Year Four: King's Knight
Year Four: King’s Knight
Two colts waited at the iron gates of the Orange Family Mansion. Storm clouds above spoke their reckless hearts and released their floodgates, soaking both of the visitors as they suffered. Shaking rain from his muzzle, one colt groaned and snarled to the other. “Youze said dey would come an’ let us in, Boone.”
Boone flailed his forehooves in surrender. “Dat’s what dey said, Slinga! Jus’ give it some time. Maybe dey are on their way down. I mean... look at dis place.”
Card Slinger had never been inside the Orange Family Mansion, though he’d watched it many nights before. Once he’d ascertained the identity of his worst enemy four years prior, he’d slowed on more than one walk to Manehatten Lake. On Manehatten Hill, the tallest, most grandiose real estate housed the most powerful stallion in the city. Perhaps, now, one of the most powerful in all of Equestria.
Slinger heard the whispers in the ghetto, tales of the mysterious Master, the King Orange. While most of the gossipers had no inkling of the Master's identity, Card Slinger was no fool. He utilized his meager logic and put a name and brand to a legend: Bernie Madhoof and Orange Enterprises.
Slinger cursed the rain and paced in front of the gates. Back and forth, back and forth. Still nothing. He stretched on his hindhooves, thrusting his forehooves through the bars. “Hey! Let us in! We have a meetin’ wit’ youze!” he shouted over the downpour.
Boone dragged his comrade down to all-fours. “Slinga! Jus’ give it a minute! The others say youze jus’ have ta be patient an'—”
“Have ta what? An’ what othas, Boone?”
His right-hoof colt laughed as he said, “Who do youze think? Othas in the street. Otha gang-ponies.”
“An’ why, exactly, are youze conversin’ wit’ the othas?”
“As dey say, 'Keep youze friends close, an’ youze enemies closa,' Slinga,” Boone said. “Besides, at dis point, we the top pones in Manehatten. Gang city. It’s ours, Slinga. Talkin’ wit’ the riffraff ain’t hurt nopony.”
Upon their reunion with the concrete and cobblestone, Card Slinger and Boone reformed their old gang. Unfortunately, Fencer joined Lucky Toss in his betrayal, leaving only Switch behind. The trio quickly gathered several street toughs and wayward foals into their herd. Manehatten Kings was their name, chaos and corruption their game. Several recruits soon grew into several more, and, on this rainy evening, Card Slinger counted his Manehatten Kings as twenty strong.
Not enough. There would always be room for more, bits and bodies alike.
Card Slinger raised a forehoof to his companion, ears flattened and lips drawn back in a snarl, but ceased at the CREAK! of iron gates opening. Crying out for oil, the gates to the Orange Family Mansion swung wide. A tall, thick stallion clad in pure black from neck to hindhooves towered above them. In his forehooves, he held the unmistakable barrel and butt of an assault rifle.
Guns. Card Slinger and Boone never owned any. Far too rich for their blood, they’d sought refuge in steel and iron instead. Knives and hooves were the law and language of the ghetto. But this one, who stared soulless back at them, possessed a far more powerful weapon.
Slinger licked his lips, tasting the energy and magic that flowed from the gun. The weapon winked at him from his master's grasp, whispering promises of glory. From the streets he'd come, and to the streets he would return. And Card Slinger would rule them all, if he could just cross the greatest distance and seize his destiny.
“Who are youze?!” barked the stallion, keeping a forehoof close to the trigger.
“We’re heeya ta see King Orange!” Boone shot back, unflinching. The cold steel of a barrel against his temple, however, brought him to his hindhooves. He cowered on ground in surrender, pleading, “Alright! Alright! Don’t shoot!”
Again, the guard demanded, “Who are youze?! Dis is private property! Reveal youzeselves o’ be shot on sight!”
Card Slinger rushed to his comrade’s side. “Card Slinga an’ Boone! We was told by some othas on the streets dat King Orange can help us. We are Kings. Manehatten Kings," he explained.
Boone gasped with relief, steel removing its cold caress from his forehead. Stallion clad in black chuckled and muttered, “Oh, lil’ gangsta pones, are youze? Well, we’ll see ‘bout dat. Follow me, an’ keep youze hooves where I can see ‘em.”
Keeping his weapon trained on the two scoundrels trotting behind, the guard escorted both colts to the interior perimeter of his Master’s mansion. Rain dripped off his muzzle and off his rifle, neither fazing the stallion. For two years, he’d kept his patrol steady and keen, chasing ruffians and rubbish off his King’s property. More times than he could count, he’d escorted visitors and allies to this very door.
There was nothing to be feared in this mundane task. However, he felt keyed-up, on edge. Something about these two colts didn’t seem quite right.
“Knock three times on the door. Once it opens, youze’ll be searched fo’ weapons an’ escorted up,” the stallion explained. He slowly backed away from the colts, though his rifle did not lower from his line of sight. Criminal scum were never to be trusted, even by those of the same caliber.
Card Slinger’s soulless pupils widened in horror. “Searched?! We ain’t got no saddlebags, youze bastard!”
His laugh sent a chill down the Manehatten King’s spine. “But youze have manes an’ tails. An’... otha things. King Orange ain’t no king by trustin’ everypony."
“Dat’s ridiculous! I ain’t gonna let no guard grope me!” objected Boone.
Loading a fresh round into his weapon, the guard growled low and warned, “Suit youzeselves. Youze got ten seconds ta either start knockin’ o’ start leavin’. Iffa youze don’t, I call trespass, an’ I’ll defend ma Master’s land.”
Slinger smacked Boone in the ribs. “Hurry up an’ knock!”
Boone complied, gun behind his mane spurring him onward. THUD! THUD! THUD! He slammed his forehoof onto the oak, hindhooves frozen on the porch.
Slowly, this door opened, revealing a squat Griffon with a fat cigar hanging from his beak. He stared down at both teenage colts. A pistol was strapped in a holster around his torso on one side. A dagger beckoned in a sheath to the left.
Smiling, his toothless maw a spectacle to behold, the Griffon bellowed, “You must be the fresh Knights.”
“K-Knights?” Boone stammered.
“‘Ey! We ain’t nopony’s knight! We’re Kings!” Slinger shot back.
Dismissing the stallion guard with a nod, the Griffon hastily ushered the two colts inside from the rain. They complied and strode into the Mansion. The Griffon slammed the door behind him, securing it immediately with several strikes and chain. Awestruck, the two colts remained silent, frozen in place, wonders of King Orange’s castle stripping them of all coherence.
The ceilings had been restructured, vaulted and supported with strong, steel beams. The Mansion would resist any tornado, earthquake, or windstorm that dared to topple it. Nature itself held no candle to the Master's flame. Once his foundations were secure, King Orange furnished his foyer with the finest art, sleekest couches and chairs, and, strangely enough, chess boards. Chess sets of stone, steel, glass, and wood littered the living room. From the corner of his eye, Card Slinger spotted a sparkling brass set waiting in the kitchen.
The Griffon chuckled heartily, scratching his belly with a gnarled talon. He outstretched a wing and gestured to the central room. “As you can see here, the King quite enjoys a game of chess. I hope you two are familiar with the game. That is, if you want to become Knights.”
Card Slinger spun around. “Fo’ the last time, bird-boy, we ain’t gonna be nopony’s—”
THUD!
From his back, King Orange’s ceiling looked truly majestic.
“Please forgive me. I do not take to being called ‘bird-boy’ very nicely. I find it quite uncouth. And even a bastard such as yourself can do better, adjective-wise. Now,” said the Griffon with a wicked grin, “let us conduct our search, little Knights, before you see your King.”
~
Bernie Madhoof chugged the seventh glass of orange juice. The ritual sustained him. Seven glasses before noon. Seven glasses before dusk. Seven more before the dawn. Twenty-one triple-doses of Vitamin C. Each dose healed his cirrhosis, making him young and spry and powerful again.
In his fetid, twisted, rotten brain, he reasoned that his life’s work saved him. Orange Enterprises spread far and wide under his sole proprietorship. An army of assistants, accountants, tax preparers, and public-relations-ponies handled the nitty-gritty work. King Orange saved his special talent—risk, daring, venture—for more important matters. All the bits were his.
Only two things mattered. His father instilled these values in him as a little colt, whereas his brother never listened. How fitting. His brother was a worthless tramp, transient and reckless. He hadn't seen him in years. Suitable.
Back to the matters at hoof... the only things of value. Bits and blood. Quantity and quality. The stallion fulfilled the first mission. He had enough riches to rival the finest Canterlot elite—perhaps even the Princess herself. The second mission, however, required yet another army to be executed properly. A different variety of army. One that spoke their truths with smoke and lead, steel and flame, rather than numbers and back-door dealings.
Bernie Madhoof leaned back in his plush chair and placed his hindhooves on his mahogany. Healed and strengthened once more, he searched through the drawers of his desk and located his reward. A fine cigar soon lit cherry-red, room filling with smoke. On both sides of his threshold, his guards, one Earth pony stallion disguised in black and one battered Zebra male clad in piercings and chains, stood stone, statue, silent.
King Orange took a deep drag of his tobacco. Exhaling through his nostrils, he mused, “I have a treat for you two today. Today, I am meeting with two more worthless brats. Street urchins. Typical garbage. However, not is without merit." He sighed. "Perhaps... I shall make them my Knights. What say you, guards?”
The guards, quick on their hooves, said nothing. Staring off into the distance, they only gripped their carbines tighter. King played the jester in his boredom and restlessness. Those foolish enough to trot into his trap soon found themselves playing a much more harrowing game than King’s Knight.
Knock, knock.
King Orange nodded his acknowledgment. He pointed to his oak. The zebra steadied his weapon in one forehoof and opened the door with the other. Two colts, one beige-and-cream palomino, the other blood-red, cautiously entered.
“Welcome,” greeted King Orange. Leaning forward in his desk, the stallion exhaled a thick cloud of smoke towards his visitors and smiled. “You two look like you’ve never seen a king before.”
Card Slinger took a deep, slow breath through his nostrils. Beneath his crimson coat, his heart thundered its recognition. There, among mahogany and velvet, sat the source of his misery. In less than two years, he would become a stallion, and receive the trust funds of his family gravestones. The accounts meant nothing to him. The stallion smoking in front of him meant far less. He would exchange all the bits to undo the past, to breathe life into the nostrils of the dead.
Card Slinger was no necromancer. But, he would be a willing murderer, once the time came again. This time, he wouldn't bother with anypony but the Orange King himself.
From his peripherals, Slinger noted the firepower of the strange-looking rifles in the forehooves of foreigner and local. He knew nothing of weaponry, but knew the power of lead, the speed of gunsmoke. He shuddered. If the guards were armed only with blades, he and Boone could disarm them easily, and, maybe, in this cramped room...
“King? We are Kings, old brute. Manehatten Kings,” Boone announced, puffing out his chest. “Maybe youze have us confused wit’ somepony else!”
King Orange roared, his laughter echoing through his throne room. “Ha! Ha! You think you are a king, little colt? Barely old enough to buy his own tobacco, and look at this jester! Ha! Ha! IDIOT!”
Striking his desk with a forehoof, the King spat out his cigar, letting it die in the ashtray. “You will respect me, if you want my help, worm. I will not tolerate such antics.”
Slinger pulled Boone off his hindhooves and down onto his haunches. “C’mon. It ain’t worth it. ‘Memba?” he whispered, joining his comrade, both lying prone before the desk.
“What was that, boy?” barked the king.
Smug, Card Slinger assured, “Nothin’, sir.”
“Hmph. Well, then. Explain to me what you seek. I am a busy stallion, you see. As you probably know, I am the head of Orange Enterprises, sole distributor, vendor, and merchant of all orange-derived products in all of Earth ponydom. Our sales reach far and wide, creeping into the lands of the Griffons and the Zebras, as well as the unicorns and pegasi.
“You may call me 'King Orange,' or 'Master.' My true name is none of your concern. You will acknowledge me with respect at all times. If not...” He clapped his blue fetlocks together, springing both golem guards to life.
Two carbines aimed, steady and loaded, at two colts’ muzzles. Boone swallowed a whimper. Card Slinger focused his mind on a smiling mare and stallion. He’d never been a good son. He would continue to fail, unless he sacrificed today for tomorrow, and made his enemy his ally.
The Master snickered. “You. Red one. You seem focused, unyielding. Far more controlled than your coltfriend here. Tell me why that is.”
Ignoring his implications, Slinger muttered, “I... I am heeya simply fo’ a job, sir."
“A job? Ha! This one wants a job from me!” roared the Master. He picked up his empty juice glass and pounded it on his desk with a sadistic, mocking rhythm. “Job! Job! Job! JOB! Just how stupid are you?! Do you think I’d really have a use for a worthless sack of flesh such as yourself?”
Slinger averted his gaze, staring at the mahogany before him. He began, “Maybe youze is right... Masta. Maybe I am worthless ta youze. But ma gang is not. Whateva youze want, o’ don’t want, we can take care o’ fo’ youze.”
King Orange challenged, “How vast is your armory? What caliber are your weapons? How many are within your gang? Surely, you don’t think I can just throw my bits at any little side-project.”
“‘Side-project’?” Boone questioned.
The Master narrowed his eyelids and hissed at him, “Fool! Do you not understand? Is it not clear to you? Look at my Mansion. Look at my world.”
King Orange opened his forehooves wide, sweeping the office and gesturing to the window. He pointed down below, towards his luscious gardens, impenetrable iron fences, and armed patrol officers outside. “I have everything a stallion could want. Money. Security. Followers. Notoriety. Mares. No foals to hold me down, no wife to nag me. Nothing to keep me bound and chained. In my mere forty-two years of existence upon this great Earth, I have accomplished it all.
“And that, little colts, gets boring after a while."
He chuckled, his muzzle parting with the sickening spread of a smile. His teeth were alarmingly, perfectly, achingly white: demonic in their contradiction. The mere sight of it sent two colts silent, halting their objection. The guards maintained their composure but held their weapons tighter. The Master was not without his eccentricities.
King Orange jumped from his throne to his hooves, trotting over to his visitors. He began his inquisition, voice low and haughty. “Do you brats know how to play chess? Do you know how to turn pawns into kings? Do you know how to make the king into the most powerful piece—instead of the weakest one?”
Boone and Slinger shook their muzzles.
The Master whispered, “I do. Manehatten is my chessboard, little colts. Manehatten is my side-project. This city is mine. Do you understand? Not one gang-pony falls on the concrete and cobblestone without me knowing. Not one police-pony makes an arrest without my consent. Not one journalist puts pen to parchment without my approval.
“I am the king on the chessboard. I play my games. I wage my wars. And, to do so, I require pawns, bishops, rooks, and... Knights.”
The colts remained silent.
“I know of your little gang,” King Orange growled. “For a year now, you’ve struggled, merely twenty in your number. You fight for street-corners over weed and meth. You go hoof-to-hoof with rivals for petty theft and graffiti disrespect. You are but an ember, not a fire, easy to stamp out. You are weak. You will die out, like the others, at the hooves of Celestia’s pithy Royal Guard.
“Unless...”
Bernie Madhoof placed a cold, uncaring forehoof under Slinger's chin, raising his muzzle to meet his. Four pupils, devoid of soul crashed into each other. The stallion and the colt wrestled in their gaze, and, as always, King Orange stood triumphant, master of them all. He smiled.
“You become my King’s Knight. You move, forwards or backwards or side-to-side, on the chessboard as I direct. You work for me. You answer to me. You wage war when I say. You make peace when I say. In exchange, I shall provide you with the bits to grow and flourish. You want guns like they have?” he asked, pointing towards his guards.
Card Slinger stammered, burying his anger deep and dark, “Y-y-yes, s-sir.”
“Good. Ask, and you shall receive. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened to you. On two conditions.
“First, your unwavering loyalty. You are King’s Knights forever. Manehatten Kings, Manehatten Mafia, little street-gang on the corner, whatever you are, it does not trump my importance. You are a Knight above all else. The second condition is your tight-lipped secrecy. You will speak of me to nopony—not even under force of death. And, if pressed, you will reveal nothing that can be traced back to me. Violation of either of these conditions shall result in... termination of your contract.
"Do you understand, worm?”
Slinger nodded. So did his comrade.
King Orange grinned. “Good. Now. If you wish to be my Knight, you must receive my Mark. Do you fear pain, little colts?”
They answered, in unison, “No, sir.”
“Good. You!” Madhoof beckoned his zebra guard.
The zebra trotted forward, eyes steel and searching for any spot but his Master’s gaze. “Tattoo them both,” ordered his Master. The zebra found their fear, pupils shining below him, and smiled.
~
A seeming thousand cuts and hundred inkpots later, Card Slinger and Boone never knew such misery. They galloped out of the Orange Family Mansion several hours later, bleeding and burning near their tails. There, above that last vertebrae within their spine, was tattooed a tiny black orange bearing the initials KK.
The rain hissed and aggravated their misery. Their tattoos swelled and burned despite the chill. Master's zebra guard assured them that the pain would pass in a few days. It was of little consolation. They were marred forevermore. The marks were small, but the Master knew they’d always be there. King Orange would be watching. His eyes were many and vast.
Slinger and Boone were not just Manehatten Kings. They were now Knight's Knights. Free they were in a sense, far beyond the reach of Clyde Pie and his endless stone sea. In another still, they were enslaved, bound by debts of bits and blood.
But, only for a while. The time would come.
“Youze think dis was a bad idea?” Boone asked. They turned their hooves down Manehatten Hill, deep into the heart of the ghetto. Card Slinger’s old hideout beckoned, fine liquors and fine cigars promising a reprise from their pain.
Card Slinger shook his muzzle. “Fo’ a hundred thousand bits? Up front? Fuck no! Dis stallion’s crazy! All dis cash, an’ all he wants is loyalty? Kings gonna rise, Boone. Kings gonna rise. We’ll get our lead, an’ our steel, an’ we’ll rise.”
Clash of the thunderheads, lighting riding wild and reckless, agreed. The King's Knights bumped their hooves and galloped towards their hideout. For a time, they would wait and bide, heal and scheme. Then, with Madhoof's gold, they would take to the streets and bring Manehatten to its hooves.
Card Slinger may have made a pact with King Orange, sealing it in the flesh, but the stallion made a more permanent error. He failed to realize that Card Slinger was no mere fool. He was no jester, no commoner, no tramp in the desert. He was a king, too.
And, on this rainy night, King Crazy rose from the ashes once more, phoenix in the dark.
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First!
2102386
Woot!
2102410
You get three mustaches--one for the poem, one for the quick read/review, and one for that last line.
So much tension! So much suspense! So much
! I realize that that's most of what the anthology will be, but still. I find myself very anxious for Severed Roots.
As for the chapter itself? While not containing a large amount of progression in the story, it does a good job at what it's meant to (at least, what I think it is meant to). And that is just plain build-up for the rest of the story. I'm also enjoying the early nineteen hundreds gangster movie feel here. Now if you introduce a P.I. who talks in gumshoe slang, that'd be awesome. But that may be a bit farther into the noir style than you're going for.
Although, I'm wondering. How did so many of the ponies forget about Bernie? I realize it's been four years, but he was a major orange supplier before then. Maybe I'm forgetting something...
Well, I've had my
moment for the day.
-RisingOne
2102439
Glad you enjoyed the chapter! Yes, Anthology is the build-up to both the Epilogue of Tangled Roots (i.e. how exactly Babs and Bloom ended up in the middle of BFE, running a bar together) and to Severed Roots. Basically, it covers that seven-year gap for the characters. Both our heroes and our villians.
P.I. in gumshoe slang? Hmm. We'll just have to see about that one.
Bernie Madhoof has always been ashamed of his name (see TR). He prefers titles. As "Yellow Eyes" and this chapter implies, he's moved more away from direct control of the corporation (A.K.A. having his name stamped everywhere) throughout the years and is hiding behind his formalities and the company name. Slinger, of course, remembers his name for a more sinister reason than the marketplace.
Hope this answered your question! :)
2102443
It is fitting! Also, glad you're having a ball. Just don't go Lance Armstrong with it.
I can't thumbs up anymore....
2102476
Hmm, yes, question answered. Thanks!
2102500
There are so many stories on this site I just want to flood with the upvote button.
2102509
You're welcome!
This chapter made me laugh for some reason.
"As the guitar gently weeps
My Rivera streaks
Into the night like a bat out of hell
All the wishes in the well couldn't keep me from my cell
I'm feeling paranoid I couldn't trust my clientele
The Marlboro blows, I blow the smoke through my nose
You reap what you sow, and Lord I know
I took route 87 upstate New York
I'm feelin like I sinned, so I must be getting soft
Got an angel on my right, the devil on my left
Conscious being on my brain, for every single death
I'm seeing ghosts, I'm being haunted like the tell-tale heart
I'm on the road alone, headlights in the dark
I never ever ratted, kept my mouth shut
Bad karma all around, and I'm running out of luck
Next soldier wants my job, better watch my back
Or I'll be the one in the trunk getting whacked!"
True, so very true.
But you've forgotten that the strongest piece is the queen. A king is at a serious disadvantage if he doesn't have his wife to help out.
Should I feel bad for Diamond Tiara? There are other stories where I do but in those, she's not really as mean. We'll need to see more. Silver Spoon, however, is just as complex.
So far, most of these characters are basically enigmas which is good. This means that it's more difficult to figure out what they'll be doing.
2101903 I thank thee, I like the way this is going though, but still not sure whether its a silver-tiara ship or diamond-seed, But will there be more cat fights?
Knights move with their own set of rules, clever.
-Isaac
Treaties have been made and alliances formed, the armies of Darkness have gathered on the front lines. The Eve of War is fast approaching...
MOAR
as always I just hope this story does not get kicked out of featured.
*Leaned.
Bible references? Mathew 7:7? Well that's interesting. Burnie Madhoof thinks himself a god, or at the very least the messiah of his own salvation.
I suspect this chapter is setting things up for severed roots, which at the moment, seems like it's gonna be absolutely insane. It looks like Severed Roots is shaping up to be one hell of a story from here.
2102571
I think I know why. Slinger and Boone being roughhoused by a Griffon and a Zebra is pretty hilarious.
2102589
"Lordz of Brooklyn" suits so damn well! Especially for the third story in this series...just you wait.
2102694
Exactly! But I don't think Bernie fully understands chess.
There will be a little more to deal with Diamond and Silver in the remaining chapters, so I guess you'll have to decide if either of them is worth sympathy, my friend. And yes...a lot of these characters are enigmas. I hope by the end of this story, they aren't as much. 
2102771
You're welcome, GreatKyn! Interesting question. I will say that if Diamond does have any feelings like that towards Babs, she ultimately failed to win her over. As far as Silver and Tiara, we'll just have to see where that goes.
2102960
Glad to see somebody caught it!
2103280
Indeed. Manehatten's peace may be short-lived.
2103442
Thank you! The fact that this and TR got featured still blows me away. Thanks for sticking around and being an awesome fan, Cold Spike.
2103550
You are correct...Bernie Madhoof sees himself on par with Celestia. (He doesn't believe in the "god" I have in this universe, so she is a closer comparision.) Yes, I will warn everypony now, SR is going to be insane. These Slinger/Bernie/Boone chapters and that plotline (running in tangent with the others) have a purpose...even if it isn't quite yet evident.
NP, you're stories are intresting hehe. Thanks for watching my stuff too
2103839
You're welcome!
2103818 You have a point
awesome chapter bro, but i will probably not be reading them as punctually as usual (ive had austraeoh for months, like september or some thing and i just now have started to read it
well 80 something chapters down, 120 something chapters to go (not counting the sequel 
)
this awesome story makes up for the buttload of reading my subconscience is making me do though
2104944
Hey, that's all good! I need to get around to reading Austraoeh and Ejunbryo myself...
I keep saying I'll start, but I normally like to read fics from start to finish, and don't have the time at the moment. 
I will do so eventually though! Glad this is making up for your stubborn subconscious, though! 
2105135
...I want to say I do, but honestly, I can't articulate why.
2105192
If I read correctly, they are imprisoned within a sewer system. Most of the prisoners despaired in their cells and gave up hope of escape. I'd assume it's the horrible smell, the lack of sunlight, and frequent infections one would acquire in that environment.
I'm just guessin', tho.
2105302
Woohoo!
Yes, I would feel the same way, being stuck down there.
I'm laughing at Slinger. In my head, I see him trying to stop Madhoof's entire empire with just his knife. I was actually expecting him to get killed in this one. He has no idea what he's up against, does he?
Another Excellent Chapter you have here
However, I feel as though the king is going to realize too late that he is not as invincible as he thinks... afterall, his queen already outmaneuvered him once.... and honestly, I'm going to smile when that happens 
2103818Excellent! , I hope silver does allow us to have our "what a hypocrite" moment
2105417
Wayword, you have truly grown as a writer! I bucking loved this section--loved it! Keep on keepin' on!
2106040
2106241
Thanks, Shadow_Wolf!
Indeed, the Queen outsmarted the King once already. Perhaps some of his other pieces will do the same. 
2106401
Oh, don't worry. Silver shall give us some moments.
2108212
The only change I would make would be putting Silas' thoughts in italics, but that's just a personal style preference.
Other than that, it looks very sound.
2108170 I am bristling with anticipation my liege, When shall your masterpiece be updated once more?
Bishops bow with broken backs,
Chained to their alter of worship,
Worshiping hands bounded in rope
As prayers of terror crawl from their lips
Rooks, black spires, dark towers,
Cast a tall shadow over the field,
Watching, monitoring, hunting, waiting
Like a falcon perched above, patient to kill.
Knights kneeled with shaddered knees,
Promise loyalty, whisper mutiny,
Through grinding teeth and bitten tongues,
Iron blades screaming to spill the master's blood
A twisted chessboard orchestrated,
By the black sillhoutte in the castle walls
Throne reeking of spite and hubris
A pawn
Dressed as a king
2108306
Oh, gotcha.
2108407
By Wednesday at the latest, my friend. Most likely sooner.
2108491
2108170 And that's why I use rooks and bishops.
2109108 woohoo! Three mustaches!
thanks!
2109108 I look forward to it
2113446
I think you should save it until later. Maybe during the next section, you can describe his euphoria as he's running through the woods or whatnot. Just a suggestion.
2117211
Wherever he's going, I mean.
2117280
Yeah, I could do that for you.
And yes, I think you are doing enough showing also.
2117316
I got your message, I like it, and I think it will be a great way to finish the story.
2117481
Nope, now I would say to add a few lines about that euphoria.
Well, as somebody who likes to write a lot of
, I'd have to say, a part of me was suspecting that but I wasn't expecting it so suddenly. Not that it's a bad thing! I just need to pay attention to my instincts more!
2120352
I'm glad you are healed now. Thank you for your kind words, I appreciate it.
I'm glad you are enjoying this story.
2122798
How can I not?
Am I the only one who thinks of Scarface?
2387520 I got that feel and I can't wait to see how it happens
Ponies with guns! I love Ponies with Guns stories.
Like DiveBomb's Riflepony series and Dusk Quill's Skyfall series.
Sounds like Bernie Madhoof replaced his alcoholism with an obsession with chess.
So in the time since he was abandoned by his family, Ole' Bernie has turned his family mansion into a fortress and become a Bond villain.
That is quite interesting. Even Darth Vader started off as a whiny, moody teenager.
Bernie is similar to drug lords in our world, using brute force and most likely illegal methods to amass his wealth and power. His orange business has become a front to other shady and illicit dealings.
I also have to admit that assault rifles really was unexpected. We went from gang members with broken bottles and knives to hardened mercenaries with assault rifles.
With the scenery you laid out, I can't help but think there's going to be like some big firefight later on or in the sequel.