that he held his breath, knowing attacks could come from several fronts, leaving him frustrated that Bran might not see something until it was too late.
“Now it comes down to it, eh,” Lord Fafnir crowed.
“Think it through, Bran. Think it through,” the boy whispered to himself. “Take your time.”
The pieces had gravitated toward one of the corners nearest Bran and he was close to reaching a border with his king. Six of his guards remained in a protective ring about the king. Faric blocked him from reaching the corner. Pieces on both sides would tumble like dominos in the next six or seven moves—the win or loss would happen fast.
Then Richard saw it, the opening for Bran. He hoped the boy did too. Bran reached to move a guard to block an attacker and break through to win—and then paused. Richard stopped breathing. So did the throne room. Bran withdrew his hand and stared at Faric. The coblynau ignored him, lost in the pieces, and then furtively glanced up at Bran.
Both understood. The game was over.
Grabbing the wrong piece, Bran moved one of his guards, cutting off the closest border and the win.
“What did you do?” Richard growled, exasperated. “Stupid!”
“Had the game won, ye did!” Faric said, shaking his head. Then made a move.
“I did win,” Bran said.
“Ye did not!” Faric shot back, gesturing at the board. “It is a draw.”
“That’s right,” Bran said with certainty. Richard saw what he meant. The king moved back and forth over two squares, unable to be captured by Faric in the safety of the quartz guards but also unable to reach one of the corners to actually win the game due to frozen attackers. The guards were also safe from Faric, leaving a stalemate.
Faric just sat there, looking puzzled.
“You knew,” Fafnir criticized, his face wrinkled in his frown.
“No one wins in war,” Bran said, standing up. “It’s the same on the streets; it is the same everywhere, I would imagine. War is what you are going to have if you don’t believe Richard McAllister and agree with the Queen’s request, and it will be a war you will lose.”
Lord Fafnir looked from the board back to Bran and back again. Richard could not believe what had just happened. The boy looked at him uncertainly before meeting the gaze of the coblynau lord. Bran had taken a grave risk. All in the chamber knew it and waited for the outcome. Richard hoped Bran knew what he was doing.
Otherwise he was going to beat him within an inch of his life.
“What say you, Lord Fafnir?” Richard asked.
“It is an odd situation in game play. Made more odd by your need,” Fafnir admitted in his raspy voice. “This young man has shown more wisdom in playing a game than I or my forefathers have seen from that vaunted Seelie Court in previous centuries. He pulls a draw? On purpose? To make a point?” The ancient coblynau laughed. “He is rare, that one.”
Richard did not answer. The hall was silent once more.
“Truly an Ardall?”
“He is. Son of Charles,” Richard answered. “Philip has tried to kill him twice.”
“Let him speak for himself,” Fafnir commanded. “What has he seen?”
Bran hesitated before bowing. “Knight McAllister has said a war is coming to your home. He tells the truth. I have seen these evil creatures and those who drive them with my own eyes, unleashed by Philip. I met the Queen and other gathered lords, and they are prepared to fight—together. They need your aid and they need your resources. I cannot see how you will be safe if you alone stay here and do not join nor how they will be strong without your strength.”
“I see,” Fafnir said, pursing his already thin lips and gnashing his teeth. Long moments passed. No one said a word. “One course then, like your game. Both Faric and my other grandson Forrenhahl will join you and this war you believe will come. Caer Glain will supply the lords of the lowlands the ore they need. The fires will be stoked; iron will flow to Arendig Fawr.”
Richard breathed easier and bowed.
“The warriors of Caer Glain will join the Seelie Court in Arendig Fawr within three days,” Lord Fafnir promised as he stood unsteadily, even though the boney hand that gripped his war hammer was firm and strong. “May Ser Hendel protect us all.”
“Thank you, Lord Fafnir,” Richard said.
“Let us feast then,” Fafnir replied and pointed at Bran. “And perhaps a game against Ardall there.”