But this was Pole Chess, so there was one additional set of pieces: the poles. These were the tallest and most regular of them all, resembling the spiraled poles that ancient barbers once used as a signal of their operations. When all the other pieces were set up, the white and black poles stood to either side, just off the board, centered.
The pole could neither take nor be taken, except in one very special circumstance. It could only block. It could move to any unoccupied square on the board in one move, but did not have to be played. It was normally used to occupy a square that a player did not want his opponent’s man to take, or to block the path of the opponent’s man, or to shield a piece from attack. In the end game it could be critical in the defense of the king. Clever use of the pole could change the complexion of a game—but it was possible also to play through without ever invoking the pole. Thus it added an element to the game without any obvious corresponding sacrifice. Some players swore that Pole Chess was the best variant ever; others condemned it as a decadent offshoot. Mach himself was neutral; he could take it or leave it, and tended to be guided by his opponent’s strength in it. A player who was good with the pole could trap himself when playing normal chess, forgetting that he could not abruptly block check. But a player who was not used to it could find his careful strategy negated at the end, when the pole interfered with the operation of his major attacking piece.
They played—and Icebeard humiliated Mach. The demon was a good player, all right!
They played again. This time Mach stuck to the most conventional opening and play, so that no surprises were likely, and played for a draw. He never got the chance; Icebeard overwhelmed him.
They played a third time. Mach went for innovative, risky play, trying to surprise the demon. For a while he seemed to be succeeding; then he made a foolish error, and Icebeard clamped down and never let go.
“I’m not in your league,” Mach admitted ruefully.
“Obviously not,” the demon said graciously. “I will make a deal with thee: get me a match with the Adept Stile, and I will train thee to win against any lesser player.”
“But I thought you would train me for the benefit of your cause!” Mach protested.
“That, too, rovot,” Icebeard agreed.
“I’m not sure that’s fair,” Mach said, and the mountain began to rumble warningly.
The demon pointed an icefinger at Mach’s nose. “Listen, rovot, thou hast proven thou dost be Adept, and can bring this mountain down about our heads. I have proven I can play Pole Chess of a level thou canst only dream of. Causes be fine, but it be best to make fair exchange for service. Thou knowest that training thee will be a colossal bore to me. Dost think it fair that he who be mooted the best player o’ the frame plays me not?”
Mach was taken aback by the force of this logic. “No, it is not fair. But it is Stile’s son I must play against. How can I get Stile to play against you, knowing that this is your price for training me to beat Bane?”
Icebeard grimaced. “Thou dost have a point, rovot!”
FIeta spoke up. “Would Stile want his son to win ‘gainst an untrained opponent?”
Both Mach and Icebeard looked at her, then at each other. “I’ll try,” Mach said. He looked at Fleta. “Do you want to come along?”
“The filly stays here!” Icebeard snapped.
“What is this? You think you need a hostage, demon?”
Icebeard reconsidered. “Nay, not for this. Old reflexes die hard! Let her go with thee.”
“Nay, I will stay, an Icebeard show me how to play this game.”
The demon stared at her. “Has thou any aptitude at all, filly?”
“I know not. But when I visited Proton-frame, I played in their Tourney, and won four rounds. Mayhap I will ne’er get to play again, but an I could learn more game skills, that would please me.”
The demon softened. “Mayhap thou dost have potential. We shall shortly find out.”
Fleta went to the table, and they were setting up the pieces as Mach conjured himself to the Blue Demesnes, slightly bemused.
He stood before the Blue Castle and hailed it, as before. Again the Lady Blue emerged. “I fear thou canst not change his mind, Mach,” she said.
“Lady, this time I come to ask a favor of him.”
“He will see thee not at this time, but I will talk to thee.” She showed him into the courtyard, and they took seats at the table, as before.
He gazed at her for a moment. “You know, my mother is a robot.”
“Aye, the Lady Sheen. I know her.”
“You know her?” he asked, surprised.
“In the old days it were possible to cross the curtain physically, an one’s other self be dead. Mine other self—” She broke off, looking troubled; but before he could think of anything appropriate to say, she resumed. “I crossed and met her, and knew she was worthy, and asked Stile to marry her. But in the end he remained with me, and it were Blue who married her.”
He continued to look at her. “You are a beautiful woman, Lady.”
“What be thy business, Mach?”
“I am in training for the first match with Bane. I know it is not to your interest to help me in my effort to defeat him, but—”
“ ‘Interest’ be defined in sundry ways,” she said. “Bane represents the existing order, and there be good and evil in that. Thou dost represent a contrasting order, and there be evil and good in that. There be that in thy order that Bane craves, and that in our order that thou dost crave.”
“Yes!”
“So thou dost represent a part of him—the part that would marry Agape and live in Proton-frame. He represents a part of thee—the part that would have our way govern, rather than the special interest o’ the Adepts. Thou dost contest for part of his good, and he for part of thine. The victory o’ either be neither comedy nor tragedy. There be nor right nor wrong in this. It be merely the settling o’ an issue which else would destroy all.”
Mach had been braced for hostility, open or covert, and ready to argue his case purely on the issues of pride and fairness. But the Lady Blue showed no condemnation, only understanding. This realization caught him off guard, and momentarily overwhelmed him. As a robot, he still got caught on occasion by the surges of feeling and emotion generated by the living state. “Oh, Lady, I love you,” he whispered, feeling the tears come.
Then she was standing beside him, embracing him as he sat, her maternal bosom against his cheek. “We love thee too, Mach,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “We know thou dost what thou must.”
In a moment she returned to her place, but the sensation of her embrace lingered. What a woman she was! It was easy to understand how Stile had left Proton to marry her.
“What be thy business?” she repeated gently.
“I—I—the demon—” He took a breath and started over. “The snow demon Icebeard will train me in chess, if Stile will play him a match. He—he is an excellent player, and feels that Stile should at least play him once.”
“Aye.”
“So—”
“Stile will play him by correspondence, one move a day. Here be Stile’s first move.” She handed him a tiny scroll.
So they had known all along that this would happen!
Mach was largely at a loss for words. “Thank you, Lady. For everything.”
“Welcome, Mach. Do thou give my regards to thy mother, when convenient.”
“I will.” He found himself outside the castle, and conjured himself back to the cave of the snow demons. Icebeard looked up from the board. “The filly be a natural player,” he said. “Her could I more readily train than thee.”