Lord Loss (The Demonata 1)

Dervish's head whips round and he glares at Lord Loss. “Well?” he barks. “Can you match this child's courage, or will you flee with the easy victory?”

Lord Loss rolls the kings around in the stubby layers of flesh at the ends of his arms, considering the proposal. Then, with a smile, he replaces them on the boards. “Come,” he says, gesturing to the seat which Dervish vacated.

Gliding to the floor. Dervish sets me down. Pain flares in my left foot. I ignore it. Hobble forward. Gaze at the five boards, the ranks of white and black pieces, then into the demon master's cunning eyes.

Breathing raggedly. Clearing my thoughts. Trying to remember every lesson Dad and Mom ever taught me.

I sit.

Instant peacefulness. An unnatural silence. I stare around the cellar, startled. Everything seems to have stopped. Dervish stands motionless, facing the demons, while Bill-E's frozen at the bars of his cage. Then I realize they are moving — only incredibly slowly.

“What happened?” I gasp.

“I have separated our time frame from theirs,” Lord Loss says. “It allows us to play without distractions.”

I watch as Dervish's right hand slowly comes up, fingers unfurling, red flames streaking from the tips. Slower than snails, Vein and Artery break to the sides, out of the path of the firebolts.

“Come,” Lord Loss says, tapping the middle board. “The fight is no longer your concern. Focus on the match.”

With an effort I tear my eyes away from Dervish and the demons and stare at the pieces lined up in front of me. Assessing the damage. I immediately note that the game on the far right board is beyond saving — that's where Lord Loss took Dervish's queen with a bishop. The game on the center board also looks like a lost cause, with white down both knights and a bishop.

“Depressing, isn't it?” Lord Loss sighs, looking more miserable than I feel. “Dervish was not at his best tonight. His fear for you affected his game. I warned him about that, but he would not listen.”

Lord Loss picks up the queen he took from the far right board and toys with it. “It's your move, Grubitsch,” he says, “but take your time. There is no rush. Study the pieces. Plan a campaign. Search for openings.”

I reach towards a rook on the board to my immediate left. Pause. Withdraw my hand without touching the piece. “Can I move any piece, on any board?” I ask.

“Of course.”

I run an eye over the five boards again, then pick up a pawn on the board to my far right and move it forward a space. The battle's already lost on that board, so I might as well start there and treat it as a warm-up. Hopefully work my worst moves out of my system.

“Ah,” Lord Loss n

ods. “A cautious approach. Very wise, young Grubitsch.” He moves a knight forward and checks my king. “It will make no difference to the end result, but at least you may lose with some dignity. Perhaps that will provide you with a glimmer of comfort when you and your unfortunate companions roast tonight in the fires of my own personal hell.”

It takes Lord Loss nine moves to checkmate me on the far right. When he wins, my king melts into a foul-smelling white puddle. Lord Loss picks up the board, snaps it into pieces, and tosses it aside.

“Then there were four.”

Sweating. Fidgeting. Trying to concentrate on the boards. Eyes constantly flicking to Dervish and the demons, locked in slow-motion combat.

I'm trying to keep play confined to the board on my left — taking the contest one game at a time — but Lord Loss won't oblige. He makes a few moves on that board, then switches to another, then another.

Though I have a free run of the boards, I can't make more than one move on any board until Lord Loss has replied to it. So, if I make a move on the middle board, and Lord Loss then moves a piece on the board to my far left, I can't make a second move on the board in the middle — I have to wait for Lord Loss to move one of his pieces on it. He's tied by the same rules as me, of course, but it feels like the odds are stacked in his favor, as if I'm the only one restricted.

I've played chess like this before, but not often, and not recently. Dad tried me on multiple boards when I was younger, saw I wasn't able to maintain my focus, so worked on improving my individual game. Perhaps he'd have tested me again when I was older—if he'd lived.

It's impossible not to think about my parents and Gret. Did Dad sweat this much when he faced the demon lord? Was Gret half-frozen in time, like Bill-E is now, unaware of what was occurring, but somehow sensing doom? Did Mom lose limbs to the familiars during the fight?

I move a wizard-shaped rook across the middle board. The game here seems lost, but I'm taking it slowly, hoping a route to victory will present itself.

“Oh dear,” Lord Loss says, and my stomach sinks. He takes one of my pawns with a bishop, exposing my queen. I'll have to move her now, but that's going to leave my king vulnerable. Any half-hopes I entertained of winning on this board vanish.

“So sad,” Lord Lord whispers, red eyes glowing dully. “To lose nobly is horrible — but to carelessly throw the game away …”

“Stuff it,” I half-sob, knowing he's right, hating myself for surrendering so cheaply.

“You can concede defeat now, if you wish,” he says. “I have no heart, but if I had, there would be room in it for mercy. I will let you —”