The Eye of Moloch

Epilogue

As morning came to his desert paradise, as the dawn’s first light touched the very pinnacle of his crystal palace in Dubai, Aaron Doyle stood at the tall, wide windows and listened to the rain begin to fall.

This time it wasn’t any mere man-made shower that he’d summoned for his own brief amusement. As uncanny as it was in this arid climate, these angry clouds had formed completely of their own accord. As he’d watched, they spread and filled and darkened, they flashed and rumbled, moving slowly inland from the roiling sea at the bidding of the hand of another.

The storm worsened, the overcast advanced to hide the eastern sun. He felt something arising within him, something that had been rare indeed through the many triumphs and defeats in his long, storied life.

For just one terrible moment, he was afraid.

The doubt lingered only briefly and then it was gone, and then a comforting fury rushed in to fill the awful vacuum in his heart. On an impulse he pushed open the sliding door and the violent wind and rain lashed in and nearly struck him down. But he kept his feet beneath him, fought back into the face of the tempest, reached out blind, and staggered to the rail.

“Here I stand!” Doyle shouted. “And here I’ll stand against you, to the end!”

He raised his spindly arm and shook his fist to the heavens, bellowing his rage over the rising thunder, and as he swore damnation on anyone or anything that would ever dare to challenge him again, he felt more alive than he had in many years.

• • •

When they’d searched for their frail master and spotted him through the windows, the servants were so overcome with worry that a brave few finally risked his wrath to venture out onto the narrow balcony and bring him back inside.

They’d walked him to his study, and there he sat before the fire, wrapped in thick blankets and surrounded by fussing caretakers. There was no need for all this concern; he was strong again, so strong it was far beyond their understanding. He sat up when he could endure no more coddling and dismissed them with a motion of his hand.

He had wasted several precious days in the doldrums, but that was over now. Embraced in the solace of all his relics and his priceless material things, he collected his thoughts and considered his options in the light of the recent events.

These latest developments had been quite unexpected, but how invigorating it was to have the gauntlet thrown down before him once again. It was a new beginning; the game was now reset to its starting positions. Though he harbored no real doubt of his ultimate victory, he felt eager as a child for this final, deciding contest to commence.

Aaron Doyle looked across the ancient chessboard, and gave a sly old smile to the empty chair on the other side.

“Very well, then, Mr. Gardner,” he said. “Your move.”