The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Think I see it,” she said. “Want to tell me what I’m shooting at here, Bravo One?”

  “The target,” Derenko said. “You can hit it, Chaos One. Good hunting.”

  She wasn’t worried about hitting it. Strangely enough, the idea she might miss never entered her mind. No, what worried her was what could happen if she did. What would come next?

  “Back at you,” she said. “Alpha, Bravo team, I’m going to take the shot. Move quickly, whatever you do. You won’t have a lot of time. I’m going to take it in five. In four. In three. In two. And…” She squeezed the trigger, felt the kick of the oversized weapon against her shoulder and the flutter of hope her aim had been true.

  Stun grenades in hand, Derenko and Wilsin heard the end of the countdown and looked at each other. Moment of truth. She was right. They would need to move quickly. They didn’t hear the shot; they did see the door fly open in a manner it hadn’t been meant to. It opened inwards, a shot hitting it from outside the building wasn’t going to do much good. Anne’s shot had been good, straight through the lock, but it hadn’t been what had gotten it open. The small amount of thermal breach they’d spread over the lock had done that for them and it was that which tore the door open. Thermal breach grew hotter and hotter the moment it was applied; they’d spread some around the lock in hopes of giving Anne a target. Normally it simply grew hotter and hotter until it burned through the lock, but it was also incredibly volatile, given certain stimuli. They’d needed an instant reaction, no time for the breach to burn through the lock. Wilsin had set his grenade to explode on impact, he leaned around the doorway and tossed it in, ducking out the way as the disorientating sonic boom shattered through the space, Derenko doing the same, mirroring his movements. Then the teams were moving in, Montgomery and Harper, Aldiss and Leclerc firing with pinpoint accuracy on anyone holding a weapon.

  By the time Derenko and Wilsin had retaken their Featherstones and entered the room, Aldiss was already shouting it was clear. Wilsin saw the hole in the window where Anne’s shot had come through, saw that some of the hostiles had been facing that direction. That had served its purpose. A twin pronged attack on two fronts was better than a solitary one. As far as he could tell, nobody was hurt, the hostages all looked fine.

  “Everyone! Remain calm!” he bellowed. “This is Unisco!” Just for the benefit of some of the people there, he repeated it in Vazaran. Regardless of linguistic abilities, it was something they were trained to be able to repeat in any of the main languages of the five kingdoms. “You’re safe now.”

  Weapons were kicked from the hands of their fallen wielders, pulses were checked to see who was still alive and only then did they start to free the hostages. All in all, David Wilsin decided, not a bad day’s work.

  “Unbelievable!”

  The roar erupted from the crowd around the stadium and Theo stood in shocked silence as he stared at the battlefield, the carnage left lingering on the stones. Atlas was breathing heavily, covered in cuts and scrapes, the scales slathered in blood but at least the anklo was still moving, which was more than could be said for Gamorra. The spannerhead wasn’t moving, eyes not seeing but so much less in death than in life. Sharon, to her credit, didn’t bat an eye. If she was bothered, she didn’t show it. Some part of that stung him.

  She should be upset. Why was she not showing more emotion? The verdict was in, she was out of spirits and he’d beaten her fair and square, he’d beaten the favourite and yet she appeared unfazed as she strode out towards him, pausing only to kneel and pat Gamorra on the neck before bringing it back to a crystal.

  “Well folks, that was that and what a result! What a shock on the cards! Theobald Jameson pulls off the shock of the tournament and defeats Sharon Arventino five spirits to six. On a day when it’s all been put into perspective, given what’s happened across the island, we’ve seen a fiercely competitive bout and perhaps it might not be remembered the way it should, but in this commentator’s opinion, the match of the tournament so far.”

  She was in front of him now, close enough to see the sorrow in her eyes. Sharon offered him a hand and he took it to shake. She managed a weak smile at him. “Don’t let anyone diminish this victory for you, Theo.” At least she hadn’t used his full name. That was a relief. “You deserved it. Good luck in the next round. May fortune guide you on your travels.”

  At least she’d lost with grace. He didn’t even have the heart to rub it in. Against someone else, he might have tossed it back in their face. Yet with her, it felt churlish to do so.

  The victory was what mattered. He’d won. Nobody could take that away. Anyone who tried would have seriously problems. Still, looking around the adoration and the sheer force of glee billowing down from the watching thousands, Theo decided he was just going to enjoy the moment for once.

  Chapter Seventeen. This Dream We Have.

  “When you keep having the same damn dream, do you really want it to come true? Feels like it spoils the surprise somewhat.”

  Ruud Baxter.

  Time has no meaning in the land of dreams.

  She’d had this dream before. Here she was again, same place she’d been a thousand times before, and for the thousand and first time she was happy to be here. And why shouldn’t she? It was her special day after all. All eyes would be on her and her soon-to-be husband as they formally declared their love for each other. Her father wasn’t here admittedly. Of course, he wasn’t. She could barely recall Canderous Arventino’s face, she could just remember the mindless rage and twisted fear contorting it the last time she’d laid eyes on him. Instead John Jacobs had her arm, walking her down the aisle, fulfilling the role of father of the bride as the music played around them, light melodic music from Burykian silver tamborlutes.

  As the two of them approached the altar, it rose in its melody, somehow sounding in time with the click of her heels on the floor of the chapel. A great statue of Gilgarus and Melarius stared down above the zent and the altar, a single earth-fashioned urn sitting on it. The lion and the tigress, Melarius more prominent as the Divine of love, birth and marriage. Sharon allowed herself to raise eyes to her, silent prayer passing her lip as they moved through the throngs of adoring people. Friends and family of both her and Nick, people she knew well, people she’d love to get to know further and those with whom she’d love to reconnect.

  The guest list read like a who’s who of the spirit calling world. The groom and his best man were just two of them, Nicholas Roper and Wade Wallerington both in tuxedos, Wade grinning, Nick smiling as they awaited her. Her maid of honour, Gemma Holtby, a smiling sight in summer yellow stood waiting, Sharon knew she’d been trying to catch Wade’s eye. He looked better, not like the pictures from when he’d been involved in that attack at the Quin-C, not a trace of scarring remained, his eyes vivid bright as ever.

  Faces she recognised through the crowds as they made it ever closer included her brother Peter, David Wilsin, Vassily Derenko, Fank Aldiss, even Terrence Arnholt. Her own side, well some of those faces it felt like she hadn’t seen for ages. Blank faces, happy for her but vaguely vacant as if they were devoid of something. That sent a little shiver up the length of her spine, she couldn’t quite place it, even if she should be able to. Allison Teserine, Julius Hong, Arnaud Kroll, Luke and Darren Maddley…

  But not him. She stole a glance, a little hurt he hadn’t deigned to attend. She’d invited him, even if it had been difficult to arrange communication. Maybe he hadn’t gotten it. He would have been here if he had, surely. Still he wasn’t and that was that. After today she’d be closing that chapter of her life for good. Before the new could truly begin, the old had to go. For the final time, she looked down nervously at her dress, pure cream white with black and red trim across the hem and around the waist and conceded finally to herself she looked fine. It felt unusual with her hair up, twisted and teased into a three-foot-tall style held in place with copious amounts of invisi-pins and styling cream. At this point, she felt hitting it
with a hammer wouldn’t budge it.

  Finally, she reached the altar and slowly turned to John. He smiled at her, she smiled back even though he couldn’t see it underneath her veil and he let go of her arm.

  “You look beautiful, darling,” he said, before turning to the tall zent, the man resplendent in his purple robes. He looked at the two of them through thin spectacles and as he met the priest’s gaze, John cleared his throat. “I, John Jacobs, hereby relinquish the responsibility of this woman from my household,” he said. She heard the note of amusement in his voice. Yes, it was archaic but that was just one step away from traditional. Her father had been Serranian. Her mother was from Canterage, just like her future husband and so it had been arranged for a traditional Canterage ceremony. Which unfortunately meant that bit be included, but she didn’t care. She felt giddy with excitement. It was closer to happening.

  The zent… Stoatley, she thought his name was, too much to remember, nodded at her and Nick broke from next to Wade, descending the three steps and offered her a hand. She took it in her gloved one and followed his lead as they stepped to the altar.

  “… And into her husbands,” John finished, before sitting down to a smattering of applause, seating himself next to her mother who wore such a look of pride on her face.

  Husband… it was happening.

  As they stood facing each other in front of the altar, Nick reached to lift her veil, winking at her as their eyes met for a moment before they turned to the zent. He had a scar on his nose she’d never noticed before.

  “Beloved friends and family gathered here today of this man and this woman,” Stoatley intoned, his voice dry but powerfully reassuring. “We are here to celebrate the union of Nicholas James Roper and Sharon Melissa Arventino in devoted matrimony before the eyes of both Divine above and man below.”

  So far so good. She’d read through what he’d say the previous night. Not because she’d wanted to know. Because she was bored. And nervous. And didn’t want any surprises. Nerves. Yeah, there should be some here. But there weren’t. She felt pretty good about the whole thing.

  Nick was nervous, an alien feeling emanating from him. But they were the good nerves, she guessed, the sort you battled through, because you knew the reward was worth it. And what if he was nervous. Only an idiot wouldn’t be nervous right now.

  “Divines give, and Divines take away but to some they give more than others and when this happens, we find ourselves here in the presence of two who love each other,” Stoatley continued. “To validate this marriage before the Divines above, I ask anyone here who may or know any such reason as to why it should not be blessed.”

  Nobody said anything, Stoatley kept his face impassively professional as he looked at them and spread his arms. For a crazy moment, she thought it would be over just like that. How wrong was she? “Let us all never forget that we are all just shade cast by the brilliance of the Divines above and that all we do may never be enough to earn their approval but that we hope it is enough to evade their wrath. Let us all hope that the fruits of this union hold ripe and prime for the future, a bountiful harvest that may never wither and die.”

  A bit bleak, she thought. But in a way, it felt nice. It felt reassuring hearing it out loud for the first time when it concerned her. Ahead of them, Zent Stoatley moved a hand over the earthen urn and she heard the trickle of liquid against stone.

  “For the success of their new life together,” the zent continued. “An offering will now be made from each of you to Melarius to bless what you have together. An offering that for all the new adventures that your life will bring you, you sacrifice something of the old for something new cannot be erected…”

  Without the old being left behind, Sharon added in her head, fighting the urge to trace the words out with her lips. She’d never seen divine fire before up close. Somewhere amidst his robes, Stoatley struck a match and she caught the acrid scent of smoke. He dropped the match in the urn and it went up with a roar of blue and scarlet fire, the scent of jasmine and rosemary filling the chapel.

  “Nicholas James Roper,” Stoatley said. “Your words, please.”

  He cleared his throat. “I, Nicholas James Roper, in devotion to a Divine power far greater than I ever will be…” He probably meant it to sound humble, she thought it sounded like he was taking the piss. She’d never known him be especially devout. “… Hereby make a humble offering to Melarius, Queen of the Dei in hopes of recognition and appreciation for the love I hold for my future wife. Dei be praised.”

  He nodded at her, winked then drew a leather case from his jacket and tossed it into the fire, the flames rising with whooshing roar that brought sweat to her brow. Shouldn’t have stood so close. It’d make her makeup run.

  “Sharon Melissa Arventino,” Stoatley said, turning to her. He looked satisfied with what Nick had said. No reason he shouldn’t be. “Your words, please.”

  “I, Sharon Melissa Arventino daughter of Canderous and named for Melarius, Queen of the Dei, humbly plead to her, whose name I cannot do justice no matter how long I live, to bless my marriage to this wonderful man. In supplication, I close the book on a chapter of my life forever.”

  She drew the metal cylinder from her glove and tossed it into the fire. It’d probably take longer to burn than Nick’s offering. She didn’t have to explain what it was. Not to the watching masses. On the off-chance that Melarius existed and gave a shit, she’d known. Divine fire grew exceptionally hot, she had no doubt it’d destroy the item utterly. It hurt. But the good kind of hurt. She would miss it, but it was something she’d not used for a long time. “Dei be praised.”

  Again, Stoatley looked satisfied. There were some wet eyes in the crowd which pleased her. So far so good. Such a good feeling bursting in the base of her stomach surely wouldn’t last forever. There’d be good and there’d be bad. There’d been both of those since they’d met. But even when you knew a feeling was fleeting, it didn’t mean you couldn’t savour it.

  For several moments, they studied the fire until it died, leaving no trace of the items thrown in. Even the ash had been incinerated, thick black burns covered the stone, she could feel the heat radiating from it.

  “The offerings have been accepted,” Stoatley said in his dry imposing voice which had the audience so captivated. “In the eyes of Melarius, the union can go ahead. This man and this woman can be joined together in sickness and health, in trial and triumph, in life and in death. Where once there were two, there is now only one, united by love. Nicholas, can you repeat after me, please. I, Nicholas James Roper…”

  “I, Nicholas James Roper…”

  “Do solemnly swear in front of everyone present here…”

  “Do solemnly swear in front of everyone present here…”

  “To be there for this woman no matter what…”

  “To be there for this woman no matter what…”

  “To love and to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “To love and to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “Throughout the rest of my days.”

  “Throughout the rest of my days.”

  “Do you take her to be your wife?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  There was a collective sigh of contentment around the room as Wade handed Nick something, she felt him tease away her glove and slip the ring over her finger. She smiled at him. He winked again, like he knew something she didn’t. She wanted to kiss him but restrained herself. That time would come.

  “Sharon, can you repeat after me please? I, Sharon Melissa Arventino…”

  “I, Sharon Melissa Arventino…”

  “Do swear honourably in front of those here to observe me…”

  “Do swear honourably in front of those here to observe me…”

  “To be wife to this man no matter what…”

  “To be wife to this man no matter what…”

  “To love and to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “To love a
nd to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “For as long as I draw breath into my body.”

  “For as long as I draw breath into my body.”

  “Do you accept him to be your husband under the eyes of the Divines?”

  Her throat tickled, and she didn’t say anything, just rubbed at it with her ungloved hand, a flush of exasperation rushing through her. Of all the times for something like this to happen… She glanced about for water, didn’t see any, tried to speak through the blockage in her throat to no avail. She coughed, felt the dryness scraping the muscle. Nick’s expression didn’t change, his face impassive.

  I do… I do… Come on, why can’t I say it? The words formed in her mouth, she moved her lips and no sound emerged, just coughing. Her head swam, almost tripped in her heels. Couldn’t breathe, her face felt flushed, vision blurred under the shadow cast not just over her, but the entire chapel and she was the only one to see it.

  Everyone on her side of the aisle was dead, eyes emotionless and impassive, some had their throats cut, some bore penetrative burns through them, some missed limbs and in one case, a head. Her hand had a distinctive grey pallor to it, she saw it out the corner of her eyes as she clawed at her throat, her expensive manicure drawing rivulets of blood.

  Finally, Nick reacted, he smiled, and his entire visage split straight down the middle, something else emerging from within, something spectral and shadowy. It spoke, a masculine voice she heard even above her own coughs. Her legs couldn’t hold her any longer and she fell to the steps, her dress tearing, nylon covered limbs spilling out. Nobody moved.

  “You know this is wrong,” the voice hissed. She’d heard it before somewhere, some part registered amidst her discomfort and she blinked above sticky eyes. “You know what you are, and you’d forsake it for something as fleeting as love.”