Free The Ice Queen by Bruce MacBain Page A

need to speak. The thrust and parry of the game took the place of words. That same joy showed on Harald’s face as when he played at poetry—which is also a game of intricate rules and subtleties. In Yelisaveta’s green eyes was the pure thrill of combat. The men and boys in her life had fought, or would fight, real wars on real battle fields. Only on this little field could she match herself with them. Here she was their equal.
    We happened to be in one of the ante-rooms off of the great hall, with the door shut to keep out the cold. It banged open suddenly, revealing Eilif in the doorway. The wind rushing in made the candle flames tremble.
    â€œYelisaveta Yaroslavna, come into the hall and drink with me.” He had the fiery face and thick speech of one who has drunk deep already.
    â€œLater, if I feel like it.”
    â€œNow! Leave this childish stuff to the children.”
    â€œAm I one of the children, Eilif?” said Harald in a sarcastic voice.
    There followed a silence, while the two players studied the board and the rest of us watched Eilif grow redder in the face by the moment.
    â€œYelisaveta, are you coming or not!”
    When an enemy’s brows knit together and his mouth turns down to the degree that Eilif’s did, a prudent man will just loosen his blade very slightly in its scabbard. I touched my side and remembered, with sinking heart, that I had no weapon on me—nor did Harald—while the captain of the druzhina was wearing both sword and dagger. Distracted perhaps by Eilif’s presence, Harald made a careless move on the board.
    â€œEilif, shut the door,” said Yelisaveta. “You may stay on either side of it for all I care.” She spoke without looking up, while her slim fingers advanced a bishop and removed Harald’s rook from the board. “Check,” she said.
    Eilif was baffled, and honestly pained; you could see it in his face. He took two steps into the room and stood glowering at them.
    Harald moved his king out of danger—you must understand that the whole object of this interesting game is to render that piece unable to move in any direction—but Yelisaveta pursued.
    â€œCheck again.”
    Harald frowned.
    Eilif saw this and his face brightened a little. If this thorn in his flesh was going to be defeated, and by a girl, that was worth watching!
    â€œEilif,” she said sweetly, “I’m sure if you tried very hard you could learn the rules. It’s the same thing as when you command your druzhiniks, except that these little soldiers don’t laugh at you when your back is turned.—Check again, gospodin Harald.” She removed his queen from the board.
    Gods! I thought. What reckless game is she playing? She wants to infuriate them both. She wants them to fight!
    The joy drained from Harald’s face. He drank angrily from a flagon that was by his elbow and, after furrowing his brow for a long while, advanced a pawn, slapping the piece down hard on the board. Eilif leaned nearer, screwing up his eyes with the effort of comprehension; and the rest of us—I, Volodya, Magnus, and two boyars’ sons—also pulled our chairs close.
    The pawn was taken. Yelisaveta’s horseman rode to the attack.
    Now Harald squeezed his king between thumb and forefinger as if he would punish the little monarch for blundering into this hopeless position. He pushed him violently there, and there, and there; but everywhere the way was barred. He interposed another pawn, but this warrior, like its brother, fell before Yelisaveta’s attack.
    â€œShahmat,” she said. “I fear your King is dead.”
    Harald worked hard to force a smile. Although he could never bear to lose at anything, he was doing his utmost—because this was Yelisaveta—to hold on to his temper.
    And he might have succeeded had not little Magnus, with more bravado than sense, said cunningly, “Why, Uncle Harald, this makes