The Ever Lord: A Game of Stratau

There was an art to the game of Stratau.

Among the avid players, it was insulting to call it a game. Stratau Gurus said that you could study the art for a lifetime. The game itself was deceptively easy to learn. Pieces moved according to simple rules and tokens were exchanged for clear reasons. As the game progressed, however, the simple rules began to intersect and interact in incredibly intricate ways.

The Gurus could play games that lasted days. Onlookers could see a rout where the devoted saw an even match, and visa versa. A solid strategy required careful and painful judgments about what could be sacrificed and for what gain. One Game were never the same as the next, and each could last weeks or even months with innocuous moves at the beginning of the game deciding events at the end.

There were no Masters of Stratau; the closer one came to truly mastering the game the further true mastery seemed. Winning the game became secondary to far more important metrics. It became a dance, a creation between two minds, a conversation, a song.

It was Kasta Illibran’s favorite game.

There were few who would play it with him, unfortunately. In the halls of the Ever Palace, the servants and bureaucrats who wandered the halls had little time to devote to games that could last a fortnight. For those who had the time and the passion, there was a small band of Stratau players who plied their skills as if they were spies, sharing secrets in dark corners of the Palace’s eateries and alleyways. Of this cartel, the greatest was undoubtedly Obbi Gamesmaster.

“Your move,” Obbi muttered, tapping a finger against the back wall of her laundry. As an Aeolam, she was no more than a Knight of House Azmiiri and served as a washerwoman for the servants of the Ever Palace. That she was only a Knight and yet still a resident of the Palace said much about her, which was confirmed by skill at the game.

“I’m thinking,” Kasta spoke through his fingers as he leaned hard on his palm.

“Your thinking is slower than you moving your bowels,” Obbi took a puff on her long ornate pipe.

A moment later, Kasta had moved his piece. “Your tongue will not distract me so easily, Obbi. Better to focus on your own plays, if you are so frightened of losing.”

Obbi cackled, a thin finger scratching at the small horn on her left brow. She reached out and flipped a piece from one space to another. Her words were one of her greatest tools as a player. Many were the novices who were used to silent and contemplative opponents, and whose thoughts were shattered to bits at the crack of her whip-like tongue.

The Palace of Ever and Always was as large as a city, with the palace walls built thicker and taller than the walls of any castle. It was a holy place, where every servant was no lessor than a Baron, and the very cobblestones of the ground were blessed daily by the holy acolytes of the Ever Church.

She is pushing forward; were I to meet her there…but no, she is well positioned along my flank. Withdraw, and she will claim more than I retain. A feint, perhaps? If she sees through it, I will lose even more. Shall I be a hornet and send a thousand stings, or a wolf and leap for the throat…

Kasta moved his piece.

Obbi stared. “Your mind is elsewhere, Kasta.”

“Is it?” Kasta didn’t look up from the board. “Bless my blood, what color?”

Obbi blinked. “Eh?”

Kasta sighed as he glanced around the back alleyway where Obbi had set up the board. “An old saying from my House. If you are so clear-eyed as to see where my mind is, then surly you can tell me what color it is.”

“Ah,” Obbi nodded, a long pink tongue flicking between her teeth. “Charming. We Aoelam are more welcoming of poetry in our lives. I can see your mind when you play, and you can usually put up more of a fight than this.”

“If you wish to shake my confidence,” Kasta spoke into his clasped hinds as he stared at the board, “you should play better.”

Obbi scoffed, pointing with two relaxed fingers. “Come, I have already taken your left flank, and will own the center in five moves.”

Kasta felt his cheeks begin to burn as the red-skinned woman showed him the mistakes he had made. “And tomorrow, will the Ever Lord rise on his right or left?”

“Another saying? Your people are so unimaginative. You must place your hands in flame to be sure it is hot.”

“If you were certain of your victory, you’d act, rather than talk.”

With the blinding speed of an old woman, Obbi’s hand struck the back of Kasta’s bowed head, shaking him from his thoughts. “Aia!” she growled. “Must you recite bile like a child at lessons?”

Kasta leaned back from the table. His mind had been elsewhere, and the combative banter had been reflexive, rather than playful. All the same, what occupied his thought was…well, if he spoke it aloud it would sound foolish. It was foolish.

Reflexively, Kasta glanced around the small alley where Obbi played her games. In back of her humble Laundry, the alleyway was rarely traveled; it was barely wide enough to walk down, and a common storage place for the nearby shops. Even if someone did try and make their way down the narrow alley, they would make considerable noise as they bumped into the rattling crates, barrels, and bags. At the same time, Kasta knew, the detritus of the alley made for many places someone could hide… How much could he risk sharing?

“Forgive me, Obbi,” he began with an apology. “You are of course correct. My mind has been occupied of late.”

“That much even a blind rat could see,” Obbi fingered the rough ridges of her brow. “It’s not your love, I’ll guess. You seemed quite satisfied after your last meeting.”

Kasta felt his cheeks begin to burn as he fingered one of his pieces. The many hiding places of the alleyway were a poor excuse to remain silent, he knew; and Obbi spoke freely with all of her fellow players…perhaps she knew something? He replaced the piece on the board and leaned forward once more. “Have you heard any news, of late?”

Obbi’s eyes narrowed briefly before she slouched in her chair and kicked her two-toed feet out from beneath the table. “Gossip time, is it? I’ve flapped lips with all the longest-winded folk of the land, and I’ve heard all the news you’d care to hear.”

“Anything…dangerous?”

Obbi clicked her tongue again. “Dangerous? You are speaking in riddles, Kasta. Every bit of news is dangerous to someone. If news of her Royal Grace, the Lady Rashkaban’s light feet were ever publicly brought to the Royal Duchen’s attention, he would have to take action, but to what gain?”

“Yes, I know…I suppose I mean…” Kasta trailed off, his tongue drying like fruit in the sun.

Obbi’s fingers tapped the board in front of them. “You, on the other hand…you have heard something dangerous…Open your lips and let whatever bothers you to escape your chest, before it eats you alive. Or at least explain why it consumes you so.”

Kasta’s head sagged as a warm breeze blew through the alley. He ran his fingers through his hair, struggling to put his fears into words that would not betray his oaths of office. “I…cannot say much of what I have seen. You know my position as Quill-servant, and what holy vows I swore to be given the pen.” Obbi nodded, and Kasta continued. “I was approached by…a noble of no small honor or title to fulfill a task for him. He asked for me, personally.”

“Indeed?” Obbi blinked. “An odd thing to do, to ask for a specific Quill-servant, yes?”

“Very,” Kasta nodded. “He asked me to find some information for him; a simple enough request, and though I thought the request was odd, it was harmless. I had completed it before Eve’nbell. The next day, I had finished my daily duties and was set to bring the noble his answers, when the Librarian summoned and tasked me to attend the service of the noble Jhod, First Among Trusted.”

Obbi’s eyes widened slightly. “Truly? And did you see his noble person?”

“I did.” It had been nothing special — Kasta had seen Jhod twice before in the service of the Quill. The First Among Trusted regularly required Quill-servants during the day, and few were the servants who hadn’t spent some time in his presence, noting down the important events of the hour.

Obbi leaned their head back and forth, observing Kasta’s face from different angles. “You are distressed by what he asked you to do?”

Kasta nodded. “He…asked for me to fetch…something.” He had asked for seven specific scrolls to be brought to him from the Hall of Record. Why he didn’t summon a Foot-servant for such a task, Kasta didn’t know. To carry messages, packages, to run back and forth from one end of the Ever Palace to the other — that was their purpose. Daily did Foot-servants enter the Hall of Record with requests and commands from any number of resident nobles.

“And?…” Obbi’s eyes were afire with curiosity.

Kasta had worked quickly and dutifully. In less than an hour he returned with the twenty-seven documents Jhod had requested. His duty discharged, that should have been that.

But fool that he was, he had waited to be dismissed.

Fool? No. Servants had been beaten for leaving the presence of their betters without proper dismissal. But had he left, he would have been none the wiser, and been happier therefore. Instead, he had stood waiting for Jhod to allow him to leave, even when it was clear Jhod had forgotten he was even in the room. He waited while Jhod tended to the fire in his hearth, coaxing the flames higher. He watched while Jhod tore open a scroll and glanced at it for only a moment.

When the first scroll burned, Kasta didn’t believe what he was seeing.

When the second record was thrown into the fire, Kasta feared for his soul.

The third scroll was in Garlan’s hand when he looked up. Perhaps Kasta had gasped, perhaps not. Garlan looked at Kasta then, and in his eyes, his harrowed eyes…

In the morning, he struggled to convince himself that it had been a dream. Hunger had brought visions, nightmares, and shadows of the Deceiver to his sleep before. But he was not hungry. He hadn’t gone hungry for fifteen years, ever since he first became a Quill-servant of the Ever Palace. But for one of the Ever Lord’s own Trusted to burn anything from the Hall of Records was…

There was no absolution for such sacrilege…but Jhod? First Among Trusted, he was the Ever Lord’s right and left hands. He was His voice, His will made manifest. If Jhod did anything, he did it at the Ever Lord’s command.

Didn’t he?

“Kasta?”

Kasta shook his head. “I can tell you no more, forgive me. Suffice it to say that what I saw…worries me.”

“And now,” Obbi gave a slow nod of understanding, “this odd yet harmless task set to you by the first noble, you are wondering if there is more to it than first appears. You are scared of what may come of it.”

“I am,” he admitted.

“Well,” Obbi reached across the table and swatted Kasta’s shoulder. “I would talk with your lady love; she is far more intelligent, and I’m sure her thighs and bosom will soothe your fears, eh?”

In spite of the fear in his heart, Kasta burst out laughing at his friends soothing words. “By his holy blood, Obbi, I swear she and I have yet to taste each other. I find there are more pleasures with her than just the flesh.”

“Indeed?” Obbi winked a yellow eye. “You are quite strong of will then, for one so young. I promise you, the passions of the flesh burn long and bright. Your patience with your unnamed wife will be rewarded. Now,” she gestured again at the board.

Kasta made his move, and Obbi made hers in turn. For a brief moment they were silent before Obbi spoke again. “You will survive whatever is coming; you have more assets than you may think. I played a game with a Lady from House Di Lyschnath yesterday. She tried to pry some bit of gossip from me, to play at politics for her House. Clumsy fool, didn’t get a scrap from me, but do you know what she said?”

“Pray tell.”

“She said that she would give all her honors as a Countess in House Di Lyschnath to be a servant of the Ever Palace for a single day.”

“Ha!” Kasta shook his head. “A Countess? By His blood, I’ve had Dukes say as much to me.”

It was a dark joke. Many nobles had reason to envy the servants who worked in the Ever Palace. The maids and boys who cleaned the rooms, the Hand-servants who brought food and cleaned the rooms, the Foot-servants who fetched and carried messages and packages of all shapes and sizes, Quill-servants who recorded letters and lists, and the Head-servants who organized everything. According to the holy laws of peerage and the honors of the Ever Empire, the meanest Land-owning Knight outranked each and every one of them.

Even so, there were few who would not do the most debasing and shameful acts for the chance to be in their place for a single day — to hear the conversations they heard, and know the things they knew. Kasta knew. He saw. He read. He listened. He knew.

The scrolls burned brightly in his memory.

It had all been so simple not a single day ago. Every day had been much like the next, with simple duties and easily achievable goals. Even his wooing of Lady Polaris had been a calm and steady process, predictable in its path. Things never really changed in the Empire of Ever and Always, and now…

Now the winds of change were beginning to blow. If he could hold them back just a while longer…

“I am worried,” he said at last, “that something is going to happen.”

Obbi did not answer until after she had moved her piece. “Something will happen, Kasta. I see no reason to worry, unless change itself is what you fear? Ram-chan.”

Kasta blinked, and looked again at the board in front of him. “What?”

Obbi leaned over the board. “Should I say it louder? Make sure you can hear? I’m sure I could speak so anyone on the streets hears me.”

Kasta pushed his friend back into her seat, and lifted his own piece. “You refuse to make it easy for me, do you?”

“Life is not easy,” Obbi shrugged. “I trust it should not take an Aeolam to tell you that.”

“No,” Kasta nodded, before gently reaching out and moving a single piece. “Ram-Chan.”

Obbi stared at the board. “I keep telling you, Kasta, you are possessed of a brilliant mind, but you cannot see what is directly to your side.” She made her move. “Ram-Chan.”

Kasta blinked. The game had taken days, and Obbi had wiped out his entire strategy in the span of five moves. “Rot,” he muttered as they moved their pieces through their unavoidable dance. “I thought I had you.”

“You almost did,” Obbi admitted, finishing the game with her final move. “Ram-Shabo.”

With a sigh, Kasta pressed his palm to Obbi’s. “Perhaps our next game will tilt in my favor.”

“Perhaps,” Obbi pushed her seat away from the table. “Perhaps not. There is uncertainty in everything, Kasta. Don’t tire yourself trying to lift a mountain.”

Kasta bid his friend farewell before returning his gaze to the board.

In Statau, the game was not over until Ram-Shabo, though the end could always be foreseen many moves ahead. It was incredibly poor sportsmanship to surrender before the game was complete, and even when Ram-Chan was called, there were times that a creative or enterprising opponent could turn the tables.

Among skilled players, the final moves before Ram-Shabo were called the concession. With no means of avoiding the end, the concession moves told you a lot about the player. They were moves that did nothing, an exercise in futility, but even among the Gurus the concession was considered important. Did the player tread water or push a forward assault? Did they provide futile defense or stick a thumb in the teeth at the coming defeat?

Kasta stared at his concession moves. He had retreated, pulling away from Obbi’s victory. He felt his stomach clench. He knew how to keep his head down. He also knew where that got you.

All the same, what other choice did he have? When the winds of change blew, the wise dug deep and found strong roots.

What stronger roots were there for him, than the Tithe Master of the Ever Empire?