets were cheering. It always amazed him the way people's minds worked, unable to grasp the bigger picture even when it was spread before them as clear as the board itself, with every piece so carefully laid out. A match was not a single game, but an amalgamation of all that could take place. And not every game was made equal.

     Across steepled fingers he looked at his beleaguered piece, the armoured Skeith almost as ugly as the brutish leader of the squad himself. Without its leader the value of the rest of the squad had fallen, a fact that now seemed more prominent with the pieces lying across his front line. He eyed the Bori again, but put it out of mind; it was too soon to play the same card. No, he needed a show of strength now.

     Carefully he raised a single piece and played it firmly beside the Brute Squad. A Kougra, its polished ebony standing out brighter than any other on the board. He had hoped to not have to play this so soon, but one could not oppose the flow of a match no more than one could bar the relentless surge of a wild river with but a single stone.

     'It is time we stop playing around,' he whispered softly, fixing his opponent with a piercing stare.

     She swallowed uncomfortably as she saw the Kougra slot into place. Every instinct urged her to pull back the pieces, knowing they would falter before that single trump, but she held firm. This was not a match to be settled in the opening gambits. At least now the Kougra would be kept busy a while.

     With him out of the way, she could press her advantage elsewhere. A proud Lupe with bow upon his back advanced on the flanks, curling behind the skirmish toward the tower that stood as her objective. Take the tower and the victory was hers.

     Immediately he moved his other pieces, pulling in to defend. A Tonu joined the Lupe, clad in the lightweight desert garb. Skirmishers to draw the Brute Squad agents in. He refused to let them bite, pulling back and allowing another flick of the wrist to draw the Bori into play again. Smoothly she retreated her pieces, baiting him forward again, the pieces dancing across the board as though it were a ballroom, changing partners on a whim with every new beat of the music.

     Suddenly she changed the rhythm. Drawn into the ebb and flow of their game, she seized his lapse in concentration. From behind she pushed forward a carving of an Ixi in a tall hat, elaborately carved staff in hand. In an instant the ebony Bori was swept from the board, the Brightvale magics obliterating the unsuspecting Red Erisim in a hail of fire and storms.

     The Moehog leaned back in his seat, cursing inwardly. Momentum had left him utterly, the intoxicating pattern of the dance drawing him in with its every twist and turn, the music washing over until he was ensorcelled by its beauty, entranced without hope of escape. A rare mistake, but one nonetheless.

     'So be it,' he declared proudly. With a flourish he placed a new piece onto the board, depicting a towering magma Yurble, its hair seeming to glow with the blaze within. Wrapped about it was a cunning Lutari covered in odd gadgets and tools, carefully created from the same piece of ebony. Moltarans. The fearsome strike force of the deep Moltaran pets combined with the cunning and ingenuity of their brethren closer to the surface. Their tools were dangerous in the wrong hands, and against all probability even more so in the right ones.

     Slowly he pushed the piece down from the mountainous border of the board and toward the undefended rear of her skirmishers. There were no passes through those mountains, but with a legion of miners there was always one beneath. There may be no easy traps on this battlefield, but there were always traps to be found.

     Without hesitation her fingers shot to her sleeve. Caught in a pincer there was no alternative, not while her Tyrannians were still embroiled with the Brute Squad and the Kougra. A new piece fell onto the board, perfectly in the path of the oncoming tide of Moltarans, small and insignificant as a Mootix before a Monocerous.

     A Grundo.

     'You shouldn't have turned your back on the Doctor,' she muttered triumphantly, giving the unassuming piece a tap with one finger. Something whirred loudly in the silent room, and suddenly the single piece split into six hulking shapes, gathered together in an unyielding wall before the Moltaran advance.

     He had turned his back on Sloth, and in return the twisted scientist had turned to support his enemy. Virtupets stood with the Zafara, giving her a trump card descended from space itself. An instant placement anywhere on the map, bringing with it not only the Grundo but the full might of Virtupets' drone army.

     Her back was shielded.

     The heady sensation filled her body as she breathed it in, bathing in that luxurious feeling. The tense anticipation paled in comparison to this glorious triumph as she rode the crest of the greatest wave, even if only for a moment. One she felt it, the longing to experience it again was insurmountable. She no longer needed determination to defeat him, or belief in her ability to do: she needed to win this match, to feel that victory once more.

     New units moved across the board, the dance resuming once again as the two stalemates continued. Pirates and ninjas met on the field, drew back for a moment before sweeping through once more in a maelstrom of chaos only to suddenly find their tricks and traps had undone, and both stood once more where they started. Every move had its perfect counter, every counter its waiting riposte, and the riposte its unyielding block. Shed of her fears and worries as she seized the momentum of the match, the Zafara felt her instincts working in perfect harmony with the board, her mind watching almost from the sidelines as her body reached out to move the pieces automatically. Was this how he felt every day? Every time he played his games? She could almost understand why he lived the way he did, feeding on the excitement of a match, and on the promise of another opponent able to give him the same thrill.

     A smile spread across the Moehog's handsome face. His hand suddenly moved differently, playing the unexpected card with another flourish as she lifted the ebony piece from the board and pushed it forward in a daring move. Lost in the dance, she could only watch on in horror as the final steps were played out, and the music came to its crashing crescendo.

     The Kougra had detached from the squabble. Abandoning the Brute Squad to its fate, he moved the Kougra through the line to the open field beyond.

     To her.

     Silence wrapped about her tight, suffocating her senses as she panicked over the board. Fingers moved automatically toward pieces, but every time they drew closer she pulled back again, doubt clouding every possible decision. She needed to stop him, to pull back and defend the rear before it all came crashing down, but all she found was a house of cards, doomed to come crashing down.

     A single move was all it took to turn the tide of a match. A single defeat was all it took to lose.

     No.

     She froze.

     Calm. Thoughtful. Deliberate. Emotion clouded your judgement. Rash decision led to disaster. Make every move knowing not just what, but why. Their voices chased each other in her head, herding her thoughts like Babaa into the pen, until at last she could see clearly again.

     Steeling herself she brushed away the haze the silence had wrapped around her, and looked firmly at the board again. In her mind's eye she could see its borders extend, the near edge rising to its hill where a rough wooden relief of a blue Zafara sat, clad in a worn grey jacket. She was just another piece on the board, like all the rest. She needed to act like one: expendable.

     This was not a game of chess, rushing to take the King. It was more like Kacheekers, where clearing the board was what mattered.

     She could see the move. Reaching out her fingers closed about the Tyrannian line, and feeling the shock on the Moehog's face she pushed it forward, into the midst of the fray. Without the Kougra to support them, the Brute Squad lay in ruins, the proud Royal Skeith of Meridell standing triumphant over the fallen piece.

     An unexpected smile spread across her features, already seeing the final moves play out before her eyes. A single move was all it took to turn the tide of a match. A single victory was all it took to win.

     The Moehog looked down at the board in surprise, seeing the ivory pieces standing against his retreating ebony line. Only the single figure of the Kougra stood still on the far side, rendered useless by the actions of his adversary. A most unexpected development, that she would come to realise no quickly the reality of their situation.

     They were pieces on the same board, yet they were not equal pieces. Where she played Kacheekers, every piece as valuable as the rest, he played chess, where if the King fell the game was over.

     Delicately he placed a final piece on the board. Intricately created from black ebony, it stood at the rear of his lines, the handsome figurine overseeing the board with a cunning eye and knowing smile, long hair sweeping down its back.

     With a gentle touch he knocked it over.

     The sound of it striking wood resonated through the room.

     It was over.

     In his distant tower, the handsome Moehog rose and bowed gracefully to his unseen opponent, before sweeping from his silent chamber, footsteps echoing loudly in his wake.

     In her tent on the hill, the Zafara almost thought she could see him leave, and nodded respectfully back, the joyous cries of victory ringing out around her.

The End