"Please don't embarrass me."

Martin reared back like Adam had physically slapped him. Which was starting to look like a reasonable idea. "When am I ever embarrassing?"

"I'm not answering that," Adam grumbled. "This isn't your usual scene. There won't be any paintings. Or snacks."

"Then why are we even bothering?" He laughed at his own joke while Adam continued to glare. "I'm kidding. I know how to behave at a tournament, Adam."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered.

Martin grinned but didn't otherwise reply.

They arrived at the meeting hall and Adam refocused on the task at hand. The well-worn stone of the exterior hid a tapestry of life unfolding inside. A familiar creak greeted them as the door opened and a gust of warm, humid air smacked him in the face. The inside was spotlessly clean, but that made the cracks in the tile or the gaps around the window panes – filled in with old newspaper – all the more visible.

The old place had been battered by the years but was still standing. Kind of like him. Adam took his time, making his way to the recreation area with Martin trailing behind. For a while, as a teenager who'd thought himself a man, Adam had walked these halls each day. The echo of that boy was loud now, reminding him how important it was to have shelter from the storm. With the week the sect had just survived, he needed those reminders.

It had been over twenty years since he'd spent much time here, but some things were bone deep, they wiggled their way into a soul and stayed there forever. He led the way confidently, past a few administrative offices, and a hall that kept a few spare bedrooms available for kids who might need it.

The dull roar of dozens of disparate conversations heralded their destination. It was crowded for a Fifthday afternoon, but that was to be expected. The Sparrow Block Community Center's monthly byd tournament was a local institution. A fact he was acutely aware of when dozens of eyes turned to him and Martin at once.

Those looks weren't kind. Adam recognized them. Stars, he'd given more of them than he could count. It was the kind of look that said outsiders weren't welcome here. They didn't have much, but pride was free and gawkers would be shown the way out.

"I changed my mind, let's leave."

He turned only to run straight into Martin's broad chest. "No way. You came here to kick some ass. Where's the sign up?" The battlemaster didn't bother modulating his voice.

"Martin!" he whispered.

"What? Doesn't look like you'll have much competition huh?"

The man in question strode forward without a care for the kind of trouble he'd just stirred up. And left Adam to face the keen gaze of the old men who spent all day playing in the park in the summer, or the rec center in the winter. But it wasn't any of them who spoke up.

"Bring it on, old man!" shouted a little girl. Not more than ten, though it was always hard to tell with these kids that didn't get quite enough to eat most days, she was already seated at one of the tables with a board set up for a classic opening.

"Who you calling old you little shit?"

Any tension, real or imagined, broke as the moody teenagers turned back to their brooding, and the older people laughed and went back to their conversations. Leaving Adam to track down where his lover had gone.

He found Martin finishing up at a registration table, and dropping a full purse into the donation box with a wink at the volunteer.

"Making friends?"

"Always. And signing you up. You're lucky number 22. Go get em'. Or did you want a better pep talk? I could use the practice for this summer."

"No. No speeches. No pep talks. There's some bench seats you can watch from."

"Fine. You're no fun today, but I know you're nervous."

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"I'm not nervous! It's a board game." He was nervous. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Because you hadn't left the library in three days and were quickly going insane. Now go out there and win!"

Adam grumbled all the way to his starting table. Fun. This was supposed to be fun. Something the entire sect had been unanimous in insisting on after their brush with death. Most of them didn't know what Adam had done, assuming he'd gotten the ink in the attacker's throat and stress caused the mental break. Only Martin,and Laurel, had gotten the full story out of him. Annette and the King's Council probably knew as well, but he hadn't been the one to tell him.

The days since had been a torment. He was afraid of being in the library, his sanctum had been violated. If it happened once, it could happen again. On the other hand, he couldn't be away from it. What if someone came back while he was gone? This morning he'd been issued an ultimatum by a united front of the remaining sect officers: go outside and do something fun, or he'd be locked out of the library for a full week. That the threat had worked on him was not surprising, even if it was a little disappointing.

He found his assigned spot and surveyed the board. From his perusal of the nearby tables, none of the openings were adventurous, alternating between four of the more classical configurations. Lucky for him. Adam wouldn't say he was rusty, but he would think it. Quietly. Laurel could be convinced to play some evenings, but most of the time he relaxed with a book instead. His fingers drummed on the edge of the table as he waited for an opponent. At some unheard signal, the conversations around him wrapped up and everyone took their seats.

The man across from Adam was old. Ancient, really. A mass of wrinkles and a stooped posture made him look like he was in danger of falling apart. But his beady eyes told Adam he was in for a battle.

His adversary wasted no time with talking, slamming his first piece down in an aggressive position. Well, if that's the game he wanted to play, Adam would oblige.

He countered with his mounted knights, flanked with archers. It was a classic for a reason, and gave away none of his strategy for the board they'd drawn. A mean smile emerged from the wrinkles.

In a flurry of hand movements, the board changed. Adam's forces were arrayed against a masterful defense. Even a few of his planned moves had been subtly cut off, or turned into traps against him.

Adam squared his shoulders and went to war.

The battle raged back and forth, each general sacrificing and recovering pieces in a savage trial of skill and foresight. In the end, it was the planning of those first few moves that won the day.

His remaining forces routed the enemy, and achieved victory. At great cost. Only a few of Adam's pieces remained on the board, half his holdings destroyed in the fighting.

"Not bad, lad. Not bad at all." His opponent leaned back, nodding down at the board after conceding the loss. "Might not be the best game of my life, but it wasn't far off either."

"Likewise," Adam said. He could appreciate a well-fought battle. As long as he was the victor.

"Lookout for the next one, eh? She knows what she's doing."

Then the old man was gone as the volunteer announced who would be moving forward. When it came to Adam's name, the calm was broken by loud cheering from the center of the stands.

"Woo! That's what we're talking about!"

He didn't turn around. Absolutely refused. Nothing in this world would get him to acknowledge Martin at this moment.

It didn't stop there. Martin's antics had broken some kind of seal, and enthusiastic cheering followed the reading of the rest of the names. He put it out of his mind. This was not a war that could be won in a single battle. All of the players shuffled to a new board, and sized up the new strategies they would need, and the opponents they would face.

The advice from the old man made a lot more sense when a girl in her mid-teens sat across from him, frowning like he was personally ruining her day.

"I'm Adam."

"Whatever."

Not much he could do with that. The volunteer running the show told them to begin and he pushed everything else out of his mind. This girl was good. Really good. And they were playing on a board he'd only seen twice before. Half of it was covered in ocean, with reefs and whirlpools acting as natural obstacles.

He tried to pull together a plan as she stomped all over his forces, relentlessly pushing forward. Piece after piece fell to her assault.

"Finish her!" Martin shattered the silence with his brand of 'encouragement'.

Which whipped up every other spectator, and the eliminated contestants, who joined in on the action. All of a sudden they were in a storm of cheers, heckling, and advice flying around each table.

His lips twitched into a smile, but he still wouldn't turn around and give Martin the satisfaction. But relaxing for a moment let him see the path to victory. In five moves he'd taken control of the board. In ten it was over.

"Good game," he tried one more time to be polite to the child.

"Ugh. Sure."

As she stalked off, Martin's cheers for his victory continued. This was a good thing. He would convince himself of that. If he knew how Martin felt was appropriate tournament behavior now, that meant he could prepare for the real one. And get Annette in on it so that they could rein in Laurel as well. The pair of masters had claimed a tournament was more of an art installation for people to showcase their cultivation, and that the fights were part of that. Which had been suspicious then and was sliding slowly into being outright absurd the more Martin yelled.

Another ancient local was already facing him when he arrived at his next board. Her grandmotherly smile was out of place with the shouting from the sidelines.

"Welcome to the tournament, dear. I don't think we've seen you here before?"

"Oh, um no. I used to come to the community center as a kid, but not since then."

"Well, you just make yourself right at home, now."

After that kind welcome she proceeded to thrash him up and down the board. Every stratagem was turned back. Every sneak attack was seen through. He was left staring at the wreckage of his position, pieces all captured except a lone scout, who was caught between a beach with no boat, and a forest he lacked the skills to traverse.

He flicked the totem over, signaling his acceptance of the defeat.

The old woman leaned over and patted his arm. Like he was a child. "You did your best. Nothing to be ashamed of."

At the volunteer's announcement of the final four, Adam shuffled off to the side, to sit beside Martin and watch the remaining games. The stands were more fun than he expected. At Martin's urging, he started cheering for the woman who defeated him. A decision that was vindicated half an hour later when she easily won the tournament, another old timer shaking his head in self-disgust at his performance.

The crowd erupted in enthusiastic cheering, as the prize was delivered. A basket of baked goods, donated by locals in the neighborhood. Which the woman then graciously proceeded to pass out to everyone remaining at the Center. The cake was stale and hard to get down without any tea, but Adam relished it all the same.

He still had no plans to admit any of the others were right, but he returned to the sect centered in a way he hadn't been since the attack. When bad things happened, they would get through them together. Loremasters had defended the Archive since its founding. This week had been his turn.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.