《The Chronicle of General Robin Martillo, Age Twelve - G&G Contest Entry》


 Chapter 1 - July 5th

    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m dying.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Tita.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry! Una said, sharper than she meant.


    Robin Martillo hung his head. A lock of brown hair fell into his eyes. He held a turquoise basin, shaped like a kidney bean. She hoped he wouldn¡¯t need it, this time.


    He needs a haircut, Una thought.


    Robin began to cough. He did need the basin.


    Maybe not, Una decided. A haircut was two dollars, after all. It was an ugly thought. Robin began to cry afterward. Guilt fell on Uma Martillo like a hammer.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go back inside and get you cleaned up, there¡¯s some on your shirt. Do you need my help?¡±


    ¡°I can do it,¡± Robin said.


    She waited outside the boy¡¯s room and when he came out the basin was clean. She eyed him like a hawk, that was his church shirt. Robin had done a good job scrubbing it off. It wouldn¡¯t stain.


    ¡°Are you ready to go home? We can wait until you settle.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ok.¡±


    ¡°Do you want to walk over? I can pull around.¡±


    He needed the basin again.


    Better here than in the car, Una thought. Her hip was acting up again, but she was too worried about Robin to pay it any mind. It was the second treatment and the first time he¡¯d thrown up twice. The tan station wagon baked in the Albuquerque noon. Though the engine was warm, it still took three tries to turn over. Una had bought the Ford Falcon new, in 1961. It wasn¡¯t new anymore. The headliner fabric drooped in a big bubble at the middle of the roof. She¡¯d slapped Robin once, for messing with it. It was not long after he came to live with her, the wounds were still fresh. He hadn¡¯t cried then, just stared back at her, angry. He was such a willful child, before.


    Her eyes found Jesus on the dashboard, with Mary beside him on her abalone throne.


    ¡°Why not me?¡± Una asked him, not for the first time. The savior had nothing to say. The pink plastic had faded in the sun, the figurine¡¯s back was white as bone. Una put both hands on the steering wheel and took deep breaths. She had to be stronger.


    Robin seemed a little better when she pulled around. She eyed his shirt again but it was fine. Una made a mental note, no more church clothes after this. She drove homeward, toward Los Griegos. The boy stared out the window, too silent. It bothered her. The fire was out.


    Una began to calculate. The Falcon¡¯s tires were almost bald, but they could probably last another month. She turned off Lomas Boulevard into a strip mall. There was a parking space open right in front of the big pink ¡°31¡± sign. She pulled up and smiled.


    ?Quieres un helado?


    Robin shook his head, miserable.


    ¡°I can¡¯t, Tita.¡±


    It was so hard to keep the worry from her face. He doesn¡¯t even want ice cream. How had it gotten so bad so fast?


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring you back later, when you feel better,¡± Una promised.


    ¡°OK,¡± Robin said. He didn¡¯t sound hopeful.


    Una prayed for strength and glanced towards the figurines on the dashboard. Above Jesus and Mary was a sign, in the shape of a scroll with chess pieces on either side. Between the king and queen it said ¡°DUKE GAMES¡±.


    ¡°Do you know how to play chess?¡± Una asked.


    Robin shook his head. She wasn¡¯t surprised. Robin was a wild boy before, she couldn¡¯t keep him indoors. All he cared about was football and riding bikes with his fellow hooligans. He¡¯d noticed the storefront and perked up. His eyes roamed over the displays of model trains and toy soldiers in the window. They all looked expensive.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go take a look,¡± Una said, against her better judgment.


    * * *


    Burbak Breakbow stood over the ruins of Dagbellow Dell and wept before his men. Shameful tears ran down his scarred face and soaked into his blood-caked beard. He did not weep alone. The surviving berserkers lined the ridge, unable to face each other.


    They had failed. Dagbellow was gone. The gate was smashed, the stockade was overrun, and the thatched roofs of the building caught like kindling. The fields of golden barley that ringed the town were all aflame.


    The wolf riders came just after the harvest began and a horde of spearmen followed, backed by archers. Now, pillars of black smoke rose from blazing sheafs. Long lines of smoldering stalks were broken by the bodies of fallen warriors. Their losses were tremendous. Both shield phalanxes were overrun and slaughtered. The ballista was shattered. The general and his retinue were gone, mobbed down by goblins and carried away to an unspeakable fate.


    The casualties were incredible, but it was the barley that made Burbak weep. It was one thing to raid for riches, or to war for territory. To burn good barley was an act of madness. The gobbos only had to wait two days and their raid could have claimed the entire crop. They wouldn¡¯t have needed to attack the stockade or massacre the farmers. When winter came, all of Dagbellow would have starved.


    Instead, the goblins had spent thousands of warriors to overcome the stronghold. They came in screaming waves. Ten times, they were repulsed, then the arrows and the oil ran out. The defenders fought tooth and nail, to no avail. The stockade was swallowed by a sea of green.


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    Breakbow turned to his men and held up his thick hands. He was gory to his armpits, his armor glistened with sticky, green goblin blood. One by one, the others lifted their hands, a few raised stumps. They were all the same, each berserker was painted in death, from head to toe. None could recall what they¡¯d done with the black wrath upon them, if they¡¯d killed ten or a hundred. It wasn¡¯t enough. With every battle, the brothers dwindled. There were always more goblins.


    ¡°Runagir. Duandan. With me. The rest of you, see to your wounds. See if there are any survivors in the ashes,¡± Breakbow commanded.


    Breakbow¡¯s sergeants grimaced, but hastened to his side at once. The three dwarves picked their way across the battlefield. Corpses festered in the sun and flies swirled in great, stinging swarms. They reached the eastern edge of the stockade and found the bunker. Goblin bodies tangled in diminishing rings as the defenders broke and fell back again and again. Here, they¡¯d made their last stand. With a sinking feeling the berserkers climbed over the wall of dead.


    The heavy lid of iron-banded oak was chopped apart. Down the spiral stair, all was dark. Goblins had snuffed the ever-burning lights. No sound came up from the pit. There would be nightmares inside.


    ¡°Draw straws?¡± Duandan suggested.


    ¡°Brothers, guard here. I will go,¡± said Breakbow.


    The sergeants turned away, stung though he hadn¡¯t meant to shame them. Duandan and Runagir¡¯s forebearers had left the mountain long, long ago. Neither could see in the dark.


    Burbak could. He set down his battleaxe and drew his daggers. The moment he bared the heavy blades, all fatigue evaporated. He flew down the spiral stair, heedless of stealth. His eyes shifted into the bleached grays of darksight that pulsed with each beat of his heart. He hoped there were a thousand goblins below, stymied by the final door. He would butcher them all.


    At the bottom, the stench of death blew from the deathtrap, many goblins had fallen for the false path on the right. Alas, they¡¯d found the hidden way too and broken through. Burbak stalked forward in the low tunnel, hoping for an ambush. Rank death wafted from the second deathtrap, a dozen goblins were skewered at the bottom of the pit. Burbak cheated along the edge. Fifty paces ahead, it looked like the tunnel had collapsed. The odor of freshly scythed hay tickled his nose.


    ¡°Oh no.¡±


    With a rag over his mouth, Breakbow moved as close as he could bear. What looked like rubble was only dead goblins. Their yellow eyes were bugged-wide. In their frenzy to get away, they¡¯d crawled over each other. Burbak climbed up to look past. A great mound of goblins was piled before the smashed holdfast door. His eyes stung, he could go no further.


    There was no need. He knew what happened now. When the goblins broke through, the women broke the vials. The women and children were all dead.


    Breakbow had a mad urge to dash forward into the holdfast and take a deep breath. He would fill his lungs with poison, lie down and be still forever beside the women and children he¡¯d failed to save. He turned away, so distraught he nearly blundered into the pit.


    As he climbed the stairs to the surface, a strange thing happened. His eyes began to adjust to the natural light, but his vision stayed gray. Outlines pulsed, threads of black seeped in at the seams. The daggers in his hands felt burning hot, eager to be quenched in blood.


    The rage!


    Burbak¡¯s body stiffened with alarm. It was a wicked thing, a terrible sin to slip into the black rage with no foe at hand. That was the oathbreaker¡¯s way. His daggers clattered against the steps. He clutched his hands over his temples and tried to bottle the anger, breath by breath. The darkness only grew. He threw his head back and bared his teeth at the gray haze of sky above.


    Above the bunker, Runagir and Duandan jolted at the unearthly howl.


    ¡°REVENGE!¡±


    * * *


    ¡°No way. Goblins are such bull¡ª¡°


    Una Martillo made a sound in her throat.


    The players looked up and found the old woman staring at them, with her hands on her hips. A boy was at her side. Immediately the dwarf player¡¯s face went bright red.


    ¡°Uhm. Sorry Ma¡¯am,¡± he apologized. The dwarf player was a skinny teenager with big ears and bad acne. He wore a purple Duke Games shirt, his nametag said ¡°DUNCAN.¡±


    ¡°Filthy mouths, filthy minds,¡± Una chided. The players were silent. Satisfied, she tutted away to look at chess boards. Once she was out of earshot, the players shared a look.


    Robin was still wide-eyed at the tableside. The table was huge, four foot by eight with the entire surface covered by model terrain. There were hills made of styrofoam with sawdust flocking, toothpick ramparts, a savaged stockade of splintered balsa wood and glued-together pebbles. Painted figurines were turned on their sides all over the board. By the accumulation of soda cans and candy wrappers, the battle must have raged for hours.


    ¡°What game is that?¡± Robin dared to ask.


    ¡°Lords of Rapaxoris. It¡¯s not for kids,¡± the goblin player said, quick and dismissive. He had an unpleasant, nasal voice. He was heavy set, with thick glasses and a mustard stain on his shirt.


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to Vlad. It¡¯s ages twelve and up,¡± Duncan chimed in, packing away his army.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be twelve in two weeks,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine! It¡¯s just a suggestion anyway. We have a new player night every Saturday. The rules aren¡¯t that complicated.¡±


    Robin eyed the stack of rulebooks, they were thicker than his textbooks. He gawked at the figurines as Duncan and Vlad broke up the battle. There were standard bearers, captains, wolf calvary, siege weapons, all painted in incredible detail. He noticed the way the older boys handled each piece. They had flight cases with foam cut-outs for each figurine.


    ¡°Do they come like that?¡± Robin asked, pointing at a unit of brightly colored berserkers. The all had vicious looks, their faces were painted with interlocking woad tattoos.


    ¡°That¡¯s half the fun! You get to put them together and paint them any way you like.¡± Duncan brightened with enthusiasm. ¡°We sell starter armies, five hundred points, the lore tome, and the basic rulebook. I would avoid the dwarves for your first army though, they¡¯re a little weak this season.¡±


    ¡°The dwarves are fine, it¡¯s their leader that¡¯s weak. Speaking of which, hand over your general,¡± Vlad thrust his palm over the table.


    ¡°Let me slide this time. I just finished painting Gorthar. I didn¡¯t even get to use his ultimate! Goblins are so overpowered right now.¡±


    ¡°No mercy for dwarven scum. You lost, cough up Gorthar.¡±


    Duncan had concealed his general behind a wall of Mountain Dew cans, perhaps hoping Vlad might forget to collect. With a sigh he handed the general over. The Gorthar figurine dripped with lavish detail. His many-colored robe was trimmed in golden runes and his staff had a silver ram¡¯s head with sapphire eyes. Duncan must have spent days painting it.


    ¡°You have to give up your general if you lose?¡± Robin asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a house rule. You can get them back if you win. We have a campaign going, each battle impacts the greater war. Losing a general is a big deal.¡±


    ¡°Spoils of war,¡± Vlad grinned. ¡°Check out my trophy hall.¡±


    With pride, Vlad produced a smaller case with all the generals he¡¯d captured. There was a twin-tailed lizard king with a feather headdress, an elf queen with three arrows nocked in her bow, a knight in crimson armor with a giant sword, and some sort of bloated half-man half-spider with eight glittering red eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s my Silverwind,¡± Duncan pointed to the elf. ¡°I swapped to dwarves after Vlad¡¯s Knights of Chaos wiped out my Everglade Brigade. I hoped I could win her back today. No such luck.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t just luck,¡± Vlad folded his arms across his chest.


    ¡°You rolled four sixes in a row!¡±


    ¡°You misplayed the scenario. You let your footmen get bogged down in the barley. By the time your berserkers got going, it was all over. Should have sacrificed your shieldbearers and rushed the stockade.¡±


    ¡°Hard to do when your archers get four sixes and negate all my armor!¡±


    ¡°How much is a starter army?¡± Robin interrupted. The older boys seemed like they might bicker all night.


    Duncan snapped back to work.


    ¡°Just $19.99! Comes with everything you need, paint, primer, and brushes. Plus we¡¯ll give you a general figure of your choice to lead your squad to glory!¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Robin said. He turned and found Una was watching him from the aisle. In her face he could see there was no way. He took a last look at the battlefield.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he added.

 Chapter 2

    ¡°Scalpel!¡± A nasal voice barked in the operating theater. Una watched from above, something was very wrong. The fat doctor¡¯s mask rode below his nose, there was mustard on his gown. A pockmarked nurse brought over a tray cluttered with paint brushes and tiny soldiers. They clattered to the floor as the surgeon grabbed an Exacto knife. His surgical gloves were smudged with paint.


    NO! Una tried to scream and beat at the glass but she had no voice and her arms had no strength. The body under the shroud began to convulse. The doctor reached into the cavity and pulled out a set of bloody dice.


    ¡°Roll them bones!¡± The doctor roared and flung the dice.


    ¡°Critical hit!¡± the nurse cried.


    There was a wet, wretched sound as fluids gushed from the patient and spattered the green felt of the floor.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± Una screamed.


    The surgeon and the nurse noticed her. Their yellow eyes rose to the galley, they tugged down their masks and smiled. Their mouths were full of crocodile teeth.


    Una woke with a terrible jolt and groped for her glasses. The awful sound from the dream went on and on. It took her a moment to understand it was just Robin, throwing up in the bathroom. She padded over to check on him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Tita,¡± Robin gulped, and quickly flushed the toilet. His nose ran and there were tear streaks on his face. He looked so pale and sick in the fluorescent light Una nearly cried too. She clenched her teeth, and drew air through her nose. He needed her to be strong now.


    ¡°Oh conejito, it¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine. Do you need a doctor?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°I can make you something to eat.¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Ok, If you need me just call out and I¡¯ll come. Don¡¯t forget to brush your teeth.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    Una sat in her reading chair under the afghan and worried. The Kit-Cat clock in the kitchen ticked as Robin brushed his teeth, then the floorboards creaked as he shuffled back to bed. She looked at the clock, the cat said 3:16 AM. No chance she could get back to sleep, not after that dream.


    Una put the kettle on for tea. Just as the water was about to boil, she realized the whistle might wake Robin. She hurried over and took the kettle off, which her bad hip didn¡¯t like one bit. She poured the water into a pot, let it boil, and made her tea. It all felt so sadly familiar. When Hector got sick, there were many sleepless nights, just like this.


    Her rosary was on the reading table, on top of the family Bible. She murmured a decade of Hail Marys, and ended with the Fatima prayer:


    ¡°O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy.¡±


    The clock ticked on. No grace came. Some nights she could pray, tonight it felt very far away. She set the rosary aside and reached for the Bible. The aged Douay-Rheims had belonged to Una¡¯s mother, and her grandmother before. When Robin was born, Una gave it to his Lucinda. It came back after she passed. The covered edges were frayed, the gilt had faded, but the words remained unchanged.


    Una laid her hand on the cover, searching for strength. Anger came instead. How was this part of the plan? Her Hector, her rock, gone. Her lovely, willful Lucinda snatched away. Now, the devil wanted Robin, an innocent child. How could He ask so much? How much could one person bear? The clock ticked on, impossibly slow.


    ¡°Please,¡± Una whispered.


    She lifted the cover, closed her eyes and turned the ancient pages. She opened her eyes, her finger fell on Romans 3:12.


    The night is passed And the day is at hand. Let us, therefore cast off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light.


    Una glanced back at the kitchen, which faced east. The clock¡¯s tail swayed and its bakelite eyes flicked back and forth. 4:24. Dawn was a long way off.


    At the back of the drawer of the reading table was a black velvet pouch. She took it out and held it in her palm without opening it. Again she closed her eyes and flipped pages.


    Ezekiel 13:23:


    Therefore you shall not see vain things, nor divine divinations any more, and I will deliver my people out of your hand: and you shall know that I am the Lord.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a game,¡± Una whispered aloud. The words felt hollow.


    ¡°You tell me what to do then,¡± she said.


    One last time, she closed the book and turned pages. Her finger landed in the middle of Ezekiel 23. With a scowl, she closed the bible and put it away in the drawer. Confession would be rough this week.


    She took out the deck. The packet had yellowed with time, it was nearly as old as the bible. Above and below a drawing of a rooster it read:


    GRAN FABRICA DE NAIPES


    DE TODOS ESTILOS


    Clemente Jaques y Cia.,S.A.


    C DE CINTURA NO 2


    MEXICO D. F.


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    With great care, Una drew out the cards and shuffled the loteria deck. Like the bible, they belonged to her grandmother. Abuela would have never allowed a tarot deck or an Ouija board in her home, those were clear conduits to Satan. Somehow, loteria was permissible. Whenever someone was sick sick or laid up in bed she would make tortilla soup and they would all gather around and play. Grandfather Domingo was the cantor, he had a radioman¡¯s voice and he knew all the lines and rhymes. They marked their cards with pennies and the winner shouted Loteria! and got to keep their pennies. Wonderful memories.


    It was Una¡¯s mother Gloria who taught her the cards could be more than a game. Gloria believed the cards could reveal if a man was lying, if money would come or go, or if a sick horse might get better. Once, a lover had offered to bring her mother on a cruise to New York City. She consulted the cards and refused. That ship was the SS Morro Castle and the lover was one of one hundred and thirty seven who perished in a terrible fire. After extracting a promise to never tell grandmother, Gloria taught Una to read them too.


    First, she lit three candles. Then she shuffled the deck, and cut it seven times, each time she prayed the novena of Saint Lucia, hear my prayers and obtain my petitions. Then, the question, clear in her mind.


    How can I help Robin get better?


    She dealt the spread of seven cards, face down. One by one, she turned them over.


    First, El Gorrito, The Bonnet.


    Take care of those close to you. Someone needs looking after.


    Next, La Perra - The Pear.


    Time was short.


    Una felt a tightness in her chest. She did not like the direction this was going, it wasn¡¯t too late to stop and put the cards away. But if she did, she would worry about that pear for days. She turned over the next card.


    El Pajaro - The Bird.


    Nervousness, a danger of flying off before the work was done.


    What did it mean? The three flames drew higher. Perhaps a danger of not following through with the treatment. She would be wary of an unexpected change in the plan. There was a sudden chill in the air.


    Next, La Palma - The Palm. Hard work was needed.


    Una nodded. It was a better card. The road would not be easy. There was some labor ahead. Labor meant agency, far better than helplessness.


    Next, El Soldado - The Solider.


    The path would be followed, there would be no exceptions to the rules.


    Another good card, more inclination to stay the course and follow the plan. Then of course, the toy soldiers today and the dream. She remembered how Robin¡¯s eyes had been so bright in the store. There was something there.


    Next, La Bandara - The flag.


    Victory!


    Una¡¯s heart beat faster. There was one card left. Her hand trembled a little as she reached for the card.


    It¡¯s only a game, she chided herself. It did not feel like a game, the air was very still and the candles burned high.


    She needed to stop this, she¡¯d gotten carried away. Cards could not tell the future, only god could. She would put them away, forget the whole thing, and go to confession in the morning. The tension grew until she felt ridiculous. It was only a card.


    She turned the last card over. A skeleton held a scythe.


    La Muerte - Death.


    * * *


    ¡°Dr. Suarez! Can I speak with you?¡± Una pressed.


    Dr. Suarez was walking briskly, probably trying to escape to lunch. The annoyance flew from her face when she recognized Una Martillo.


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± she assured Robin. ¡°Take a look at your position here. There¡¯s something good you can do.


    ¡°Ok Tita.¡±


    She left Robin to ponder the chess board and walked with Dr. Suarez to her office. It was small and tidy, without a mote of dust or a single thing out of place. Her degrees and awards were hung on the wall, vastly outnumbered by pictures of her two daughters and three dachshunds. On the other wall were pictures of Dr. Suarez hugging her patients, the lucky ones. Above the door was a crucifix, perhaps for those less fortunate. All these things made Una like and trust Dr. Suarez, but most important was she could speak Spanish. Even now, after so many years in the States, it was hard to talk about emotional things in English.


    ¡°How is he?¡± Dr. Suarez asked, looking over his chart. Una scrutinized her face for the tiniest sign of a reaction.


    ¡°Not good. I have to force him to eat and it¡¯s exhausting for both of us. He doesn¡¯t sleep well, lots of nightmares and vomiting in the night.¡±


    ¡°Those are all normal, unfortunately. It¡¯s a difficult treatment, but it¡¯s the best we have. Is he speaking with a counselor?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and also with our priest. I feel like they aren¡¯t getting through. Navega sin vela. He drifts through each day with a shadow over him. Less than a year since he lost his mother, in a new city with no friends, no family.¡±


    ¡°How is he at church?¡±


    ¡°El no cree,¡± Una admit.


    The women shared a look.


    ¡°His mother,¡± Una explained. Dr. Suarez nodded, she understood.


    ¡°Keep trying. Faith helps so much. It¡¯s more than anyone can take on their own, especially a child. Does he play an instrument?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Does he read? Or draw? Any hobbies?¡±


    ¡°Only what the school makes him. He used to play f¨²tbol with his friends, they were all hinchas for Cruz Azul. Now, he won¡¯t even listen to games on the radio. He misses his friends and he doesn¡¯t think he¡¯ll ever play again.


    ¡°This is very serious. Robin needs something to keep him going. Comic books, music, games, friends, family. The most important thing in treatment is hope. Any interest you see in him, encourage it. Try bringing him to a library, see what books he gravitates towards.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to teach him chess now,¡± Una said.


    ¡°I saw! That¡¯s very good. He¡¯s very fortunate you¡¯re here to care for him. What about you, how are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Better than him,¡± Una shrugged.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget about yourself either in this. It¡¯s hard to be strong for someone else, easy to exhaust yourself trying. You have to care for yourself too, not just Robin. Make sure you¡¯re eating well, getting good sleep. Don¡¯t ask more from yourself than you¡¯re capable of.¡±


    Una took a deep breath and swallowed the unkind thing she wanted to say. It was hard to be talked that to that way by a younger woman.


    She means well, Una told herself. She looked at the wall of patients. The woman knew what she was talking about.


    ¡°Thank you Dr. Suarez.¡±


    Robin¡¯s eyes were closed when she came back, but he was still awake. The chess board was unchanged.


    ¡°Did you find it?¡±


    Robin opened his eyes. With a little smile, he moved his knight to F7. Her queen and rook were caught in a fork.


    ¡°Very good,¡± Una said.


    The little smile faded.


    ¡°Are you just letting me win?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you think you¡¯ll win?¡± Una smiled. ¡°Take the rook, see what happens.¡±


    She moved her queen onto the file with Robin¡¯s king.

 Chapter 3

    Pandemonium broke over the battlefield. The patchwork army was nominally under the command of Barak Breakbow, but as soon as battle was joined he flew into a rage and all the units were left to their own devices.


    Rudderless, the Imperial Halberdiers formed a wedge and crashed into a slavering hoard of Abominated. Seeing the wedge about to be enveloped, the Dwarven Shieldbearers charged to reinforce them.


    The sudden move saved the Halberdiers, but exposed the line of Elven Hawkbows they¡¯d meant to protect. A line of Chaos Knights took notice. Upon their flame-snorting felsteeds they sallied forth, thirsty for slaughter. Though Breakbow¡¯s Berserkers were close, the mounted Chaos Knights wore blackened helplate, their chargers wore wicked barbed barding. They did not fear footmen.


    They were very wrong. With howls of delight, the berserkers wheeled on them and counter-charged. Without fear, the mad dwarves dodged beneath the flaming hooves and hacked upward. The captain of the Chaos Knights lowered his lance and charged at Breakbow. Breakbow never flinched, he launched himself into the air, caught the captain by his leg, and tore him from his saddle. The charge broke apart into a bloody melee.


    Protected, the Hawkbows took careful aim at the Beastmaster. Five of their screaming arrows bounced off his scaly hide, but the sixth did the trick and took him in the eye. As the Beastmaster died, his aura of domination faded and his menagerie strained at their sorcerous bonds. The War Pigs broke first and rampaged through the Chaos lines.


    Everything came apart at once. Gored, the ancient Cyclopean flew into an insane rage and attacked everything within reach of his massive club. Aided by the confusion, Prescote the Sage overwhelmed the triad of chaos sorcerers and incinerated them with a sphere of rainbow flame. Unstoppable, the orb rolled on and drove the mad boars away from Breakbow¡¯s lines, towards the enemy leadership.


    The summoner coven was trampled and their gate became a vortex, sucking in allies instead of summoning reinforcements. The Riftmaster screamed orders, but at last his entourage broke and abandoned him. The craven palanquin-bearers left his bloated body defenseless in the dirt.


    Against all odds, Breakbow¡¯s band of misfits carried the day.


    As his rage subsided, Barak Breakbow stood soaked in blood. He turned about, looking for more foes but all were fled. The blood of fallen felsteeds burned like phosphorous. The Chaos Knights lay vanquished, their wicked armor cracked apart by berserk fury. With great care the other leaders edged closer to Breakbow, eyes wide with astonishment.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Breakbow asked. Rage had no memory.


    ¡°The Emperor¡¯s grace preserved us,¡± said Gunag Doreson, Captain of the Halberdiers. He made the sign of the Holy Hammer over his breast.


    ¡°Was that what saved you?¡± Hilg Stonesthrow rolled his eyes. The leader of the Shieldbearers had no patience for mystics.


    ¡°I think we were simply too chaotic for the forces of Chaos,¡± suggested Cinabinathi, Purest of the Hawkbows. She favored them with a dazzling smile. It was her shriek-shot that ended the Beastmaster and started the chain reaction. Breakbow stared into her green eyes, captured by her tranquility. The elf stared back in recognition. Her task was done, her purpose attained, the archer¡¯s trance slipped away and she as someone else. Breakbow could understand completely. Only in these blood-soaked moments after battle did he ever feel at peace.


    Hilg Stonesthrow¡¯s jaw moved from side to side and he snorted in disapproval.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened but I¡¯ll tell you one thing, it¡¯ll never happen again. We used up a lifetime of luck in a single battle. You¡¯re no general, Barak Breakbow.¡±


    ¡°Never claimed I was,¡± Breakbow met Hilg¡¯s stare. Hilg quickly looked away. ¡°But, I agree with you. This ragtag band decided to follow me, but I can never lead. When the madness takes me, I take chances no force can afford. An army cannot be led by one destined for death.¡±


    Again, Cinabinathi¡¯s eyes found Barak and burned him to his core. He sensed his battle was not over.


    ¡°What of you, Prescote?¡± Hilg pressed the sage. The ancient wizard shook his head.


    ¡°It would be a mistake. I am too old. My mind is weighted down with the histories of a thousand defeats.¡±


    They all turned back to Barak Breakbow.


    ¡°I cannot lead, but who among you can? Hilg knows only defense. Gungag would throw our fates in the hands of his absent emperor. The dwarves would buck under elven leadership.¡±


    Cinabinathi raised an eyebrow, her smile flashed again. Hairs rose at the back of Barak¡¯s neck.


    Mercifully, Prescote the Sage broke the tension.


    ¡°Alliances such as this ours are not without precedent. Since the dawn of time, great hordes have risen and threatened to swallow the Arc. Always, those beset have combined forces to resist them. Three days north, there is a secret place, sacred to the elves. May I speak of it?¡± Prescote looked to Cinabinthi for permission.


    ¡°The tomb of the peacemaker, Abaxios Oslune,¡± she said, with reverence.


    ¡°A general?¡± Hilg asked.


    ¡°A diplomat. Long before there were dwarves, Abaxios wove together three kingdoms in the face of a tide of evil. But when the foe was overcome and the danger was done, the alliance crumbled into infighting. Heartbroken, Abaxios forsook the world. Our queens still make pilgrimage to his tomb to reflect on his lessons.¡±


    ¡°Sounds elvish,¡± Hilg snorted and turned to Prescote. ¡°What do you propose? Negotiating with Clan Bla¡¯Claw?¡±


    ¡°Of course not. But if our band were to unearth this tomb and recover a powerful relic, word would spread. Many warriors would join us, eager to be part of a legend,¡± Prescote said.


    ¡°Is there even a relic there?¡± Barak asked.


    ¡°There might be. There might not be. It¡¯s not so important what we find. What matters is the story we create,¡± Prescote said.


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    The leaders looked at each other and nodded.


    Desperate times.


    * * *


    ¡°No way. There¡¯s NO WAY!¡± Vlad looked down at his dice in despair. The table broke into howls of delight. The battle was over.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it!¡± Duncan shouted. He¡¯d laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes.


    Every other table was abandoned. Everyone in Duke Games had gathered around Robin¡¯s table to watch the end of their battle. It was the absolute worst run of luck any of them had ever seen. First, Vlad¡¯s charge provoked an attack of opportunity from Robin¡¯s Berserkers. The Chaos Knights relied heavily on their Aura of Dread for defense, but Berserkers¡¯ fanatical morale negated it completely. He rolled poorly and lost the entire unit. This triggered the First Blood perk, the Berserkers gained full rage immediately. This let them gain an extra attack die each turn, later in the battle they would be a major problem.


    Vlad had scoffed when Robin¡¯s Hawkbows targeted the Beastmaster. With his twin armor buffs from Dogs of War and March of the Pigs, it was highly unlikely the archers could even wound him. The first five shots had no effect, it seemed the volley was a complete waste. Then, Robin rolled the red die for the squad leader, Cinabinathi.


    Critical hit!


    A critical meant the Beastmaster¡¯s armor was negated. Still, it had eighteen wounds. It should have been able to weather a single arrow. Robin rolled for damage and got a six. Vlad winced, sixes exploded on crit. Robin rolled again, another six. Vlad swore. That was the moment the whole room took notice. Robin rolled again.


    Six!


    Triple six, Beastmaster down on turn one! It was the worst possible time, with all his units still close together in formation. Roll after roll, the situation grew from bad to tragic. The Cyclopean going mad was just a risk one took by putting the powerful unit on the roster, but the rift implosion was the absolute worst result on the chart. By the end of turn two, the Cohort of Chaos had almost completely destroyed itself. The entire game room cheered when the Riftmaster¡¯s entourage lost a morale roll and abandoned the general.


    Robin looked around the room, stunned by the result. He¡¯d expected to lose his first game, especially when he saw he was facing Vlad. The consensus was that Chaos was cheap this season, almost as bad as Goblins. Once the summoners got going, it was almost impossible to overcome the flood of demons. Some players thought it was a marketing trick to get people to buy tons of chaos figurines. Apparently, none of that mattered if the coven was crushed in round one.


    If Robin was stunned, Vlad was in shock. He shook his head over and over, aghast at the ruins of his army. He¡¯d never expected to lose a ranked match to Robin¡¯s Remnants.


    Robin was the only one who¡¯d showed up for ¡®new player Saturday.¡¯ Because he didn¡¯t have an army of his own, the other players had loaned him units to assemble his patchwork army. Many, like the Berserkers and the Hawkbows came from the store case. These were armies Duncan had painted and abandoned when the rules shifted and the factions fell out of favor.


    ¡°Screw this. I¡¯m going home,¡± Vlad announced. He opened his flight case and began to pack the forces of Chaos away.


    ¡°Oh? Will Clan Bla¡¯Claw be forfeiting their next match?¡± Duncan crowed.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t feel good.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t feel good either if I got wiped by a newbie,¡± said Chuck. Chuck was a Templar player, his Flammebeaux the Heresy Hunter was in Vlad¡¯s trophy case. He¡¯d been the first to sidle over to soak in Vlad¡¯s undoing.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just bail on the main event because your second army got trounced,¡± Bill spoke up. He was a short, pale boy with ginger hair. His Chaos Warlocks were #3 on the leaderboard and scheduled to face Vlad¡¯s goblins in the second round of battles.


    ¡°Watch me.¡±


    All around the room eyes rolled. Robin got the sense this wasn¡¯t the first time Vlad had done something like this.


    Duncan picked up the Riftmaster, a moment before Vlad could.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Vlad asked. ¡°That¡¯s mine.¡±


    ¡°Was yours. You lost.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not even a regulation army! He doesn¡¯t have a general,¡± Vlad hissed.


    ¡°He does now. You were happy enough to pick up a ranked match against a brand new player to pad your stats. Now pay the price.¡±


    ¡°No! You can¡¯t get that model anymore. They¡¯re sold out everywhere. You all saw that BS. It was a complete fluke.¡±


    ¡°By chaos undone. Kind of ironic, really.¡± Sandy piped up. He¡¯d lost to the summoners just last week. His Imperials were ranked dead last, but they were the best looking army in the store. Both of his parents were artists. His rank and file were painted better than the other players¡¯ generals. His banners were miniature masterpieces, painted on vellum aged in coffee. Every painting contest Duke Games held was just a race for second place.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Robin said. ¡°It was just bad luck. You can keep your general.¡±


    Every other boy in the room but Vlad shouted some variant of ¡°you can¡¯t do that!¡± Robin was startled by the outcry.


    ¡°Kid, you HAVE to take his general. It¡¯s a ranked match, that¡¯s the rule. He knew the stakes when he agreed to play you,¡± Duncan said. ¡°Now if Vlad wants to trade you something to get it back, that¡¯s between you two. Might be a good way to get your own army started.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you five bucks,¡± Vlad offered.


    ¡°Hah! Don¡¯t fall for it Robin. The unpainted Riftmaster set is $7.99. I bet Vlad spent three days painting the palanquin and general, probably another two for the retinue.¡±


    ¡°More like a week,¡± Vlad admit.


    ¡°The Riftmaster is out of stock everywhere, everyone¡¯s trying to get in on the Chaos cheese right now,¡± Duncan poured on. He was loving every minute of this.


    ¡°Ten bucks,¡± Vlad offered.


    Robin couldn¡¯t believe it. Ten dollars! That was halfway to an army. But he had no idea how he¡¯d get the other ten. He glanced down at the makeshift army.


    ¡°How about this? I¡¯ll give your Riftmaster back,¡± Robin dangled, looking up at Vlad. Behind his thick glasses, his eyes bulged. He wanted it bad.


    ¡°In exchange, you give me Duncan¡¯s Gorthar, Chuck¡¯s Flammebeaux, and Sandy¡¯s Skitterlord.¡±


    ¡°Three for one? No way,¡± Vlad scoffed.


    ¡°Well, the general¡¯s pretty good right? And hard to get. Maybe I¡¯ll just build my own Chaos army with it,¡± Robin bluffed.


    ¡°Be my guest.¡±


    ¡°Or, if you trade me those three, here¡¯s what I¡¯d do. I¡¯d trade you guys your generals back for the units you loaned me. That¡¯s the Berserkers, the Hawkbows, the Halberdiers, and the Shieldbearers.¡±


    ¡°Holy crow. What a swindle!¡± Sandy shook his head. ¡°This kid¡¯s out for blood.¡±


    ¡°I mean, you don¡¯t use them anymore, right? They¡¯re leftovers,¡± Robin added.


    ¡°I¡¯d take that deal,¡± Duncan said.


    ¡°Same here,¡± Chuck added.


    ¡°Me too,¡± Sandy agreed.


    ¡°Well I wouldn¡¯t. No way,¡± Vlad crossed his arms over his chest.


    ¡°I tell you what, I¡¯ll give you twenty bucks for the Riftmaster,¡± Bill produced a crisp twenty dollar bill.


    A few boys whistled.


    ¡°That¡¯s nuts, Bill.¡±


    ¡°Small price to pay. I¡¯ve been trying to find the model for months. That¡¯s the only reason I went warlocks,¡± Bill explained. ¡°If I can get the Riftmaster, his goblins are in big trouble.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the deal,¡± Vlad said quietly. He thrust his hand over the table at Robin.


    Robin reached out and shook. The game room burst into cheers. The boys applauded as Vlad repatriated each general.


    Robin couldn¡¯t believe it. In a single move he¡¯d gained a fame and an army. Everyone knew him now. He returned the Riftmaster to Vlad.


    ¡°It was just dumb luck,¡± Robin admitted.


    Vlad pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and stared right at Robin.


    ¡°I won¡¯t forget this,¡± Vlad promised.

 Chapter 4

    ¡°Breakfast is ready, conejito.¡±


    Una knocked three times, there was no answer. There was a wrench in her chest, a lotteria card fluttered at the back of her mind.


    He¡¯s gone.


    She banged harder, and a sleepy groan came from the room.


    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry,¡± a small voice protested.


    ¡°Get up and get dressed. It¡¯s after eight. I have a surprise for you today.¡±


    She could almost hear his eyes pop open. Una smiled and went back to the unfamiliar meal on the kitchen table. All her life, she¡¯d made variations on one of three breakfasts, enfrijoladas, huevos con chorizo, or sometimes torrijas on easter or a birthday. Robin had no appetite for any of them, and he¡¯d begun to have trouble swallowing.


    Earlier that week, Una urged him to eat anyway, telling him he needed his strength. Somehow, Robin choked on his scrambled eggs. She had to rush over and thwack him on the back. Afterward she felt so guilty and miserable that she wept in the bathroom, muffling her sobs with a hand towel. She made a frantic call to Dr. Suarez afterward and scratched down recipe notes on a yellow legal pad. This morning she had a scoop of cottage cheese, oatmeal with finely diced strawberries and a slice of toast soaked in milk with smooth peanut butter.


    Robin emerged and looked skeptically at the breakfast. Una had made herself the same thing. She didn¡¯t care for it either, but it didn¡¯t matter. The boy had to eat.


    ¡°What¡¯s the surprise?¡± Robin asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you once you eat breakfast,¡± Una said. Robin¡¯s mouth made a flat line, but he did not complain. They suffered through breakfast together. Una could remember when the boy first came to live with her. He¡¯d wolfed down everything she put in front of him and always wanted seconds. She¡¯d feared he would eat her out of house and home. Now, he labored to finish a slice of milk toast. They both saved the cottage cheese for last.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like it either?¡± Robin guessed.


    ¡°I like it just fine,¡± Una lied and soldiered through.


    Robin laughed at her. The hollows under his eyes were darker, but his spirits were so much brighter since he¡¯d made some friends. He began to clear the table and do the dishes.


    ¡°I can do that if you don¡¯t feel up to it,¡± Una offered.


    ¡°I can do it,¡± Robin said, sharp enough so she wouldn¡¯t ask again. For the ten thousandth time, she wondered who his father was and what he was like. Not once in her life had Lucinda ever done dishes without grumbling.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get the surprise,¡± Una said.


    Again, she had his full attention. She creaked outside, another bad day for her hip. The morning was overcast, there was rain on the wind, a welcome relief from the heat. She retrieved the cardboard box from the back of the station wagon, it rattled as she set it down on the kitchen table.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Robin asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s you,¡± Una opened the box and produced a small ceramic bird.


    Robin squinted in confusion at the clay robin. There were other types, cardinals, bluebirds, goldfinches and a painted bunting. There was a smaller box inside with a spray can of white primer, a dozen colors of paint, and a selection of brushes. Underneath it all was an instruction manual.


    ¡°Birds?¡± Robin was flummoxed.


    ¡°I asked Father Domingo how we could make some pocket money for you. He¡¯s got a line on a program for people who are laid up in bed or too old to work. They pay fifty cents for each bird you paint, and the church gets a quarter on top of that. People put them in their gardens. I thought we could paint some together and you can use the money to buy that toy soldier you want.¡±


    Robin¡¯s eyebrows leapt.


    ¡°How long does it take to paint a bird?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to see. Father Domingo say¡¯s its slow at first, but not bad once you get the hang of it. You have to do a good job painting them and follow the manual exactly, or they won¡¯t take them. They gave us two bluebirds to practice on.¡±


    ¡°That sounds easy. I can do that!¡± Robin said.


    ¡°It¡¯s good practice too, for painting your own soldiers. Let¡¯s start slow, we don¡¯t want to run out of paint.¡±


    The wind wailed outside and thunder rumbled a long way off. It was a perfect day for arts and crafts. Robin hardly seemed to notice. He could not wait to begin.


    * * *


    The watchers were long dead.


    After an endless march, Barak¡¯s band arrived and found Wintermore Wall sundered and shattered. This was no slow slide into ruin. Some monstrous force had torn into the ashlar of the Imperial Fortress and scattered the ten-ton stones like pebbles. Even the ground itself was undone. The keep¡¯s foundations had tilted and cracked and the pavers rolled in waves. The dwarves rankled at the disturbed earth. Barak was no stonemason, but something about the lay of the land touched a deep place and struck him wrong.


    This was cursed ground.


    As the army neared the keep, they could see the scope of the devastation. The twin watchtowers were toppled, the outer buildings were smashed, and the keep was crushed from above. Only the chapel remained intact, they could see the distinctive sledge-head shape from far away. Here too, the ground was disturbed, the crust was cracked and jagged boulders jutted from the ridges. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Barak looked to the other leaders.


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    ¡°A sign! The forge is unbroken! The Emperor is Everlasting!¡± Gunag Doreson invoked. His halberdiers each took a knee and made the sign of the hammer.


    Close at Barak¡¯s side, far-sighted Cinabinathi shook her head. He needed no words to know what was behind her emerald eyes. All was lost.


    ¡°Should we warn him?¡± she whispered.


    Barak considered it and shook his head.


    ¡°No. The fool is blinded by paper faith in that feckless emperor. It¡¯s no armor at all.¡±


    ¡°He may break,¡± Cinabiniathi warned.


    ¡°Better here than in battle,¡± Hilg opined. ¡°We ought to leave those wishful weaklings.¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s got to soak casualties. Men can be replaced,¡± Cinabinathi said.


    The three leaders nodded the thought. They were all worried about the imperials. The hawkbows were elite, Hilg¡¯s veteran shieldbearers were as tough as the bulwarks they bore. As for Barak¡¯s squad, there was no question at all. The berserkers were utterly insane. They would fight until their veins ran dry. Humans could not be trusted. Even now, Doreson hurried towards the chapel, heedless of the dangers that might lie in wait. The other leaders reluctantly followed. Ahead, Prescote hobbled after them with his apprentice Bobbert in tow. They soon caught up, the endless march had nearly lamed the sage.


    ¡°What did this?¡± Young Bobbert asked, gawking at the ravaged keep. Prescote cuffed the back of his head, hard enough to make the boy¡¯s jaw clack shut.


    ¡°Mind yourself, dunce,¡± Prescote¡¯s gave a meaningful look to the dwarven leaders.


    ¡°No need to dance around it. It¡¯s a drake,¡± Barak spat.


    Hilg flinched. To dwarves, the word was a slur, a bitter reminder of their undoing.


    ¡°It could easily be a giant, or some other great beast. There¡¯s no scorching on the stones,¡± Hilg observed.


    ¡°Now who¡¯s wishful?¡± Barak jabbed.


    Ahead, a scream rang from the chapel.


    * * *


    ¡°Are you sure you want to do that?¡± Sandy asked.


    Robin noticed his little smile and froze. He pulled back the Berserkers and looked at the board again.


    Sandy was a sophomore. He wore round glasses and cut his hair in a mop top, in vain hope girls might think he looked like a young John Lennon. Was Robin really missing something, or was it a bluff to try and get him to make a mistake? It was the first time Robin had faced Sandy¡¯s Reavers. He wasn¡¯t sure how to read Sandy, yet.


    With a scowl, Robin picked up his Mead composition book. ¡°BATTLE LOG - ROBIN MARTILLO¡± was written in magic marker on the black and white cover. Inside, Robin had sketched maps of each battle. As they played, he sketched notes and logged every move he and his opponents made. Later, at home, he would pore over each log, reviewing the positions and thinking of what he could have done differently.


    ¡°Oh my god, are you checking your notes?¡± Sandy asked.


    ¡°Yeah, of course,¡± Robin said.


    Robin had written down all the special rules for the scenario. Sandy had 2500 total points, but he could only bring in 500 points per turn. Robin only had 1500 but he got his whole army at once, plus he had objectives on the board. He¡¯d written down each and underlined them.


    TAKE AND HOLD THE CHAPEL - 1 CP PER TURN


    PERFORM THE RITE OF PURIFICATION - 3 CP


    REACH THE RUINED KEEP AND ESCAPE BEFORE YOU¡¯RE OVERWHELMED - 2 CP


    ¡°Why are you doing that? It¡¯s a game, not class,¡± Sandy teased.


    ¡°I like making maps and recording stuff,¡± Robin bristled. He was ready to get into it if Sandy started making fun of him.


    ¡°Can I see?¡± Sandy asked.


    Robin¡¯s instinct was to refuse. Once, his friends from Houston found a half-completed comic book he¡¯d been drawing and never let him hear the end of it. Sandy was an amazing artist, he might scoff at Robin¡¯s amateurish sketches. But at the same time, Robin was proud of his Battle Log. He kind of wanted to show it to someone.


    ¡°I can¡¯t show you this battle, it¡¯s got some of my plans in it. But here¡¯s my last one.¡± Robin flipped back to the skirmish from last Saturday. Robin¡¯s Remnants faced against Chuck¡¯s little brother, Sammy. Sammy put together a makeshift army from the Store¡¯s display of Death Knights and some of Chuck¡¯s old Unforgiven conscripts.


    Sammy looked over the map, the numbered arrows showing the troop movements, charge orders and retreats. On the right hand side of the board there was a series of letters and numbers: BZ(ow)>>DK - A3-C3 - 1-5! and so forth, for each turn.


    ¡°What are these?¡±


    ¡°You divide the battlefield into an eight by eight grid, columns are letters, rows are numbers. BZ is berserkers, the arrows mean charge, DK is death knights. Then 1-5 is casualties.


    ¡°Your berserkers took out 5 death knights?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it was Sammy¡¯s first game. I warned him they were in overwatch but he said let it rip.¡±


    ¡°Ha! RIP indeed. Did you have Dismount! on them?¡±


    ¡°Yeah it¡¯s really good. Totally wrecked Vlad¡¯s Chaos Knights.¡±


    ¡°Cavalry are so vulnerable this edition, you really have to safeguard them. This is really cool, using a code to record the moves.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just chess notation adapted for LOR. My grandma¡¯s been teaching me, she¡¯s really good.¡±


    ¡°Is she like a Grandmaster? A Grandma master?¡±


    ¡°Haha, no I don¡¯t think so, but she¡¯s really good. I haven¡¯t beat her yet. So she has me write down each move as we play, just like this. Then afterward you can kind of visualize the whole game by remembering the letters. She says when I get good enough I can play a whole game without the board.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so cool! And you¡¯re like writing a whole story of what¡¯s going on here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just goofing around,¡± Robin waved it away, but Sandy kept flipping through pages.


    ¡°Look at this! You¡¯ve got drama between your squad leaders, a quest for revenge, wait, is this a forbidden romance subplot?¡±


    Sandy grinned wide and Robin¡¯s cheeks flushed.


    ¡°Are you two going to play or just yammer?¡± Vlad snapped. Clan Bla¡¯Claw squared against Duncan¡¯s Moonsinger Elves at the next table. Newly freed, Duncan¡¯s Silverwind celebrated by landing two crits in a row on the Booga Chieftain. One more crit, and the whole army would get a huge morale bonus.


    ¡°Don¡¯t rush me, fatso. Some of us like to think before we move.¡±


    ¡°Is that the secret to your success?¡± Vlad snapped back. He pointed at the leaderboard. Sandy¡¯s Reavers were ranked 8th.


    ¡°Focus on your own opponent, both of you,¡± Duncan chided. ¡°Guys, let¡¯s keep moving so we can get a second round of games in later.¡±


    Sammy clammed up. When the older boys turned back to their game he stuck his fingers behind his ears so they stuck out like Duncan¡¯s. It was mean, but Robin had to laugh. Sammy handed back the Battle Log.


    ¡°This is really cool. You should turn it into a comic book or a short story or something.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m not that good at drawing.¡±


    ¡°Just takes practice. I can show you some stuff if you wanna hang out sometime. Maybe you can help me out with chess. I keep getting whipped by my little sister.¡±


    Vlad glowered at their table. Sandy stuck out his tongue.


    ¡°What were you saying about that move?¡± Robin asked. He didn¡¯t want to get scolded again.


    ¡°Yeah so, I¡¯ve played this scenario before. It seems like a good idea to move into the Chapel early and get the CP right away, right? But then your opponent¡¯s deploy zone gets closer, he can swamp whoever¡¯s at the chapel. Those CPs don¡¯t matter if you get routed.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t metagame!¡± Vlad hissed. ¡°That¡¯s terrible advice. Four CPs is a huge deal. The sceneario changed this edition too¡ª.¡±


    ¡°AHEM!¡± Duncan cleared his throat. He pointed to the sign over the entrance to the game room.


    NO QUARTERBACKING.


    Robin was caught between their conflicting advice. He didn¡¯t want to seem like he was picking Vlad over Sandy, but at the same time, there was every chance Sandy was either wrong or trying to mess with him. It was a ranked game after all.


    ¡°I already wrote the move down,¡± Robin said. ¡°I¡¯ll just run with it.¡±


    ¡°Hoo boy, ok. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn ya,¡± Sandy said.


    He seemed like he meant it. Robin looked at Vlad, but his face was just a perpetual frown. If he meant to trick Robin, it was impossible to tell.


    ¡°OK.¡±


    ¡°Hold on, was the Chapel triggered?¡± Duncan turned back to their table.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t activate it yet,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°How many units are within 12 inches of it?¡±


    ¡°Uhm, all of them now.¡±


    ¡°Roll this,¡± Duncan handed Robin a twenty sided die.


    A chorus of ¡°oooohs¡± swept around the room.


    Robin rolled a one.


    ¡°Hang on, I need to get a model out of the case,¡± Duncan left with a wicked grin.


    ¡°Rut-roh,¡± Sandy said.

 Chapter 5

    ¡°NO!¡±


    The scream tore through the chapel, ragged and unhinged. Barak muscled through the others gathered at the entrance with urgency, followed close by Runagir and Duandan. In the Master Halberdier¡¯s howl, they heard the crack of madness. Gunag had broken.


    ¡°It¡¯s all undone! The weave has warped, the thread has frayed! The emperor has fallen! There¡¯s no one left, no one can stitch the world back together!¡± Gunag swept his hands about the ruined chapel as he raved.


    Every inch of the Imperial Soulforge had beenutterly defiled. Vandals had beheaded the statues of the eight saints, swapped their heads, and repositioned the figures to suggest profane acts. The walls were chiseled with blasphemous subversions of the Imperial Script and rubbed with blood. Everywhere there were signs of struggle and shreds of soiled vestments. No one had died clean.


    The bodies were all tangled in a great sacrificial pyre raised before the Icon of the Emperor. A ring of scorched skulls was set around the blackened bones. Barak¡¯s gorge rose as he realized they were too small to have been adults. Above the ashes, the huge icon of the Emperor loomed. His golden skin was smeared with dung from head to toe. Only the sapphires of his eyes were unattained, the better to witness this horror. Chained against him upside down was the High Priest. He¡¯d been slit open and the Imperial Script stuffed into his innards, all was crawling with rot.


    ¡°Where is their shepherd? What God would allow this?¡± Gunag wailed.


    ¡°Sir,¡± Captain Wemble approached Gunag, palms raised. Two stout lieutenants were close at hand. Their expressions were bitter and resigned. This place had not seen the end of horror.


    ¡°I am not a sir! I am not a man! None of you are! We should have prevented this! We failed them! We failed them because the Emperor failed us!¡±


    ¡°Sir, control yourself,¡± Wemble pled.


    ¡°I will not! My eyes are open! Hear me now, all of you! We followed a lie! The emperor is a powerless fraud! Chaos reigns supreeee¡ª!¡±


    The captain¡¯s mailed fists wrapped around Gunag¡¯s throat and choked short his blasphemy. Gunag made no move to defend, instead he locked his hands around Wemble¡¯s neck and matched him, strength for strength. The two lieutenants rushed in to peel his arms off, but Gunag was a man possessed. They could not overcome him.


    ¡°Help!¡± A lieutenant cried.


    Barak surged forward and wrenched at Gunag¡¯s wrists until the bones gave out. Captain Wembly slipped from Gunag¡¯s hand and fell into the ashes, senseless.


    ¡°I CURSE THIS PLACE! MAY THE VOID RISE AND SWALLOW YOU ALL!¡±


    Gasps raced around the room, the air seemed to chill as the Devourer was invoked.


    ¡°You first,¡± Barak growled. He grabbed the Master Halberdier by the hair and yanked him down so hard and sudden the Lieutenants lost their grips. Gunag¡¯s forehead banged against the filthy flags and split open. He tried to rise but Barak¡¯s boot came down on the back of his skull. That was all. No one would ever forget the sound. There was great disquiet among the halberdiers after.


    ¡°Justice should have come from us, not a dwarf,¡± one of the Lieutenants said, and a few grumbled in agreement. Most were silent, afraid of the wild-eyed berserker.


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    ¡°You had your chance. Anyone who breaks and starts spewin¡¯ that chaos blather, here¡¯s your fate.¡± Barak kicked the Master Halberdier¡¯s remains. ¡°Anyone who doesn¡¯t like it, step outside with me, right now.¡±


    Barak gestured outside. There were no takers.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Now let¡¯s clear out of here before we¡ªhold.¡° Barak stopped mid-sentence and held up a fist. The other dwarves heard it first, then the elves, then the men. Prescote was the last to notice. Young Bobbert grabbed his aged master by the arm and led him outside.


    ¡°What is it?¡± The ancient sage asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s a weird sound,¡± Bobbert explained.


    Prescote strained his aged eyes to scan the jagged hills around the ruins of Wintermore Wall. Far away, a war horn sounded and then others joined it. The strange sound grew louder, the ground began to vibrate, then tremors began. Young Bobbert braced the frail sage to keep him on his feet.


    ¡°Oh my,¡± Prescote gulped. A moment later the quake brought them both to their knees.


    ¡°FORM UP!¡± Barrak howled, barely audible above the roar. The ground rippled and rolled, fluid as the sea. All around the ragtag army, the earth split and came apart.


    * * *


    ¡°How is he doing?¡±


    ¡°Better, he¡¯s at that game club right now. He¡¯s still struggling to eat. How are the tests?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re concerning. His complete blood count is very high for this stage of the treatment. We¡¯re going to advance the treatment. If we don¡¯t get a better response, I¡¯m going to suggest a course of radiation therapy.¡±


    ¡°Dr. Bolle told me they don¡¯t do radiation therapy for AML.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t, usually.¡±


    The words pressed down on Una like a stone.


    ¡°Are you seeing any physical changes?¡± Dr. Suarez asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m finding more hair in the drain,¡± Una said.


    ¡°That¡¯s normal, usually two to four weeks after treatment begins. It¡¯s very important to address the way Robin sees himself. People will stare and make him feel uncomfortable. He¡¯s lucky he¡¯s a boy, he can just wear a ball cap all the time and no one will think anything of it. It¡¯s much harder for girls. You said he¡¯s going to a board game club?¡±


    ¡°Yes, they play with toy soldiers for hours and hours. Even the older boys. I don¡¯t know why they aren¡¯t getting jobs, starting families.¡±


    ¡°Things are different here.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so. The important thing is, he¡¯s found some friends and he¡¯s happier.¡±


    ¡°Do they know about his diagnosis?¡± Dr. Suarez asked.


    Una thought about it. She would be surprised if Robin told anyone, he kept things very close.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°You might mention something to one of them, so it doesn¡¯t come as such a shock. Boys can be very cruel at that age.¡±


    ¡°They had better not be,¡± Una¡¯s eyes flashed with wrath.


    ¡°Do you know the person who¡¯s in charge of the club?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know the leader, Duncan. A nice boy, his family owns the store. They have a real racket going on. You wouldn¡¯t believe what these little soldiers cost!¡±


    ¡°I can imagine. My son is into model trains, I don¡¯t even want to think about how much he¡¯s spent. He¡¯s got a whole room for them, it drives his wife bonkers.¡±


    ¡°Men love to have little things under their thumb, to feel like they have power,¡± Una said.


    ¡°How¡¯s that different from chess?¡± Dr. Suarez smiled.


    ¡°Chess is pure, it strengthens the mind. It doesn¡¯t cost anything, you don¡¯t even need the board,¡± Una blustered a bit. In her heart, she knew Dr. Suarez was right. She didn¡¯t let Una get away with anything.


    ¡°How¡¯s he doing with that?¡±


    ¡°Very good. We went to the library and checked out a copy of Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess. I¡¯m giving him a rook now, but soon I¡¯ll be down to a bishop or a pawn. He¡¯s winning against the older boys at the game club, too.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s very bright. And tough. This is a very aggressive treatment plan. He¡¯s holding up very well.¡±


    ¡°Martillo.¡± Una made a chopping motion with her fist. ¡°His great, great grandfather was one of Santa Anna¡¯s generals. Then my Hector was a radioman on a B-17. I was in the WAFS when I met him.¡±


    ¡°What about his mother, did she serve?¡±


    ¡°Only herself,¡± Una said, without thinking. She shook her head. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t speak ill. I¡¯ve been so mean-spirited lately.¡±


    ¡°How are you sleeping?¡±


    ¡°Not well. It keeps me up at night. I wonder if I should take something.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you should talk to someone.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Una said.


    Their eyes met, Una wished she could scream.

 Chapter 6

    ¡°How is that fair?¡± Sandy asked. He held his hands out at the sparkling monstrosity.


    ¡°He rolled a one,¡± Vlad said.


    ¡°Yeah but come on,¡± he¡¯s brand new. You gave him bad advice.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t metagame the campaign!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna play, this is stupid. Which one of you wrote this dumb event?¡± Sandy complained to the whole room. No one spoke up.


    ¡°Wait, it¡¯s not just one writer for the campaign?¡± Robin asked.


    ¡°Nope! We all helped. The whole club got together at the start of the season and we voted on scenarios and stuff. Then we generated conditions and triggers for each match. They all got randomized into those manilla envelopes. Only the referee gets to see them until the match is over.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so cool,¡± Robin said. ¡°I wish I¡¯d been there.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I can see how you¡¯re at a disadvantage since you came in late. How about this, it¡¯s still turn one. If you want, I¡¯ll let you mulligan your first move.¡±


    ¡°What? No, you can¡¯t do that,¡± Vlad protested.


    ¡°I¡¯m the referee for their match, I absolutely can,¡± Duncan countered.


    ¡°Take the mulligan,¡± Sandy advised. ¡°You¡¯re gonna get wiped.¡±


    Robin looked down at the battle log. His moves were written in pen. He wanted to see what would happen.


    ¡°?Es lo que hay!¡± Robin said.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Duncan squinted.


    ¡°C¡¯est la vie,¡± Vlad translated.


    ¡°Hein?¡± Duncan joked. ¡°En ingl¨¦s, por favor Se?or Martillo?¡±


    ¡°It is what it is. Let¡¯s play,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°Awesome. I¡¯ve been waiting for this all season,¡± Duncan smiled. He rolled a big handful of dice.


    * * *


    With a howl, the air around them ripped away. Young Bobbert was nearly pulled from his feet, a shieldbearer grabbed him by the hem of his robe and yanked him back to earth. The scattered forces reeled, some screamed, some prayed. Barak Breakbow faced his doom with his axe in his hands and a snarl on his lips, charging at the invincible foe.


    Then, all was silent.


    The war horns in the hills drained away. The hooves of the horsemen fell silent, their savage cries were snuffed. Even Barak¡¯s own growl drained away to nothing. Darkness stole the sun, the tinged a queer turquoise, and the entire army wrenched in place. It felt as if every mote of his being was knocked out of alignment. A flare of searing white light dazzled Barak and a sound broke the silence, like heavy rain beating against a tin roof.


    He charged on, totally blind. His sight returned slow, as a blur of shimmering ghosts. Ahead it seemed like an entire mountain was on the move, as the glare faded he saw a great, serpentine bulk tore from the earth. Boulders crashed down, great waves of soil shook from its sides and beneath, faceted scales shone like molten silver. Now it was revealed. The jutting stones were spines. The spiral ridge wound around the chapel was the body of a buried wyrm.


    Barak knew their foe. Aravitrimore! The Diamond Drake. Barak¡¯s entire being thrummed with white-hot rage. No weapon could pierce Aravitrimore¡¯s diamond hide. His breath was knives, his strength unmatched, his hunger insatiable. Entire kingdoms of dwarves had vanished into that maw of faceted fangs. The halberdiers trembled and broke in terror. The elves stood frozen in place, hypnotized by the beast¡¯s terrible grandeur. The torrential sound stilled, their ears popped and there was a disorienting moment as Prescote¡¯s orb of occlusion broke and they sprang back to place.


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    A great ring of crystal knives surrounded the makeshift army. To the east, an entire wing of Reaver Cavalry was ripped apart, caught in the shardbreath. To the west the second wing of the pincer had broken and fled. Their chieftan screamed at them to reform, but it was hopeless in the face of the great drake.


    Fueled by hatred older than history, the dwarves charged forward.


    ¡°ARAVITRIMORE! NON TIMEO MORTIS!¡± Barak roared the ancient challenge. I fear no death!


    The prismatic eyes of Aravitrimore eyes fell upon Barak Breakbow and his maw yawned wide in a glittering grin. After his long underground slumber, the berserkers were a perfect snack. He surged forward, the earth quaked with every step.


    ¡°Barak!¡± Cinabinathi cried out and blinked. Their bond freed her from the dragon trance. She put her fingers to her lips and blew a shrill whistle to rouse the other elves.


    With their master dead, the Halberdiers charged towards the shelter of the ruined keep, in a race with a broken troop of reaver spearmen. Out of camaraderie between polemen, or more likely, from sheer terror, neither side attacked the other. Certain a lucky shot was their only hope, Hilg ignored the approaching reavers and formed his shieldbearers in a wall between the drake and the Hawkbows. Bobbert the Apprentice buttressed Prescote the Sage, the effort of casting the Greater Orb of Occlusion had drained him so sorely he could not stand.


    ¡°Aravitrimore! I never dreamed I¡¯d see one of the great drakes! The time has come. Unhand me boy. Give me the black scroll.¡±


    ¡°Master!¡±


    ¡°Do it!¡± The sage shoved the boy aside and stood on shaky legs.


    ¡°Cinabinathi! Draw the beast to me! I need him close!¡±


    The berserkers were upon the drake now. Runagir and Duandan hacked at the drake¡¯s underbelly, but their axes shattered against the impervious scales. A great claw crashed down, Runagir rolled aside but Duandan was done. He was crushed, scooped into the drake¡¯s mouth and chewed up in a peal of shrieking armor. Incensed, the blackest of rages threatened to overtake Barak but he needed his wits. Seeing their strikes were fruitless, he sprang onto the drake and began to climb. The scales were sharper than blades, they sliced through his gauntlets and bit into bone, but Barak climbed on.


    The berserker was less than a flea to Aravitrimore. Ignoring the dwarf, he wheeled at an approaching tide of tribesmen and drew a deep breath. The reavers raised their shields, but the stretched hide and reindeer bone was no protection against the knife breath of the diamond drake. They died to a man. The drake wheeled, his tail struck three berserkers and split them like a scythe. He thundered towards the shieldbearers, ready for a feast. Again he began to draw breath.


    ¡°Barak!¡± Cinabinathi cried again, not from fear, but amazement. Weeping a trail of blood, Barak scaled Aravitrimore¡¯s long neck and crawled between the great drake¡¯s eyes. The prismatic irises crossed, unable to focus. With a crimson grin, Barak drew his axe back and hacked at the drake¡¯s slitted pupil. A nicatating membrane flicked over the eye to protect it but the heavy axe cleaved through and bit deep. Blood and goo flew as Barak hacked again and again, he dug deep into the jeweled eye.


    With a roar of pain, Aravitrimore brought his claw across his face and swept aside the crazed insect. Barak hurtled through the air, crashed into the dirt and was still.


    ¡°Go for the right eye!¡± Cinabinathi cried. The hawkmoons took aim and launched a volley of shrieking arrows. All fell short save hers, which pierced the black of the dragonseye.


    ¡°Run!¡± she cried.


    The elves took flight, the dwarves were too slow to react. Enraged, the blind drake charged forward and plowed through the shieldbearers. His great claws cut furrows into the ridge where the Hawkbows stood. He howled, loud enough to burst eardrums and squinted his damaged eye about, looking for Cinabinathi.


    Instead, he found Prescote the Sage. Prescote was unperturbed by the roar, for his hearing was nearly gone anyway. He stared at the drake, pitting his aged eyes against Aravitrimore¡¯s ancient orbs. Prescote invoked the final sigil on the black scroll. As he spoke the ruinous words, the scroll disintegrated into motes of blinding light. So to, did Prescote. In a single, all-consuming spell he transmuted his entire being into raw power and cast himself upon Aravitrimore in an avalanche of unbearable light. With a great roar, Aravitrimore turned aside but it was too late. His diamond scales grew luminous as stars and broke apart in a thousand explosions of pure white light.


    All over the battlefield, the disorganized forces reeled, witness to a triumph that would last for ages, a sacrifice that would be never be forgotten.


    Aravitrimore, the Diamond Drake, was slain.


    * * *


    "Welp. There goes the campaign," Vlad shook his head. "Check and see if his dice are loaded."


    ¡°No. Effin. Way,¡± Sandy moaned as Robin turned the rhinestone-studded dragon figurine on its side.


    ¡°Language!¡± Una barked from the doorway. The whole room flinched.

 Chapter 7

    ¡°Why did he take away your little army men?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s part of the game.¡±


    ¡°Do you want ice cream?¡±


    ¡°No thank you.¡±


    ¡°What did he say to you?¡± Una asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t nothing, of course. Robin didn¡¯t say, he stared out the passenger side window as the station wagon drove on Lomas Boulevard, towards the setting sun. Una turned on the radio and after a few blocks, clicked it off.


    ¡°What did the doctor say?¡± Robin asked.


    ¡°Nothing much,¡± Una lied.


    They were quiet the whole way home.


    * * *


    Silver were the tears of Cinabinathi. The blue moon rose, the red moon chased after her, and the ruins glowed an unrequited violet. No matter how he raced, the red moon could never catch up to his love.


    For two nights and two days, Cinabinathi kept vigil at Barak¡¯s side beneath a cedar tree at the south wall of the ruined keep. She refused the food and water. All was lost.


    As the third moon rose and overwhelmed the faint lovelight with silver, Bobbert the apprentice hurried over with two bowls of steaming broth. The boy had surprised everyone with his resilience. His master was gone but he sprang back and seemed to be everywhere within the camp. He brought water and soup, he changed bandages, he recorded last words and vowed to carry them on to the next of kin. Cinabinathi wondered at the child, how could he spring back so quickly when all was lost? He was a spry sapling that bent against the storm. She was a hollow oak, with everything rotted inside. She could not find the will to thank him.


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    ¡°Drink that,¡± Bobbert ordered when she made no move to accept the bowl.


    Cinabinathi blinked. It was an order, from a human. Not even a grown one. Anger kindled, and her long fingers curled into a fist. Whatever scant magic the boy possessed would not save him from the beating of a lifetime. But Bobbert never noticed. He set the bowl beside her and turned his attention to the motionless dwarf. Bobbert thrust two fingers under the dead dwarf¡¯s jaw. He nodded and began to remove Barak¡¯s bandages.


    ¡°These should have been changed hours ago,¡± Bobbert chided her.


    Chided her! Her thoughts flashed to the dagger at her waist, but the gloom rose all around her, the curse she meant to say escaped as a sob. The humans were so brief, so brutal. The boy could not possibly understand her sorrow.


    ¡°You both need to eat. Drink that soup, then, feed him. Very carefully. Spoon a little into his mouth, a tiny bit at a time.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s gone. There¡¯s no lifebeat.¡±


    ¡°Dwarves are different. Their hearts can beat very slow when they¡¯re hurt. You have to press deep to feel, but it¡¯s there. Make sure he doesn¡¯t choke as you feed him. Take this salve, change those bandages every three hours. If you run out, come find me for more. He¡¯s lost a lot of blood, he needs all his strength.


    Hope blazed in her breast, brighter than the silver moon. She moved towards the bowl beside Barak, but Bobbert pulled it away from her.


    ¡°Do as I say. Eat first, then feed him before you pass out. He¡¯s not going anywhere.¡±


    Cinabinathi looked at him, unable to believe this was the bumbling lackey who¡¯d chased after Prescote¡¯s robes the whole campaign.


    ¡°I never wanted to be an apprentice. Barber suits me better,¡± Bobbert confided. ¡°I¡¯ll be back when I can. Take good care of Barak and yourself. You two saved us all.¡± Bobbert packed up his knapsack and left her with a roll of clean bandage cloth and the pungent salve.


    ¡°Bobbert,¡± she stopped him as he was about to leave. ¡°I name you Elf-friend.¡±


    Bobbert stopped in the moonlight, struck by the unexpected honor. It was strange to see such tired eyes on a child¡¯s face. He¡¯d seen too much horror, too little sleep. After a moment, he found what he was looking for.


    ¡°Eteta-niuna


    suma-silva


    perpeta-eta.¡±


    Bobbert spoke with reverence, almost as close as a human could come to the right tones. The boy knew the Cada Canta: In the forests¡ªof forever¡ªwe will be one¡ªtogether. The sage had trained his pupil well.


    ¡°I will speak with the seven about you, to find you a new master. You would be wasted as a barber.¡±


    Bobbert¡¯s mouth fell open. Without Prescote, he¡¯d resigned himself to a life of cutting hair and hacking off limbs. Now was an Elf-friend, invited to train with one of the great masters. His entire trajectory had changed. He swallowed and shouldered the weight of the moment.


    ¡°I am honored. Rest well, dragon-slayer.¡±

 Chapter 8

    Just one more hour was three hours ago. The clock radio was tuned to DJ Bobby Box on KQEO. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac began to play, in perfect time with the Kit-Cat clock. Una frowned, she wasn¡¯t much for this new music. She couldn¡¯t get up to change the station either. She¡¯d come to the tricky part of the painted bunting where red, green, yellow, and blue met at breast, wing, back, and crest. She squinted and soldiered on.


    The birds were so demanding. A whole night of painting and they¡¯d barely scraped together minimum wage. That was only if their birds passed muster. Una was sure of her birds, even her practice bluebird was up to snuff. For Robin¡¯s efforts, not so much. His bluebird was blotchy, the color was off on his cardinal, and the goldfinch he¡¯d labored over was a good effort at best. It wasn¡¯t for want of trying, he just needed time to practice.


    He just needed time.


    The thought drummed on in her head as John McVie¡¯s bassline droned on. Una set down the bird, finished at last. She found Robin¡¯s head had drowsed down to a resting position on the newspaper that covered the kitchen table. Gently, she pried his brush from between his fingers and swished it in the thinner so the paint wouldn¡¯t dry and ruin the bristles. His hair fell over his eyes, at the crown of his head, the black strands had thinned into middle-age.


    Tomorrow, she decided, and realized tomorrow had already become today. She counted the birds, omitting Robin¡¯s three. Over the refrigerator was a cookie tin she called St. Matthew. It was his job to hold all her pocket change for a rainy day. She took the tin down and whispered the novena. Then she counted the money, though she knew to the penny what was inside. No miracle multiplied her nickels, she was still short. With a sigh, she walked over to Robin and roused him. When he lifted up his head, newsprint stuck to his cheek. She led him to bed and wished she could still carry him.


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    ¡°Duerme bien, mi cielo,¡± Una murmured and closed the door. She shuffled back to the kitchen and cut off the radio. The night pressed on her, Peine forte et dure. No sleep, now.


    Una sat at the table, overcome by a wave of desire to sweep all the birds and paint onto the floor and smash them all. She closed her hands into fists and shut her eyes tight until sparks danced behind them.


    ¡°Quitale su carga y d¨¢mela a mi!" she demanded.


    Tick, tick, tick, the clock answered.


    * * *


    In the morning, Robin woke up to the smell of pancakes. He had to force himself to go out and pretend to be happy about them. He¡¯d used to love the smell. Now, it only made him anxious. Pancakes meant it was a treatment day, because they came up easy.


    ¡°Gracias,¡± Robin said as he sat down.


    ¡°De nada.¡±


    Una¡¯s eyes were red. Robin wondered how late she¡¯d stayed up. He looked around for the birds they¡¯d painted.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think my birds are good enough,¡± Robin said. ¡°Maybe I should prime and re-paint them before we take them to the church.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Una said. ¡°Study your openings instead, today I¡¯m only giving you a pawn.¡±


    ¡°Where are they?¡±


    ¡°In the back of the Falcon. Finish your pancakes,¡± Una waved his question away.


    It stuck in his mind. He worried they would accept the birds just because he was sick and they felt sorry for him. While Una was in the shower, he slipped out to the car to look at the birds. Maybe they weren¡¯t as bad as he thought.


    They were all perfect. He realized why. Una had stayed up all night and repainted his birds.

 Chapter 9

    ¡°I think it looks fine.¡±


    Robin gave her a look she would never forget. She had barely needed the scissors. Much of Robin¡¯s hair came away between her fingers, easy as cotton from a boll. The rest, she cleaned up with Hector¡¯s straight razor. Two dollars saved. The paleness of his scalp and the shadows under his eyes made him look so much older.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just stay inside and paint birds.¡±


    ¡°Good. You need the practice,¡± Una said. Robin blinked. She stared back.


    I won¡¯t let you sit around feeling sorry for yourself. You have friends, food, a roof over your head. That¡¯s more than a lot of people. So you¡¯re sick, so what? All my friends are gone, Robin. Hector is gone, Lucinda too. It won¡¯t be long for me either. The time you have is precious, don¡¯t waste it.


    She let the words scrape inside her, unsaid. They were not things one could say to a sick child.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be there with you, the whole time. I¡¯m bringing the chessboard,¡± she softened her tone.


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    ¡°It was so bad last time.¡±


    It was, and it would be worse this time. She didn¡¯t tell Robin they were upping the dose.


    ¡°This storm will pass. When you make it through the other side, you¡¯ll be so strong. There won¡¯t be anything you can¡¯t do,¡± Una promised. She needed it to be true.


    Robin ran his hand over his shaven head, trying to get used to the feeling.


    ¡°Everyone will look at me,¡± Robin realized.


    ¡°And what will they see? A hincha for Cruz Azul.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Una took her surprise from under the table. She¡¯d wrapped it in the comics section from yesterday¡¯s Albuquerque Journal.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± she said.


    Inside was a brand new cap. A badge was embroidered above the bill, a blue cross in a white ring upon a crimson field. Five stars arched above, one for each championship victory. The letters read ¡®DEPORTIVO CRUZ AZUL¡¯.


    Robin gasped.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lose that,¡± Una grinned.


    There was no danger. Robin turned the cap over in both hands, gawking at it as if it were a jeweled crown.


    ¡°Where did you get this?¡±


    ¡°A hat shop at the Winrock mall. The owner is from Vera Cruz, he sells hats for all the Primera Divisi¨®n clubs. You know, that hat might need a sixth star, come June. Your boys are doing well this season.¡±


    ¡°Of course they are.¡± Robin puffed up with pride. ¡°La m¨¢quina celeste lo aplasta todo.¡±


    The shadows flew from his face and Robin was a boy again. The hat was worth its weight in gold. He rushed off to admire himself in the bathroom mirror. Una practically had to drag him away to get him in the car.

 Chapter 10

    ¡°Hold!¡± Cinabinathi whispered. Runagir swept his arms out to bar the others, solid as a stone bollard.


    Falflets sang from her scabbard. The skymetal scimitar drank the light from their torches and cast the corridor into a deep midnight. A shudder ran through the hawkbows, even some of the men could feel it. The azure blade was forged from a fallen tear from the blue moon. Sorrow spread with every slash. Only the dwarves were unaffected.


    In the sudden dark, the men and the dwarves who¡¯d tarried too long on the surface groped for their weapons. Thinking themselves hidden, their masks slipped. Cinabinathi saw all. They were afraid, they were angry, most of all, they were uncertain. They did not trust her leadership.


    It stung her deep, all the more because she agreed. Too many were gone, without their friends, the ragtag company felt like a mouthful of missing teeth. She could not shame the dwarves with mad valor, as Barak could, nor could her voice crack like Gunnag¡¯s to whip the Halberdiers into line. Her own troops stared at her with undisguised contempt, all had heard of her scandalous vigil. The army needed a real leader, but the war raged on. No one else was left.


    ¡°They¡¯re still behind us. Grasp arms and follow. We¡¯ll throw them off. Relay this message,¡± Cinabinathi commanded. The orders leapt through her troops, no louder than a moth¡¯s wing. The Hawkbows each lead a string of dwarves and halberdiers who followed blind.


    Cinabinathi lead them through a series of turns that would baffle a minotaur, humming a note for each so they were locked into a melody. At last she found what she was looking for, a place to make their stand.


    The chamber was once a workroom, there were mine carts in various stages of service. The Halberdiers filled three of these with heavy stones and wedged them against the entrance to serve as a baricade. The Hawkbows upended others to serve as roosts behind the defensive line. The warband that dogged their steps would be forced into a narrow vein, they would bleed it green.


    ¡°Hold this wall until we return. Not a sound until you see the gobbos approach. Then, fire the torches and curse them. The first wave will rush in blind,¡± she instructed the squad leaders. Here, even the Shieldbearers grunted approval. The elf knew goblins.


    ¡°I need six. You, you, and you. You two, you, me.¡± She pointed first to Runagir. Then, to her second-in-command, Swyllev. The best halberdier, Maro. Hilg and his son, Blohki. She set a steadying hand on young Bobbert¡¯s shoulder and another over her own heart. Hilg and Blhoki squinted hard in her direction, but she was not fooled. To be nightblind was a great shame for a dwarf. The others called them ¡®dandelions.¡¯ She needed tact.


    ¡°We go by dark. Step with stealth, follow my steps. Take care when we engage. When the blade tastes blood, Falflets will grow very bright,¡± she warned. It was a tactful way to reassure Hilg and the humans they would not fight blind.


    With a last look at the makeshift fortification, she stepped to each hawkbow and recited the Cada Canta. This might well be the last time. She left them with her bow and all her arrows but one. If the warband found them, they had to hold or this was all for nothing. Bhloki shouldered a heavy coil of rope and Hilg kept his pack full of tools. The rest of the picked six left behind all but their weapons. They set off into the dark.


    Cinabinathi set Swyllev at the rear to correct Hilg and the humans if they fell out of step. Cinabinathi crept forward at the van and tested every step with her last arrow. Dwarves meant traps, always. Beside her, Bobbert¡¯s eyes rippled with oily gray in her nightsight, he searched for sorcery. She was surprised at his strength. She knew the cantrip was taxing, the elven magi she¡¯d served with could not keep it going for long. Bobbert was just as weary as the rest of them, but hardly seemed to notice the strain.


    It was two days since any of them had slept. The Bla¡¯claw warband caught their trail four days north of Wintermore Wall. Every night after, outriders rode around their camp, screaming and beating on pots. Their wolf-mounts howled along. At last, Cinabinathi and her Hawkbows posted in the trees and waited in ambush. Wolf by wolf and goblin by goblin, the ruckus fell silent. Not a single outrider survived.


    Still, they could not sleep. The troop broke camp by moonlight, laid a false trail to the west, then waded upriver for a league to throw the goblins off. It bought them enough time to reach Blagg Bore. Cinabinathi had hoped to disappear into the mine before the Goblins could pick up their trail, but a landslide covered the adit. It was a day of hard labor to dig it out, and as dusk fell the familiar howls rose at their backs. This was goblin country.


    They sealed the entrance behind them, certain it would not hold for long. They¡¯d have liked to collapse the shaft behind them, but in typical dwarven fashion it was built to last until the end of time. Massive slab arches held up the low vaults and oak-thick pillars reinforced the chambers. It would take a team of sappers a week to bring a section down.


    Though he would not say it outright to outsiders, Hilg intimated there would surely be a secret exit. In the same breath, he made clear there was no way to tell if it was buried worse than the adit.


    Blagg Bore was uneasy in their presence. Tremors tickled their feet and twice the mountain grumbled so fiercely that even the dwarves seemed worried. As they delved deeper, the tale writ upon the walls fed their fear. Rich bands of black anthracite ran through the hewn walls and hints of lode glittered in the torchlight. No quake could have driven dwarves away from such riches. Something else waited in the dark.


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    Cinabinathi crept forward with care and spied a skeleton separated from its skull by two strides. Ancient stains marked the intruder¡¯s abrupt beheading.


    ¡°Hold.¡±


    She soon found the cause. Where the shadow of a reinforcing beam would be, there was a slit, just above shoulder height. She had the whole party drop to their knees to crawl under the necker. Traps mean they were on the right track. A bit later, they came across the bones of two long-dead goblins with rusted daggers jabbed in their ribs. It was strange, who would leave their weapons behind? There was a perfectly gobbed explanation, the pair had fallen into an argument and stabbed each other. Cinabinathi grinned at their fatal embrace, wishing every other greenskin might share their fate.


    The mountain rumbled and a fierce tremor wiped her smile away. A century from now, some fool might stumble over her bones and crack the same idiot leer. There was no time for mirth. She picked up a step and hummed to remember Prescote¡¯s directions. Three more turns and they found the fissure, just where the sage said. The air throbbed against their ears. A split ran through the corridor, the tunnel yawned into a natural rift that sloped down at a sixty degree angle. It looked like a stone mouth, stalactites and stalagmites jutted from the decline like crocodile teeth.


    Cinabinathi went first with the rope around her waist. She threaded the line through the maze of teeth and the rest of her force rappelled down after.


    It was impossible to be silent, her hackles rose at every boot that scraped and rock that rattled down. Cinibinathi stood at the bottom with Falflets bared, but no foe came. Pink and purple light glowed through the jagged entrance to the lower passage. Clusters of crystals lined the walls, in every shade of allium. In places the stones glowed deeper than violet, tiny sparks sprang off the facets like fleas. Pretty as it was, the wind from within was hot and stank of brimstone. She waited for Hilg, he arrived last, pale and wide-eyed. Hilg was not fond of heights.


    ¡°Just the nose I need,¡± Cinabinathi said, hoping to bolster him.


    Hilg held his head over the passage and snuffled. His hairy nostrils flared wide. Pink light gleamed in his eyes as he drew from a thousand generations of hard-learned lessons.


    ¡°Air¡¯s all right for dwarves, I suppose. Elves and men, best not tarry,¡± he warned.


    The picked six lowered themselves into the passage, the men and dwarves were relieved to see again. The cavern was far larger than it seemed from above. Once they got their bearings, the dwarves gasped. A tremble of avarice ran through Hilg and Bhloki. Runagir shook his head at the others, unaffected. Worldly wealth had no savor for a berserker.


    ¡°Cobalt!¡± Hilg breathed. ¡°Argent azureite! By the bellows, it¡¯s the motherlode! We¡¯ve got to get this mine going again! We could arm an entire legion in Bluebane steel!¡± Gripped by greed, Hilg was so excited his hands shook.


    ¡°It¡¯s our great sport, to come up short. How long did our fathers grub for coal and galena, never knowing the fortune beneath their feet?¡± Bhloki wondered. Hilg rolled his eyes in disapproval of the young dwarf¡¯s philosophical bent.


    ¡°Ware. Doom finds those who delve too deep,¡± Runagir rumbled. The Shieldbearers flinched and hid their hands behind their backs, caught. Runagir motioned with his axe. Splintered bones jutted from the glittering dust underfoot. They were not the first to come this way.


    ¡°Just a bit farther,¡± Cinibinathi urged, remembering the rusted daggers. She was keen to avoid a row between the dwarves. They slipped through a dark passage where the heat mounted and the sulfur stench grew dire. Cinabinathi¡¯s head swam, but she refused to admit weakness before the dwarves. If the boy could do it, so could she. They cheated along a narrow ledge over a black gap that fell farther than even Cinabinathi could see. Amber light glittered ahead. It was a long, precarious shuffle along the ledge and the heat was almost unbearable. At the end they broke through into another hallway. Maro, Bobbert, and even Swyllve wilted and laid gasping on the floor. Only pride kept Cinabinathi upright as the world wheeled around her. When she caught her bearings, she found the dwarves muttering amongst themselves, on edge. The hall was dwarven work, but three times taller than any dwarf would build. Orbs were set in the vaults, they blazed with slow-shifting, honey colored light.


    The walls were stack-bonded square slabs, which was bad luck, and the floors were checkered white quartz against jet, which was bad taste. None of the dwarves could recognize the clan who¡¯d laid the stones.


    ¡°We can¡¯t say how old this is,¡± Hilg said, deeply unsettled.


    Cinabinathi could, but she kept mum.


    ¡°This is is pre-kingdom stonework. Laid by dwarf slaves, held in thrall to black elves,¡± Bobbert informed them.


    Cinabinathi resist the urge to cuff the back of Bobbert¡¯s head, as Prescote had so many times. The apprentice told it true, but now was not the time. Three sets of angry eyes found her, no one could hold a grudge like a dwarf.


    ¡°We denounced them and fought a thousand year war over this,¡± Cinabinathi explicated. The glares burned on.


    ¡°This way,¡± she pointed.


    They trooped on down the ancient hall, following her lead. Distant from the breach, the air grew very still. Past the abhorrent hall, they came to the crypts. Stone tubes were stacked in honeycomb rows, sealed by thick discs of obsidian. The lives of the dead were recorded in spirals of script that began with their birth at the center of the each seal. Passing them, Cinabinathi began to understand the dwarves¡¯ discomfort. The script of the ancient race was just close enough to grate.


    At last, they reached the vault. A sigh of disappointment slipped from every mouth. Two life-sized obsidian sentinels stood on either side of a massive bronze door, graven with an enormous life-spiral. The left door was cracked just wide enough for someone to slip inside. Some thief had beat them to the punch. Cinabinathi felt her gut churn with regret. She¡¯d led them all into a terrible position, they might all die for nothing. Her eyes fell on the stone sentinels. The black elves had a sinister beauty, it seemed their flawless features might come to life at any moment. She felt an urge to smash them.


    ¡°Hilg, give me your hammer,¡± Runagir said, thinking the same. Hilg¡¯s eyes were up, squinted at the ceiling.


    ¡°Don¡¯t. There¡¯s old magic here. It¡¯s terribly strong,¡± Bobbert warned.


    ¡°Stone¡¯s wrong, Hilg announced. He pointed to the rusted remains of shims wedged into the edges of the slab beneath the arch. If they¡¯d put weight onto it, the stones above would have buried them all.


    ¡°Bless you, Hilg. I¡¯d have never seen it,¡± Cinabinathi said.


    ¡°Few would. Our feet are rooted in stone, no matter how far we roam,¡± he said. ¡°Back away, all of you.¡± He drew a hammer and spikes from his pack.


    ¡°Why, bother? We can just hop over,¡± Bhloki suggested.


    ¡°Then when some foe follows after us, and we¡¯re all sealed within, what then? Lazy churl,¡± Hilg chided. Bhloki lowered his eyes in shame. They all backed away but Hilg knew his trade.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s inside,¡± Hilg said. The hammer shook in his grip.

 Chapter 11

    The queen hung free on the E file, ripe for her knight. Una¡¯s thoughts darted ahead, to the bishop behind, the rook on the eighth file. It was a trap! She looked up at Robin. He could keep the smirk from his face, but not his eyes. But there was more, if she ignored it, he could follow up with his black bishop, it was no good, she¡ª.


    ¡°This is taking forever,¡± Robin said. She shot him a withering look, thinking he meant the game. He glanced up at the IV to say he meant the treatment. The new drug took twice as long. They were both afraid of how he¡¯d feel at the end of it.


    ¡°It will pass. Focus on the game,¡± Una said.


    ¡°I did. Your move, Tita,¡± Robin smirked.


    ¡°A month ago you couldn¡¯t tell rooks from bishops.¡± Una shook her head and wondered how she¡¯d gotten into this mess. If she wanted to know, the composition book was right beside him. The insufferable jod¨®n recorded all their moves everything in his BATTLE LOG, just as she¡¯d taught him.


    ¡°You could always surrender,¡± he said.


    ¡°You¡¯re talking crazy,¡± Una said. She turned her eyes back to the board to look for a way out.


    * * *


    The weight!


    The trap was unsprung but she was crushed, just the same. Cinabinathi was caught mid-step, dying as she stood. The warning she meant to cry stuck in her throat. Her eyes were locked ahead on the angel¡¯s, she could not turn away or even blink. There was no sound, no breath, only all-seeing scorn. Every lie she¡¯d told, every life she¡¯d taken. All her dark deeds and bad decisions, all the debts she could never repay, all at once, heavier than lead. She would have begged for death if she could.


    The Reconciler¡¯s Crypt was an octagon of purest jet. The eight walls rose into darkness, farther than she could see, and fell into a bottomless pit. The floor was a sheet of purest quartz, clear as water. Even Cinabinathi was afraid to step out, but the slab was solid beneath her feet. The thief who preceded them was ten paces ahead, long dead, a skeleton. A bony hand stretched towards the goal, never to be attained. Inside the crystal casket, the body had crumbled into dust.


    Between the thief and the Reconciler¡¯s remains, a stone sentinel kept an eternal vigil. Her sword and armor were onyx, a style like none Cinabinathi had ever seen. They stung her eyes, a symmetry that should not be. The face and wings were a sable that drank light and gave almost nothing back. Cinabinathi searched her, feeling the a twinge of recognition. A dangerous thing she ought to know, forgotten long ago. She tried to cry out a warning but it was too late. The others were inside.


    The black angel opened her eyes. They shone like molten gold and at once, all was revealed. The onyx of the her armor was every color at once, an interplay of resonant prisms. The sable of her skin was the space between the stars, her eyes two merciless suns that burned away all pretense. Unwittingly, Cinabinathi¡¯s troop had intruded upon a celestial being.


    They were fools! And she¡¯d led them here, it was all her fault. Her purpose drained away as her empty lungs screamed for air. The thunder in her ears faltered, fainter by the beat. A cold certainty spread through her core, all was lost. Spasms of desperate prayer screamed through her mind but it was all in vain. The angel knew her. Beneath that golden, unforgiving gaze, Cinabinathi and her warriors had been weighed in the balance and found wanting. Everything faded to gray.


    The boy strode forward towards the casket with Hilg¡¯s hammer in hand.


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    The angel turned her gaze and Cinabinathi fell to her knees and gasped for air. Behind her she could hear others hit the floor, their weapons clattered to the ground. Bobbert rushed at the crypt with the heavy hammer drawn back, he meant to smash it. With fluid grace, the angel intervened and drew back the black blade to smite the intruder. Cinabinathi had no breath, no time to think, still she found herself in flight. She dashed at Bobbert, flung the boy aside, and tried to get Falflets up in time to parry. The angel was faster, the black blade was over her guard. The ebon point hovered, an inch from her face.


    The angel pressed no further. The golden glare cooled to a soothing silver. Without words, cool understanding flowed into her. The judgment found no purchase on young Bobbert because his soul was new and clean. He¡¯d never taken a life. His brave charge to save them had not surprised the angel, nothing could. It was all a test. When she sacrificed herself to save the boy, Cinabinathi became worthy.


    In epiphany, she saw it all. There was a hole in the world, a spring where chaos crashed in and carved through the banks. The horde was simply the banks overflowing. The forces of order had been betrayed, the stewards were weak and corrupt. The goblins would rise again and again, until the world was a barren waste. They would perish with the land they¡¯d ruined and the Void would reign again, over another dead world. The rot had to be cut out at the core. A new force was needed to bring the balance back. The angel needed her to explain to Bobbert, he was too young, too small a vessel to contain this understanding. They had to choose, the sacrifice could not be compelled.


    ¡°The Reconciler is long gone. Another must take his place. She offers you a chance to surrender yourself. To raise a great army, and fight the final battle to save our world.¡±


    ¡°But I¡ªI¡¯m just an apprentice,¡± Bobbert sputtered. ¡°What if I fail?¡±


    They looked to the angel for answers. She gave none. The angel closed her eyes and came apart. The skin broke into fine black dust, the motes split, again and again until she was divided by zero. Only the sword and armor remained. They were all silent, stunned by what they¡¯d seen.


    ¡°You will not go alone. I too, am called,¡± Cinabinathi realized.


    Bobbert took a deep breath.


    Once more, he raised Hilg¡¯s Hammer.


    * * *


    It was so bad. Dr. Suarte had warned her, but somewhere in all the talk of Doxorubicin, Anthracycline, and a dozen other long and ominous words, the message was lost. There was a period where Robin just couldn¡¯t hear Una. The chess game was forgotten and he stared unblinking into space. She called a nurse over. The nurse took a look at the label on the IV.


    ¡°That happens,¡± he said. ¡°Some people faint. Let me check his pulse.¡±


    He did, and looked at Robin¡¯s chart. Something bothered him. ¡°Let¡¯s give him twenty minutes, then we¡¯ll call a doctor if he doesn¡¯t come around.¡±


    The nurse spoke in a soothing voice but it didn¡¯t help. Una¡¯s heart raced. She must have looked at the clock a hundred times. But the Nurse was right after all. Robin snapped out of it and looked around the room in a fog.


    ?Est¨¢s bien? Una gripped his arm.


    ¡°No tan bien,¡± Robin admit. He was in pain.


    She was overcome with relief. Even the bad news was better than what she¡¯d thought, that he was hurting so bad he couldn¡¯t talk.


    ¡°Did you find it?¡± Robin nodded at the board. His voice was distant and dreamy.


    She knocked over her king. It was mate in five, queen or no.


    ¡°You¡¯re not letting me win, are you?¡± Robin worried.


    ¡°Never,¡± Una promised.


    Robin closed his eyes and didn¡¯t open them again until it was time to go. They wheeled him out in a chair. The emesis basin was in his lap, unused. The nausea wasn¡¯t as bad with the new drug but everything else was so much worse. He was able to get up and get into the car on his own, but his legs were shaky and the Nurse was there to steady him.


    Some day I¡¯ll come here and they won¡¯t let me take him home. Una worried.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do this again,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°It will get easier,¡± she lied. Her eyes went to the Jesus figurine on the dashboard and she remembered.


    ¡°Open the glovebox. I got you something,¡± she said.


    Inside there was a brown paper bag. Robin reached inside.


    It was a toy soldier. A pewter wizard rested inside a plastic bubble backed by cardstock. Beneath the Lords of Rapaxoris logo, Bold gothic letters proclaimed the little silver wizard was Abaxios Oslune - The Great Uniter.


    ¡°I spoke with Duncan at the story. He says you need a new general, and this one is a good fit for your army.¡±


    Robin¡¯s mouth was open.


    ¡°Thank you!¡±


    ¡°You have to paint it. I suppose all that practice will pay off. There¡¯s more. If you keep painting birds, so will I. Every time you you make it through treatment, there will be a new one of these waiting for you.¡±


    She knew those words would cost her dearly. Hours of sitting, squinting, and arthritis. But for a moment, Robin seemed to forget he was hurt. He was just a boy, excited to paint his little soldier.


    It was worth it.

 Chapter 12

    ¡°It¡¯s called dry-brushing. You do it real faint, like this, so that only the raised parts get painted. That¡¯s how I get these wicked highlights,¡± Sandy explained.


    He held up a figure of polar magus. The model''s skin was a ghoulish, frostbitten blue. The snowflakes on his robe were perfectly outlined and sparkled with silver metallic pigment. It was perfect. In contrast, Sandy¡¯s room was a gyre of soda cans, comic books, and art supplies, all inexorably drawn towards the messiest desk Robin had ever seen. He was doing Robin a big favor, teaching him to paint better. Robin didn¡¯t hear a word. There was an angel in the hallway.


    ¡°OK so this is ink wash¡ªyou with me, Martillo?


    He wasn¡¯t. Robin was completely distracted by the prettiest girl he¡¯d ever seen. Yvonne Amsler had freckles, curly hair, and bad intentions. From the hallway, she caught Robin''s eyes. She held a finger against her lips and crept into Sandy¡¯s lair, silent as a cat.


    ¡°Uh sorry, I spaced out.¡± Robin said. ¡°Can I see that model?¡±


    ¡°Sure, check out the dark areas around his robe. So ink washes are like the opposite of dry-brushing, they¡¯re great for getting into cracks¡ªACK!¡±


    In a surprise attack, Yvonne dumped a handful of ice cubes down the back of Sandy¡¯s shirt. Sandy yelped and stood up so fast his chair fell over. He contorted to get them out but they too, were good at getting into cracks.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Sandy cried. He shook himself out, a cube fell out of his pant leg and skittered across the floor under his bed.


    ¡°You! And you! You traitor! You saw her coming.¡± Sandy wheeled on Robin. Robin blinked, caught in the middle, but then he saw Sandy wasn¡¯t actually mad. It was strange to Robin, if he¡¯d pulled that with Una she¡¯d have smacked him into next week. Sandy was the oldest of five, he¡¯d probably seen worse.


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    ¡°What are you doing in my room, goof?¡±


    ¡°The door was open. I just thought you might be hot,¡± Yvonne tried to keep a straight face but she cracked up and started giggling. Robin was enthralled. Yvonne noticed him staring and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her braces.


    ¡°Uh huh. Don¡¯t be surprised when you wake up tonight and Peter¡¯s in bed with you.¡± Sandy nodded over at the terrarium where Peter Parker the tarantula eight-eyed them from atop his heat rock.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t I?¡± Sandy cracked an evil grin, pressed his hands together and mimicked a spider creeping towards her.


    ¡°Eww!¡±


    ¡°Now scram! We¡¯re busy.¡± Sandy pointed at the hallway to order her out the door.


    ¡°Busy with what? Who¡¯s this guy? Why are you wearing a hat inside?¡± Yvonne bubbled right over Sandy¡¯s command.


    ¡°I¡¯m Robin,¡± Robin stood up, surprised to find his voice still worked.


    ¡°What are you, ten? Sandy¡¯s hanging out with middle schoolers now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m twelve,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°No way. What school do you go to? What grade are you in?¡±


    ¡°Garfield. I''ll be in the seventh grade,¡± Robin said, uncomfortable. In truth, he¡¯d only gone for two months after transferring and missed a lot of days before the summer began. They still let him pass.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m starting eighth grade and I go to Madison. Waaayy better president.¡±


    ¡°Oh my god, no one cares where you go to school, Yvonne. Stop hassling us, get out! I¡¯m trying to teach him to paint.¡± Sandy¡¯s exasperation was no longer feigned. Robin got the idea it was like this all the time.


    ¡°Saaaandy goes to Highland, but no one likes him there. That¡¯s why he has to hang out with middle-school kids.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s in the club,¡± Sandy bristled.


    ¡°The club is even worse. At least middle-schoolers bathe. Hey!¡±


    After a brief scuffle, Sandy picked up Yvonne and hucked her into the hall. Before she could scramble back in, he slammed the door shut and locked it.


    ¡°Sorry about that. Girls are the worst,¡± Sandy shook his head.


    Robin nodded, though he didn¡¯t agree at all.

 Chapter 13

    ¡°You need help to beat a twelve-year-old?¡± Father Domingo asked.


    Una wondered if they taught that supercilious little smirk in seminary. Every priest she¡¯d ever met had used that wry my-child smile to trivialize her concerns. It was infuriating.


    ¡°He¡¯s very bright,¡± she explained.


    ¡°Hmmm.¡±


    Father Domingo scratched at the stubble on the side of his face. He had a weak chin and would have looked better with a beard. When Una was a girl, she¡¯d asked a deacon why priests were all clean shaven. The lengthy history lesson that followed invoked Pope Alexander III and Durandus but never actually answered her question. She continued to wonder for years until at last, a nun explained it was so their mustaches didn¡¯t dip in the chalice. They¡¯d laughed so hard at that. Una had never looked at priests quite the same way after.


    ¡°Let me ask around,¡± Father Domingo offered. The priest trundled off with her shoebox full of painted birds, in no particular hurry. Una watched, impatient. She was sure she could overtake him, bad hip and all. She stood in the nave and glanced through the stations of the cross. Her eyes fell on Mary in her alcove.


    Even she only lost one.


    Sunlight caught the monstrance and glared in her eyes. Una turned away and shook her head, struck by her own irreverence. Confession would be rough, if she even went. Each week, it took more effort to force herself to come. If not for the clay birds, she might have skipped mass today. She hadn¡¯t felt a sliver of grace since Robin got sick.


    Domingo took his sweet time. She nearly sat in a pew, but she wanted Father Domingo to feel bad for keeping her waiting. It wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d become disenchanted. After Hector died, Una lapsed for almost six months. Before she returned, she secretly dipped her toes at a few other churches, just to see how it felt. The Pentecostals were too crazy, the Episcopalians so lax she barely felt like she was in church. In the end she came back to San Felipe de Neri. It was a long drive with gas prices so high, but it felt like home.


    ¡¯Til now. Solace was gone. She stood in the nave, impatient. With nothing to keep her hands busy, all the things she didn¡¯t want to face seemed to shout from the pews. Money and medicine, bald tires and burials. Overwhelmed, she nearly turned on her heel and left. Father Domingo would probably think she¡¯d gone senile and wandered off. But she needed the new birds.


    ¡°Una?¡±


    Father Bartolome Jon¨¢s was the opposite of Father Domingo in many ways. The rector was a small, dark man who moved with a sense of purpose and urgency. As his eightieth birthday neared, more and more of his duties fell to the younger priests. His slide into retirement was a large part of Una¡¯s discontent. Something irreplacible was lost.


    ¡°Father.¡±


    In spite of herself, Una smiled for the first time that day. Father Jon¨¢s was a cornerstone in her life. He¡¯d married Una and Hector right here in San Felipe, baptized Lucinda, visited Hector at Lovelace hospital, and gave his eulogy. If she¡¯d known Domingo would bother Father Jon¨¢s over something so frivolous, she never would have asked.


    ¡°How is he?¡± Jon¨¢s asked.


    Una¡¯s answer stuck in her throat. Her face said everything. Father Jon¨¢s set a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°Are you hungry? Let¡¯s get lunch and talk about it.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Una said, immediately.


    * * *


    Robin scowled down at the Reconciler. It was a hundred times better than his first few soldiers, but still not perfect. There was a rough patch on the robe where he¡¯d applied a second coat too fast, and his dry-brushing and inking weren¡¯t nearly as smooth as Sandy¡¯s.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m gonna strip it and try again.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother. The Reconciler sucks. Absolute weakest general in the game. There are squad leaders who are better.¡±


    Robin looked up, alarmed.


    ¡°Why did Duncan tell my grandma it was good?¡±


    ¡°Because no one else will buy them. Here, let me see that.¡±


    ¡°I think the Reconciler¡¯s ability is pretty good,¡± Robin protested.


    Sandy took the figure and appraised it underneath his desk lamp.


    ¡°This is great for your first general, honestly. I think this is about the best you can do.¡±


    ¡°Wow, thanks.¡±


    ¡°Painting takes a lot of practice. Don¡¯t be impatient. Besides, you¡¯re facing Vlad¡¯s goblins next. Any work you put into this guy is just making Vlad¡¯s trophy case look better.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t plan to lose,¡± Robin insisted.


    ¡°Uh huh. You ever notice how the Loyal Apprentice and the Abaxios Oslune figures have the same face?¡±


    Robin took the Bobbert figure out of his shoebox and compared it to his newly painted general. Now that he knew to look for it, it was unmistakable. The Abaxios model was just Bobbert with a crown and a fancy robe.


    ¡°Huh. Wonder why they did that.¡±


    ¡°Lazy sculptors, I guess. There¡¯s no excuse, RSI is raking it in on this game. There are like a hundred clubs in the US alone, probably twice that in Europe.¡±


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    ¡°Wow. I wonder what would happen if all those clubs got together for one giant war.¡±


    Sandy¡¯s face lit with excitement.


    ¡°That¡¯s happening! Next year, the world championship in Anaheim. It¡¯s a weeklong tournament called The Day Before Doomsday. Duncan and his dad are on the writing committee!¡±


    ¡°No way,¡± Robin breathed.


    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be huge. They have a battlefield that¡¯s as big as my yard. People are flying in from Europe, Japan, everywhere. The grand prize is ten thousand dollars.¡±


    ¡°No. Way.¡±


    ¡°Believe it, brother. A lot of guys from the club are flying out and sharing hotel rooms. You should totally go with us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯d be cool,¡± Robin tried to keep his voice steady.


    Sandy paused. Robin could tell he¡¯d forgotten.


    ¡°Is it that bad?¡±


    Robin nodded.


    ¡°Jesus. That¡¯s rough. Well maybe like, having something to look forward to will help you get better. The power of positive thinking, you know? Just visualize yourself winning the world championship.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, yeah. Did you still want me to teach you chess stuff?¡± Robin was eager to change the subject.


    ¡°Oh yeah, definitely. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    They spent the rest of the afternoon playing chess. The first game was a bloodbath. Afterward, Robin tried to explain some a few of the key concepts like tempo and active pieces. He began to understand why Sandy was dead last on the leaderboard. Sandy had patience and an excellent visual memory, but no overall plan. He struggled to see more than a move or two ahead.


    ¡°Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat,¡± Robin quoted.


    ¡°Just you wait, I¡¯m building to something,¡± Sandy said.


    He wasn¡¯t. One by one, Robin¡¯s rook gobbled up his dangling pawns. The game ended and the next began a little better. This time, Sandy took his advice and he didn¡¯t move the same piece twice or fianchetto both bishops. Still, his moves were passive and disjointed.


    ¡°A knight on the rim is dim, his chances are slim,¡± Robin warned.


    ¡°Border cavalry,¡± Sandy grinned and made the move anyway.


    Robin shook his head. Sandy had to learn everything the hard way. Six moves later, the useless knight was still in the same spot. Sandy was checkmated again.


    ¡°Brutal.¡± Sandy winced at the carnage.


    ¡°Think positive. At least you didn¡¯t blunder your queen this time.¡±


    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m getting worse, not better.¡±


    ¡°I think this is about the best you can do,¡± Robin smiled back. He ducked under the pawn Sandy threw at him, it bounced off an Electric Light Orchestra poster and rolled under his dresser. Sandy grumbled over to retrieve it.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna see if I can take on Yvonne now, at least. Do you want to stay for dinner?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Robin said, immediately.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask my mom.¡±


    * * *


    High Noon was an ancient pink adobe building with jutting vigas, just a short walk from the church. Father Jon¨¢s was well known, they were greeted warmly and whisked to a booth in the corner. Una eyed the place, trying to remember how long it had been since she¡¯d eaten in a restaurant that wasn¡¯t a hamburger stand. Someone had put a lot of thought and effort into decorating the place, everything was new and spotless. Una nodded with approval.


    ¡°Que linda!¡±


    ¡°The Villas own this, wonderful people. Very committed to preserving the place. This building was actually built before the church. 1785! Of course, the first church was built earlier, in 1707 right around the founding. But it fell into disrepair and collapsed in the winter of 1792. San Felipe rose from its bones. You know, it¡¯s always a bit odd to sit here. My predecessors and the Sisters of Charity fought a long war against this place, it used to be a brothel. They triumphed, the place became a woodworker¡¯s shop, then it was converted to apartments. Sister May was the last tenant before the Villas bought the place. Dios la bendiga.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s the food?¡± Una asked.


    Father Jon¨¢s smiled.


    ¡°Much better than at the rectory. It¡¯s casserole night.¡± Father Jon¨¢s made such a pained expression that she had to laugh.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been eating the same stuff as Robin, he can¡¯t keep down much. I never want to see another scoop of cottage cheese in my life.¡±


    ¡°Ha! There¡¯s no cottage cheese here. Order whatever you like, the Villas are good friends.¡±


    Just then, the waitress brought over his drink. It was a martini glass full of milky liquor, sprinkled with chile salt and garnished with a prickly pear.


    ¡°Is that pulque?¡± Una asked.


    ¡°Yes! This is the only game in town for pulque. The Villas have an agave farm in Los Lunas. The drink is called Dama Del Magquey.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had pulque in forty years,¡± Una recalled.


    ¡°Ne dicas amico tuo vade et revertere et cras dabo tibi cum statim possis dare.¡± Jon¨¢s¡¯ voice grew resonant as he spoke Latin.


    ¡°?Que?¡±


    ¡°Ha, forgive me. Proverbs 3:28. No dejes para ma?ana la ayuda que puedas dar hoy.¡± He pushed his drink forward in invitation.


    Una didn¡¯t need to be asked twice. She took a sip. It was just as she remembered it, slimy enough to coat the throat, with a strange sweetness that popped on the tongue. The taste brought her back to the pink city in the shadow of La Bufa. When she closed her eyes she could almost smell the conchas baking.


    ¡°I used to drink this straight from a donkey cart,¡± Una said.


    ¡°Uno m¨¢s,¡± Father Jonas called to the waitress. Una didn¡¯t protest.


    ¡°Where were you then?¡± Father Jon¨¢s asked.


    ¡°Zacatecas.¡± She felt homesick saying it, even after all this time. Father Jon¨¢s asked a few follow ups but he could sense she didn¡¯t want to talk about it and mercifully let the conversation flow elsewhere. Inevitably, they arrived at the war. He knew a bit of her story from Hector. She told him about the WAFS, endless flights in cramped C-47 radio rooms. She mentioned she¡¯d been in Luzon in ¡¯46 and it drew out his own story.


    Father Jon¨¢s was one of one of three chaplains on the USS West Virginia and was onboard when she was sunk at Pearl Harbor. After the attack, both the priest and the dreadnaught were both fished from the Pacific and thrown back into action in the Philippines. West Virginia fought in the Battle of Surigao Strait, the last time two battleships would ever fight each other. After VJ day, Father Jon¨¢s was part of Operation Magic Carpet, ferrying GIs back to Hawaii.


    As Jon¨¢s spoke, she heard so much that reminded her of Hector. There was a kind of desperate, vital force in both men. The things they¡¯d faced had changed them, given them perspective for the rest of their lives. Una felt a twinge of regret for her uncharitable thoughts about Father Domingo. Domingo was trying his best, it was just a different time. They spent so long talking about the old days that the meal was over before she knew it. They hadn¡¯t even brought up chess. Father Jon¨¢s finally came around to it.


    ¡°So. How badly is your nieto thrashing you?¡±


    In her handbag was the pad where she¡¯d recorded their last few games. Only one was a draw, she¡¯d lost the rest. Father Jon¨¢s looked over the notation. Sometimes he would move an invisible piece with his hand as he went through the game.


    ¡°You said he¡¯d only started a month ago?¡±


    ¡°Barely that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not playing a trick on me, are you?¡± Bartolome leaned over his glass.


    ¡°Of course not.¡±


    Una told him about all the chess books Robin had devoured. He¡¯d nearly run through the entire chess shelf at the Los Griegos Public Library. He was on a biography of Alekhine now, once that was done they were going to have to take a trip to the Main Public Library.


    ¡°I forgot how intense boys are with their interests at that age,¡± Jon¨¢s mused. Some long-ago happiness drifted across his face, but he kept it to himself.


    ¡°He can¡¯t do much but read, at present. I¡¯m taking him to the library three times a week.¡±


    ¡°How were his marks in school, before he got sick?¡±


    ¡°Terrible. They almost held him back in the fourth grade. Some of that was Lucinda¡¯s fault, but not all. He¡¯s a daydreamer, spends half of class doodling. Drove his teachers crazy.¡±


    ¡°These are sharp moves. I¡¯d like to speak with him.¡±


    Una paused, trying to find the right way to word things.


    ¡°Robin is angry right now. He doesn¡¯t want to come to church,¡± Una lowered her eyes.


    ¡°Tell him there¡¯s a game waiting for him. He¡¯ll come.¡± Jon¨¢s smiled.