by Shari Ann Snelling
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One day on the GWFriendsList, Mary Sheeran happened to post the thought: "...wouldn't a chess match between Guy and Diego be a weird but interesting thing?" My imagination responded with an instant YES! and immediately began weaving a tale around that "weird but interesting thing." Below is the result. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. –S.A.
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En Passant
The fencing had tired him more than usual, but then he had put in long hours yesterday as Zorro, with more time on horseback than he was used to. Muscles he thought well conditioned were now protesting after the last swordfight. Perhaps he could rest for a few minutes, take a quick catnap before he was called on again to exert himself as the hero of the Pueblo de la Reina de los Angeles.
Sighing heavily, he sat down in the armchair before the chess board. Surely no one would think to look for him here, not now at least. Stretching his long legs he slumped down, trying to find a comfortable position (these chairs were just not built to accommodate a 6'3" frame) and crossed his arms behind his head. With eyes half closed, he contemplated the chess set in front of him. The pieces were aligned perfectly, each to its own square, a game not yet begun. Soon he would handle them, each move a carefully choreographed step in a dance he'd done so often it had nearly ceased to have meaning.
Idly he wondered what would happen if he made an unexpected move. What if he moved the knight instead of the bishop, would it matter? He reached out and picked up a black knight, turning the horse-shaped piece speculatively in his long fingers. His hand closed over the piece, the smooth ebony wood warming in his grasp. Holding the black knight within his fist, he closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep.
"Would you care for a game, Señor de la Vega?"
The voice startled him, coming as it did out of the darkness at the edge of the room, and the sound of it...for a moment he thought he himself had spoken. Sitting up abruptly (they really needed to make chairs that would better suit his height) he set the black knight slowly down on the chess board as a man walked toward him out of the shadows.
The man was tall, easily his match in height. He wore a jacket and pants much like his own, of finely woven blue cloth, both jacket and pants lavishly decorated with heavy embroidery. Silver conchos glittered in a neat row down the outer seam of each pant leg. Beneath the blue fabric of the elegant jacket was a white linen shirt, its ruffles carefully pressed, its collar crisp above a carefully tied cravat. Thick brown hair combed back from the forehead, hazel eyes under dark brows and a fine dark mustache above the slightly smiling mouth made his own breath catch in his throat. It was like looking in a mirror. And then the man spoke again.
"Would you prefer to take the white or the black?"
"Wha--oh, um, the white, I suppose." Numbly he gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the chessboard. "Have a seat."
"Gracias," his opponent said, seating himself casually, then shifting slightly as he sought to get comfortable. "They really should make chairs for men who are over six feet tall, no? It is your move first, Señor."
Nodding, he looked down at the chess set, and without any real thought made the first move as it had been planned, picking up a bishop and moving it forward.
"Ah, por favor Señor, that is not a legal move. Perhaps you would start with a different piece?"
Of course it wasn't a legal move; he'd argued that unsuccessfully just the other day. Embarrassed, he replaced the bishop and moved a knight forward two spaces.
"That is better. For a moment I thought you'd forgotten how to play the game."
His pride was stung by the obvious tone of chastisement in his opponent's voice. "I know how to play the game. I've been playing it for a long time." His opponent moved a black pawn two spaces forward, and he responded by moving one of his own white pawns.
"Ah, but one can play the game and eventually lose sight of its purpose, no?" With a grin, his opponent moved a bishop forward, positioning it aggressively near the white pieces.
"The purpose is to win the game." He studied the board, realizing his opponent was trying to draw him out and wondering what the best tactic would be.
"But what if there can be no winning, Señor de la Vega? What if the game does not end? What if it just continues, day after day and year after year?"
Moving a pawn to block his opponent's bishop, he frowned. "All games end, some sooner, some later. But they all end eventually. And someone wins and someone loses. I'd rather win."
"What if the game ends before you have a chance to play out your best strategies? What if the chessboard is overturned, and you never know how it would have turned out…like so." With a flick of his hand, his opponent overturned the chessboard, sending the pieces flying.
"What the--" he shoved back his chair, jumping to his feet and tensing as his opponent stood and reached down in one smooth motion, drawing a sword of finely tempered steel from its scabbard resting against one lean hip.
"What if the stakes are higher than you imagined, and the game much more serious, don Diego? Or should I call you El Zorro? En Garde!" His opponent swung the sword up in a fluid sweep to hold it in the classic ready position.
He should have been at least nervous at this sudden turn of events, but something deep within him stirred, an excitement and a resolution that here at least he could make a respectable showing. Reaching down, he drew his own sword, taking satisfaction in the soft singing the steel made as it cleared the scabbard. "En Garde," he replied softly, bringing the blade up to match his opponent's.
Special thanks to Mary Spooner for her picture magic.
