The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  She had a point there. He didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. “I don’t want to hurt you. Because for some reason, I do love you. But how long can we keep together. Our relationship has more cracks in it than most of the rest of them put together. It can only work for so long. And I don’t want to lose you. I really don’t, despite everything.”

  “I don’t want to lose you either,” she admitted. “Scott, I’m… You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

  “Say what?” he asked innocently. “The hardest word?” Not the hardest to say but the hardest to truly mean. Apologies could be so cheap.

  “For everything, I’m…” She took a deep breath. “You know what; I can’t put it into words. I shouldn’t have snapped. Why would you ever look at a little cow like that Mia? I realise that now. Let’s never fight again.”

  That’d be the day, he thought dryly as he took her hands in his and their lips met. Her words had sounded sincere enough, but he doubted the truth behind them. Chances were, they’d fight again before the end of the week. And she still hadn’t bloody apologised.

  Chapter Sixteen. Close Calls.

  “Being normal? No thanks. Come be a freak like me. Screw society, what the hells has it ever done for you? Kicked you down? Mocked you? Fuck that shit! When you’re on the outside, you get the best view of the fire… Did I mention there’s going to be a fire? Forget I mentioned that. But seriously, you’ve got to want things to change, right?”

  Harvey Rocastle, in conversation on Carcaradis Island.

  The twenty fifth day of Summerdawn.

  Leslie Graham was a petite brunette with astonishingly piercing brown eyes. Scott could testify to this, he’d spent the recent minutes with them locked onto him, attempting to drive him to distraction. So far, he’d tried to ignore it, not ignore her but the effect she was pursuing. If he was being honest, he’d not done a bad job. The bout was nearly over, he was on his third spirit but so was she. And hers had fought longer and harder than Crush.

  If clawed crustaceans grew to a giant size with pincers big enough to crush a human head like a grape, Crush would be a prime example. Although it was hard for those six legs to move quickly, he looked to comfortably have the measure of the serpent. Graham’s spirit was maybe four feet long, a brilliant shade of scarlet scales covering its body, a pair of beetle black eyes with an intensity to match those of its caller within its arrow-shaped head.

  It had started so well for her. Initially he’d sent Palawi to tackle her opening spirit, a giant silver-feathered eagle with a vicious black beak. Memories of it using that beak to almost surgical effect on Palawi weren’t something he was going to forget soon. The hound had managed to get some retaliation in, not enough to overwhelm it. As Palawi had fallen, he’d sent in Becko to gain retribution and the leaf lizard, a huge bipedal reptile covered in acid green scales and a smattering of leaves up his spine had done just that. The eagle had fallen, as had her second spirit, a rock lurker which had surprised him.

  Rock lurkers usually hid on mountain trails, disguising themselves as boulders to ambush lone travellers. Here on the muddy battlefield, there wasn’t any place for that disguise to work, at least until Scott had discovered the bastards could dig. It had done a hit-and-run number on Becko, leaping from the ground to strike before fleeing, managing it three times until he’d managed to anticipate the fourth and have the lizard ready.

  The sharpened leaves spanning the length of Becko’s forearms had struck true, they’d left deep bleeding gouges in a skin that might have looked like rock but didn’t have any of the durability against organic leaves been especially engineered to cut through barriers. An opening available, Becko had gone on the offensive, chasing the lurker until it had no place to run. Scott had punched the air with the final attack, knowing he was nearly there.

  Then the serpent had come. Becko had got a few shots in, but given his exertions of the previous rounds, it had been a matter of when he would fall, not if. Especially when toxic fangs had bitten into the scaled back earlier into the duel, pumping what he guessed was potent poison into the lizard’s body. Becko had tried to fight on, but he’d been overwhelmed quickly. Hence the reason he’d chosen Crush for his last. He’d nearly picked Herc for the same reason, a hard body meant it’d be tough for the fangs to break through, but the crab had won out. Scott had made damn sure Crush’s body couldn’t be penetrated easily and while the enemy might be fast, it couldn’t weave circles around the crab forever. Sooner or later it’d have to come in close, he’d take that moment to strike.

  That fork tongue flickered out the serpent’s lips, testing the air. Scott tensed up, looked to Crush and then to Graham. Come on, come on…

  It lunged, Scott reacted just a little too late. One of Crush’s giant claws came down as if to impale the serpent, missed completely, hit the dirt and sunk in deep, Graham’s snake spirit coiled around Crush’s body unimpeded, keeping his mouth closed and more importantly out of reach of his giant claws. Scott cursed as Crush immediately went to shake the writhing mass of scales from his body with little joy. It had dug in just too tight; the arrow-shaped head already seeking out the one soft spot across Crush’s body.

  The eyes.

  Everything Scott knew left him as he saw what was happening, he knew where it was going and any idea he might’ve had how to stop it fled from him, cold sweat running down his skin. This wasn’t supposed to be how it would be. Those fangs would get into Crush’s eyes, how effective the poison would be open to debate but blinded wasn’t good. How would the giant crab be able to defeat the smaller opponent if he couldn’t see? All his size advantages, his height and weight couldn’t…

  Hey…! A flash of inspiration struck him, he couldn’t help but smirk. Scott looked at the way the snake had curled around Crush’s body, saw an opening which might work.

  Yes!

  “Crush,” he said casually. Possibly the easiest order he’d ever give, and he wanted her to know it as well. Didn’t have to say it aloud but did anyway. “Jump and flop.”

  Even as he’d given the order, it was already being obeyed, he saw the look of confusion on Graham’s face as the crustacean sprang into the air, came crashing down onto his stomach with bone-breaking force. It would have broken bones if Crush had them. Yet instead all he had was the heavy shell which more than managed to deal with the impact. The snake spirit however, wasn’t so lucky, caught in the sudden smash between crustacean and ground. With half its body suddenly uselessly incapacitated, Scott saw its grip slacken, punched the air.

  Uniblast! Silently he roared the command, as if the intensity of his order would kick Crush into overdrive and get it done before the snake could recover.

  At close range, it’d be a risky move, but it was still all he had. He just had to hope Crush had enough left to survive the splashback from the blast. The mandibles opened, just enough to spew white-hot energy into the coils wrapped around him. The snake let out a shriek as it was blasted clear of the body, body torn into several different pieces. Scott winced, he could see Crush was hurting, burns already appearing across what passed for his face. That hard shell was bubbling from heat exposure, Scott winced as he watched, though he couldn’t completely quash the deep sense of satisfaction at the way it had ended.

  Whatever happened here, he was guaranteed at least a point for the draw. No way Graham was going to be able to continue with her spirit destroyed. Being blown into smaller pieces was pretty much a game clincher.

  That was the important thing to remember about spirit calling. It didn’t matter how long or short the battles might be; the important thing was to get them won. If your spirit cut your opponents in half in the first ten seconds of the bout and they couldn’t continue, it might annoy the crowd, but it was the risk they took in attending. Nobody ever publicly complained about it. Besides knockouts that quick at a tournament like this were rare. That was a beginner’s mistake losing like that. Scott could easily remember those humiliating early b
outs every caller went through where the spirit, no matter how well you thought you’d set up, was given a thorough schooling.

  Either way, the video referee made its call, declared Leslie Graham the loser with her last spirit unable to keep on fighting and therefore, it flashed up the picture of Scott on the screen declaring him to be the victor. As he heard the cheering of the crowd, thousands of voices chanting his name, he couldn’t resist giving a little dance of victory on the spot, a comical little jig he regretted the moment he saw himself on the big screen. Going a little flushed, he instead gave a more dignified wave and summoned back Crush to the crystal, muttering a few grateful words. Whether the spirit appreciated them, he couldn’t say.

  Either way, it didn’t take much effort, so what would be the harm? Some callers did view them as little more than tools, at the same time, he remembered they had been living beings once and he didn’t want to forget that. Popular lore said those who didn’t tended to get further in the sport than those who did. It wasn’t a prerequisite, just a personal choice. One he sometimes felt a little stupid in doing but had been a habit too long now to quit.

  Already the table was flashing up on the screen to show the group as it stood, revealing to Scott that he was stood second in the group alphabetically to Nicholas Roper who’d fought earlier and beaten Santo Bruzack. If it finished right now, he’d be a happy man. All he needed to do was win one more, he’d be through. Halfway there.

  It was those words he sang to himself as he left the field under the standing ovation from the crowd. “Oh, I’m halfway there!”

  The three identical men stood in front of them, not moving, only breathing as much as they had to. It was, Fuller had to admit, surprisingly eerie. She knew the truth about them, but it didn’t make them any less odd. It was like looking at a three-way mirror of the same man. They all held their weight the same, had their faces set identically and even held the same poise. Their blinks didn’t quite synchronise, but why would they? They might look like triplets, but they didn’t share a mind. Synchronised blinking would be pushing it for eeriness.

  She studied them, not for the first time, tried to find something. Again, she came up with nothing. They’d been with her since their arrival; the boss had sent them for her to ‘make use of’. So far, she’d used them as bodyguards, having them follow her everywhere for her protection. Not that she needed it, but it was as good an occupation as any to stop them getting bored. Maybe they couldn’t get bored. She didn’t know. Didn’t care really.

  When she’d met with Ritellia for dinner at the ICCC headquarters a few days earlier, they’d waited outside for her without complaint. Yet at the same time, she guessed they had some other task to complete while here, she’d tried to ferret it out of them, but they’d not given it up. Another way they made her uncomfortable. They didn’t respond to anything she’d tried. She’d tried politeness, they’d remained unmoved. She’d even flirted with one of them. Nothing. The blank way in which she’d been had casually brushed off still sent shudders up her spine. What were they?

  Still, they were a lot better company than Rocastle, she’d testify to that. The five of them had gathered together in his room to await further orders, the holoprojector already set up. Rocastle himself lounged lazily on the bed, humming to himself. If the trio found it irritating, they didn’t say. They were plenty big enough, Fuller noticed, each of them larger than Rocastle. It’d just be too sweet if one of them strode over and punched him until he shut up. If all three of them did that, it’d be just a bonus. Maybe she should tell them to do it, an idea not without its appeal but at the same time one she couldn’t indulge. The consequences wouldn’t be worth the satisfaction.

  The holoprojector flickered to life, the first sound in the room since Rocastle had last cleared his throat and Fuller felt a rush of relief. Soon it’d be over, and she could return to her own business. Not that waiting for the Mistress to speak was a bore but putting up with these four people felt a waste of time. As the image of her flickered into view, Fuller kept her face respectful. Rocastle had scrambled up to his feet and done the same.

  “Ms Fuller. Mister Rocastle,” the Mistress said. She sat in a comfortable looking leather seat; Fuller guessed she was broadcasting from her office out in Haxfold. The Mistress had a luxury apartment there, and in a month or so, her daughter was marrying someone there. If the Mistress saw the triplets, she didn’t acknowledge them.

  “Mistress,” Rocastle simpered. “How may we be of service to you?”

  It sounded false, Fuller knew it and she’d have bet all the credits she had the Mistress knew it as well. Again, she didn’t acknowledge it.

  “How goes our operation on Carcaradis Island? Does everything run to plan? Ms Fuller?”

  “I’m staying close to Ritellia,” Fuller said, ignoring a cough from Rocastle. “I think the old man’s falling in love. We had dinner yesterday; he had his hand on my leg throughout.”

  “Ooh wedding bells will be in the air soon,” Rocastle laughed. The Mistress glared, silencing him. Thank you, Fuller thought, hiding her smirk. He didn’t open his mouth again.

  “Do nothing to dissuade him,” the Mistress said, choosing to ignore the interruption. “I need you close to Mr Ritellia. There may come a day soon when his usefulness comes to an end and someone is needed to apply the final cut.”

  “I understand, Mistress,” Fuller said, supressing a shudder. “What manner of finality should his end take? Disgrace or death?”

  “Do you care?” The Mistress smirked coldly. “Should I ask you to arrange for either, would you have a problem?” It was a tone filled with challenge, one which hinted at menace. She didn’t want to be the target of said menace.

  Fuller shook her head. “No Mistress. I only ask so I might prepare. To disgrace such a man would require more preparation than arranging his death. He’s an old man and not in good shape, it would take very little to push him over the edge.”

  “Time will tell. Prepare for disgrace, expect death. The five kingdoms will shed few tears for Ronald Ritellia. He’s an embarrassment and a buffoon, his removal long overdue.”

  “But what if they replace him with someone worse?” Rocastle asked, finally overcoming his silence. “Better the enemy you know?”

  The Mistress stared at him. “This does not concern you, Mr Rocastle. I have already considered this. Ms Fuller. This task might not be the best use for your talents but regardless I need you to put aside any discomfort and do your utmost. Not for the company but for me. The rewards are infinite, remember that come what may.”

  Fuller nodded, still uneasy but those last words had settled her stomach. She hoped it hadn’t been easy for the Mistress to ask her to do this. It probably had, she knew what her boss was, but still she hoped. Even if it was a lie, it was a comforting lie, the sort one told someone being sent to die. “It will be done. I am proud to serve, Mistress. My body is yours to do what you will with.”

  “Good,” the Mistress smiled, turning her attentions to Rocastle. “Mr Rocastle, since you felt the need to interrupt my orders to Ms Fuller, it’s time for you to talk unequivocally. Let us hear what you have to say.”

  She saw the flush in Rocastle’s cheeks and did her best to hide a smirk of her own. Seeing the smug bastard get some back of what he liked so much to give was just fantastic. He swallowed, folded his arms, finally spoke in a tone more subservient than she was used to.

  “I’ve been searching out those to join the swelling ranks of our cause, Mistress,” he said, uttering the last word as if it was poison. “Just as you asked. The angry and the afraid, the alone and the outcasts, the disenfranchised…”

  The people like you then, in other words, Fuller thought. This was the first she was hearing of this and it really didn’t sit right with her. A whole group of people like Rocastle… No, scratch that. There were no other people like Rocastle. Thankfully.

  “And have you had any success?” The last word held a hint of menace about it, a touch o
f scorn as if the Mistress doubted Rocastle’s ability to succeed. Fuller had to admit, if it had been up to her, it wouldn’t have been Rocastle she’d have selected for a task like this. Sure, he could be charming when it suited him. Most of the time he was a petty, mean-spirited, cruel-hearted misogynist with no concern for human life. Not the sort of person you wanted empathising with potential recruits, even if they may be like-minded people.

  Rocastle smiled at the holographic image in front of him. “Well I thought of a potential name. The Angels! Of Death!” He started cackling his joke, before seeing he was alone in the mirth, clamming up quickly. Alana had to try not to smile. That name was so theatrically cheesy, he had to be tweaking the Mistress’ nose. A dangerous game and Harvey looked to realise what sort of ice he was floundering on.

  He swallowed briefly, gathered what little composure he might have had left under the wilting stare of the Mistress. “But yes. I’ve made some inroads. I’ve sounded out several individuals about a potential new future. I have a way with people, you might have noticed.” He buffed the lapels of his jacket proudly. “What you have asked for, you will get. I’ve never let you down before now, have I?”

  It was Fuller’s turn to chuckle. Even if she utterly despised the simpering bastard, it was hard to deny he had balls of steel when faced with a look that would have cowed an angry dragon. Either he didn’t notice or truly didn’t care. She didn’t know which worried her more, that he was blessed with ignorance or recklessness. Either of them could easily bring it all down on him and more importantly, the fallout could affect her.

  “There is always a first time, Mr Rocastle,” the Mistress said simply. “Nobody is irreplaceable in this organisation; might I remind you both that. And as for you three…” She turned to the triplets, still stood at attention. If anything, they stood a little straighter as she faced them. “You know what you must do. Do not fail me. You have the most important task of all. Should you fail to complete it, you are to terminate yourselves. I’ll have no further need of you.” There was no emotion in her voice as she said it, no regret or glee, just a simple statement of fact. The fact that all three of them all looked ready to oblige her sent a shudder down Fuller’s spine, before the Mistress turned back to her and Rocastle.