Kascho looked closely at the wooden lid on the workbench in front of him. He had been trying to get it right for more than a week now. He had told the Farella youths he was “slowly easing” into retirement, but it did not feel very restive this afternoon.

It was different. He would normally spend his days hunched over actuarial tables in an office overlooking the shipwrights’ yards. His two sons had been learning his business well and Kascho did his bookkeeping by contract. Nobody needed to approve his sons taking over his business, and they would need somebody to keep their books when Kascho was fully retired. So more and more he had his sons do the work and he inspected it afterwards.

His woodworking hobby was different, though today it did not feel different enough. His hands had been more active, but today all he noticed was how similar it was to his bookkeeping – he was hunched over a workstation all day, searching for everything to look just right.

Kascho set down his tools and tidied up the workbench. If it felt too much like work, he would go find something else to occupy his time. The Farellas had been here three days, now. Perhaps they could use some diversion as well. He locked up the shed and turned to the house.

He found Misolfa in the yard, running through fighting forms. She gave him a smile as he passed by but continued with her practice. If she wanted to keep practicing, he would not disturb her.

He found all three boys in the main hall. Domire and Tido were engrossed in a chess match, with Aton looking on.

“What have we here?” Kascho asked.

“Chess, Master Kascho,” Domire stated the obvious. “Still trying to get used to the time shift from home to here.” They had been up awfully late that first night.

“This I can see for myself. Nothing better to do? Books to read? Forms to practice?”

“Well, right now I’m waiting my turn to move,” Tido said. “And I have been waiting long enough already—” he gave Domire a pointed look, “—but still, I have had enough reading today. And training…Well, I’d rather have my turn in the cave already, too. I feel like I’m close enough to this point. Training without my own axe now seems pointless.”

Domire only breathed deeply, weighing his options for his next move. A look at the board told Kascho the match was fairly even, but the positioning said Domire’s patience with himself might win it for him.

Aton spoke up. “Don’t worry, Tido. You’ll get your turn, on the board and in the cave. I get my turn in chess when I play, but I don’t get a turn in the cave.”

Domire spoke in response to this. “You can have a turn in the cave if you want. Master Kascho told you he—”

“It would be useless,” Aton said.

“No, it would be helpful. You would get two weeks of isolation, of complete focus.”

“I would have nothing new to focus on.”

“Sure, nothing new, but there’s Aguneg’s gift. Maybe…maybe with so many of us training in that cave over the years, the cave itself would help…” Domire trailed off, unconvinced of what he was saying and turning his focus back to the chess board.

“I don’t believe that,” Aton replied. “Sure, nobody knows what a Sage’s gift actually is, only that it is hereditary, and sure, Aguneg supposedly lost her gift that day. Sure, the Farella line has had these great weapons ever since, but that’s all well-known and documented. That is concrete. Until me, apparently. I’m not spending two weeks in isolation on the suggestion that the cave has some mystical gift rubbed off on it. If the gift that you received does not want me, no magical cave will change that.”

Tido spoke up again. “We get it, Aton, it’s unfair. Just do with it what you can. If you don’t want to train in the cave, you can always go back home.”

Kascho thought now was as good a time as any to steer the conversation to a more positive tone. “Aton, if you want something new, how about you come and take a look at my work in the shed? I promise no mystic skill with a weapon, but it may help you feel more relaxed.”

Aton stood. “Sounds fine. I’d rather not spend the next weeks just waiting for Domire to make his move.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Domire protested, “and if there were not so much complaining it would have been faster.” He slowly reached out to the board and moved a piece.

“It’s about time,” Tido muttered as Aton left the room with Kascho.

Mynda and Roama walked away from the Towers court together, having stripped off their hotter outer layer of padding.

“You pulled off yet another match, Mynda,” Roama said, “but you do not look too pleased about it.

“You’re right, Roama,” Mynda replied. “We won, and that should be good enough. But I know my father won’t be happy.”

Roama raised an eyebrow and glanced to the side as Tilido and Clallo trotted up beside them. “This again?” asked Roama. “I thought he already dropped this.”

Mynda took a deep breath and sighed before continuing. “He is always talking about destiny this and preparation that. Winning in overtime by one point will not make him happy. It’s as if he thinks we are going to face stiff competition from the foreigners. It doesn’t make sense. We’ve had foreigners around for a few years now. A few have learned to play Towers and joined in the matches, but nothing is changing the essence of the game itself.”

“You’re right, you know,” said Tilido. “It’s still the same game it has always been. We’re always high in the rankings. We lose a few matches; everybody does. But we always do well. So what’s your father’s issue? What is he really looking for?”

“I’m not sure,” Mynda said, still confused. “But he has been spending a lot of time meeting with foreigners, and he keeps saying the Council will listen to his ideas, but he needs to develop them further first. I don’t know what Towers matches have to do with all of that. Maybe nothing. Maybe he is just disconnected. Mother always said he cared too much for ambition and too little for people.

“So what are you worried about?” Roama asked. “It sounds like he is just being wrapped up in his own schemes. He expects too much, he says weird things, he has meetings behind closed doors. What does that matter? The Council hasn’t been pulled too far his way, has it?”

“No,” said Mynda, “but he maintains we will have a strong future despite that. Despite not having the Council’s ear, somehow we and all of Esclace will have a powerful future with no apparent reason for things to pick up. Trade with the foreigners has helped and has brightened some citizens’ outlook, but not in a huge way. There is never a huge amount of trade happening at any one time.” Mynda’s eyes focused on something in the distance. “He did recently say things would change soon. He wasn’t making much sense, but he always said ‘someday’ before. Now he says ‘very soon,’ and he has more frequent mood swings. Oh, and he’s been having more frequent meetings with his soldier friends. What do you make of that, Roama?”

“What can I make of that? Does he still insist that you act as if Tilido, Clallo, and I are your servants?”

“Yes. I will always disagree with him on that. He would also probably have a better time with the Council if he did not look down his nose at all of them. But he thinks that one must act the part of the job one wants.”

“He’s right about that part, princess,” interjected Clallo. “Why, just the other day—”

“DO NOT CALL ME THAT!” Clallo did not have a chance of finishing the thought as Mynda cut him off. “I need friends, not servants, and I don’t care what my father wants to say about my future! Now, do you want to be a friend, or do you want to carry my sweaty Towers pads like a good servant?” She stared at him intensely, daring him to challenge her patience, then started to let the tension dissipate as he backed down. “I get enough frustration from my father! I need friends. My father has crazy plans. I don’t. I think the Council has mostly sensible heads in it, and if I ever sit on the Council, things will be different than they are now with my father. But I’m not trying to make grand schemes. I don’t need you mocking my father through me as proxy. I just need a regular life. Towers matches, schooling, friends. That’s it.”

Tilido joined in, always a voice of reason. “Clallo, that wasn’t very funny. You could hear she was already frustrated, right? And then you come and push her buttons—”

“Alright, alright, no need for everyone to come after me” Clallo said. “It’s alright, I’m sorry, Mynda. Can you put it behind you? I already feel like I never even said it, myself.”

“Fine.” Mynda rolled her eyes. “Just, later on, let’s all go to the market, and you can show me where you got that pen you had yesterday.”

Myndael Melalta Jerllamo, leading Red Team and wearing a set of red protective padding over her clothes to match, hauled herself up on top of the block and turned to look back at her friend, Roama. Mynda barely had time to glance before Roama tossed the ball up to her. Mynda caught it, grabbing it out of the air before a blue-padded youth from Blue Team could snatch it away. Mynda jumped, reaching forward with her free hand to catch hold of the ladder-like rungs on the side of the next square column several feet away. She landed on the side of the block, the impact jarring her as her feet hit and she managed to find her footing and grab. The padding protected her knees and shins as they also hit the block. The rungs were there to grab hold of, but they were too shallow to make it easy. It was only possible with the ball in the crook of her arm because her free hand was able to reach the top of the column.

Mynda peered around the left side of the block, which was almost as wide as she was tall. A Blue form jumped up from the ground, ten feet below, and climbed toward her. She scrambled around to the other side of the block as quickly as she could and threw the ball ahead to Clallo. He caught it, turning and avoiding another Blue defender as he jumped over a pit, narrowly avoiding falling in. Just as Clallo was about to heave the ball forward to into the goal, a defender grabbed him by the ankle and jerked him violently off his feet. The ball went off aim, away from the net at the end of the court. A Blue teammate blurred past on the ground, scooping the ball up as Red players began to take a defensive position around the court.

Mynda had climbed atop the block she was on and scanned the court to understand the opposing team’s strategy. “Left side!” she called, letting her entire team know where Blue Team was concentrating now. “Play position, not opponent!” Red Team scurried to their planned positions in a formation between and on columns, attempting to form as impenetrable a barrier as possible for Blue Team.

Blue Team approached on the ground, weaving between columns. Mynda backed away from them to take her spot in her own team’s formation, leaping a pair of gaps between columns and climbing on top of another, farther back. She knew the Blues would have to climb the columns at some point, but guessing when and where was the hard part. She had to make it as inconvenient for them to get advanced ground as she possibly could. Mynda spotted a single Blue form slinking between walls on the far right of her field of vision. “Roama, coming your way! Tilido, assist!” Tilido moved towards Roama and climbed a nearby column.

Of course everybody on Blue Team heard Mynda call out, but it was too late to compensate in their maneuver. They had already launched the ball high in the air, sailing over the columns and towards their teammate on Mynda’s left. Roama ran along the ground to intercept. She leapt for the ball and managed to nudge it out of the receiving grasp of the rogue blue opponent. They both sprawled on the ground, but Roama recovered more quickly. She jumped up and grabbed the ball. Tilido had already advanced two columns forward and made a third jump as Roama released the ball towards him.

Tilido caught the ball and halted, giving his teammates time to dash forward of his position, not wanting to risk dropping it in a jump to the next column. An opponent jumped onto the side of the block below him. Tilido had little time, then. Roama was the farthest forward, but Mynda was on top of the structures. Tilido passed the ball back to Roama on the ground, who then threw it up to Mynda. Mynda was in prime real estate and quickly hurled the ball towards the goal. The goalkeep jumped at the ball and knocked it aside, but it still went into the corner of the net.

“Red Team scores!” The moderator shouted. “Match complete! Red Team: six, Blue Team: five! Greet in the center!”

Both teams dismounted the columns and walked tiredly on the ground to the center of the court, where they looked each other in the eye and struck their fists together one at a time.