The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  She let her own summoner drop around her neck and stared at the island around her, the resort she’d ordered built. Nice to finally see it teaming with life. Just as she’d always imagined. Her trip out here had been sudden, and she’d felt the urge for some sun, as well as checking how things were panning out. Domis was still overseeing Rocastle’s retention to her home, Dale Sinkins was still chasing down leads, the rest of her merry crew running about their business and for the moment, she felt content things would work out.

  Maybe she should have spoken to Fuller face to face. Or to her brother. Now though, she didn’t feel like it. Maybe, just maybe she’d take in one of the bouts, take her mind off what lay ahead long enough for her to relax. Ever since she’d put the plan into motion, she’d found herself on edge, and she doubted it’d get better before it got worse.

  “So, Sharon Arventino versus Darren Maddley,” Carlton Bond said, looking across his panel of pundits alongside the battlefield. “What thoughts do we have? Obviously, there’s going to be a bit of history here, not between the two combatants but between the Arventino name and the Maddley name. Sharon was the first one to comprehensively beat young Darren’s father in a bout. We all know that, we’ve all seen the footage of when Luke Maddley went into meltdown. Choksy, you were in the stadium that day, you were beaten by Maddley Sr a few times before his collapse as a credible challenger, can you see the father in the son?”

  Choksy Mulhern considered it, making a big show of musing over the question before grinning. “Well obviously I’d say Luke Maddley was a much more experienced caller than his son at this stage. But we never saw Luke Maddley in the Quin-C, so we can’t say how he would or wouldn’t have performed.”

  “There’s definitely something with the son,” Pree Khan offered. “Maybe he’s taken what happened with his father to heart, maybe used it to fuel him on. Maybe it doesn’t affect him, you’d have to ask him yourself. The point is, the children of famous callers often need to live up to the reputation of their parents. And Luke Maddley’s reputation, well I wouldn’t want it. We saw this yesterday, sorry Terrence, when young Matthew Arnholt went out to Katherine Sommer…” Arnholt waved it off without a hint of offence at the comment. “Sometimes it can be hard. My mom was decent. I like to think I surpassed her. Some callers get swallowed by having a famous family name. Others take it as a challenge.”

  “If it was me in young Maddley’s shoes,” Arnholt said. “I would be desperate to win here, not to avenge the spectre of my dad, but to make a claim on my own future. That’s what he needs to do. He needs to say, yeah, I don’t care about the past. I care about the future. You can’t change the past, but if he beats Sharon here, it doesn’t change the fact she started the chain reaction that finished off his father, it means he gets more recognition and people start to whisper for the right reasons.”

  “Is it possible for him to do it? Darren Maddley finished second in his group, Sharon Arventino won hers, it looks a mismatch without seeing a spirit unleashed. Do you think he can win?”

  “It’s possible,” Choksy said. “I think she is a very distinct favourite, but the favourite doesn’t always win. Let’s not forget it would be an easy job for us if they did.”

  “It’s a cliché, but a good one,” Pree said. “Unfortunately, I don’t think he has a chance. She’s too good, she won’t lose to him.”

  “I agree,” Arnholt said. “Not a chance Sharon doesn’t go through to the next round.”

  Carlton Bond cleared his throat, gazed at the camera with his showman smile and rubbed his hands together. “Okay so we all know the drill now. Just before the start of the bout, we’re going to get a close-up of the randomiser to see how many spirits the two combatants will use. Remember, it won’t be less than three, it won’t be more than nine. We saw a nine spirit start yesterday morning when Theobald Jameson and Wim Antonio Caine fought, we saw only five as Matthew Arnholt went out yesterday afternoon to Katherine Sommer. What’s it going to be now? Sharon Arventino versus Darren Maddley starts in moments, we’re all looking forward to what is surely going to be a fantastic bout. It’s been many years in the making, a rivalry between not just callers but between families. We’re going to see something special here. Join us in a few moments.”

  Both Terrence Arnholt and Prideaux Khan had been proved right in rapid fashion following the conclusion of the bout. The headline writers for all the media outlets found themselves enjoying a field day, all their work a variant on the ‘Lightning Does Strike Twice’ theme, she had a few of them on screen next to her as she looked down from her private box, finding it just as luxurious as expected, considering the credits she’d forked over for access to it upon arrival at the stadium, plush seats, a refrigerator full of expensive wines, even a viewing screen showing the punditry at the side of the battlefield.

  With four spirits each, the battle had quickly gotten underway with Sharon unleashing Gamorra onto Darren Maddley’s first spirit. And then his second. And then his third in quick succession. The fourth managed to get some licks in but it had been too little too late, the applause had taken Sharon and Gamorra off the field and into the next round. What hadn’t been quite so neat was the argument that had taken place at the end, a furious Maddley rushing over to confront his conqueror in vociferous fashion.

  She could see how angry he was, the fury and the sorrow and the rage and the despair mixed up in one delicious cocktail. How angry he must be right now. And angry people did desperate things. The poor lad, he’d inherited a poisoned chalice of a family name and now played his own part in dragging said name through the mud. Right now, she smiled, he could use a friend.

  He hadn’t been on Rocastle’s list. But that man’s judgement had proven to be flawed. Getting himself arrested had displayed his inadequacies. She would deal with him later, either bring him under the thumb further or have Domis take him out and break his neck. Hmmm… A delicious thought occurred to her. Rocastle had tried to kidnap the daughter of the famous city champion Terrence Arnholt, the man on the viewing screen in front of her. Maybe she could destabilise the establishment further by seeing if she could link him with Rocastle’s fate, take her plans for the fall of the ICCC further at an individual level. Pin it on him somehow. It was an interesting idea; one she’d like to develop further if the need arose.

  For now, though, she had a job of her own to do. She could use a proxy for it, yet that didn’t appeal to her. She could be persuasive when the mood took her. And besides, she’d never ask anyone to do anything she wasn’t willing to do herself…

  It would be a calculated risk exposing herself like this. But what was life without risk?

  She’d found the room easily enough, although in hindsight she wished it had presented more of a challenge. Because she didn’t want to get the impression this would be an easy mission. If it started off hard, she’d be more alert, focused on the task moving forward rather than starting easy and slowly ascending in difficulty, meaning she was facing an uphill struggle before she even started.

  Alana Fuller sighed and knocked twice, leaning against the frame, her mind already examining the dozen or so potential ways to get inside and coming up blank. If he didn’t want to talk to her, she couldn’t make him.

  He did look a little like the Mistress in the face, she had to admit that as he opened the door, an easy-going grin on his face. Divines knew she’d never seen any look like it on the Mistress. Maybe that was why they’d never gotten on, maybe he lacked the killer instinct she seemed to pride. He was balding and paunchy, where she was slender and well groomed. Either he’d let himself go or really didn’t want to be associated with his past.

  “Why hello,” he said. Big smile. Friendly voice. Very much unlike her employer. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  Another deep breath, why did she find herself so hesitant with this. He wasn’t going to bite her, he looked like he might even listen to her. All she wanted to do was relay her message and leave. But something wouldn’t let he
r. Call it professional pride, call it a desire to please, she couldn’t just let it go.

  “My name is Alana Fuller,” she said slowly. “And…”

  “Pleasure, Alana.”

  “Well I come bearing a message,” she continued. “For you.”

  He cocked an eyebrow to the side, examining her with his gaze, any hint of self-consciousness she might once have felt lost. She’d done enough in her life that him examining her wasn’t going to be an embarrassment. “For me? You don’t look like a messenger, you know.”

  She looked down at herself in the clothes she’d chosen to wear, business casual still presenting the right impression of professionalism and met his smile. “I’m an executive messenger,” she said. “Delivering the messages others can’t be trusted to. And this is quite an important one.”

  “Important? For me? Surely not.” He sounded mock disbelieving in a way that made her want to smile. For all her troubles, all her thoughts about what would come, here was someone she didn’t want to envy yet there was something there making her feel wistful. To have that little care in the world…

  “It’s from your sister.”

  That got a reaction, she had to admit, his eyes widened, and he made to slam the door on her. She reacted too swiftly for him, jamming her foot into the door before letting out a scream of pain as it smashed shut on her, agony suddenly rushing through her body. She could feel it throbbing, hoped fervently it wasn’t broken. Immediately the door opened again, and he caught her as she almost fell through, a look of concern on his face.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said, suddenly looking genuinely upset. “My bad. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you okay? You need an ice pack?”

  “Wouldn’t go amiss,” she hissed through gritted teeth. If she was lucky, it’d only leave a bruise. “Ouch!” It didn’t hurt quite as much as she made out, yet if he believed she was in agony…

  If nothing else, he was a gracious host, he had an ice pack ready in minutes, breaking up cubes from his minibar into a sock and handing it to her, an apologetic expression on his face. She slipped off her shoe and held it against the arch of her foot, the pain subsiding quickly.

  “Talk about your misunderstandings, huh?” he said, scratching the back of his head uneasily. “Sorry, ma’am. Again. The humblest from down the bottom of my heart.”

  “Listen,” Alana said. “It’s okay. But seriously, you need to listen to me. Just hear me out on this. I know you don’t want to talk about your sister, but…”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I really don’t. Didn’t like her when we were kids. Don’t want to talk about her now. She sent me an invite to Meredith’s wedding. Declined politely. Shame, I liked that kid before she grew up into a spoiled little madam. I blame her for that.”

  “Look…” Alana paused before she could even start, not even sure what she could even say to change his mind. Or at least make him think about it. This so wasn’t her forte and part of her resented being put in this position. “I get that. Nobody likes family. They’re a bunch of horrible, horrible bastards at time. But…”

  He raised an eyebrow at that. “Strong words. You ever spoken to my sister?”

  “Yeah. She’s my boss.” She made a point of rolling her eyes as she said it, bringing a grin from him.

  “So, you’re not going to say anything bad about her? That’s okay, I got enough for both of us. You ever looked her in the eyes? I mean properly? There’s just nothing there. She forgot what it was like to be human a long damn time ago and there’s no way of her remembering that. She can fake it with the best of them. No wonder Meredith ended up so damn screwed up. And that whole thing about nobody knowing who her father is… A kid needs a father.”

  Something long ignored twitched in Alana’s memory, she couldn’t push it back down before it took root, a flurry of memories she didn’t want to remember. “I didn’t,” she said quietly. “I’d have been better off without one. You want to talk about family issues, I’ll match you. Your childhood can’t have been worse than m… Some peoples.”

  He smiled gently. “You’re right. I can’t say it wasn’t. Considering our fortune, it was a pretty comfortable time. You didn’t like your father, did you Ms Fuller?”

  She pressed her legs together and folded her arms, trying to keep her mind off her throbbing foot. “I often dreamed about killing him,” she said. And she meant it as well. “Stab him in the throat while he’s sleeping, poison in his beer, scorpion in his clothes. There were always options.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “How was yours?”

  “Distant,” he said. “A busy man. Cold. I think my sister inherited it from him. Me, I think there’s too much of my mother in me. That’s what they always used to say. The staff. I loved my mother. She did her best.”

  She did her best… Those words stabbed deep and Alana blinked back the thoughts that came with them. Could she honestly say that about her own mother? Thinking back to the woman once beautiful gone thin and haggard with the life she’d been dealt, she didn’t know. Now she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know.

  “When they died, a part of me died with them. Of course, we were both left wealthy by their passing. But you know what, I didn’t want it. I wanted them back and all the credits in the five kingdoms wasn’t going to change that. It hadn’t saved them, when their speeder crashed, they were still as mortal as anyone else. A few billion credits and majority ownership in a company wasn’t going to bring me any happiness. Do you know what it’s like waking up and just realising there’s no point to life anymore?”

  “I’ve woken up not wanting to,” Alana admitted. “Back when I was a little girl, I… Everything was simpler when I was asleep. Sometimes I’d wake up with the bloody tears dry on my face and it’d all come flooding back to me. There’d be nothing I could do about it. Sometimes I thought about killing myself.”

  “But you didn’t. And things got better?”

  “Eventually,” she admitted. “I was kicked out of home at fourteen. At the time I was glad. Later, not so much. I did some things I’m not proud of, things I really want to forget so excuse me if I don’t talk about them.”

  “Hey, your choice.” He nodded in agreement. “Look, I can’t imagine what you had to do. And I won’t if you don’t share with me. I’m not disputing you had it rough. You know what I did with my inheritance? I gave it all away. Told my sister she could have it and I’d be going. I left with the clothes on my back and my spirit calling equipment. I pawned the expensive summoner and bought a cheaper one, changed my name with the remainder of the credits. I want nothing more to do with who I was. I’m more concerned with who I am and who I’m going to be.”

  Alana nodded slowly. “I can respect that, I guess. But all that’s in the past. I mean, sure you might not like her anymore. Doesn’t mean you can’t get along. She wants badly to speak to you…”

  He snorted. “No doubt she does. Maybe her guilt reflex is finally developing after all these years. You know, I seriously doubt she’s capable of loving another human being, you know. Meredith was the one I pitied.”

  “I think she wants to make amends. Prove you wrong. Look, you seem like a decent guy, you really do. I seem to meet nobody but scumbags…” She thought of Ritellia and blanched a little, trying not to dwell on it. “Believe me when I comment on how rare that is. You’ve confided in me, a stranger about your past…”

  “I have nothing to hide. I’m not ashamed of who I was. I was born to luxury and I turned my back on it. I don’t think it makes me better than anyone else to have done it. What sort of man would I be if I did?”

  “But,” Alana continued, ignoring his interruption. It was a slight thread but one she wanted to grasp with both hands and pull until it unravelled. “Say you’re wrong about her. Say she really does want to reconnect with you. If she’s genuine, how can you turn her down and still look at yourself? What then does that make you?”

/>   She winced a little as she sponged at her foot, smiled weakly. For the first time, he looked taken aback as he considered her words thoughtfully. “And as for saying you’re not ashamed, Collison… You changed your damn name. What does that really say about how you feel about her?”

  Maddley had been located easily enough, had sequestered himself away on the roof of his hotel, a beer in front of him, and she’d decided to make an entrance. She’d wrapped the scarf around her face to retain her anonymity, it was warm, but she pushed it away from the forefront of her thoughts. Her discomfort wasn’t important. If her dreams were to come true, there’d be a lot more discomfort than a bit of warmth. Her anonymity was more important. The air was cool-ish, not the warmest part of the day which was a relief.

  Her taccaridon spirit wasn’t quite as impressive as the vos lak Domis favoured, but it had an unusual factor about it that frequently made people take note. Whereas the vos lak resembled a serpent dragon from the far side of Burykia but wasn’t quite a relative, nether was the taccaridon quite related to one of the extinct ones that had existed so many years ago. A leather skinned aerial monstrosity, it could ride the winds like very few beasts she’d ever seen, not so much flying as gliding through the air.

  It was a very smooth flier, no constant unpredictable jerking motions that she’d experienced across riding giant birds or even dragons, its giant head reminiscent of a wolf, tail like that of an oversized scorpion while its claws could grip anything with ease. Acquiring this spirit had been a difficult task, though it was handy in a fight. It was a clone. Just like the vos lak but the efforts to attain it had been even more troublesome. The vos lak started to vanish decades ago, the taccaridon had vanished centuries since.