Black Rook

by Ingrid Seymour

  Ungur bared his yellowed teeth in an unsightly smile.

  “You will pay,” I said, finding satisfaction in the threat, letting the darkness that this place had unleashed in me come to the forefront.

  Rage came with it, but it wasn’t the blinding kind I’d experienced in the past. This was different.

  Everything came into focus, but especially Ungur. More than that, I thought I could perceive every person in the hall: the Challengers plus the entire Board—all sixteen of them. They were here to see me die and to learn how anyone who tried to steal from the King would fare.

  The dimensions of our fighting space took shape in my mind, while Ungur’s rough breaths punctuated a rhythm in my temples. For a moment, I even imagined I could hear his heart.

  Then my vision tunneled, and Ungur became the focal point, while our surroundings lost their sharpness. My instincts taking over, I crouched and circled my opponent. A low rumble sounded in my chest. Ungur’s right eye twitched, betraying worry.

  A sour smell reached me. My nostrils flared.

  Was that fear?

  My anger morphed into viciousness. I lunged toward Ungur, arms outstretched. Before he had time to react, my hands clamped on either side of his head. He sidestepped, trying to evade my hold, but his twisting motion only served my purpose.

  I pivoted in the opposite direction, violently jerking his head. His neck snapped. The sound echoed through the room. Then he went limp and, as I released him, his lifeless body thudded to the floor.

  As if someone had snuffed it like a candle, my viciousness departed, leaving only coldness in its place.

  I stood next to Ungur, not even glancing down at him. My eyes were focused on a spot on the far wall. Slowly, they drifted toward the King, who was regarding me with an amused smile on his pale mouth. His red eyes were all-knowing, and his entire expression seemed to say “I told you so.”

  With all my might, I clawed my way out of my indifference and forced myself to look at the man I had killed.

  His head lay at an unnatural angle, his thick body appearing more like a boulder than ever before.

  I had taken a life.

  To me, he’d been nothing but a despised enemy, but maybe there was someone out there who had thought better of him, who had, perhaps, loved him. And now, he was gone, because of me.

  My hands shook at my sides. I clenched them into fists and stepped away from Ungur, head bowed. I could respect him in death—or more accurately, I could respect death itself.

  It had been easy to kill him, child’s play, but that didn’t mean the consequences of my actions should be easy on my conscience—even if they seemed justified. I was better than that. Life was sacred and, as such, it should be respected and treasured.

  That’s where King Maximus and I were different, and no matter how much of his venomous blood he fed me, nothing, nothing, would make me forget that.

  CHAPTER 4

  Rook Sanda and Rook Datcu approached Ungur’s body. They both stared at me with their rust-filled eyes, a minor light burning in their depths that revealed the vampire blood that polluted their veins and the hatred they felt for me.

  Were my own eyes glowing so? I didn’t think they were since no one’s expression seemed to indicate that they did.

  “Just the right amount,” King Maximus had said after he’d fed me his blood—not enough to turn me into a Rook, I realized.

  Without breaking eye contact, Sanda leaned down and grabbed his cousin by the wrists, while Datcu took hold of his ankles. Lifting him off the floor with ease despite Ungur’s considerable weight, they carried him away, deposited him against the far wall, and returned to their spots. They sat back down with their own Quadrants, their jaws set.

  A restless feeling stirring in my stomach, I peered back at Ungur’s discarded body. Was that all he was worth to them? A forgotten corner of the room without even a brief moment to acknowledge his departure?

  I didn’t know why that surprised me. The very hall we stood in was designed with only one purpose in mind: death.

  Knight Traian came away from his seat and prepared to announce the next match. As he opened his mouth, I turned my back on him and purposely walked toward Ungur.

  “Where are you going?” Traian demanded. “Get back here!”

  I ignored him, suspecting he might sic his Rook on me, but only a murmur rose in the hall, one that slowly died down as I knelt in front of Ungur and closed my eyes in prayer.

  Gods, take this man into your care. Soothe his guilt and forgive his trespasses.

  For a short instant, I considered begging for my own forgiveness, but what would be the point of that when more death awaited.

  So, I stood and slowly retreated, taking short, backward steps, showing him as much respect as I could under the circumstances.

  Finally, I turned and faced the Board again. Everyone was staring at me, except for Marin. He sat among the Pawns in our Quadrant, head bowed, hands clasped on his lap as if he were praying, too.

  I walked up to Knight Traian and stopped a few paces away from him. He wore a confused expression as if he couldn’t decide what to feel toward me and what I’d just done.

  “Who do you want me to kill next?” I asked, my tone cold to match the words.

  “Fourth Pawn Brigita Ashcrag, come forth,” Knight Traian said.

  Brigita stood. She stepped forward without hesitation, though her pinched expression made me think she didn’t feel as confident as she tried to appear. Brigita was a tall woman, about ten years my senior. She was muscular like a man and had held the title of Fourth Pawn for over two years, without issuing a challenge to move up in rank.

  In my eight weeks here, I’d barely exchanged a word with her. She was disciplined in a stiff way and seemed proud of her post and service to the Vampire Court.

  Now, per order of her King, her precious post was in jeopardy—all the succession rules and precious contracts disregarded in favor of his Majesty’s whims and games.

  But what did she expect? She was a Pawn, after all.

  “Nyro Stonehelm will Challenge Fourth Pawn Brigita Ashcrag,” Knight Traian began. “If Brigita defeats Stonehelm—”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” the King said, his deep, rumbling voice reverberating through the hall.

  Silence fell like a cleaver. The rhythmic breaths of the spectators, which I’d become accustomed to, came to an abrupt stop. Slowly, hesitantly, all eyes turned to the Black King.

  He was now standing, his ghostly Bishops flanking him on each side. His red eyes glowed intensely, even as his face remained impassive, no sign of anger distorting his smooth, pallid features.

  “Your Majesty,” Knight Traian said, inclining his head. “Whatever punishment you’ve decided for Stonehelm, I will be delighted to carry it out, if you are gracious enough to give me that chance.”

  King Maximus ignored Traian, his glimmering gaze focused solely on me. No one else seemed to dare look him in the eye, while I had no qualms about it. I didn’t fear him, nor respect him.

  I hated him.

  “I’ve grown bored by this tiresome spectacle,” the King said. “So, I’ve decided Stonehelm shall battle all Four Pawns at once.”

  CHAPTER 5

  It seemed King Maximus had truly decided I should die tonight.

  Four Pawns stood in front of me, bound by their contract and fear, to do as their King ordered.

  First Pawn Loredana seemed the most flabbergasted of all. She’d held her post for nearly ten years without being challenged and without challenging one of the Rooks herself.

  Marin, the Second Pawn, looked as if he’d awoken from a bad nightmare, one in which his sweet mother had died, ravaged by hunger because he’d died and failed to take care of her.

  Third Pawn Serban stood firmly, his expression determined, his stance confident. He didn’t seem intimidated in the least, and why should he? The odds were definitely in his favor.

  For her part, Brigita’s expression appeared le
ss pinched than before. She didn’t have to fight me all on her own anymore.

  Still not over his shock, Knight Traian stepped forward. “Challenger Nyro Stonehelm will challenge—”

  “Forget the formalities,” the King said from the dais, waving a hand with annoyance. “Begin,” he ordered, then sat back on his raised chair, crossing one leg and resting his chin on his hand in a nonchalant posture.

  Serban didn’t need more encouragement than that and, at once, came at me, throwing punches. I blocked them easily, perceiving them almost before he released them. Brigita came at me next. She circled around, then launched from behind, attempting to bring me down. I ducked out of the way as I sensed her. She staggered, and I shoved her into Serban, who managed to help her regain her balance without losing his own.

  Loredana joined them, while Marin hung back, looking conflicted. How he’d made it to Second Pawn without the brutality that seemed so natural in the others, I didn’t know, but I sure hoped he didn’t try to kill me.

  While Marin hesitated at the edge, slowly acquiring a fighting stance, the three other Pawns circled me, nodding at each other before charging. I tried to dodge, but there was nowhere to go. They crashed into me from all sides, clawing, punching, dragging me down. I fought to stay upright, but my knees buckled, and I went down.

  They piled on top of me like ravenous dogs intent on picking the meat off my bones. Serban wrapped his hand around my neck, attempting to strangle me. Someone else punched my chest repeatedly, driving the air from my lungs. While the third one bit my thigh, sending a shock of pain up my groin.

  I struggled, pushing and squirming, to no avail. Frustration built in my chest as asphyxia became a very distinct possibility.

  “I will kill him,” a voice boomed through the hall. “He’s mine.”

  Serban was yanked away and cast to one side. Marin’s face appeared in his place. He winked, giving me a second before he came at me.

  It was all I needed. Unpinning my gathering frustration, I kicked and punched with all I had. Loredana and Brigita fell back. I rolled over and jumped to my feet.

  My heart pounded. Three Pawns were on the floor, staggering back to a standing position. Only Marin stood in front of me, ready to fight me.

  Or was he? He had just helped me.

  My anger boiled, urging me to kill, but I couldn’t hurt Marin. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve it. If I killed the others, however, he would still be standing there, while the King insisted on more death.

  Why was it never enough?

  Something occurred to me—something that might spare Marin’s life and deny the King’s death-ridden pleasures. I had read it in one of my assigned books. Clearly, Maximus hadn’t considered it.

  The Board must always be complete.

  I saw the words in curling cursive letters as they’d been written in the book and they repeated themselves inside my head, dragged out of my unconscious by my own desperation.

  Marin was still coming at me, his approach appearing cautious. I feigned left, then ran right. I was fast, not enough to blur like the King but enough to slide behind Brigita and snap her neck the same way I’d snapped Ungur’s.

  She dropped to the floor like a scarecrow, the flame of her life extinguished forever. Trembling with the effort to contain my desire to slaughter everyone else in the hall, I stood straight and spoke loud enough for all to hear.

  “I am now the First Quadrant’s Fourth Pawn. The Board is complete.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Silence fell upon the room like a heavy fog.

  My breaths rang in my ears as my chest heaved, fighting to quiet the poisonous blood that coursed through me and urged me to kill.

  Ungur and Brigita were dead already, but the evil inside me wasn’t satisfied. I fought it. I was stronger than this poison. It would not break me. The King would not break me.

  No one dared move a muscle. King Maximus stared down from the dais, his Bishops nothing but shadows a step behind his throne.

  Killing the Fourth Pawn and declaring the Board complete had been a gamble and, as such, I expected the King’s wrath. He would not let me get away with this. He would order the fight to continue, his lust for death hardly satisfied by Ungur and Brigita.

  Maximus stood very slowly. I lifted my chin as he scrutinized me, the same red glow in his eyes. Then, to everyone’s utter astonishment, he threw back his head and laughed.

  Behind him, his hooded Bishops remained as immobile as before. In contrast, his Knights and Rooks stirred, shuffling from foot to foot, exchanging confused glances that suggested they hadn’t been expecting this from their King.

  The dry, rusty laughter echoed through the room, strangling the silence. It was a fake sound, like a bad actor on stage playing the role of an amused king. Or maybe he sounded this way because he hadn’t laughed in a long time. Maybe his jesters were a failure, and he’d decided I would take their place.

  The laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started.

  He descended from the dais, his steps careful and quiet. As he approached, he seemed to glide in my direction, a stiff smile frozen on his lips. He began a slow clap, a methodical motion synchronized with his steps.

  “Excellent, dear Stonehelm. Excellent,” he said, stopping a few paces away from me, Bragita’s body between us. “I must admit I have not been this amused in decades, perhaps even centuries.”

  He shook his index finger at me, cocking his head to one side. “You’re a clever one.” He let out another dry cackle. “And...” he turned, eyes roving over the members of his Board, “I need clever subjects. The problem is... they arrive so rarely.” His gaze seemed to linger on Sanda. “Imagine... what eternal life can be when filled with boredom.”

  Ice and anger roiled in my chest as I fought not to attack him. I already knew I didn’t stand a chance against him. If I attacked, he would kill me or something worse. Before tonight, I’d thought him evil, but now I knew he was worse than that.

  He was perverted to the core.

  With a flick of his foot, the Black King pushed Brigita’s body out of the way, took a step closer in my direction, and rested a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “Congratulations, Fourth Pawn,” he said with a mocking smile that made it very clear he was letting me get away with my ruse. “I look forward to your future exploits.”

  At this, the room stirred, and I caught everyone’s loathsome glances in my direction. I knew how this must look to them. They thought I’d gained favor with the King, that I’d bucked the rules, the contracts, and had gained a spot on the Board without truly having earned it.

  The King released my shoulder, started to walk away, but stopped as our shoulders were parallel. Then, inclining his head to whisper in my ear, he said, “Timotei is mine, Nyro. But I will certainly enjoy your hearty attempts to change that.”

  He gave one last chuckle, walking out of the Challenge Hall and leaving me with the silence and hatred of the entire Board.

  King Maximus had known how his subjects would respond to me after today. He had made sure they hated me and, as the strength his vampire blood had given me ebbed away, I realized this part of his scheme was designed to ensure I would suffer even more in the near future.

  CHAPTER 7

  It was now mid-October, and nearly two months had passed since my failed attempt to rescue my brother. I hadn’t seen him or the King since that awful night, and my time here had turned more disagreeable than ever.

  With the exception of Marin, everyone hated me and went out of their way to ensure I knew it, so these past few weeks had been exceedingly annoying.

  My dormitory companions left snakes and scorpions under the covers of my cot, soiled my spare uniform when I wasn’t there, and pulled all the platters away at meal time so I couldn’t serve myself. It was during training that I suffered everyone’s dislike the most, though this was all child’s-play to me.

  The other Pawns turned vicious, ganging up on Jigsaw and me on the race track
and thrusting their swords as if to kill as we sparred. If they hadn’t killed me yet, it was because of their contracts, but sometimes I wondered if they might actually do it and call it an accident.

  For his part, Knight Traian seemed determined to make sure I made up for all the weeks of training I’d been allowed to skip due to my quick ascension to Fourth Pawn. He made me run harder and longer than he did the others. He forced me to muck out the entire stable. He assigned me guarding duties at the front gates more than he did anyone else. He even had me clean the dormitory and facilities, despite the fact that there were other people responsible for these tasks.

  The hardest part, though, was that poor Jigsaw was also paying for my mistakes. He was innocent and didn’t deserve to suffer for my sake. I had to check on him constantly, lest he went without food and water, or a rock was placed in his horseshoe with the intent of hobbling him.

  So right now—seeing as I couldn’t have a moment of peace, always imagining something bad happening to the poor beast—I was on my way to do just that.

  The late afternoon was pleasantly cool, and the path a bit wet from an earlier shower. I was quite enjoying my walk, when, a distance from the stables, I had to stop by a tree to remove a rock from my boot. This had been a common annoyance lately, which made me suspect the same creative person who was trying to ruin Jigsaw’s hooves was trying to ruin my own feet. I’d been finding the small pebbles in my shoes almost every day, which made me realize I needed to be more careful as the idiot might soon decide to employ a poisonous spider instead.

  Two tiny but jagged rocks fell onto my hand as I tipped the boot over. I flung them aside and was about to replace my shoe when I noticed Datcu, the Rook from the Second Quadrant, walking out of the servants’ building, a structure that housed their dormitories as well as the kitchens where our meals were prepared. The place was surrounded by a low wall with a small courtyard where supply wagons pulled in at least three times a week.