Playing It Unsafe, Chapter 2

Playing it Unsafe
A pawn learns about the power of surrender

Continued...If you haven't yet, read the previous post to see the first part of this story :)

Pwan looked to the King but his lips hadn’t moved. Had he heard right? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go of course; Pwan was ready. He wanted to do something valuable, meaningful, something for Dreem. Pwan didn’t wait to be told again, he moved.
Up a space, forward another space, Pwan moved as quickly as he could. “Finally I get to do something,” he thought to himself. Unsure of how far to advance, Pwan stopped in a square next to another Pawn. It turned out to be his old companion, Panzi.
“Panzi, isn’t this great?” Pwan began. “We finally get to fight.”
“Oh, shur ‘tiz buddy” Panzi retorted with a tinge of sarcasm. “We don’t seem to be doin’ much help though, jus’ sittin’ here in th’ middle of the field, you know? Least it wuz safer further back-where the King’z at now.”
“Speaking of which, I think you are wrong about the King, Panzi” Pwan commented thoughtfully. “He really does care about each of us--you can see it in his face if you get up close.”
“Hmph! Ah’ll believe it when I sees it, that’s all.”
At that juncture, a Pawn stepped toward them from the ranks of the darker colored pieces across the way. Though still too distant for Pwan to make out his facial expression in detail, he had an impression that it was ugly and threatening. Here was a member of the group that had taken his friend; that was opposing his King and threatening his own safety. He was ready for the moment, prepared to show the world what he, Pwan, could do. He was ready to fight fiercely, full of the courage only love or hate can give.
Pwan turned to Panzi to tell him the strategy, but stopped short. Panzi himself had stopped short of all activity or movement, frozen in fear. Towering above him on the other side from Pwan was a literal tower of stone and brickwork. A veritable powerhouse of force it stood, its frowning parapets lined with weapons and rusty chains, ready for prisoners. If they had thought Battlebar Rook was fierce, the enemy seemed fiercer and stronger and bigger, blotting out the friendly sun with it’s grimly threatening shadow. The hysterical look on Panzi’s face told all he felt at that moment. His time had come and he knew it. All his bitterness and cynicism had taken flight, leaving only a heart full of stark terror in the face of certain doom.
Oddly though, instead of making a move, the Rook just sat there. All four eyes peeled, the pawns watched for any movement of the studded gates or iron-wrought window shutters. Nothing happened, the castle just sat there. Their eyes closely followed every pointed arrow or javelin tip visible in the turrets of stone, watching for an attack. Still nothing happened, the fortress just sat there and then…then it…just moved away. The Pawns looked at one another, disbelief reflecting disbelief in their wide eyes. What had just happened?
“Why’d ‘e leave?” gasped Panzi “he could’a captured me straight up!”
“I’ve no idea” answered Pwan, just as surprised.
“Itz like somebody has got to watchin’ out fer me…” the old soldier continued almost in a whisper.
Pwan’s concentration on his friend was interrupted when he suddenly noticed the enemy Pawn advancing again in the next row over. “Perfect positioning, Pwan-good job” he told himself while taking leave of his friend. The positioning was just right, the angles between himself and the other pawn were perfect for his most powerful attack moves. He counted spaces, calculated distance, evaluating the enemy’s approach with a knowing air. He tried not to notice his opponent’s face, which somehow didn’t seem as frightful or evil as he had imagined now that it was close enough for him to make out the emotions of its hesitant expression. Instead he focused on the movements, the spacing and the ever narrowing space between his enemy and his own prepared position. In his mind he could almost hear the songs and stories of this heroic battle being sung and retold across the battlefields of the future, the exploits of Pwan the Valliant inspiring countless other Pawns and perhaps even a Bishop or two to similar feats of courage and strength.
As the opponent drew near, Pwan pretended not to notice. With exaggerated actions he scanned the far horizon in the other direction, as if completely unaware of the presence of his foe. Yet from the corner of his eye he traced every curve of the grain of his enemy’s wooden construction and every movement he made. At just the right moment he sprang forward for the capture, all his strength and skill combined in a single gesture of confrontation. Success! The thrill of victory filled every fiber of Pwan’s being with an excitement he couldn’t begin to describe. He felt powerful, exultant in his strength, satisfied in his enemy’s downfall; a vengeance sweet as honey, giving him a heady sensation of capability and of fierce loyalty to his friend. It has been said, though, that even the delightful sweetness of honey is not sufficient to make up for the agony of eating too much of it. Pwan, flushed and over-full of the excitement of victory began to feel the inner agony immediately.
It was his own mistake, really. He looked at the face of the prisoner being led away, the defeated Pawn taken by surprise by his own move. He did not see a face of anger or evil, of hatred toward the world of good as he might have expected. No, the eyes that looked back into his own seemed to Pwan like the innocent, thoughtful eyes of Dreem, confused by what had just happened. That look of question from the prisoner on his way off the field left Pwan feeling as if he had just collided with a Rook. The sweetness was gone, replaced by an inner numbness and vacancy. What had he done? What were his own victim’s friends even now thinking of him? How could his actions be any better than those of his enemies?
The Queen moved past Pwan just then, awakening him from his guilt-ridden reverie. Looking up he saw her disappear in the direction of the enemy lines. She was always busy, powerful and confident. The mainstay of the army, she was the right-hand woman to the King, helping project his power across the board, encouraging and leading the troops. Consequently, she was always a great target for the enemy; she had to watch herself wherever she went. The opposing King was always trying to mastermind her capture.
Panzi moved up to join Pwan just then, followed shortly by a Knight, the very same gallant horseman who had disappeared earlier at the King’s bidding.
“Pwaun!” exclaimed the older pawn excitedly. “You’s never gonna guess what wuz up w’that thar Castle, b’lieve me.”
“Why, what happened?” Pwan wondered.
“This here Knight wuz jest a’sittin over yonder guarding me on account of the King’s very orders. We didn’t note him, but th’ Castle seed ‘im alright. That’s why he didn’t ‘tack us. I s’ppose you was right ‘bout the King, he does care!”
“That is correct” Interjected the Knight. “I was commissioned by the King to protect you two during your advance. He told me to keep you all safe.”
“Wait” Pwan interrupted “you mean the King was telling you where to move the whole time? How do you hear him? How can I hear him?”
“You must listen” responded the Knight with a smile “and not simply do whatever you personally want.”
Pwan felt pretty sheepish after his recent experience doing what he wanted with the enemy Pawn, but didn’t say anything about it to his companions.
“Look around you” encouraged the horseman, “watch how the battle is going. You must learn to focus on things besides your own desires. See what needs to happen for us to achieve victory and try to hear the King’s directions.”
“Thanks for the advice” Pwan responded thoughtfully. “I’ll try that.”
The realization that the King was watching out for them and would direct their moves throughout the battle gave the pawns a new perspective on their whole situation. As the Knight moved off, their eyes were opened to what was happening around them, to look for the piece behind the piece, for who was protecting whom. They noticed a Bishop ahead who was in a tight spot, indeed. Threatened menacingly by a Rook from one side, and a pawn from another, yet unable to move for fear of placing his own King in danger, the poor fellow was rather pinned down.
To and fro across the field Pwan looked to see who could help the Bishop, knowing that he himself was much too distant to intervene. The protector Knight he could see, but he was between Panzi and another advanced Pawn position, protecting them both; he couldn’t move. There was Battlebar a few spaces over, but too busy maneuvering to front an offensive that could hopefully put some pressure on the defensive position of the enemy King. Many of his fellow pawns were gone, captured already by the opponents. He saw few other soldiers from his army anywhere, perhaps another Rook in the far corner, but he was unsure. It seemed that all his own army’s soldiers were in tough positions, holding the line against an advancing enemy. It was a grim outlook.
Suddenly, Pwan realized he had overlooked the Queen. She entered the picture now, sliding between two enemy pieces, her eyes blazing with energy. Quick, quick as the light itself when it had entered to awaken Pwan before the battle started, she came. Before the enemy fortress had time to react, to close his gates or prepare defense against her, she had him captured. What a move! What a capture! Only a Queen as brave and strong as she could have done it, Pwan was certain.
A collective sigh of relief rose from the white army, and especially from the Bishop who had been rescued. Perhaps the tide would turn. A Rook had been captured, that was something. The Queen seemed perfectly positioned behind enemy lines to weaken their defenses and threaten the King, coordinating with Battlebar in his efforts. The opposing Queen was safely out of the way, in a far corner of the field. Everything seemed to have changed and each soldier was ready to do his part to keep the momentum rolling. Pwan and Panzi exchanged excited glances; sure they would soon be part of a victorious army. Pwan tried to think about what he needed to do, just like the Knight had told him. “How could he help achieve victory?”
“Hold up, what’s ‘at?” asked Panzi suddenly.
The fear in his voice froze the confident smile on Pwan’s face. As he followed Panzi’s gaze, what he saw killed the smile; their heroic Queen was in a trap. Pwan never figured out whether the enemy King had planned the whole thing that way or whether he just noticed an opportunity after she moved, but it mattered little. Right now she was in harm’s way and no one could move fast enough to help her. From behind a cluster of dusky Pawns there suddenly appeared a black horse and rider, full and heavy with darkly armored plates. The snort of the charger, the jingle of the spurs and the thunder of the hooves seemed to reach the pawns as disconnected sounds. Somehow, they couldn’t be related to the sight of the dark Knight closing the space between their Queen and the point of his jagged lance. It was an inconceivable reality for the friends, definitely a sight Pwan wished not to behold, but he was wholly incapable of peeling his eyes away from the action.
The worst part about the whole situation was the cheering. The enemies were so happy about the capture, jubilant and scornful in their rejoicing. Pwan wanted to personally fill each laughing mouth with fine sawdust and sharp wood splinters, they were so obnoxious. Something would have to be done; in fact he would have to do something.
“I know we can’t win now” Pwan thought. “There’s no way without the Queen. But at least I can teach some of those pompous windbags a lesson they won’t forget!”
“Don’t you remember” he asked, turning to Panzi “how the King loved the Queen? He must be so angry right now too. We’ve got to show these guys they can’t mess with her and get away with it!”
“I’m with ya thar pal” Panzi responded “though I s’pose we’d best mind what all that Knight sed, r‘member?”
“Oh yeah…” Pwan’s mind stopped short in its plans of retribution. With Panzi’s comment he suddenly realized the similarity of this to the situation with Dreem. What had the Knight said, anyway, something about listening to the King’s voice for direction? That sounded right, but could it actually work?
Pwan tried to listen, though at first he found himself distracted by the clockwork movements around him. Every enemy piece seemed to be working together in a coordinated plan, advancing steadily. Though the loss of the Rook had interrupted their momentum, Pwan had the impression that they were better organized now than ever before. A row of Pawns marching here, a Bishop sailing by there, everywhere there were dark, shadowy soldiers on the offensive.
“I am supposed to be listening for the King” Pwan reminded himself, guiltily. He bent his mind to listen, to hear what he could not hear. He looked for opportunity in the meantime, too. Sure he could see a weakness in the enemy position, he almost ran forward to attack the unprotected opponent. Then he remembered again, he was listening for the King’s direction.
“Focus, Pwan, focus” he told himself.
Panzi moved up to help protect the Knight, a seemingly odd turn of events. Pwan looked around to see one of his fellow Pawns several squares over captured by the enemy Queen. The Knight and Panzi on his left seemed to be holding down the forward position; Battlebar to the right was making little progress alone but at least he was occupying a few of the enemy soldiers in a defense against his threatening movements. Looking back, Pwan suddenly remembered the King again. He was supposed to be listening for direction.
Suddenly he felt an urge that the time had come to move forward again. Pwan was willing, certainly, though unsure of what to do next. He looked around, but saw no targets in his path, no grim Rook or swift Bishop to oppose him, not even a Pawn in front of him. Who was he supposed to fight? It made no sense. Well, there was still that Knight up there somewhere…
The strangest thing happened just as Pwan was about to move. He heard the King say: “Leave your weapons behind. You won’t need them and they will only weigh you down. Just run!”
Pwan’s eyes widened in disbelief. That was crazy, he must have heard wrong. The King didn’t want him to leave his weapons; they were the only things he had to fight the enemy. He would be useless, fodder for the lance and the sword of the opponents, would affect nothing but to be killed or captured in shame. How they would laugh at him, too, when they got him. “Who drops their weapons on the battlefield?” he could hear enemy voices taunting. “Some idiot this guy is, ha, ha, ha.” The laughter rang in his mind’s ears, real enough to make him look around to see if everyone was looking at him. He saw no pointing fingers, only felt the gaze of his leader, urging him forward.
“No, it doesn’t make sense!” his brain protested. “This is stupid!”
“Go!” urged his heart. “Go now!”
Pwan went.

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In Truth,
Stephen