The Sage of Silvatia (5)
Rondel's declaration left Theodore and Vincent utterly overwhelmed.
However profound a pursuit chess might be, it was still, in the end, only a game. And yet here was a man staking not his pride, but his very life, upon a match. Even nobles half-mad for the board did not go so far. That the words had come from someone who had touched a chess piece for the first time that very day made them all the more astonishing. A confidence so absolute could mean only one of two things: either Rondel was a god of stratagem, or he was simply mad.
"Ha ha ha!"
Theodore's conclusion, of course, was the latter. Rondel's sheer presence had pressed down on him, and the fact that he had felt such a thing toward a mere commoner struck him, on reflection, as absurd. There was also the calculation that if he did not laugh, the momentum of the moment would swallow him whole.
"Stake your life? I'll grant you this much—the bluster is impressive."
"There is no falsehood in what I say."
"A man who learned how the pieces move only moments ago, boasting as if he could beat me with ease. Did you imagine I would retreat because you said so?"
"If I may be so bold, you need not accept the match. Not if you are afraid."
Rondel gave a slight shrug. The ease of the gesture made it seem as though he already held the room in his palm, and that, more than anything, pricked Theodore's pride anew.
"Afraid? Of what? There is no world in which I lose this match. Very well. If you insist, we shall make a wager of it."
"Shall we settle it in a single game? I have no preference either way."
"A single game it is. I stake the fine levied upon the domain of Silvatia. You stake your life. Let me be plain in advance: the moment the match is decided, I will take your head."
Theodore indicated the sword at his hip.
Vincent cut into the exchange.
"What in the world do you think you're doing?"
Like Theodore, he had been overwhelmed by Rondel's presence, but as the situation turned grave he forced himself back to his senses and caught Rondel by the shoulder.
"You have no reason whatsoever to stake your life. Don't do this. There is still a chance to undo what's been done."
"Must we not protect Silvatia's taxes? Your fate, Baron Vincent, and the fate of the domain, hang in the balance. That is reason enough to risk one's life."
"This isn't what I asked of you. You have to live first. Only if you live can you find some way through, whatever it may be. I won't have you throwing your life away like this."
"Life is certainly among the most precious of things. And yet there come moments when it must be set upon the scale. You know that well enough yourself, my lord."
Rondel smiled gently. He could remain so at ease with his life on the line for one simple reason: he was certain he would not lose. Vincent, ignorant of that certainty, was moved nearly past the point of breath.
"Not only wise, but this brave besides...! I feel wretched, having hidden myself away in the countryside all this time."
"I cannot say whether this will be my end. But with your help, my lord, I do not think I shall have regrets. Will you aid me?"
"You needn't even ask!"
Vincent's eyes reddened.
Before the match began, and at Rondel's request, he explained the rules of chess in meticulous detail. Rondel already knew every word of it, but he listened with earnest attention, as though hearing it all for the first time. Only then would he look like a true beginner.
Once the rules had been gone over, Rondel sat across from Theodore with the board between them. Only moments ago Theodore had brimmed with the certainty of victory; now, seized by a faint unease, he wore a serious face. They agreed that Rondel would take white and Theodore black. Beginners customarily played white, and so white fell to Rondel.
"I shall begin."
Rondel advanced a pawn a single square, to d3.
Theodore spoke.
"Timid. Do you truly believe you can beat me playing like that?"
"Expanding one's position too hastily can be dangerous in its own right."
"Hmph. We'll see how long you can keep that mouth of yours running."
Theodore answered in kind, pushing his own pawn to d5. After that came a pawn to c3, and a knight to f6.
The irregularity came next.
"Pawn to h3—and g4?"
Theodore studied the moves that followed with growing puzzlement. His eyes traveled from the board to Rondel's face and back again, and a hollow laugh escaped him.
"Ha. I thought as much."
"Is something the matter?"
"You fool. Do you not even realize what mistake you've made?"
"I would not call it a mistake."
In chess, the conditions of victory were well established, and one of them was control of the center. Whoever seized it could attack more freely while holding a defense far harder to break. It was the most basic of basics, something anyone who played was expected to know—and the moves Rondel had chosen abandoned it entirely. The pawns on h3 and g4 claimed not the center, but the flank.
"Unbelievable."
Theodore's tension melted clean away.
"You talked so grandly that I wondered just how good you might be. You haven't even mastered the fundamentals. The match is as good as decided."
"It is still too early to judge the result."
"You'll soon learn just how foolish you are. Weep and cling to me all you like when it's over. I will not spare you."
"Ha ha. As you wish."
What in the world was the man relying on? Rondel's composure grated, yet Theodore chose to bury that sense of wrongness in a corner of his mind. Soon enough, the defeat would be sealed.
The game moved from the opening into the middlegame. Theodore sank into thought, studying the pieces spread across the board. Contrary to his certainty that it would end quickly, the position was unexpectedly even. What had looked a shambles was, with time, settling into a formation without a single gap. Rondel committed none of the errors a beginner was bound to make—chasing an immediate gain only to lose a vital piece, or collapsing his own structure with his own hands.
"If I may, my lord—it is your turn."
After long consideration, Theodore advanced a knight and launched his attack.
"You've been lucky so far. Playing at random, and still your neck is attached. Don't expect a beginner's luck to last."
"I shall bear that in mind."
"Another strange move. Do you mean to leave your fate in the hands of the gods?"
To Theodore's attack, Rondel answered by moving a knight of his own. The reply was absurd.
In this position he sends the knight not forward, but into the corner. What fool in the world plays a move like that?
Theodore still could not understand the play. This time, though, no sneer rose as it had at the start. What he felt instead was a tightness in the chest, a dissonance he could not name. It was like taking a single step into the dark. A position in which the next move could not be predicted at all only magnified his unease.
A short while later, staring at the state of the game, Theodore could scarcely breathe.
"How is this...?"
The words slipped from him before he knew it.
Only moments ago his pieces had held the center and roamed it freely. Now they were bound fast, unable to stir. The pieces that had blundered about like a fool's had drawn themselves into a formation like an iron fortress, closing on his throat from every direction.
"How can this be? I held the center. Every piece of mine moved without waste. You were the one playing like an idiot."
"The wise sometimes dance like clowns. It is your turn, my lord. You really ought to move."
Rondel pressed him. From the first move to this one, he had held Theodore in the palm of his hand and toyed with him. The foolish play of the opening had been meant to lull the man, yes—but it had also been groundwork laid toward victory.
The Elshad System. A strategy studied chiefly in Russia, it sowed confusion through irregular movement, its hallmark an opening that looked clumsy and then, little by little, turned to stone. Even players of the modern age were often undone by it simply because they did not know it well. For Theodore to handle it properly was, of course, impossible.
"These are not moves a man could conceive."
Cold sweat beading on him, Theodore gripped one of his pieces.
Rondel smiled faintly.
"Are you quite certain you wish to move that? You have not yet released the piece, so another choice remains open to you. I would understand."
"......Damn it."
"Some seven moves remain, I should think."
"Insolent wretch. Do you imagine I will move as you expect?"
Theodore flinched at the question, then clenched his teeth and insisted on the move he had first intended—the last scrap of a nobleman's pride.
A little later, Rondel spoke as if mildly troubled.
"Oh dear. That is checkmate."
"This can't... be..."
"You played exactly seven moves, just as I thought. Thank you for the effort."
Theodore's king was driven into a complete dead end, and the match was over. He had never managed so much as a credible attack. Toyed with from first to last, he had simply lost.
He looked up at Rondel, who was rising from his seat.
"How did you conceive moves like these?"
"Once you look, they rather suggest themselves."
"Ha ha... Someone like me was never your opponent to begin with. I had already lost from the moment I played my first move."
"Thanks to you, Baron Theodore, I had the chance to review the rules of chess."
"You staked your life, and I was never even in your consideration. Are you telling me you truly are some god of stratagem...?"
Theodore had been crushed, and yet his face held no resentment. What he felt was astonishment at having witnessed a realm he had never seen, and he was busy turning over the new horizon the game had just opened before him. He understood, in his bones, that Rondel's cunning was not merely excellent. It had reached some higher plane entirely.
"You flatter me so highly that I hardly know where to look. I only won a single game of pieces on a board."
Rondel said it with refined grace.
All I did was pretend to be a newbie and butcher a beginner. A veteran farming a rookie. So long as nobody catches on, that's all that matters.
Had half the tax been stripped away, it would have been a serious problem. With this, the crisis facing Silvatia and Baron Vincent had passed. Rondel, however, had no intention of letting the moment slip by. A noble had come down from the capital for once, and he had left a powerful impression on Theodore. The chance to open a new line of business had arrived.
"Still, it is quite an interesting pastime."
Rondel set the pieces back in their places.
"Earlier I kept dismissing it, but having played it myself, I see it is not so light a diversion as all that. I understand why you nobles love chess."
"You've taken an interest? With a gift like yours, you would surely become the finest player in the kingdom—no, on the entire continent."
"It is true that my interest has been stirred, but not to that extent. What I wish to speak of, rather, is you, Baron Theodore."
"Me?"
Rondel indicated his own shabby clothes.
"Poor commoners like myself are too busy eating from one day to the next. Men such as you, my lord, pour a great deal of passion into chess. I imagine it is an important pursuit in society as well."
"You are not wrong."
"Then imagine, if you will—your skill at chess rising several times over what it is now, and you bending every other player to your will."
"What is it you want to say?"
At the question, Rondel turned the board upon the table, so that white faced Theodore and black faced himself.
"My lord. Do you not find yourself in need of a master to teach you chess?"