Chương 46: El RETORNO del REY

It barely felt like summer. The sky and sidewalk were the same gray. Robin walked up to Duke Games with his precious miniatures carefully packed in his shoebox. He'd woken up with a banging headache but it eased off on the car ride over. His next aspiration was on Monday. It was a perfect day to spend inside. The string of bells jingled as he slipped in. He could already hear laughing in the back. Duncan stuck his head out to see if there was a customer. He beamed when he saw that it was Robin.

"General Martillo! Welcome back! You're just in time!" Robin had been looking forward to this for two months. Today was duos. Everyone would partner up and fight 2v2. He hurried back to the War Room, excited to show everyone his new models. All eyes were on his shoebox. Everyone wanted to see.

"Reinforcements! Let's see if they pass muster." Duncan clapped his hands together. Robin brought out the Abaxios Oslune he'd painted with Sandy. That morning, he'd re-done the highlights, re-inked the cloak, and fixed the one eye that was slightly cocked. After he finished the base, the model looked ten times better.

"Well done. Approved." Next, Robin showed off his Hawkmoon. The champion looked spectacular in piano black with her lance and fanned wings. Robin repainted the entire squad to match the champion's new Black Angel Armor. He was particularly proud of his standard bearer. He'd redrawn the Hawkmoon insignia so the hawk was a black silhouette against a blue moon ringed by metallic red. He'd soaked the paper in tea and dried it in the sun to make it look old.

When the banner was done, he painted it with PVA glue so it would keep its wavy shape.

"Woah. This is way better than the standard insignia. Did you paint this, Sandy?"

"Nope. I just loaned Robin my coping saw and showed him how to pin the wings and swap the head. The paint job is all him."

"Approved. This is so cool, Robin."

"Thanks," Robin said, already a little embarrassed to be the center of attention for so long. He brought out the Berserker Champion he'd repainted and modded with the leftover sequins from Aravitrimore. The Berserker's armor glittered in the halogen lights. Burbak was barbed all over with iridescent shards. Sandy held up the model, the light shone through the clear facets of the Unbreakable Drakefang Axe.

"How'd you make that?" Sandy asked. Robin explained how the axe was two clear bits of transparent plastic with a thin sheet of silver foil CA-glued between them. He'd cut it into shape with the coping saw, but getting the edge right was far harder. He'd messed up the first two attempts at doing it by hand. In the end, he had to make a little jig out of chopsticks so he could slide the axe head across a wet sandpaper block to get an even cut on the facets.

"That was my grandma's idea," Robin explained.

"She was stationed in Japan for a while. They sharpen knives with whetstones."

"Was she a missionary?" Vlad guessed. Robin shook his head.

"She was a pilot in WW2!" Sandy breathed.

"BS. They didn't let women fly in the Pacific," Chuck insisted.

"They did, just not in combat. The WASPS ferried planes to bases. My abuela flew B-17s and B-29s. She worked as a radio operator too," Robin said.

"That's so cool. Did she keep flying after?" Duncan asked.

"No. She tried, but there was a glut of pilots after the war. She managed a radio station instead. She was at KOB before she retired."

"I bet she's the person who bleeps out the curse words. Language!" Duncan imitated Una with his hands on his hips. Everyone chuckled, but not Robin. He didn't want to laugh at his grandma. Duncan took the model from Sandy and made a great show of inspecting every angle.

"This is great. Really does justice to the legendary. I can't wait to see this on the field! Approved." Everyone seemed to agree. Robin's cheeks got hot. He wondered if everyone was trying to make up for the Bill incident. Sandy noticed his discomfort and piled on:"Did I tell you he crushed Yvonne at chess? It was the best. Three games in a row, it wasn't even close. She's still mad."

"I got lucky," Robin shrugged. Vlad snorted.

"There's no luck in chess."" There's no luck in chess," Sandy mimicked.

"You are a child," Vlad rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to laugh so hard if Vlad and Sandy get stuck on the same team." Duncan's eyes glittered with mischief.

"Please, no. If we do, I'll know it's rigged," Sandy groaned.

"How would a pull from a hat be rigged, Amsler? What's your sister rated?"

"Around 1400, I think. She's like an idiot savant."

"So are you, minus the savant. Robin, did you record your games with her?" Vlad asked.

"He didn't," Sandy answered.

"I did, actually," Robin corrected.

"I wrote them down when I got home."

"Wait, you remembered all the moves from three games?" Before Robin could answer, Vlad cut him off.

"It's not that hard. Maybe use your brain occasionally, Amsler. You won't get beaten by your kid sister so often. Lemme see." Vlad motioned for the composition book. Robin was reluctant to hand it over. He was worried Vlad might rag on him, but he was also proud of the queen capture in the first game. He handed over the diario. Too late, Robin realized he'd written the V in Yvonne as a little heart. He wanted to grab it back, but it was too late. If Vlad noticed, he didn't mention it. His eyes scanned the page.

"How long have you been playing chess?" Vlad asked.

"Since that first day, when I came in and saw you and Duncan playing the Doom of Dagbellow Dell."

"These games are excellent for a beginner. You must have been studying. In your third game, 6.. E5 is a blunder against someone who knows what they're doing. You need to work on your Sicilian."

"I'm still learning the Najdorf. There are a lot of variations." Vlad nodded.

"You guys better watch out for Martillo when I go to college. With the true Duke in exile, I bet he can win the interim title."

"A prophecy! Is this the chosen one?" Duncan breathed.

"It is he, Robin the Prodigy," Sandy teased.

"Ah, jeez." Robin rubbed the back of his head.

"You know Vlad's just setting me up so everyone will gun for me instead of him. He's still in first place."

"Not for long," Jeremy vowed.

"Ha! You better pray to the Chaos Gods you don't draw me, JC. I'll roll you so hard you'll be ranked behind Amsler," Vlad boasted. Sandy fired back before JC could think of something to say:"Wow, what a cheap shot. Why don't we skip the random draw? Chaos and Goblins can face each other right here, right now. Vlad's pretty much a duo unto himself."

"You must be huffing primer, Amsler. Clan Bla'Claw is unstoppable. I can wreck Chaos anytime I want."

"Prove it," JC said. Duncan stepped in to officiate.

"Gentlemen! Can I remind you that today is duos. Your opponent and your ally will be randomly chosen. Let's see how this shakes out, then we can all start thinking about grudge matches in the aftermath." Vlad and Jeremy puffed at each other a bit more, but Robin was pretty sure it was just for show. Both were worried about losing to the other and would much rather snap up an easy win against a lesser enemy. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Before the draw, Duncan had everyone line their troops up on the same table. The formations sprawled across a volcanic wasteland before the ramparts of Lastgate. When everything was arranged, he placed a placard in front. It was another Sandy special. The letters were calligraphied in golden ink. DUKE GAMES: DUOS DAY! SUMMER, 1979 For a moment they all stood around while Duncan snapped photos and admired how awesome their armies looked together.

Duncan set the camera on a timer and had them all crowd behind for a picture. There was no time to feel awkward about it. Robin tried to smile.

"Nice pick with the Mastersmith," Vlad pointed out Sufferen as they collected their armies." Oof. I was hoping it would be a surprise."

"Ha! Not likely. I had to play through two seasons of overpowered Dwarves. The Mastersmith is nuts with your army. Why aren't you using him as your general instead of Abaxios? The Reconciler's unique is so weak."

"I think it could be good, situationally. Plus, it fits with the story," Robin hedged. Vlad shook his head.

"Once you play me and I take him, you'll see I'm right." Robin was afraid of exactly that, but he couldn't let it show. He opened up his diario and wrote down Vlad's exact words and the date.

"What are you, my scribe? What's that for?" Vlad asked.

"I'm saving your quote for when I beat you and take your general away," Robin explained.

"Oh man, that's so cold!" JC laughed.

"Get him!" Sandy urged." ¡Sigue soñando, Martillo! (Dream on!)" Vlad grinned. His accent was not too bad. He was paying attention in Spanish class." Sueños grandes y soldaditos (Big dreams and little soldiers)," Robin mused.

"Ha! Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar."" ¡Qué profundo! El Duque ha hablado. (How profound. The Duke has spoken)" Robin teased back. He was impressed.

"What'd he say?" Sandy asked.

"It's a poem.

'Traveller, there is no road. You make the path by walking.'" Robin translated.

"That's deep," Duncan said. Sandy made a shovelling motion." Ese filisteo anda con los Bárbaros, (The philistine plays Barbarians)" Vlad rolled his eyes.

"Don't translate that, Robin. Ignore this ignoramus. You know the Albuquerque Chess Club has a USFC-rated event every week right? You should check it out."

"Watch out, those old guys are killers," Duncan warned.

"They all play touch-move. Sit on your hands." Chuck and Sandy both nodded in agreement. Everyone had been stung.

"You'll probably get clobbered your first few weeks. It's the best way to get stronger. Steve Sandager plays there sometimes, he's a master. I can introduce you to some people if you want," Vlad offered.

"Huh, interesting," Robin said. The idea of getting blasted by masters was daunting, but then he realized Yvonne might be there.

"I'll do it," Robin decided immediately.

"Have you played with a clock yet?" Vlad asked.

"I haven't."

"Get some practice on one if you can. It takes a few games to get used to them."

"I've heard the finest imported chess clocks can be bought right here, at Duke Games, including the best-selling Tower Chess Clock and the newest tournament-ready Jerger clocks!" Duncan slid in. Everyone groaned. Duncan never missed a chance to advertise.

"All right, are we ready?" Duncan asked the War Room.

"Yes!" everyone shouted back. Duncan took down the dusty top hat that lived on top of the display case. Everyone wrote their names on a scrap of paper. Glancing around the War Room, Robin realized he had played games with all the guys now. Vlad was feisty today, but it came from a good place. There wasn't really anyone he'd be unhappy to team up with. He was pretty sure they all felt the same.

Even though he was sick and younger than everyone, he was a real member of the Lords of Misfortune and they were happy to have him back. Win or lose, it felt great. The names went into the hat. Duncan stirred them with a ruler and drew the first. Since there were seven of them, someone would have to play 2v1. The odd man out was JC.

"Riiiiigged." Sandy groaned. JC had more than enough Chaos troops to field a double army. It was going to be a rough match for whoever drew him. Next, Vlad's Goblins linked up with Bryan's Chaos Traitors. Duncan's Imperial Legion matched with Sam's Dark Elf Slavers. There were only two names left. Robin and Sandy nodded to each other and high-fived. The names went back in the hat and Duncan drew opponents. Bryan and Vlad would face Duncan and Sam. Robin and Sandy would play against Jeremy.

"This fits in perfectly with the Adventures campaign!" Sandy said. As prophesied, the Heartbroken Brigade would march north to aid Yureg and save Lastgate. Or, more likely, they would die trying.

"Just me against three legendaries huh? Light work," Jeremy popped open his second army case. Now they would face Summoners and Warlocks, both flavors of Chaos cheese simultaneously. The flow of demons would be almost impossible to stop.

"We got this, partner," Sandy grinned. He held out a fist. Robin gave him a bump.

"Let's go." The odds were against them, but Robin didn't really care. His new models were cool and he couldn't wait to play them. He had fifty cents in his pocket to buy pizza for lunch. There was a whole Saturday ahead to laugh and play games with the boys. Nothing else mattered. *"I don't trust them," the Berserker growled. The rising sun glinted on the jagged facets of Burbak Breakbow's Sharddrake Plate. Brimstone wind blew from the smoldering battle-plain.

Through his thousand-scarred scowl, Burbak glared over the ravaged earth and glowered at the painted host of Windsworn Reavers. At the Windsworn van, crooked Hymionier the Rune King hobbled along the lines of savage soldiers with a wagon drawn by a pure white elk. The ancient sage-king was a living scroll, tattooed with runes on every bit of skin, even the insides of his eyelids. From his thrice-blessed cask of mushroom mead, the inscribed king ladled courage to any man who quaked. There were many takers.

At the back of the Windsworn army, jittery clusters of Seershots fingered their strings and fixated on distant forms. When battle was drawn, the oracular longbowmen would sift through the skeins of prophecy, searching for the thread of fate tied to the enemy leaders. At a prudent distance, the Fog-Hurlers readied their terrible, buzzing casks. A hive of eyeflies was trapped inside each missile. When the casks burst, millions of flies would swarm in defense of their queen. Heavy armor was useless against them.

The ravenous flies could find the smallest chink, burrow into a foe's eyes, and bore their way right into his brains. It was a bad way to go. At the western flank, steam billowed from the white muzzles of the Galhest Chargers. The armored lancers seemed like child jockeys atop their monstrous steeds. The riders were buckled to their saddles, only death could dismount them. When the blinkers came off, the Galhest stampede was a terrible thing to see. Burbak's greatest disdain was reserved for the Windsworn footmen.

The spears of the woad-faced Storm Warriors wavered like reeds as they rocked back and forth. The red-fingered Axe Dancers shambled, waiting for the order to dip a digit into their finger-flasks. Each dip into the toxic mixture hurtled them to the crimson gates of glory and shaved a year off their already-short spans. Burbak's hairy nostrils flared with contempt. These weaklings needed to paint themselves with poison to pantomime real Dwarven fury.

Burbak Breakbow and his Berserkers needed no aid to fly into an all-consuming rage. Every Dwarf carried a dozen eternal grudges, carefully nursed until their fury flowed from a centuries-deep font of molten hate.

"Nor I," Sufferen grumbled, deep as a drum.

"I don't trust them either," Bobbert confided.

"That's why they're at the front." Burbak and Sufferen sighed as one. The boy bore the heavy title of Reconciler. He had proven his worth a dozen times over. Aided by Abaxios Oslune' s wisdom, the sad-eyed lad stitched together the factions of Elves, Men, and Dwarves with remarkable skill. It was a thing neither Dwarf could do. Disgust would have overcome them. Yureg the Whirlwind rode up to join the commanders. His face was painted blue, his eyes were pinned, and his tattoos seemed to writhe under his skin.

The two great Silver Zweihanders were strapped to either side of his saddle. Burbak sniffed and spat. Bobbert and Cinnabinathi assured him that this Yureg had fought bravely in the Stand at Shattermine, but Burbak hadn't seen it. These savages were the same Windsworn Reavers who'd broken so badly at the Battle of Aravitrimore. After that ignominious defeat, they'd slunk back to their wicked masters and were scourged again. Many of their former comrades rode with the enemy now, warped into horrid forms. Fools!

Such is the fate of all who truck with Chaos! Depleted and defeated, the Windsworn could only watch as Norderlund burned from both sides. Eversford was sacked. The famous fleet of Dragonboats burned at anchor in her corpse-choked harbor. Stratholm, home of the sky-blessed priests, was broken and defiled. Now, the two great Chaos armies joined as one on the blasted battlefield before Lastgate. The walls were lined with women and children who wailed at the sight of the black host. There was nowhere left to run.

Yureg drew himself up for a speech. His hands shook and his eyes flitted with distant visions.

"Today, I shall be redeemed. My thanks to you all, and to all of your men. If my lifeblood should spill today, I am but a drop in the river of fate. Know this: if Lastgate should fall, if the Eternal Seal of Kivimak should break, the End of Days will drown our world in a crimson sea. Glory to all who stand with me!" The Whirlwind's words blew through the troops, repeated again and again to spread the message. Burbak stared back, unimpressed. He did not like the look of this blue-eyed giant.

He'd have liked to get under those tree-trunk legs and split the Windsworn champion like a rotten log. If he were in charge, he'd have sent the Reaver weaklings ahead alone, to reap what they'd sown, sped along by his hobnailed boot in their backsides. The other Dwarves felt the same. They'd fought with the northern filth for ages. Only Bobbert had the wisdom to see they needed the Reavers, and the will to make the others swallow his decision.

"Are you ready?" Bobbert asked his commanders.

"Aye." Burbak nodded. Battle would soon take this bitter taste from his mouth. Beside him, Cinnabinathi's eyes were hidden beneath her black helm. How Burbak wished he might lift her visor to peer into those glorious blue pools one last time before he died! But there'd been scandal enough, and she was changed, anyway. The Purest of the Hawkmoon wore far more than just the weight of the celestial armor.

As word of the Black Angel's deeds spread, the Elves began to shed their tree-dreams and slip from their sacred groves. The heroes of old blinked away their millennial slumber and trekked to the three-bannered gate to enlist and fight once more. They were lured by a goal greater than survival, or even revenge. Blagg Bore had become a beacon for light in a dying land, a locus for all who would defy the looming apocalypse.

Hammers rang all night under the mountain, as Sufferen's seventy-seven apprentices hammered out peerless blades and matchless armor of Bluebane steel. Now, the old smith rode with them and kept their arms and armor in perfect repair. It was all they could do to keep him from joining the front lines, hammer in hand. There had never been a better equipped army. The first horns sounded. A ripple ran through the great host below.

The Chaos armies realized the Reconciler had maneuvered right behind them and trapped them against the Ramparts of Lastgate. Burbak's scars itched. He clutched the Unbreakable Drakefang Axe with glee, ready to bite into the enemy with the reforged fangs of his greatest foe. Surely they fought alongside filth, but battle dirtied everyone. If they could defeat the dark ones, there would be time afterward for a reckoning.