Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [124]
“You clumsy oaf!” Krell snarled. The death knight leaned down to pick up the khas pieces, going after one in particular that he snatched up hurriedly.
Rhys could not get a good look at it, for Krell closed his gloved hand over it.
“You pick up the rest, monk,” Krell grunted. “And if any of those pieces are damaged, I’m going to break two of your bones for every piece you lose. Be quick about it.”
Rhys crawled on the floor, on his hands and knees, scrabbling to pick up the pieces, some of which had rolled to far parts of the room.
“There are twenty-seven bones in the human hand,” stated Krell, returning the pieces he’d picked up to the khas board. “I start with the forefinger of the right hand and work my way along. You missed a pawn, one of the kender. It’s over by the fire pit.”
Rhys picked up the last piece—a kender pawn—and placed it on the board.
“What are you doing, monk?” Krell demanded.
Rhys’s hand on the kender froze. He could feel Nightshade quivering beneath his fingers.
“Pawns don’t go there.” Krell said in disgust. “That hex is where you put the rook. The pawn goes here.”
“I am sorry,” Rhys said, and he moved Nightshade to the indicated hex. “I know very little about the game.”
Krell shook his head. “And here I was hoping you would live to entertain me for a week at least. Still,” the death knight added cheerfully, “there are twenty-six bones in the human foot. You’ll last at least a day or two. You have first move.”
Rhys resumed his seat. Placing his foot firmly on the kinder pawn he’d switched out for Nightshade, he shoved the pawn beneath his chair.
Rhys took hold of Nightshade, who stood stiff and straight as the rest of the pawns, and advanced the kender one square. Then Rhys hesitated. He could not recall if he was supposed to move one square or two on his opening gambit. Nightshade apparently sensed his dilemma, for he gave a little wriggle. Rhys advanced him another square then sank back in his chair. The trembling and shaking had been an act, but the sweat on his brow was real. He mopped it again with the sleeve of his robe.
Krell advanced a goblin pawn two squares on the opposite side of the board.
“Your move, monk.”
Rhys looked at the board and tried hard to remember his lessons in khas, given to him by Nightshade the night before. They had a game plan in mind, the object being to move Nightshade close enough to the dark knight pieces so that he could find out which was Ariakan. Nightshade explained all the contingencies—what to move if Krell moved this, what to move if Krell moved that. Unfortunately, Rhys had proved a poor pupil.
“You have to think like a warrior, Rhys,” Nightshade had said to him at one point in exasperation, “not like a shepherd!”
“I am a shepherd,” Rhys had returned, smiling.
“Well, stop thinking like one. You can’t protect all your pieces. You have to sacrifice some of them to win.”
“I don’t have to win,” Rhys had pointed out. “I just have to stay in the game long enough for you to accomplish your mission.”
What neither of them had counted on were broken bones.
Rhys put his hand on a pawn and glanced at Nightshade. The kender stiffened in his place, very slightly shook his head. Rhys lifted his hand off the piece.
“Hah, monk!” Krell rumbled, leaning forward with a rattle of armor. “You touched the piece. You have to move it.”
Nightshade’s shoulders slumped. Rhys moved the pawn. He’d barely taken his hand off it before Krell swooped down. Seizing one of his pieces, he slid it across the board and knocked over Rhys’s pawn. Krell triumphantly moved the pawn to his side of the table.
“My turn again,” said Krell.
Rising up out of his chair, his small red eyes flaring with anticipation, the death knight seized hold of Rhys’s hand.
Rhys gasped and shuddered beneath the death knight’s touch, which seared his flesh