This chapter is dedicated to @lucky03m who made me fall in love with David McLane.

|| - Master of Pawns - ||

"It is my style to take me and my opponent on to unknown grounds..."

- David Bronstein
____________

The fortress of Chandranagara welcomed the dusk with ocher lamp light. Torches were lit periodically along the stone walls of hallways and clusters of oil lamps littered in the shade of every pillar. The effect of lamplight was that the glow was never consistent and always gave birth to shadows creeping along the rough walls in the dancing light.

Andrew was not speaking with Dave and Lily was fed up of trying to mediate between them that she had retired for an early night after bidding each scowling young man a very frosty ‘good night!’. It was long after the swish of her pale pink gown had disappeared from their sitting room that Andrew raised his head from his book to inquire what had happened to his companion.

And he dropped the book.

“What in the lord’s name -!” He caught himself before he could swear out loud and bit his lip the memories of his old headmaster’s crane still rather sharp in his mind.

“I take it you’re interested,” Dave stopped for a moment to smirk at his friend. “I thought you were resolved not to converse with me again.”

Andrew picked up his book and shut it, before placing it properly on the little table where it belonged. He had only been pretending to read it, staring at the same page for so long now. It was fine enough to give up the pretence altogether when he was certain that he could not stay mad with David for long anyway. Shaking his head, he went to stand behind David and watched how contrasting their reflections in the mirror in front of him were. Staring at him, from the depths of silver plated glass was no longer David McLane, but some local stranger with dark gray eyes.

David finished fixing his turban, leaving enough cloth to cover his face if the need occurs. A worn out gray tunic and pantaloons completed his look, giving him a guise similar to one of those merchants in the outer Chandranagara. He assessed his reflection for another minute, before nodding in contentment and walking to ruffle his luggage in search of something. Andrew stared after him.

“What exactly are you up to, Mr. McLane?”

“Since we are not in speaking terms I assumed you will not accompany me to the whipping grounds. Therefore,” he turned around, fishing himself a pair of plain hilted daggers from the depth of his art supplies. “I’ve improvised the plan.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows.

“Explain,” he said, sitting back down on a different chair that faced his friend who was not concealing the daggers in his belt as he paced the room, looking for things he had forgotten.

“Obviously, David McLane can’t  go without Andrew Kent tagging along or it would look suspicious. But I cannot sit back when this could be the only chance to find myself an audience with Meghdyuth.”

“Of cause, you will not apologize, no matter how much it would hinder your plans,” said Andrew disappointedly. “Among the other things, I wish you did not inherit your father’s ego, my dear friend.”

“I did not inherit my father’s ego – I’ve inherited my mother’s,” David said calmly. “But that’s beside the matter. I do not see where I have wronged that requires an apology.”

“You suggested Nawabzada that you’ve seen people being amputated as a punishment.”

“So? I’ve spoken the truth only!”

“And the man has gone and planted the idea in the heads of those conducting the punishment. In your scheme to catch a rebel you will cost an innocent man one of his arms!”

“Nothing will happen,” David assured him, to which Andrew only scowled. “If it was not something serious, it will not compel Meghdyuth to come out. I’m sure he will not mind a few whip strokes – but judging by your reaction, I’m sure he is making his move to rescue the villager as we speak.”

“And what – what if – God forbid – he fails?”

“Why do you think I’m going there?” David said shortly. He had almost left the room when Andrew spoke again.

“You will rescue him?”

“You call me your best friend Mr. Kent and haven’t you yet realized that I do not play with innocents? I know I am responsible for each of my pawns.” He did not wait for Andrew’s answer this time and left in a soundless flash, climbing down the stone railed balcony into the darkness gathering outside.

Andrew watched him go feeling a faint amusement at how the guards standing outside their door had no inkling of one of their responsibilities scraping the length of the fortress. He sighed and went back inside to play his part of keeping up the pretence of normalcy, inwardly wondering how David could possibly be so confident in his planning.

**

David wondered if the city square was ever used as anything but a torture ground. Looking at the apprehensive expressions in the faces of the crowd he thought not. It was not only the man from the marketplace earlier, who was going to be punished for his crimes. Instead there was group of equally ragged and miserable looking people being brought up to face their doom. They were held in a cell made of wooden bars. It had a door that was operated by ropes and a lever system which made an ominously cranky sound each time it moved.

The executioner was a large man, dark skinned and bald, with tiny eyes that looked rather amused to have a set of victims to play with. He made a big show of laying out his torturing instruments for the crowd to see and did not forget to cast a suggestive glare at the offenders every now and then. There was a cauldron of boiling oil, David did not fancy knowing what it was used for. Then there was several whips, some with edges as sharp as blades themselves. There were blades, short swords, and clubs apart from the gross instruments the executioner show cased.

David tore his gaze from the executioner’s exhibition and looked around the crowd. There was no sign of anything strange happening. There were no strangers among the onlookers that would grab his attention. For the first time he felt a tinge of doubt whether he had been too over confident in judging the method of operation of an unknown entity.

The first convict was called. It was a matter of some miner dispute with one of the merchants and the man had been sentenced for fifty whips. Dave held his face blank with effort at the gross un – proportionality of the punishment; it was none of his concern for the time being. But he could not help but wonder, what was Khan’s enmity with the people from chandranagara villages? It seemed as if he had left them to be bullied at the hands of his officers and turned a blind eye towards all their grievances. It was no surprise that a riot had broken out. Was the man who prided himself for his ability at the war field foolish enough when it came to governing a country that he thought only cradling the nobles would help him in the long run? Doesn’t he know that thrones are toppled by commoners not aristocrats?

The executioner cracked the whip and casted a savage smile at the crowd which shuddered along with the man’s yell as it split open the dry skin on his bony back. David’s eyes narrowed as another stroke landed on the man’s back. Any time now, he thought to himself.

An arrow shot past him and hit the hoister that held the boiling oil suspended over a crackling fire, breaking it in the process and topping the contents of the cauldron all over the ground.

The executioner let out a yelp of surprise as he had to jump back from the path of burning oil. Dropping his whip in his momentary confusion the man tried to escape from burning his legs. It was a tuneless dance of sorts as the beefy man tried to skip over the hot oily floor before landing himself on all fours. Nobody in the crowd laughed.

The next arrow was aimed at the rope of the lever that managed the door to the cell of convicts. It was shortly followed by two more, completely cutting the door off its hinges. There was a whoop from the men inside, as the door of their confinement was torn apart. Some of them even managed to get out while the man who was being whipped slowly slipped from the center of attention.

They may not make it yet. The executioner was growling, barking insults and daring the men to escape, guards were hurrying from all sides, armed and ready to take them down. Dave smirked, he could almost see the next arrow coming.

It came with fire on its tip and landed itself a few feet away from where the executioner was still unsuccessfully trying to stand up. The man yelped again, in shock and fear as the oil around him caught fire. The stage on the city square started to burn fast with the contribution of already heated oil and created a barrier of fire between the oncoming guards and the escaping convicts. The crowd soon turned into a chaos as people screamed and run, trying to get away from the fire as fast as possible. Pressed from all sides and being shouldered towards the general direction the crowd was moving David looked up, knowing exactly where he would find what he was looking for.

There he was; a small built shadow, with his bow still aimed at the  chaos below, perched in the roof of one of the guard posts on the inner wall of chandranagara. That stranger in the black grab could be no one else but Meghdyuth.

**

The peace was there only for a moment; the chilly breeze, the moon, the fire spreading wild in the ground beneath as the guards and inhabitants of the outer chandranagara tried to put it out. Angry purple smoke rose in swirls to the starlit sky as the flames died. Then there was the cold touch of a blade against a throat.

“Congratulations, Meghdyuth,” Dave spoke in the local tongue as he stepped out of the shadows, his dragger held against the stranger’s throat.

The man went exceptionally still, as if he was cut out from a dark stone. Only a vein throbbed at his temple. It was all he could see, as Meghdyuth too wore a turban similar to his, with everything other than his eyes covered from the same dark cloth. Dave was not surprised.

“I expected to see you here tonight,” he told the man, stepping forward so that they stood eye to eye. It was then, that he was surprised. For staring at him, was a pair of eyes that he recognized from that fatal mehfil earlier. Those eyes that looked so dark that they absorbed all the light falling into them.

He was so stunned at his discovery that he was not quite ready for it when Meghdyuth sprung to action abruptly. With strength that was surprising for his small built the man twisted his arm away from him sending the dagger flying towards the darkness below and kicked him off his balance with a sweeping kick before slipping to the side.

However, Dave recovered faster than Meghdyuth had expected. True, he was thrown off the roof by that unexpected blow, but still he managed to grab the end of the ledge and stretched out his other arm to fasten his grip around his opponent’s ankle. Before Meghdyuth had comprehended what was happening to him, Dave had pulled him down.

The scream that followed as Meghdyuth fell was surprisingly feminine and Dave had his suspicions confirmed as he held her from her wrist, breaking her fall. Her turban fell off to the abyss below, where nobody bothered to look up from the roaring fire licking at their heels, releasing a mass of long wavy hair.

She was not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but David McLane was certain, he had never seen a woman like her before and something about the way her eyes gleamed in the reflection of the fire below – as if they were lit by a fire of their own, made him think that he had just found a queen for his board.

**

And...

What did you think about David's mini adventure? Of cause they still have to get back on the roof without breaking their necks...But still, I'd like to hear your thoughts.

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