#young raven

Master and apprentice faced each other in resolute silence. The student,  young but talented for his age, furrowed his brow and opened his mind to the infinite possible moves. Which would his opponent be expecting? Which would allow for the greater defense against his older, wiser mentor? He cautioned a glance into his grandfather’s eyes who returned his gaze with a smirk that etched deeper the creases at their corners.

“Make your move, boy, before I die of old age,” said Gerart.

Raven huffed and set his jaw. Quite right, he thought. It was time to decide. His hand darted forward but he hesitated at the last moment, cursing himself for both his indecision and for giving away his train of thought. Maybe his grandfather hadn’t picked up on it though, maybe he-

“Bringing the bishop into the fray, huh?” Gerart said, dashing Raven’s hope. “ Bold move, little bird, bold move.” He nodded his approval, clearly impressed. “Here I thought you’d tip toe around the board with the knight,” he said pointing at the obsidian chess piece. “Seems more your style. Slow, predictable, timid…”

“I’m trying to concentrate,” Raven said. He was studying the board, drawing the paths with his mind for as many moves as he could manage, his hand still hovering over the bishop. He couldn’t see what was so dangerous about the move, though, and it worried him. “You’re trying to distract me because you know I’m winning,” he bluffed. Raven had never beaten his grandfather at chess. Not once. Where Raven studied the board, took his time, attempted to predict the course of the game, Gerart picked moves seemingly at random. No sooner will Raven finish his turn than his grandfather would spare a quick glance at the board and shift a piece. It was infuriating.

“I’m serious, the Roshenko gambit is a ballsy maneuver. Shows you been doing your reading, I’m impressed. But, hey, don’t let me sway you, boy.  ”

Raven, who had never once picked up a book on chess strategies and hadn’t the single, foggiest idea who the fuck Roshenko was nor what his gambit involved, suddenly felt out of his depth. He looked to his knight and quickly traced its available paths. All but one was blocked but the remaining move showed promise. Perhaps victory would be his after all if he could wear his grandfather down through attrition. Defense being the best offense and all that.

He shifted to the knight and placed it safely out of reach and grinned at his grandfather. “I think I’ll wear you down instead, old m…”

Gerart’s hand was on his queen the very moment Raven had finished his move. “Check and mate,” he said, standing up with a groan and stretching his back.

“Wha….n-no,” said Raven staring at the board, his defeat laid bare. “That's…you shyster! You said the knight was the safe move!”

Gerart pulled the pipe from his waistcoat pocket and began to pack it with his thumb. “Yup. Lied. Shoulda moved the Bishop. You'da still lost but you’d have lasted longer.” He struck a match with his thumbnail and brought the pipe to life.

“But I don’t know the Roshenko gambit,” Raven said, still sitting at the table.

His grandfather shrugged as he blew out a voluminous plume of fragrant smoke. “Made that up too. Shouldn’t listen to the people trying to beat you Raven. Your enemy seldom has your best interest in mind.”