The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Atlas roared and the uniblast tore towards Paws who didn’t miss a trick, springing lazily aside of the destructive blast and Anne commanded her to counter-fire with the same white light, the attack she’d informally christened the mind beam. It was quite a twee name as they went but it did what it suggested. It was a beam of energy and it came from the mind. What more did you want from a name?

  The aim wasn’t as good this time with Paws off-balance, but still the blast caught a glancing hit off one of the stubby legs. Several layers of scale and muscle were torn away, blood gushing out in thick pools. Maybe she’d hit an artery. She didn’t know enough about anklo physiology to say she had or not. If she had, it’d be over very quickly. One thing she knew was where to hit to cause maximum damage.

  She fought a wry smile. Not for nothing had she been trained as a Unisco sniper. And it’d be churlish to not use that training in her battling abilities, not to mention a waste of talent. Those who didn’t utilise all their advantages tended not to get very far.

  If the blow was fatal, then Atlas wasn’t letting it show. She didn’t even have to look at Theo to get a read of his emotions, she kept all her attention on the giant bleeding spirit. As she stared, she saw the glow of illuminous green energy shining through it, starting from the centre of its being and radiating outwards like a shockwave. And before her very eyes, the torrent of blood slowed to a trickle, skin healing as if it had never been wounded.

  She couldn’t miss the wave of smugness falling off Theo as the anklo roared proudly. Anne sighed, saw the leaves coming and once more she gave Paws the command to halt them. If she had Theo read right, she knew what would come next. Ninety percent of callers who she employed this tactic against went with the same counter attack next time round. They thought they were being original, only to be proved hopelessly wrong.

  Halt the leaves. Send them back. Send more leaves to shoot down the returning leaves. If you try that, Theo, I’ve got you worked out.

  The leaves slowed to a halt, she winked at him. Atlas’ mouth opened and another uniblast tore out, burning straight through the halted leaves and Paw took the blast full on in the face. Anne’s mouth fell open as she felt the backlash of pain burn into her very being.

  Ouch. She clutched her heart, hoping the agony would cease soon. Not likely. Only way that would happen was if Paws went down, she’d conditioned the leopard to take more than this.

  It wasn’t pleasant. Most of the fur on her face had been burned away, one eye taken out and she smelled like cooked meet. The gems had remained undamaged though, her teeth remained pearly white between the overcooked mix of black and red her face had become.

  Well played, Theobald, she thought. Nice move. But it’s not over yet.

  The tenth day of Summerpeak.

  Okocha slid the chip across the desk and Arnholt studied it before sliding it into his summoner. He’d been waiting for this, slightly longer than expected coming, even now he found himself tapping his desk impatiently as he waited for it to load. Roper’s report on the incident a day earlier. He skim-read through it at first to get the general gist and then read more thoroughly a second time, Okocha sitting patiently while he did.

  He didn’t say anything. Arnholt didn’t expect him to. By all sounds of it, Maddley had been willing to cooperate but what he’d offered hadn’t been helpful enough. Roper had offered suggestions, such as getting him in for a composite scan of the woman who’d attacked him and getting him to go through surveillance footage images from the stadium since she’d mentioned she was at his bout but neither of them looked sure bets for answers.

  It didn’t help Maddley had stated unequivocally he hadn’t seen her face. Roper said he had, but from a distance and not clearly during pursuit. He’d added he wasn’t confident he’d be able to identify her irrevocably, but he was willing to go through any processes that would help. He didn’t sound thrilled about it though. Sometimes doing something for the sake of it was a fool’s errand, none of them wanted it. The only perk for Maddley was he was a footnote in this investigation. His attack was playing second fiddle to the attack on the ICCC building, deliberate or not as it might have been.

  Even if it had been just an accident, something caught in the crossfire, that wouldn’t save them from the full extent of the law. Three people had died, more had been seriously injured. It was a serious crime. Both Ritellia and Tommy Jerome were shouting their feelings from the rooftops and Arnholt was just about sick of hearing them fighting for attention in the media. They were like a pair of posturing peacocks squawking for the sake of it. He wondered how long before one of them brought up supposed incompetence of Unisco in the whole investigation.

  “What do you think?” he asked, not looking at Okocha as he spoke.

  The dark-skinned man didn’t say anything, just removed his glasses and buffed a non-existent spot on them, his eyes locked in concentration.

  “Initially I thought about how I wished we’d brought more people out to help deal with this,” Okocha said. “But then I reconsidered. Getting more boots on the ground to deal with this thing, it’s not going to help. This wasn’t a planned terrorist attack; it was a spur of the moment thing. We’re not going to get far with investigating the attack on the ICCC building without identifying the woman. What she did with Maddley, I think was her true goal. And her identity, or at least the clues to unlocking that mystery is locked away in Maddley’s head. We need to get it out of there.”

  “How would you recommend that?”

  “Sit him down with a technician, get him to give a description of what he has, match the result to the databases, see if we can get some hits. Either way, without his help, we’re not going to get the answers that we want. Same with Roper. It’s not much but it’s all we got.”

  “I find it unfathomable he wouldn’t want to help,” Arnholt said. “This woman nearly killed him by his own words. This might be the only thing to stop her trying again…” He tailed off as Okocha spoke aloud the words passing through his head.

  “… Especially if she knows he might be able to identify her.” Already Arnholt was reaching for his summoner, he dialled a number and waited a moment.

  “Leclerc. I want you and Fagan to go to Darren Maddley’s room. Track him down, bring him into Unisco protective custody. His life may be in danger. We can’t take chances.”

  Chapter Ten. Into the Mountain.

  “Of all the creatures in this strange and wonderful world of ours, none are perhaps as rare and fascinating as the kirofax. Whereas some creatures remain drastically unchanged through the stages of evolution, the kirofax has adapted dramatically though perhaps not for the better. Why something would evolve such a volatile DNA structure, it’s hard to say. But the environment we find ourselves living in today, where caller is king, it is surely the reason they are now almost extinct in the wild.”

  Professor David Fleck on the kirofax.

  The eighth day of Summerpeak.

  There were a lot of different places Kyra Sinclair would rather be right now as she gripped the length of rock and tried not to look down. Her fingers ached but she tried to ignore them, digging her boots just a little further onto the outcrop beneath. At the Quin-C for one, if only things were different. Instead, here she was in the middle of Serran going hand over hand up the Trabazon in the midday sun, dangling from a rock like an oversized bogey.

  The mountain was the highest point in the south, not the highest in all the kingdom but still a formidable obstacle to overcome. There were mountains in the Fangs to the north which dwarfed it but thankfully she was nowhere near them. At least here, she was sweating from the oppressive sun, the rope digging into her waist and she was already anticipating reaching the peak and flopping down in exhaustion. This hadn’t been her smartest idea. But hey, since when had she let that stop her in the past. If she stopped to consider possible consequences of her actions, she’d never get anything done. In with both feet and to hells with consequences. It had been a spur of the momen
t thing, one she doubted she’d regret.

  She’d heard the story down in the town below, she’d been passing through aimlessly wandering through the humid south of Serran, intent on keeping her mind off the tournament she’d failed to get to. It was nice down here, plenty of sun, just enough rain to halt it from being overbearing and about. Since the south of Serran and the north of Vazara were only split by fifty miles of open water and a few islands, plenty of locals were of Vazaran ancestry. It had been one such man, a tall fisherman with a shucked eye who’d told her the tale. They’d been in one of the bars, a rough place she wouldn’t normally have been found dead in. Yet there’d been so little choice and she’d fancied living dangerously.

  Yeah, she thought bitterly, feeling the crumbling of a dozen little pebbles beneath her fingers. Living dangerously. Whose brilliant idea had this been again?

  Despite his ruined eye, he’d been friendly enough. He stank of overbream and sticklefox and various other types of fish she couldn’t start to name. She’d only guessed at those two down to the copious amounts of the stuff stinking up the Latalya waterfront.

  Not a bad town but it looked about ten years behind some of the less advanced parts of Serran, themselves about twenty years behind the modern parts. So, thirty years from the present and she’d found herself thinking maybe she should have taken a left turn at the crossroads rather than the road she had. Next time, she’d avoid taking the right turn.

  There was a Willie’s here, but she’d avoided it. Compared to most of them, even the normally pristine restaurant looked shabby and unkempt. If this was thirty years ago, this was the stage of the violent Willie O’Rourke, not the respected businessman and restauranteur of the present. She’d always wanted to see him offer to fight someone. Unfortunately, the number of people who’d seen that in person were decreasing day by day. The only thing Willie was fighting these days were various diseases.

  Still, the bar hadn’t been bad, compared to the rest of the town. Latalya wasn’t a place she’d ever come again given a choice. But while she was here, she might as well enjoy it. It was too dark to head out now, not with the threat of creatures outside. She didn’t fancy renting a speeder either. No, she could wait. Rest for the night, experience an actual bed for a change.

  Generally, there were enough small towns dotted across this part of Serran she’d not had to pitch the sleeping bag out often. It was always a gamble, all it needed was something to come across her sleeping place. She had her safeguards, at least one of her spirits kept out to defend her while she slept but you could never eliminate risk. At least here in the town, there wasn’t much chance of being eaten alive.

  Also, she had to admit as she studied the bar around her, it did have a certain rustic charm. She’d realised it the moment she’d seen the sign announcing its name. The Fish and Fist. What a name, she’d smiled when she’d seen it and was still grinning now. Normally the only place she saw names like that were towards the north of Canterage where the accents were thick and the locals quick tempered.

  It hadn’t been a surprise to discover the man behind the bar was from Canterage, thin and weary with what little hair remained on his head the colour and consistency of old wool. He’d bowed his head to her, taken special care to ensure her glass was clean and poured her a glass of amber coloured liquid that smelled of hot honey. She hadn’t asked for it, but she’d been taken by the smell and paid regardless, sliding a credit chip across the counter.

  It had felt warm beneath her fingers; they were already chafing by the time she sat down in the corner. It wasn’t as full as she might have expected, maybe a dozen and half people dotted about the room. She felt a little conspicuous, but nobody was paying her any attention. Not the men, certainly not the women.

  Ah well… One day when she reached the elite she’d probably look back on the quiet moments like these and be envious of how her life had changed. She relished anonymity if she was honest. You could get away with so much more when people didn’t know who you were. You had to relish the present no matter how mundane because things wouldn’t always be this way. There’d be times of hardship and times of bounty, both would have their ups and downs. You had to take what you earned in life.

  Her master had told her that. She felt a brief stab of hurt thinking back to those days He was gone now. She didn’t know where or how or even if she’d ever see him again. All she had were her instincts to go on and they told her one day she would. She had to trust them.

  Speaking of her instincts… He’d dropped down across from her and grinned through uneven teeth. For a moment, she’d been worried, something about him felt off and then she relaxed. He didn’t seem to be an immediate threat, she smiled at him, returning his gesture. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. His one good eye didn’t leave hers. The smell made her want to wrinkle her nose, she disguised it as a twitch of the face and hoped he didn’t cotton on to her discomfort.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink. It was hot and strong, like a firework in the pit of her stomach. She felt the heat spreading through, couldn’t help but let the woozy grin flash across her face. Maybe this place wasn’t so quiet and friendly after all. She drank no more, just let it warm her hand.

  “You’re new in town,” he said. It was more a statement than a question and she nodded.

  “I am. Just passing through. Be leaving in the morning.”

  “Caller?”

  Among other things. Kyra nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Not a famous one though. I don’t know your name. You don’t know mine either. We’re even on that. Back across the water, they got a saying. Names is for tombstones.”

  “That’s true,” she said, folding her fingers together. “They are. I don’t do names. Not for strangers. It complicates things.”

  He laughed, a sound like bark being ripped off a tree and she fought the urge to flinch at the sound. She wouldn’t. It might sound unpleasant, but nobody had ever been killed or harmed by laughter. Not physically. Some emotional wounds took a long time to heal but those people usually had their problems to start with. “I like what you say.” For a long moment he studied her, and she kept her face impassive. “You want to know a local secret?”

  “Should I want to know a local secret?” It was a genuine question. Some people were very insular about local traditions, especially places like this where everyone knew everyone else’s name and habits. Most of them time they knew what everyone else was guilty of too.

  He laughed again, this time it didn’t take her by surprise. She was trusting him less and less by the second though. Never trust a man who laughs too much. The master’s words again. What are they hiding behind those gestures? Either way it had taken a longer to prise the secret out of him than she’d initially thought. He hadn’t been quite as forthcoming as initially hinted She’d smiled, flirted, laughed at his jokes and even arranged a few drinks that, as time went by, hadn’t been so much as drunk as sloshed down a vest growing grubbier by the minute. Privately her disgust grew too.

  Yet the secret had been worth it as he’d told her what could be found atop the mountain and she knew precisely why he’d hinted and then been reticent to reveal. If it got out…

  All this for a damn kirofax.

  That was unfair, she immediately corrected her mistake. It was all for a kirofax, but she shouldn’t write it off as a waste just solely for that purpose. A kirofax was a rare animal indeed, highly sought after by callers and as a result, they’d nearly been hunted to extinction. On their own, they weren’t anything too special. Small dog-like creatures they were naturally but what made them valued was their volatile DNA structure. Because it all came down to what you could accomplish with a spirit in the lab. Most creatures could be tinkered with, the more mundane a creature, the more you could work it. Birds, rodents and traditional household pets were usually the first spirits of new callers, there was a reason for that. They were easy to tame, they were in plentiful supply a
nd all sorts could be done with them.

  All animals are complex. Some are more complex than others. Some creatures, like dragons to name an example, could resist modification to the point it absolutely would not work under any circumstance. Then there was the kirofax down the other end of the scale as anything worked on them. Anything. The volatile nature of their DNA meant they could be reconfigured easily and quickly. She remembered a caller with one ten feet tall and two headed, one spitting fire and one spitting ice. In the wild it would be a horrible freak of nature, destined to die soon. In the hands of a spirit caller, they would survive and thrive.

  The extent the people of Latalya were willing to go in keeping that secret had been apparent the moment he’d spilled it, uncomfortable silence had fallen over the bar as he’d laid over the table and started to snore gently. She could see the barman on his summoner, dirty looks coming her way and she knew why. If people knew there were kirofax on top of the Trabazon, this sleepy little village on the waterfront wouldn’t remain peaceful for long. There’d be a massive influx of callers from all around the kingdoms coming here, the closest settlement to the base of the mountain. The ugly feeling about the bar told her a swift exit was in order, she’d skedaddled before anyone could say anything to her.

  Outside, on the other hand, had been a different matter. She’d barely gotten a few hundred yards from the bar, many more from her inn when a palm had grabbed her, only minimal warning alerting her, and she’d been thrown unceremoniously into the alley, pain shooting through her as she landed clumsily amidst a heap of garbage bags. The light wasn’t good, but she could make out three figures stood above her. Malice radiated from them.