by Pirateaba
The Goblin played one game by herself, and then two. After she won and lost the third game, she looked up and nearly tumbled out of her seat.
Toren stood silently over her, staring down. Rags unsheathed her short sword, but the skeleton made no move to attack. It stared down at the chess board and then slowly sat across from Rags.
With mechanical precision it began moving chess pieces to their starting positions. As Rags, disbelieving, watched, Toren choose a pawn and moved it forwards on the chess board.
She stared at the undead skeleton. Its fiery blue eyes fixed on her. Slowly, Rags got back onto her chair and stared at the board. She stared at the skeleton. Then she shrugged.
And began to play.
—-
Ceria and Gerial walked through the streets of Liscor, laughing and talking. They were walking down a street filled with restaurants and pubs. They were being watched.
Gazi’s eye flicked around the street and she smiled as she walked forwards. Relc was headed straight for the leader of the Horns of Hammerad several streets over. The [Princess] was crouched at another table, under the cloak of an [Invisibility] spell, but she would not interfere.
The man was an average adventurer. Level 17 in the [Warrior] class—without much to distinguish him. But the half-elf was as noticeable as the Minotaur. She could only be Ceria Springwalker, member of the Horns of Hammerad.
Just the ones Gazi had been looking for.
1.40
Erin woke up to the noise that defined her life.
The sounds of chess.
It was a soft sound, most of the time—one she’d learned in all of its subtleties. Chess sounded different.
The board mattered, for one thing. Erin usually played with wooden pieces—the ones from the DGT electronic chess board manufacturing line. It was the board chess tournaments used because of the sensors and electronic timer wired into the board itself.
It even had a chess computer you could buy to play against. It was high-tech and Erin didn’t like it.
She loved the sound and feel of stone pieces, like the one she’d bought in her inn and had in her personal collection in her home. Her home in the real world, her world, that was.
The soft clicking of stone on stone roused Erin gently. She sat up and reached for the rag she’d left near her head and blew her nose.
Of course, stone chess sets were a lot more fragile and it was inevitable that someone would drop a piece sooner or later. That was why she only brought it out if she was playing someone who held the same reverence for chess as she did.
Yes—the rhythm told her other things, too. This was a slower chess game because one player was worse than the other. You could almost feel it. One of the two players was decisive; confident and skilled enough to back up their abilities. They moved almost as soon as the other player did. But the other one paused and hesitated.
Different sounds for different players. Erin remembered the sound of cheap plastic being slammed down by impatient players, ones who grew angry when they were losing and excited over small gains. Bad players? Young players. Amateurs.
Professional chess players got mad too, but in different ways. Sometimes they got loud, but many went cold and focused everything in a silent battle. You could almost tell when a game was getting good, yes. Not by the noise—
But by the silence.
But in this case, the game wasn’t good. Erin could tell that in the moment she walked out of the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Rags sat in front of a chess board, arms crossed while she stared at the skeleton sitting opposite her. Erin stared too. Toren’s presence threw her, but the chess—the chess was easy to understand.
It was a bad game. A very bad game. Rags had nearly all of her pieces—including her pawns—and Toren’s pieces were scattered.
Contrary to what people thought, a one-sided game wasn’t fun. Winning against an inferior opponent wasn’t fun.
Erin said as much after Rags effortlessly checkmated Toren’s king. Both Goblin and skeleton turned.
“I don’t know how you got him to play, but he clearly doesn’t know how to play.”
Rags shrugged indifferently as Toren sprang to his feet. Erin sighed. Her skeleton was playing chess. At this point she wasn’t even surprised.
“Sit down.”
Toren sat. Erin pulled a chair over and slumped down on the table, resting her arms on her hands. She stared at Rags. The Goblin was busy rearranging her side, probably in expectation of playing Erin.
The small Goblin looked—battered. Was she hurt? If she was, she didn’t show it.
“How many games did you play?”
Rags paused and thought. It held up both hands with all five fingers splayed out. Then it kicked Toren. The skeleton held out its fingers too, keeping two down.
“Eighteen games? That’s a lot. And how many did he win?”
Rags grinned.
“That’s what I thought.”
Then again, there were always a few players who relished beating down amateurs. Especially kids. Erin had been one of the whiz-kids, the child prodigies of chess growing up. She’d known a few kids her age that positively enjoyed bullying adults.
It was a sign of immaturity. Erin frowned at Rags and the little Goblin looked away, scowling. How old was she? How old was she in Goblin years?
“You should at least teach him how to play. Here.”
Erin pointed to another chess board and Toren went to fetch it. Mechanically, she set up her side on both the boards facing her.
“I’ll teach you and get revenge, deal?”
The skeleton said nothing. But it sat obediently opposite Erin as Rags frowned at her board and carefully moved the knight forwards.
“It’s all about positioning, see? I don’t know if you saw me playing chess, but it’s a bit different than everyone thinks.”
Erin casually moved a piece on Rag’s board and then showed Toren.
“See this central area? Most openings or chess strategies revolve around capturing or controlling this spot. And that’s because your pieces need to move to get in position to attack the enemy. It’s not always about just killing other pieces. It’s about proper setup, and luring the enemy into traps.”
She played a few moves with Toren, watching and commenting as the skeleton moved.
“Everyone—well, everyone where I come from—knows the basic openings. You have to if you want to play chess. But chess is as much about reading the opponent as it is setting up your board. You trick them, open holes in their defenses. There’s all kinds of ways to do that. Forks, pins, deflection, checks, skewers, batteries…”
She began chattering away, a chess enthusiast unloading on a hapless victim. Toren absorbed it all like a sponge as she played a very light game against him, letting the skeleton learn as it lost.
Rags muttered as she lost her queen. Erin pointed to Tor as he tried to move his king and shook her head.
“I’ll let you take that one back. Try not to move the king so much. You can castle him to move if you have to, but he shouldn’t be the piece you keep moving. That’s usually a bad sign.”
She smiled, nostalgia gripping her. She’d had to learn that the hard way, too.
“I know you want to because he’s so important and you want to keep him safe, but you do that with other pieces. They’re the king’s shield and sword. Yeah, you don’t move the king. Because—”
A flicker of memory. The words came out of Erin automatically.
“The king is smart and uses his head. For if he moves, he’ll soon be dead.”
Rags and Toren stared at Erin. She blinked. That was it. She remembered.
“Oh. Um. That was a little rhyme I made up when I was a kid. It—it’s important.”
It felt that way, but Erin couldn’t remember why. It was just a silly thing she’d made up. But—
“Where was I?”
She stared at the board and found she had a way to checkmate Tor. Sh
e showed him it, and then glanced at the fuming Rags.
“Why don’t you try again? You’ll probably lose, but—”
Erin stared at Toren. It—he—it was an undead creature. Who knew how fast they could learn? It wasn’t as if he had a bad memory—he didn’t have a brain. Erin was suddenly gripped by curiosity, probably just as Rags had been. She wanted to see Toren play.
Carefully, she showed Toren a few classic openings and played slowly through another game as she crushed Rags again. Then she set up a board for the Goblin and skeleton and sat back.
“Do you get it? Let’s see.”
Rags and Erin waited. After a moment Toren moved a piece. Rags countered. The game lasted for about sixteen more moves before she checkmated him.
“You don’t get it.”
Toren clattered his jaw. Erin sighed.
“Don’t try taking your rook out so quickly. Remember—capture the center at the start and reinforce. Try again.”
He did. Two games later Erin had to face facts.
“Great. My undead skeleton sucks at chess.”
It wasn’t that he was bad it was just—
Okay, he was bad. Erin saw it as she played Rags and Toren at the same time. He was just an amateur.
Which was totally fine. But it was a marked contrast from the Antinium and Rags. The Workers might have been inexperienced, but they were fast learners who memorized openings and counters with ease. And Rags was gifted.
Compared to that, Toren was just normal. Not hopeless—she could see his game had improved from the travesty it had been before her coaching. It was just that he had no spark.
Erin sighed. She took one of Rag’s knights and ignored the little Goblin hissing in anger.
“Check.”
It was a shame. But there was something in her that was still happy. Even if her skeleton sucked, he was still playing chess. Even if she was sitting in another world, in an inn playing against a Goblin, she was still playing chess.
That was good. It made her feel at ease. It was the only thing that made her feel happy, really. Because it was the only thing she was good at. It was the only thing she knew how to do.
—-
Ceria and Gerial walked through the city, talking. They were alone. Alone in a sea of Drakes and Gnolls and the occasional Antinium.
They were outsiders. But then, adventurers were always outsiders. They were used to it.
And perhaps if it had been another week, another place, they would have been laughing, joking and exploring a new city. But this was different. They walked and talked seriously; ignoring the hostile looks they got from the locals.
It was easy to be swept away in the inn they’d found. It was a soothing place, and far enough away that they could relax. But here, in the city, they were too close. The Ruins were several miles away from the city, but they might as well have been next to the adventurers. Their nerves hummed, and their hearts beat a little faster in anticipation of what was coming.
“Soon.”
Ceria nodded. She touched the knife at her belt and felt the hidden wand strapped to her arm.
“Rot, I wish it were tomorrow. No wonder the other adventurers wanted to stay at the inn. I can’t relax at all, here.”
Gerial nodded. He stepped aside politely for a female Drake and ignored her as she flicked her tongue out at him.
“The ah, local reception isn’t helping either.”
“Well, what do you expect? They don’t exactly like humans down here and I’m just another annoying adventurer. But that’s not what I’m talking about. You can feel it, can’t you?”
He could. Gerial was a veteran adventurer, and he sensed the same thing Ceria was tapping into. There was an undercurrent among the adventurers in the city. Fear—as well as expectation.
The Ruins of Liscor were a huge find, possibly the biggest in a decade. Untold and unplundered treasures were just waiting for the taking, the kind of rewards that could elevate any adventuring group into Gold-ranking—or even higher. But by the same token, the dangers were just as unknown.
“We still don’t know what’s down there. Cervial found someone who was willing to explore and map out the first level, but no one is willing to go any further.”
“And he hasn’t found anyone who’s ventured further?”
“No one who’s gone down too far past the stairs has ever come back.”
Gerial tugged at his belt unconsciously. His hand touched the pommel of his sword and then moved away as a Gnoll guardsman glanced at him.
That was it. That was the fear. Something was down there and whatever it was, it was deadly. So much so that even the treasure-lust of the other adventurers was being kept at bay.
What might be hiding down there? A bagrhaven? A nest of them, perhaps. But something that could kill even a team of Silver-ranks without letting any of them live—
A trap? A colony of wurms? Some—some kind of undead army? Or—Gerial’s blood ran cold at the thought—had they dug up the burial site of one of the Old Things?
No. No, there was no sense in thinking of it. But that was the thing. Uncertainty was keeping these adventurers at bay. Once they knew what was down there, those who could take on the threat would band together and deal with it in a heartbeat. Adventurers would swarm over the ruins, stealing, fighting each other, trying to grab as much as possible.
All it took was the first, brave group who would uncover the secrets below and pay with blood. And for once, it was the Horns of Hammerad who would be paying that price.
“Hey.”
Gerial blinked and jerked in surprise as the elbow caught him in the side. He glanced down at Ceria and saw she was staring up at him.
“Don’t go panicking on me, now. We’ll be fine so stop worrying.”
He smiled, but Ceria’s jab had brought him back into reality. Casually, he rubbed at the spot she’d hit, wondering if he’d have a bruise.
“Someone has to worry. As far as our leader is concerned, this is going to be a simple extermination request, nothing more.”
Ceria made a face.
“Calruz is arrogant. But he’s confident and bold which is why he’s perfect for a vice-captain like you.”
Gerial felt the statement should have been reversed, but he smiled at the compliment anyways. Then he frowned.
“The [Illumination] spell. How’s it going?”
Ceria shrugged.
“My mastery of it is—incomplete. I’ll keep studying, but my best guess is that I’ll be able to cast it once and then I’ll need a mana potion. It’s too exhausting to use multiple times in a row.”
“Once should be enough. Just so we have an area permanently lit to fall back to.”
“We’ve got the formations worked out. Stop—”
“Yes, yes. And supplies are underway. It’s just—”
“I know.”
Ceria patted Gerial on the shoulder.
“I know, believe me. I’m feeling it too. But we’ve planned for as much as we can and we’ll pull out the instant there’s trouble. Don’t worry.”
He smiled at her. It was reassuring to have someone as old as Ceria in the group with him. She was over sixty years old, and even if she hadn’t spent all that time adventuring, he was glad she was here. In truth, he felt it was she who should be the vice-captain but she’d always refused.
Mainly because she didn’t want to do all the logistical work.
Their talk turned to lighter things. Neither Gerial nor Ceria were new to adventuring or the risks of exploring dungeons. Gerial had been an adventurer for eight years—Ceria for fourteen.
“Say we do get gold and gems rather than a magical item. We have the largest shares after the captains. What would you buy?”
Ceria smiled and eyed a few carved bracelets on display in a Gnoll’s shop. The large Gnoll woman eyed the half-elf and bared her teeth politely, gesturing in an invitation. Ceria waved her hand and they continued on.
“If I have enough I’d lik
e to buy another spell book. All the ones I have I’ve more or less mastered. With enough gold—a few hundred pieces more—I could buy a book with a few Tier 4 spells.”
“Just that? If the reward is all Calruz thinks it could be, you’d have a lot more money than that.”
Ceria raised an eyebrow at Gerial.
“You’ve never bought spell books, have you? Just one costs several hundred gold or even a thousand, and that’s for low-Tier spells. I’ve been saving up all this time just to buy one with a Tier 4 spell.”
“But if you leveled up your um, [Mage] class you’d learn those anyways, right?”
“Right, but—it’s complicated. There’s no guarantee which spells I’d learn and besides, I’d need to level up quite a bit. But with a spell book I could study a spell and learn it in a year or so.”
“A year?”
“A year, two years—so what? If I mastered just one good spell my Level would increase. And then we could take on stronger monsters.”
Gerial shook his head.
“A good thing I was never born with a talent for magic. I don’t have your patience—or your time.”
“Oh, and then what would you buy?”
“Armor. And a good sword. Or maybe just a magic ring.”
Ceria laughed.
“Not too adventurous, are you?”
Gerial smiled as he shook his head, a warrior talking to a mage.
“A good set of magic armor? I’d be able to fight without worrying about some monster clubbing my helmet in every five seconds.”
“I suppose. It just seems like a waste, that’s all.”
“Every bit counts. If I had good armor I could worry about other expenses. But that’s the first step.”
“True enough.”
Money. It was such a simple thing. But it was the bane of an adventurers’ existence. They earned more than even skilled workers, but to keep adventuring they needed more. The Guild had its own fees for enrollment, armor repairs and healing potions were expensive, and an injury could leave one out of work for months. It was so hard to earn money.
