"More beer!" Rael screamed.
Martin passed him another without looking.
"I'll move my pawn to N6," Grend said.
"You're kidding."
"Nope. Then you'll take that Pawn with your Bishop's Pawn. Right?"
"Yes ..."
Martin reached out and did it.
"Okay. Now I'll just swing this Knight to Q5."
Martin took it with the Pawn.
Grend moved his Rook to K1.
"Check," he announced.
"Yes. That _is_ the way to go," Martin observed.
Grend chuckled.
"I'm going to win this game another time," he said.
"I wouldn't put it past you."
"More beer?" Rael said softly.
"Sure."
As Martin passed him another, he noticed that the griffin was now leaning against the tree trunk.
After several minutes, Martin pushed his King to B1.
"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd do," Grend said. "You know something?"
"What?"
"You play a lot like a unicorn."
"Hm."
Grend moved his Rook to R3.
Later, as the rain descended gently around them and Grend beat him again, Martin realized that a prolonged period of silence had prevailed. He glanced over at the griffin. Rael had tucked his head beneath his left wing, balanced upon one leg, leaned heavily against the tree and gone to sleep.
"I told you he wouldn't be much trouble," Grend remarked.
Two games later, the beer was gone, the shadows were lengthening and Rael was stirring.
"See you next month?"
"Yeah."
"You bring any plaster of Paris?"
"Yes, I did."
"Come on, then. I know a good place pretty far from here. We don't want people beating about _these_ bushes. Let's go make you some money."
"To buy beer?" Rael asked, looking out from under his wing.
"Next month," Grend said.
"You ride?"
"I don't think you could carry both of us," said Grend, "and I'm not sure I'd want to right now if you could."
"Bye-bye then," Rael shrieked, and he leaped into the air, crashing into branches and tree trunks, finally breaking though the overhead cover and vanishing.
"There goes a really decent guy," said Grend. "He sees everything and he never forgets. Knows how everything works—in the woods, in the air—even in the water. Generous, too, whenever he has anything."
"Hm," Martin observed.
"Let's make tracks," Grend said.
"Pawn to N6? Really?" Tlingel said. "All right. The Bishop's Pawn will just knock off the Pawn."
Tlingel's eyes narrowed as Martin moved the Knight to Q5.
"At least this is an interesting game," the unicorn remarked. "Pawn takes Knight."
Martin moved the Rook.
"Check."
"Yes, it is. This next one is going to be a three-flagon move. Kindly bring me the first."
Martin thought back as he watched Tlingel drink and ponder. He almost felt guilty for hitting it with a powerhouse like the sasquatch behind its back. He was convinced now that the unicorn was going to lose. In every variation of this game that he'd played with Black against Grend, he'd been beaten. Tlingel was very good, but the sasquatch was a wizard with not much else to do but mental chess. It was unfair. But it was not a matter of personal honor, he kept telling himself. He was playing to protect his species against a supernatural force which might well be able to precipitate World War III by some arcane mind manipulation or magically induced computer foul-up. He didn't dare give the creature a break.
"Flagon number two, please."
He brought it another. He studied it as it studied the board. It was beautiful, he realized for the first time. It was the loveliest living thing he had ever seen. Now that the pressure was on the verge of evaporating and he could regard it without the overlay of fear which had always been there in the past, he could pause to admire it. If something _had_ to succeed the human race, he could think of worse choices... .