GAMES
Written on May 14, 2021 (♉︎︎)
Olan never knew if he were happy or not that Delita was bad at chess. He was bad at chess, and they should not have come to regularly play together were either of them any better at it. They had maybe three decent openings between them. Both had more than once swept a piece across the board only to be informed they'd put themselves in check. Amidst of all the thousand transformations that Zeltennia underwent that summer, though, it seemed a relief to mismanage battles that didn't matter.
Ineptitude at the game, of course, offered no reprieve from the conversation. Noblemen did not sit in the Duke's gardens to play chess and talk of nothing. Delita was forever eager to hear how the Thundergod was faring--to discuss counts and courtiers without quite touching on his talk of truce.
As for Olan, he was eager to talk of Delita.
"I confess I'd never been as far south as Baron Grimm's estates," he began one evening. "Do you mean to return there once things are settled."
"No."
"You have nothing to settle there? No family."
Delita smiled; he took a rook that it was of absolutely no advantage to take.
"No family. As I'm sure you know, the war made for plenty of orphans."
"I suppose we could almost be kin of a sort in that way." Olan smiled back.
He threw away a knight. Delita made no reply.
"In any event," Olan continued. "There's been talk as to who is to be given his fief. I'm sure you must be aware you're a candidate."
"I am. I'm sure it is understood, of course, that my first obligation now is to the Queen. I've no intention to head south unless she bids it, and I don't think she shall."
"You don't?"
"I don't."
Olan looked down to discover that in the midst of their conversation, Delita had opened himself to a checkmate on no less that three fronts. He thought for a moment about avoiding them all--about seeing if a few more turns might change the bent of their talk.
He inched forward a pawn instead." Delita half-bowed, half-shrugged, and then flicked his king across the board before standing.
"Well played." He grinned as he nodded towards a vine-covered gate. It is probably best I played poorly this time. I have some business next hour."
"My apologies I couldn't have beaten you sooner, then."
They shook hands in parting, and for some time Olan sat alone, listening to the cry of the cicadas and starlings. He thought as to the thick piles of vellum strewn about Gelwan's offices, to the sudden disappearance of the squire who had stood as witness against him, to the collapse of the Ebon Eye just as the the Southern Sky could spare men to help rout them.
He thought too that--in another sort of game--it would be good to know how Delita Hyral conducted himself when winning.
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