Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [102]
She raised her hand.
“Careful, Madame,” said Krell imperturbably. “Do not do anything to jostle the khas board. I am in the middle of a game.”
“To the Abyss with your game!” Zeboim reached down to seize hold of the board and upend it, scatter the pieces, stamp on them, pulverize them. “And to the Abyss with you, Ausric Krell! This time I will utterly and finally destroy you!”
“I would not do that, Madame,” Krell said coolly. “I would not touch that khas board if I were you. If you do, you will regret it.”
The tone of his voice—sneering and smug—and a cunning yellow glow in the heart of the red-flame eyes gave the goddess pause. She did not understand what was happening, and a little belatedly, she asked herself the questions that she should have asked before she came to Storm’s Keep.
Why had Krell returned voluntarily to his prison? She had assumed that Chemosh had abandoned the death knight, banishing him back to this fortress. Now that she was paying attention, she sensed the presence of the Lord of Death. Chemosh held his hand protectively over Krell, as Krell was holding his hand protectively over the khas board. Krell was acting with Chemosh’s blessing—a blessing that made Krell daring enough to curse her, defy her.
Why? What was Chemosh’s game? Zeboim did not think it was khas. Struggling to regain at least a semblance of composure, she dug her nails into her palms and bit off the words that would have reduced Ausric Krell to a sizzling heap of molten metal.
“What are you talking about, Krell?” Zeboim demanded. “Why should I give a damn about this khas board or any other khas board, for that matter?”
She spoke disdainfully but, when she thought Krell wasn’t looking, she sneaked a swift, uneasy glance at the board. It seemed ordinary enough as far as khas boards went. Zeboim had never liked khas. She did not like any games, for that matter. Games meant competition, and competition meant that someone won and someone lost. The idea that she might lose at anything was so supremely laughable that it was not worthy of consideration.
“This is a very valuable khas board, Madame. Your son, my lord Ariakan, had it specially made for him. Why don’t you sit down and finish the game with me,” Krell invited. He gestured at the board. “You take the dark pieces. It is your move.”
Zeboim tossed her head and sea foam flicked about the room. “I have no intention—”
“It is your move, Madame,” repeated Ausric Krell, and the red eyes flickered with amusement.
The presence of Chemosh was very strong. Zeboim was tempted to call out to him, then decided that she would not give him the satisfaction. She did not like the fact that Krell kept speaking of her son. Fear stirred in her, irrational fear.
Chemosh had always been a shadowy god, least known to her of any of the gods, keeping to himself, making no friends, forging no alliances. After the return of the gods to the world, Chemosh had grown even more secretive, retiring to deeper, darker shadows. The heat of his ambition could be felt throughout heaven, however, spewing forth steam, causing small tremors, like the molten lava boiling in the dark depths of a mountain.
“I know nothing about this game,” Zeboim said dismissively. “I do not know what pieces to play and I truly do not care.”
“Might I suggest a move, Madame?”
Krell was being officiously polite, but she heard laughter gurgle in his hollow armor. Her hands itched to seize hold of that armor and rend it open. She clasped her hands together to restrain herself.
Krell leaned over the board. His thick, gloved finger pointed. “Do you see the knight on the blue dragon? The one standing next to the figure of the queen? I’m going to take that piece with my rook unless you make a move to stop me.”
The placement of the pieces on the hexes on the board meant nothing to her. The pieces were scattered all about, with some standing on hexes on one side of the board and some standing on hexes on the other; some facing their rulers and others turned away. The knight to which Krell pointed appeared