Oswald stood at the window, stroking his strawberry blond beard as Eathwing gave the field report.  A casual observer might think he wasn’t paying attention, but Eathwing knew that the king’s mind was taking it all in and planning the next move.  Although known as a hot tempered man, Eathwing knew that this king was perhaps the greatest strategist of his generation.  That was how he, starting as a thane of a small town, now had one of the largest kingdoms on the isles. 

When the report was finished, Oswald swung around, eyes flashing under the flaming red eybrows.

“Gather the knights and let them know we ride at dawn with me at their head.  We will join the siege of Domnall’s sea fortress.  I feel it is about to fall and if I ride there, it will surely topple.  That is the last defence on the sea route, so if it falls, Domnall the White will not be able to withstand our advance.  We will have him yet!”

“A squad of Domnall’s best foot soldiers stand between us and our men on the siege.”

“Those pawns?  My knights will wipe them out!  We will taste victory!”

Eathwing nodded.  “As you wish, sire.”

“Dismissed.”

After talking to general of the king’s knights, Eathwing went down to the deepest dungeon, the one others called “The Wizards Coop”.  Making sure nobody saw, we went into a secret side room.  A giant chessboard was set up, a game in progress.

Eathwing waved his hand.  The red king and one of the red knights lined up against a white castle and three white pawns.

He scanned the board.  Yes, if they took out the pawns and the castle they’d have the white king in check, but could they force a checkmate?

It all depended on how Domnall moved his own men.

Oswald the Red may be on the right track, but this game of chess was not over quite yet.

***

This was written for the writephoto challenge that is hosted by KL Caley. The photo at the top was given by KL, as well as the key word, “Chess”. Hope you enjoyed :)

Although I guess I had always known, it was really at her funeral that I realized how different Mom was from her younger siblings.  Looking down the row of mourners, I thought she might have been even more different from hers than I was from my own younger siblings.

It was brought home even more when I overheard Uncle Pat talking to Aunt Ann at the wake.  I don’t remember everything, but the way Ann said, “She was so much like our mother in oh so many ways,” that struck me.  Pat nudged her after that statement and tilted his head towards me. 

They changed the subject.

Why? What was it about her?

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We called him “The Tree Man”.

I used to beg Mom to pass by the Tree Man’s house all of the time, even though I knew it was many miles out of the way.

Sometimes she humored me and we took that detour.

The house was lost in a jungle of overgrown underbrush and grass gone wild.  All of this was in the shadows of five giant, ancient trees.

Around the yard he had planted strange sculpture carved from tree trunks.  There were several up front with a “For Sale” sign, but most of them hid and creeped through his semi-suburban, semi-rural forest.  Over the years I don’t think one of the “For Sale” sculptures were changed, neither a new one added nor an old one sold.

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