Mind Games

Alain leaned against the wall, chest heaving, and tried to catch his breath. He had completely lost all sense of direction, but somehow he had managed to give the scout the slip. He spat on the ground bitterly, cursing his luck. Funny that, only hours ago, he had been annoyed by the lack of praise he had received for his actions during Undrentide. If only the bards could see him now, running from orc, drow and everything in between!

As Alain raised his head, his breath beginning to catch, his eyes caught another irregularity in the middle of the corridor. He approached the writings, wondering if this was one more trap of the Undermountain, but as he squinted into the murky darkness, he discovered it was a single letter: T.

Hope bloomed in his heart. It was a T, with an arrow pointing further down the corridor he had sprinted up. On either side of the T were two tiny dots, the same way Trey liked to sign his name. His teacher had come for him! His face lit up in a smile no one could see in the dark, and he turned on heel and followed the arrow, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

He jogged down two empty corridors before coming to another T, this one pointing westward. To his east, he heard animal grunting and the clatter of swordplay. He dimly realized that the fighting was most likely between the Orcs and Pixies, for domination of the first level. To the reasonable mind, the "battle" sounded like no contests. Large, muscular Orcs carrying swords against tiny sprites wielding daggers the size of toothpicks? However, neither side could take the advantage. The smaller Pixies were hard to hit with a blade, and their daggers were laced with enchantments that could stun and confuse the mind. The orcs had the advantage in numbers and brute force, but the Pixies were superior in hit-and-run tactics.

He turned west and followed the passage. He had no interest in the war, though he pitied the creatures. Forced into obedience through magical means and used as props in the drama of an adventure: no matter how wicked any of the creatures might have been, none of them deserved imprisonment.

He followed the signs for what felt like hours before he came to a bridge. Lava boiled and bubbled below it. Across the length of the bridge, colored pebbles the ground in a bizarre array. And there, on the other side, was a figure sitting on the ground. Further on, a door leading beyond was carved into a large stone building of sorts. Grey smoke covered the doorway in a shroud, obscuring his view.

Alain tossed his caution to the winds and walked across the bridge. The figure stood as he approached the end, and threw back his hood.

"Alain! So you finally arrived," Trey said, smiling as Alain reached the far end of the bridge. Alain noted that though his tone was matter-of-fact, he could sense both surprise and relief in his words.

"Late as usual, I suppose," said Alain, running a hand through his untidy hair. The he smiled, ending the farce. "It's good to see you, teacher."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Trey said, smiling. Maybe just a bit, Alain thought. According to that bard Marcus, the wider world considers me as no more than a henchman of yours.

The older monk frowned as he surveyed the various injuries Alain had suffered before removing several healing potions and tonics from his robe. The drow raiding party's goods had been trapped to various degrees, but the warriors and archers had held a number of useful elixirs on them, which Trey had helped himself to. Now he was glad he had taken the time to do so. In a matter of moments, the nagging pain of his shoulder was a thing of the past.

Alain rolled his arm in a slow circle experimentally. It was funny how the mind worked. Not too long ago, he had been very close to despair— and now his previous troubles seemed like a distant memory. I'm still in Undermountain with not a clue where I am or where we're going but… He glanced at Trey, who was looking at him expectantly, and he realized that he was waiting for an answer to something.

"Sorry, drifted for a minute. What did you say?" Alain inquired.

"I asked if you were ready to go further down," Trey said, motioning towards the door covered in smoke. "The sooner we head down, the quicker we can solve this whole problem."

"Wait, wait a minute, what about the others?" Alain said urgently. Though his memories of his arrival in Underdark were a little fuzzy, he clearly remembered at least three more people with him.

"Alain, there's no time for that. I revived one already; we have to trust that the others are still holding their own down here," Trey said, and then, noticing his student's expression, continued, "Think of it this way— the drow hunting them have been taken care of. When we reach Halaster, we'll tell him about the people here, and he can teleport them back to the surface. Don't worry."

Alain sighed, not feeling too reassured. What if the wizard refused their request? What if the wizard was behind the whole plot? If so, then their approach would be divined, and the two would probably get blasted into identical scorches against the stone. Still, there was no point arguing Trey's logic. After all, how long had it taken for the two monks to find each other?

Trey placed a hand on his student's shoulder, giving whatever comfort he could, then turned towards the door. He halted in front of the door, the grey smoke sifting over the doorway like mist. Trey inhaled, and stepped through, but Alain could hear no footsteps on the other side of the fog. Not wanting to get separated again, Alain closed his eyes and stepped through.

There was a stretching feeling, similar to the sensation he had experienced when he stepped through his first portal. This time though, he received no flash of insight on the floor plan of the second level. For a moment he was weightless, then his feet touched down on solid ground, and he opened his eyes. The air was clearly thicker here, and he and Trey were in the middle of hallway akin to the ones on the first level. However, instead of the passage being carved out of pure stone, the hall had a more domestic feel, making Alain think more of mausoleums or museums. Spider webs hung in the corners, and when he placed a hand against the cold stone wall, he could faintly sense movement inside the stone. He removed his hand quickly, and looked ahead. This passage was lined with torches, providing clear visibility, and the hallway went straight on ahead towards another door. It also intersected with another hallway, leading towards their right.

Trey turned behind them, where a stone door similar to the one Alain could see at the far end of the hallway was. He grabbed the door handle and pulled hard, but the door didn't budge. A portal then. Trey thought. Is this floor fixed, or did the portal send us to a random location in the Undermountain?...Pointless to dwell on it, since it's too late to change anything. Motioning to Alain to be quiet, they crept down the hallway. Trey pressed against the wall, and peeked around the corner. The next hallway was empty, and another stone doorway lay at the end. He stepped out from behind the corner and walked towards the door, Alain following behind.

This door won't open either, and we'll be trapped here, Alain thought, but the door swung open easily. Inside was a large room the size of a small stadium. In the middle of a room was a checkerboard pattern spanning the entire room, (no, chessboard, Alain amended). They approached the black-and-white pattern, which was nigh-perfect save for one imperfection: two more squares, one black, one white, jutting from the middle of both sides of the board.

As they stood before the colossal design, a small column of air flickered for a second, and Alain blinked, unsure of what he had seen. Then, from seemingly nowhere, a hooded man appeared in front of them. No, not appeared. More like…faded in, Alain thought. The man was short, about 5'3'' or so, Alain guessed, and as he lifted his head, he realized that the man's eyes were blue. Not just royal blue, or ocean blue but an electric blue that seemed to demand your attention. The rest of his face seemed strangely non-descript, almost a sketch of what a normal man should look like. His nose was average, neither abnormally large nor small, his mouth a quick slash, similar to one that a talented artist might use when drawing someone. Grizzled gray hair lined the man's chin like moss. Alain couldn't see the man's hands, and could only vaguely guess at the man's shape: lithe or burly, the grey robes the man wore obscured any sort of character the man might have.

"…Who are you?" Trey said, after waiting a few minutes in uncomfortable silence. The man had not moved an inch, only regarding them with those strangely eerie eyes.

"The Chessmaster," The man answered immediately, before falling silent again. Alain guessed that the man wasn't the type to hold long, philosophical conversations about himself. He was set as a warden of sorts, and a flash of insight struck him then: We'll have to fight him. Fight him, or fight our way across the board.

"What do we need to do to pass by you?" Trey asked, resigning to the fact that there would be some deed they needed to accomplish. After all, this man was little more than a construct, programmed to answer certain questions. Beings like this always needed something done in exchange for passage. He could only hope that he and Alain wouldn't have to play couriers for Halaster's amusement.

"Just play the game," said the construct apathetically, and Trey moaned quietly in annoyance. If the Chessmaster noticed, he showed no outward sign. Instead, he simply motioned with a hooded arm towards the board. "Only one of you will need to play. Just one game, win or lose, and I'll allow you passage." The two monks exchanged an uneasy glance, the same thought on their mind: the task was too easy, and that implied risk.

"A game at what cost?" Trey questioned, fearful of the answer. If the answer was "Your lives," then he would not play along; the game would be stacked against them. Alain was good at chess, Trey was better, but neither would be a match for this ageless creature which had probably played game after game in this cave beyond time. He knew without needing to check that Alain would back him up in an attack on the construct if it came to it. But could they defeat it? Did the robes covering this construct hide something sinister?

"No price," the construct answered, and would say no more. The monks exchanged another glance, this one confusion over anxiety. Trey hesitated, considering their chances of a successful attack on the construct, when Alain stepped forward, surprising him.

"I'll play then," he said, and Trey gaped at him. Alain locked eyes with him, and slightly shook his head. His student's impulsiveness was a trait that amused him and annoyed him, depending upon the situation. I hope it doesn't cost him his life this time…

The construct nodded, motioning with a hand for Alain to step on the black square on their side of the field. Alain stepped onto the square, and as he did, the square flashed once, a brief, blinding light. He heard Trey cry out from behind him, and he closed his eyes shut. Then the glow faded, though his skin was tingling oddly. When his eyes re-adjusted to the darkness of the cave, he noticed that the construct was nowhere in sight.

"Look!" Trey cried, surprised, pointing towards the other side of the field. Alain squinted towards the opposite white square on the field, where a man had stepped up to the field from out of nowhere. He almost gasped aloud, understanding his teacher's shock. His challenger was himself, a perfect copy dressed in the exact same fashion was staring back calmly from across the board. Several life-size chess pieces materialized with a soft POP! and obscured his view, but there was no mistaking his sight.

The game began suddenly, and his own surprise faded quickly with his tightening focus on playing. He was not quite as good as Trey in chess but close, and had beaten many of his former disciples during his earliest days in the Temple. "Chess is like life," his teachers would say, "Men moves as they act, and act as they move. If you can play chess, you can play life."

Nevertheless, it was as Trey had feared: the construct had decades of practice, and was able to second-guess his student's every move. The two players would dictate their moves to the board, and the chess pieces, bound to the magic of the board, moved in response. Yet he found himself pushed into the same corners he had used on his own opponents. He was being toyed with!

Obviously, Alain thought bitterly to himself. Who knows me better than myself? I have to practice a different strategy.

An alien thought, cold and foreign, insinuated itself into his mind: I thought as much. After all, why would a lackey have any chance at all? Alain started, looking up at the image of himself. The Alain-copy wore a chilling grin on its face as he locked eyes with it, and he knew that his mind was being read. But why challenge adventurers to a game of chess with that kind of power?

Don't worry, the pseudo-Alain 'sent' mentally, as if in answer to his unasked question. I never read strategy. I never need to. Everything else is more interesting. Your dreams, your hopes… your fears. Alain ground his teeth together. He could feel the creature's mind within his own, cold fingers shifting through his mind like scattered papers which he was powerless to stop. It was a violation unlike any he could imagine. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and moved his knight, threatening the fake's queen. The copy countered, moving his queen to check his king.

Check. Smug. Entirely, maddeningly self-assured.

There was an imperceptible nod towards Trey behind him. I can read his thoughts too, and you needn't worry: he knows your true worth as a companion. After all, he couldn't carry all those bags by himself, could he?

Alain tried his best to block out the sound of the duplicate's voice in his head, but its words came through as clear as day, almost as if it was whispering them right next to him. Fears, Alain thought. That's mine: being little more than a footnote in history, of being under-appreciated. Yes, this much was true…but had it always been the case?He cast his mind back to their time in the Anarouch desert, to their quest which had begun because of Drogan Droganson and a curious stone. Through all of their trials and challenges, they had worked as a team. If there was the barest hint of an ego in his teacher, Alain had yet to see it. He had never cared to listen to skalds and songwriters sing of their deeds in Undrentide along the road, nor bothered to correct the misconceptions of the public. Perhaps Trey knew that it was fruitless to even try.

He moved his king out of check, awaiting the next move. In answer, the construct moved a pawn on the right flank, opening up his bishop, and stared at him with Alain's own brown eyes. Disconcerting, to say the least.

Experimenting, Alain tried to "send" his own mental message to the construct. You're not so tough, not even with years of practice. Not too many willing players come by, do they? Such is the life of the bondsman. He smirked, more for show than as an accurate depiction of what he was feeling. If the construct did not lie, and did not read his strategy, then it would not be able to guess his game. If his body double wanted to play mind games as well as chess, then Alain would do his best to comply. He somehow had the feeling that the first to win one game would claim the other.

Bondsman? The young man saw a frown form on the copy's face, darkening its otherless nonplussed expression. Bondsman! This coming from the pack-mule of the great, the esteemed Trey Nefzen?

Better a mule then the plaything of a mad wizard, I'd say. Alain sent back. When's the last time Halaster let you out of your cage?

The construct did not reply, instead moving its bishop hastily into the middle of the board. Alain grinned gleefully, realizing that he was slowly gaining the advantage. The construct may not have had emotions, but it seemed to have absorbed Alain's other characteristics along with his shape. His weakness was pride, and so he had appealed to the construct in a gamble, which had succeeded. He almost chuckled aloud as his knight captured the construct's bishop, which dissipated and appeared on his side of the board.

Getting hasty, now. You might be slipping a bit in your game. And then Halaster would have to put you right back onto the proverbial shelf, wouldn't he? Well, too bad. I guess you can always take up checkers.

Quiet, fool! The construct thundered, and Alain winced as the mental voice roared in his head. Now the double was moving aggressively, pushing its rook forward, taking one of Alain's pawns and penetrating his left row. No matter what you do, you know in your heart that you will never earn his respect! You're doomed to be second best, not quite good enough, the honorable mention! Always!

Alain considered the sentient's words for a long time. If this thing wearing his face, thinking his thoughts, still held some basic core that could be called 'Alain', then there was little point in arguing its claim. The construct had said it, and so Alain must have thought it at some point in time.

So be it.

Alain was not sure if the thought had came to him naturally, or whether he had spoken it aloud, but all at once, it felt as if a great weight had been removed from his mind. He heard a small, audible, CLICK, and looked up. The opposing king was lying on its side, and a small smile was on the fake-Alain's face.

"I resign," the construct boomed, and as if on some unheard command, the chess pieces on the board rose up and faded into nothingness, as insubstantial as a shadow. Trey stepped up behind Alain, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Good job," he muttered, puzzlement coloring his words. Alain could understand. The construct had no reason to give up yet, it still held a better position on the board than Alain. But Trey didn't know of the second, unseen game that had been played.

Maybe one day, I'll tell him about it, Alain thought. But not just yet.

His copy covered his face with its robes again, and as they crossed the place where the chessboard had once been, the duo saw that the odd creature had resumed its first persona: a hooded man with a rather forgettable face.

"You have played your game, and so are granted passage. Ahead lies a door. When you step through, focus on your destination, and you will be taken there," the being said, and fell silent. They passed by the man in silence, and walked off the board. Alain "heard" one last thought of the construct, hazy and disconnected.

You are being watched, and closely at that. Take care…