He contemplated the board, wrought of silver and cinnabar. The gaming pieces, each carved from a single tooth of a species of animal long since extinct, gleamed in the warm light of the afternoon sun.
So many eons had passed, so many empires had fallen into dust. Ancient names rolled through his memory, tumbling and obliterated like lozenges sucked by Time. Carendole. gOrhorkh. Sacmolever. t’Ttniz.
His guarded glance met the chrysoprase eyes of his opponent. “Ptyxnez,” he said, making his move. “On a triple.”
“No proper nouns,” she replied.