IX CHESS
Rahab was let in to a small room, where he found Dumah playing a game of chess with Turel. He was surprised, he did not expect Turel to be here, and wondered if it was a strange coincidence, or if he often came to call here. In the past, Dumah and Turel had been close. Dumah looked up and nodded at him; Turel seemed engrossed by the game. Rahab walked over and studied the board. He turned to Turel.
"You're in trouble."
Turel grunted.
"Sit down, Rahab," Dumah offered. He took a third metal cup, filled it with blood from the jug at his side, and offered it to Rahab. Turel took a pawn between two long, curved claws and moved it forward. Rahab wondered if the move was part of a brilliant plan, or a sign of despair. Dumah fell to pondering the same question.
"So are you," Turel said. "I hear you lost three quarters of your standing army." Rahab nodded. Dumah moved his knight. Turel's face fell.
"I suppose you are here to ask for my assistance?" Dumah asked.
"No, I don't need assistance, Dumah. Although I value the offer," Rahab said graciously. Turel frowned at the board. He was playing black, and Dumah had him almost completely locked down. In the end, he sacrificed a bishop to take the knight. "I am here to invite you -- both of you -- to a celebration," Rahab continued. "The conflict between my clan and Raziel's has gotten badly out of hand. We've decided to put a definitive end to it. We're celebrating the end of the war together, and would like you to be present, too."
"You've made peace with him?" Turel asked. Dumah took the bishop, and Turel returned to his pondering.
"Only thing for it, I suppose," Dumah said cheerlessly. "Were his terms reasonable?"
"The terms were very reasonable on both sides," Rahab corrected him. "The contested villages now fall within his territory. In return, all the western towns will help relieve the starvation in the far south, and he is sending me fifty of his own men to help with the defence of my keep."
"You're inviting the enemy into your own home?" Dumah asked, incredulous. "How could you agree to that?"
"Actually, it was my idea," Rahab said, bristling. "I need those men. I cannot replenish my ranks fast enough, and there's trouble stirring in my lands. A rebellion that needs to be crushed." He bit his lip. That rebellion was more like a hiccup in the villages closest to the southern swamps, and he planned to carefully take out the leaders rather than crushing it. He was trying to speak in terms his brother would understand, the way Raziel always did. It felt much like lying.
"You could have come to me," Dumah grumbled.
"And invite your rabble into my home instead? No, thank you, I'd rather put up with the Razielim." He answered in a moment of blinding honesty.
Turel burst into laughter. Dumah gave him a withering stare, but that only shut him up for a moment. His laugh was high-pitched and rhythmic, almost like an animal call. Rahab found it more than a little disturbing.
"I'm sorry, Dumah, I was only joking," he said. "Your men a brave warriors..."
"-- but they do smell!" Turel added, and laughed again. Heeheehee...
Rahab studied the chess-board for a moment, then indicated one of Turel's rooks. Turel stopped laughing.
"The pawn, you mean?" he asked.
"Of course."
Turel took the pawn. Dumah raised an eyebrow.
"So, this gathering will be at your keep?" Turel asked.
"No, at Melchiah's."
"Melchiah's?" Dumah exclaimed, snapped out of the game by this revelation.
"He was instrumental in the negotiations," Rahab explained coldly. "In addition, we wanted to have the celebration on neutral ground. There is no victor in this, it is simply an agreement."
Dumah snorted. "Yes, that sounds like Melchiah all right."
Rahab looked to Turel, but he merely rolled his eyes.
"I don't know, Rahab," Dumah said. "It is a long road to travel. I do not wish to leave my keep undefended for long." He pushed a pawn forward with one finger.
"It is not much farther than the sanctuary, Dumah," Rahab said reasonably. "And who is going to attack your keep in that short a space?" Turel grinned a toothy grin.
"Who else?" Dumah said bleakly. They all turned to the chessboard again.
Rahab felt a familiar sense of despair gnawing on the edges of his soul. He thought of the many cracks of conflict that threatened their council. Raziel and him. Zephon and Melchiah. Melchiah and Dumah, Dumah and Turel... With every tear they mended, it seemed another one formed. If they could not even stand to be in the same place anymore, then it seemed this attempt to bring them closer together was merely one of Raziel's delusions. Raziel's puppet-play, in which he was happily playing the fool. Turel moved his queen halfway across the board. Dumah snorted, and moved a pawn in her way. They exchanged a few moves in utter silence; Dumah's carefully built up attack began to fall apart. Rahab felt weary, and disillusioned with Raziel's meddling.
"Raziel has this idea," he said, "that if he can just get us all together, celebrating rather than arguing, that it might bring us closer together again. Reunite the clans. Somehow return us to the time when we all cried 'for Kain' as we plunged into battle."
There was a silence. Turel's lips formed the words 'for Kain' silently. Dumah took the black queen. Turel frowned, but Rahab knew he could win. He would win, had he been playing.
"Will Kain be there?" Dumah asked.
"Yes, unless matters of greater import detain him," Rahab answered. Dumah and Turel seemed to exchange a meaningful glance. Turel moved his knight forward. Smart, though not the best option.
"He has been detained by grave matters a lot, of late," Turel said, leaning back and taking a sip from his cup. "What about Zephon? Did he not swear that he would rather take out his eyes with a fork than ever spend another minute in Melchiah's presence?"
"Apparently, Raziel made him change his mind," Rahab said dryly.
Dumah took the knight. A mistake. "Zephon's feelings have always been for sale," he said. "I wonder what Raziel offered."
Turel closed in on the queen. "Well I can venture a guess." He grinned and ran the tip of his tongue along one of his fangs.
Dumah sniggered. He moved his bishop a single space. "Check."
"I doubt it," Rahab said. "Raziel has always been very jealous of his blood. I hear even his children only get a mouthful at birth."
Dumah grinned. "An eternal shame, that. His blood is the sweetest, most powerful thing you'll ever taste."
"Is that so?" Turel asked, moving his king out of danger.
"Absolutely. It's like an angel came down from heaven and kissed you on the tongue," Dumah said and downed his cup. "He is simply delicious." His tongue lingered on the last word, as if he was still savouring the taste.
"Well, you would know," Rahab said. From the corner of his eye, he could see a sly smile on Turel's face. "You had him at your mercy, once."
Turel winked. "And God forbid you'd let us forget!"
Dumah boldly moved his queen forward. "Come on, admit, it was satisfying to see the princeling take a fall for once!"
Turel laughed, and shifted his rook. He barely seemed to think about the move, but Rahab knew it was the right one.
"Rare, and, yes, rather satisfying," Rahab admitted.
Dumah frowned at Turel's rook. "He's quick, is Raziel. But fist to plain fist, he isn't all that strong," he said musingly. He leaned back, still frowning at the board. He seemed to realise what trap he'd walked into, but didn't yet see a way out.
"I bet you couldn't take him again, though," said Turel.
"How so?" Dumah asked. He took a pawn with his remaining knight. This might work, though Rahab knew it wouldn't.
"Have you seen him lately? The last few changes have really increased his physique. He's much stronger than he was." Turel took the queen. "Check."
Dumah crossed his arms. "I can still take him. I've grown more powerful as well."
"Yeah? What do you want to bet?" Turel asked.
"That pretty young slave of yours," Dumah said, stroking his chin. He moved his bishop in the way. "I think she should be mine."
"The sword."
"Oh no, not ever. It's worth far more than that," Dumah exclaimed. Rahab looked from one to the other. Their eyes were sparking and both of them were smiling broadly. Turel took the bishop.
"Marelda, five other slaves and six silver florins, against the sword."
"It's a bet."
"It's a bet." They reached over the table and grabbed each other's hands firmly. They settled down, and Rahab found himself chuckling. These two were unbelievable. Dumah stared at the game.
"You've won." he said. He shrugged, and moved his rook.
"I know," Turel answered and took the remaining knight, making it a check-mate.
"Only because he was helping you," Dumah protested. Turel chuckled. "So when's this -- celebration?" Dumah asked.
"Fifth after new moon," Rahab answered.
"Plenty of time," Dumah nodded self-assuredly.
The sky was turning pale when Turel left. Rahab had decided to stay the day; the sunlight would bother him on the way back and there was no rush to return. He accompanied Turel to the city gates.
"Thanks for talking him 'round. I'm not certain I could have done it on my own."
Turel nodded, smiling. He looked up at the fading stars as they entered the courtyard. "He wishes to reunite the clans, does he?"
"It's a fool's wish if you ask me," Rahab said darkly. "He might as well try to plumb the depths of the abyss."
"Perhaps. But if anyone could do it, it would be Raziel." He turned to his brother before passing the gate. "And if he wants to try, I'll be behind him every step of the way, fool or no." His face was, for once, utterly serious.
Rahab managed a sad smile. "He's got a good one in you, Turel," he said, and embraced his brother before turning back to the city.
Rahab was let in to a small room, where he found Dumah playing a game of chess with Turel. He was surprised, he did not expect Turel to be here, and wondered if it was a strange coincidence, or if he often came to call here. In the past, Dumah and Turel had been close. Dumah looked up and nodded at him; Turel seemed engrossed by the game. Rahab walked over and studied the board. He turned to Turel.
"You're in trouble."
Turel grunted.
"Sit down, Rahab," Dumah offered. He took a third metal cup, filled it with blood from the jug at his side, and offered it to Rahab. Turel took a pawn between two long, curved claws and moved it forward. Rahab wondered if the move was part of a brilliant plan, or a sign of despair. Dumah fell to pondering the same question.
"So are you," Turel said. "I hear you lost three quarters of your standing army." Rahab nodded. Dumah moved his knight. Turel's face fell.
"I suppose you are here to ask for my assistance?" Dumah asked.
"No, I don't need assistance, Dumah. Although I value the offer," Rahab said graciously. Turel frowned at the board. He was playing black, and Dumah had him almost completely locked down. In the end, he sacrificed a bishop to take the knight. "I am here to invite you -- both of you -- to a celebration," Rahab continued. "The conflict between my clan and Raziel's has gotten badly out of hand. We've decided to put a definitive end to it. We're celebrating the end of the war together, and would like you to be present, too."
"You've made peace with him?" Turel asked. Dumah took the bishop, and Turel returned to his pondering.
"Only thing for it, I suppose," Dumah said cheerlessly. "Were his terms reasonable?"
"The terms were very reasonable on both sides," Rahab corrected him. "The contested villages now fall within his territory. In return, all the western towns will help relieve the starvation in the far south, and he is sending me fifty of his own men to help with the defence of my keep."
"You're inviting the enemy into your own home?" Dumah asked, incredulous. "How could you agree to that?"
"Actually, it was my idea," Rahab said, bristling. "I need those men. I cannot replenish my ranks fast enough, and there's trouble stirring in my lands. A rebellion that needs to be crushed." He bit his lip. That rebellion was more like a hiccup in the villages closest to the southern swamps, and he planned to carefully take out the leaders rather than crushing it. He was trying to speak in terms his brother would understand, the way Raziel always did. It felt much like lying.
"You could have come to me," Dumah grumbled.
"And invite your rabble into my home instead? No, thank you, I'd rather put up with the Razielim." He answered in a moment of blinding honesty.
Turel burst into laughter. Dumah gave him a withering stare, but that only shut him up for a moment. His laugh was high-pitched and rhythmic, almost like an animal call. Rahab found it more than a little disturbing.
"I'm sorry, Dumah, I was only joking," he said. "Your men a brave warriors..."
"-- but they do smell!" Turel added, and laughed again. Heeheehee...
Rahab studied the chess-board for a moment, then indicated one of Turel's rooks. Turel stopped laughing.
"The pawn, you mean?" he asked.
"Of course."
Turel took the pawn. Dumah raised an eyebrow.
"So, this gathering will be at your keep?" Turel asked.
"No, at Melchiah's."
"Melchiah's?" Dumah exclaimed, snapped out of the game by this revelation.
"He was instrumental in the negotiations," Rahab explained coldly. "In addition, we wanted to have the celebration on neutral ground. There is no victor in this, it is simply an agreement."
Dumah snorted. "Yes, that sounds like Melchiah all right."
Rahab looked to Turel, but he merely rolled his eyes.
"I don't know, Rahab," Dumah said. "It is a long road to travel. I do not wish to leave my keep undefended for long." He pushed a pawn forward with one finger.
"It is not much farther than the sanctuary, Dumah," Rahab said reasonably. "And who is going to attack your keep in that short a space?" Turel grinned a toothy grin.
"Who else?" Dumah said bleakly. They all turned to the chessboard again.
Rahab felt a familiar sense of despair gnawing on the edges of his soul. He thought of the many cracks of conflict that threatened their council. Raziel and him. Zephon and Melchiah. Melchiah and Dumah, Dumah and Turel... With every tear they mended, it seemed another one formed. If they could not even stand to be in the same place anymore, then it seemed this attempt to bring them closer together was merely one of Raziel's delusions. Raziel's puppet-play, in which he was happily playing the fool. Turel moved his queen halfway across the board. Dumah snorted, and moved a pawn in her way. They exchanged a few moves in utter silence; Dumah's carefully built up attack began to fall apart. Rahab felt weary, and disillusioned with Raziel's meddling.
"Raziel has this idea," he said, "that if he can just get us all together, celebrating rather than arguing, that it might bring us closer together again. Reunite the clans. Somehow return us to the time when we all cried 'for Kain' as we plunged into battle."
There was a silence. Turel's lips formed the words 'for Kain' silently. Dumah took the black queen. Turel frowned, but Rahab knew he could win. He would win, had he been playing.
"Will Kain be there?" Dumah asked.
"Yes, unless matters of greater import detain him," Rahab answered. Dumah and Turel seemed to exchange a meaningful glance. Turel moved his knight forward. Smart, though not the best option.
"He has been detained by grave matters a lot, of late," Turel said, leaning back and taking a sip from his cup. "What about Zephon? Did he not swear that he would rather take out his eyes with a fork than ever spend another minute in Melchiah's presence?"
"Apparently, Raziel made him change his mind," Rahab said dryly.
Dumah took the knight. A mistake. "Zephon's feelings have always been for sale," he said. "I wonder what Raziel offered."
Turel closed in on the queen. "Well I can venture a guess." He grinned and ran the tip of his tongue along one of his fangs.
Dumah sniggered. He moved his bishop a single space. "Check."
"I doubt it," Rahab said. "Raziel has always been very jealous of his blood. I hear even his children only get a mouthful at birth."
Dumah grinned. "An eternal shame, that. His blood is the sweetest, most powerful thing you'll ever taste."
"Is that so?" Turel asked, moving his king out of danger.
"Absolutely. It's like an angel came down from heaven and kissed you on the tongue," Dumah said and downed his cup. "He is simply delicious." His tongue lingered on the last word, as if he was still savouring the taste.
"Well, you would know," Rahab said. From the corner of his eye, he could see a sly smile on Turel's face. "You had him at your mercy, once."
Turel winked. "And God forbid you'd let us forget!"
Dumah boldly moved his queen forward. "Come on, admit, it was satisfying to see the princeling take a fall for once!"
Turel laughed, and shifted his rook. He barely seemed to think about the move, but Rahab knew it was the right one.
"Rare, and, yes, rather satisfying," Rahab admitted.
Dumah frowned at Turel's rook. "He's quick, is Raziel. But fist to plain fist, he isn't all that strong," he said musingly. He leaned back, still frowning at the board. He seemed to realise what trap he'd walked into, but didn't yet see a way out.
"I bet you couldn't take him again, though," said Turel.
"How so?" Dumah asked. He took a pawn with his remaining knight. This might work, though Rahab knew it wouldn't.
"Have you seen him lately? The last few changes have really increased his physique. He's much stronger than he was." Turel took the queen. "Check."
Dumah crossed his arms. "I can still take him. I've grown more powerful as well."
"Yeah? What do you want to bet?" Turel asked.
"That pretty young slave of yours," Dumah said, stroking his chin. He moved his bishop in the way. "I think she should be mine."
"The sword."
"Oh no, not ever. It's worth far more than that," Dumah exclaimed. Rahab looked from one to the other. Their eyes were sparking and both of them were smiling broadly. Turel took the bishop.
"Marelda, five other slaves and six silver florins, against the sword."
"It's a bet."
"It's a bet." They reached over the table and grabbed each other's hands firmly. They settled down, and Rahab found himself chuckling. These two were unbelievable. Dumah stared at the game.
"You've won." he said. He shrugged, and moved his rook.
"I know," Turel answered and took the remaining knight, making it a check-mate.
"Only because he was helping you," Dumah protested. Turel chuckled. "So when's this -- celebration?" Dumah asked.
"Fifth after new moon," Rahab answered.
"Plenty of time," Dumah nodded self-assuredly.
The sky was turning pale when Turel left. Rahab had decided to stay the day; the sunlight would bother him on the way back and there was no rush to return. He accompanied Turel to the city gates.
"Thanks for talking him 'round. I'm not certain I could have done it on my own."
Turel nodded, smiling. He looked up at the fading stars as they entered the courtyard. "He wishes to reunite the clans, does he?"
"It's a fool's wish if you ask me," Rahab said darkly. "He might as well try to plumb the depths of the abyss."
"Perhaps. But if anyone could do it, it would be Raziel." He turned to his brother before passing the gate. "And if he wants to try, I'll be behind him every step of the way, fool or no." His face was, for once, utterly serious.
Rahab managed a sad smile. "He's got a good one in you, Turel," he said, and embraced his brother before turning back to the city.