Free Fionavar 1 by The Summer Tree Page A

fact that the opposition this night was a king had no effect on him, for Schafer's code, though complex, was unwavering. He set out to demolish the black pieces of Ailell just as he would have those of anyone else. And that night, heartsick and vulnerable, there was even more fire in his game than usual, for he sought to hide from torment in the cold clarity of the black-and-white board. So he marshalled himself ruthlessly, and the white pieces spun into a vortex of attack.
    To be met by a defence of intricate, resilient subtlety. Whatever Ailell had dwindled from, however his mind and authority might seem to waver, Paul knew, ten moves into the game, that he was dealing with a man of formidable resources. Slowly and patiently the King ordered his defences, cautiously he shored up his bulwarks, and so it was that Schafer's free-wheeling attack began to
    exhaust itself and was turned inexorably back. After almost two hours' play, Paul tipped over the white king in resignation.
    The two men leaned back in their chairs and exchanged their first look since the game had begun.
    And they smiled, neither knowing, since there was no way they could know, how rare it was for the other to do so. Sharing that moment, however, as Paul raised his silver goblet to salute the King, they moved closer, across the twin gulfs of worlds and years, to the kind of bonding that might have allowed them to understand each other.
    It was not to happen, but something else was born that night, and the fruit of that silent game would change the balance and the pattern of all the worlds there were.
    Ailell spoke first, his voice husky. "No one," he said, "no one has ever given me a game like that.
    I
    do not lose in ta'bael. I almost did tonight."
    Paul smiled for the second time. "You almost did. You may next game-but I'm not very certain of it. You play beautifully, my lord."
    Ailell shook his head. "No, I play carefully. All the beauty was on your side, but sometimes plodding caution will wear down brilliance. When you sacrificed the second rider. . . ." Ailell gestured wordlessly. "I suppose that it is only the young who can do a thing like that. It has been so long for me, I seem to have forgotten." He raised his own cup and drank.
    Paul refilled both goblets before replying. He felt drained, simplified. The bird outside, he realized, had stopped singing a long time ago. "I think," he said, "that it is more a question of style than of youth or age. I'm not very patient, so I play the way I do."
    "In ta'bael, you mean?"
    "Other things, too," Paul answered, after a hesitation.
    Ailell, surprisingly, nodded. "I was like that once, though it may be hard for you to credit." His expression was self-deprecating. "I took this throne by force in a time of chaos, and held it with my sword in the early years. If we are to be a dynasty, it begins with me and follows with . . . with Diarmuid, I suppose." Paul remained silent, and after a moment the King went on. "It is power that teaches patience; holding power, I mean. And you learn the price it exacts-which is Page 30

    something I
    never knew when I was your age and thought a sword and quick wits could deal with anything. I never knew the price you pay for power." Ailell leaned over the board and picked up one of the pieces. "Take the queen in ta'bael," he said. "The most powerful piece on the board, yet she must be protected when threatened by guard or rider, for the game will be lost if that exchange is made. And the king," said Ailell dan Art, "in ta'bael you cannot sacrifice a king."
    Paul couldn't read the expression in the sunken, still-handsome face, but there was a new timbre in the voice, something shifting far under the words.
    Ailell seemed to notice his discomfort. He smiled again, faintly. "I am heavy company at night,"
    he said. "Especially tonight. Too much comes back. I have too many memories."
    "I have too many of my own," Paul said impulsively, and hated himself the instant the words were