The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  She laughed at that. “Of course.”

  That was when she unleashed her first spirit, it took him a moment to realise what exactly it was. Four feet tall on four legs with a thick bushy crimson mane distinctive against its glossy caramel coloured pelt and a heavy tail dragging across the ground behind it, the face had a distinctly fox-like feel to it. The eyes were piercing black and surrounded by patches of cream-coloured fur shaped like flames.

  “Kirofax!” he couldn’t help but exclaim. The realisation hit him, he hadn’t seen one for a while. Few people knew where to find them these days, they’d been hunted almost to extinction and while he wasn’t one of those who did know where to find them, Saarth obviously did.

  “You got it, baby,” Saarth chuckled. Her laugh was just as lilting as her voice. He ignored the possible insult and made his own choice, throwing out Seasel who landed on the duraturf with a sound probably passing as a roar for the sea weasel. To anyone else, it sounded like a constipated squeak.

  “Rare doesn’t mean tough,” Scott said, still aware Seasel was baring his fangs at the kirofax, claws digging into the turf as if ready to get going. He wasn’t the only one, the crowd’s buzz of anticipation had lowered but he could feel the tensions rippling through them as they awaited the signal to get the bout underway. He gave Seasel the mental command spliced in with the order to wait, silently urging the weasel not to go just yet… Wait for it, wait for it… Now!

  With the roar of the buzzer signalling the start, Seasel opened his mouth and the gout of water erupted from within him, tearing towards the kirofax who nimbly leapt out of the way. Scott wasn’t fooled for a moment, he’d been expecting some sort of dodge, they were supposed to be nimble after all and he urged Seasel to keep trying to trace it out with the blast, water striking empty air as the rake followed it into the air. He saw Saarth’s look of surprise as it caught the kirofax square in the face and threw it back several feet, almost bouncing it off the shields protecting the crowd. It hit the ground, Scott grinned. Maybe that’d be it. He doubted it, but maybe.

  Very quickly he was proved right as it jumped to its feet, shook water and dust from its fur, a mad look in its eyes as it lunged forward towards Seasel, fangs bared and glowing shiny white.

  Again?!

  It came out half a question, half an order as Seasel forced another burst of water towards the onrushing kirofax. Once again, the creature dodged this time careening to the left to evade and before Seasel could adjust his aim, it sprang over the moving blast of water, suddenly in close. Now Seasel was on the defensive, trying to evade the fangs on Scott’s command, the weasel ducking and diving out the way as the kirofax tried to get a grip on slippery fur. He could hear the clack of fangs biting empty air, could see the frustration on the kirofax’s face as it tried to bite down again and succeeded only in grazing Seasel’s back, drawing a silver of crimson blood across the fur.

  He felt a backlash of discomfort ripple through him, gave Seasel a command and the weasel swung to smash his skull straight into the kirofax’s side. The fox-like creature let out a woofing sound of pain, he thought he heard snapping bone, maybe he’d hit a rib and suddenly they were fighting in close, tooth and claw going at each other.

  If there was any thought of using their special attacks, neither of them was going for it. The other wouldn’t give them the chance. No space, no time, if Seasel stopped to unleash a water blast, Scott could honestly foresee the kirofax ripping his head off. No, this was something more primal, like a scene from the wild as both bled from a dozen cuts, movement slowly becoming laboured and heavy. The kirofax let out a squeal as one of Seasel’s paws swiped its face, grabbed a leg with its and swung, suddenly sending the sea weasel airborne and that was when Scott seized his chance, giving the order for another aquatic attack.

  This’d be it, he felt a surge of confidence rush through him. The blast of water homed in on the kirofax and Scott rubbed his forehead, his hand coming away with a fine sheen of sweat. He hadn’t been aware how hot it had gotten in the stadium. Before it could land, he heard a hiss, saw the steam and the attack never landed. His eyes widened. Sweat ran down his face. Saarth looked unperturbed. He was closer to the action, everything had exclusively been in his half of the field so far. Seasel came to a land, shrieked in discomfort as he already saw blisters forming across the he glossy coat.

  So many pieces fell together simultaneously, and he could have kicked himself. The little flames around the kirofax’s eyes… Fire abilities… The sudden rise in temperature… The way the attack had fizzled out before landing… Evaporation…

  Fuck!

  Little bastard was superheating the air around it as protection. If Seasel went in close, he’d get badly burned by the searing temperature. If he attacked from distance, it’d just evaporate out before it came close to doing critical damage.

  Clever, very clever, Ms Saarth. But I’m smarter. I might not know how to get around this right at this moment, but I will work it out.

  Next the kirofax opened its mouth and spat out a barrage of supersized embers towards Seasel, the weasel barely dodging at his command. Powerful legs tensed, and he rose up into the air, evading neatly.

  Stutter hits!

  He wouldn’t win by doing the same thing repeatedly and hoping for different results. That way lay insanity. He had to try different things. Seasel spat his own barrage of water blasts out, three, four, five, six narrow streams lancing out towards the kirofax in rapid succession, each of them sizzling out as they hit the invisible orb of heat swaddling the furred body.

  “Good, Scorch, good,” Saarth cooed, her voice filled with pride. Okay, so that hadn’t worked. Scott idly wondered how long Scorch could hold up the barrier of heat and how effective it would remain long term. An attack was only as useful as the ability to maintain it. Looking at it logically, he couldn’t see it failing anytime soon. It was already a hot day and intensifying that heat would use up less energy than creating it from scratch.

  He might have to just go for it, send Seasel straight into the fray and hope that his spirit could down the opponent before succumbing to the horrific heat. It was starting to make him feel uncomfortable so who knew how Seasel was feeling on the field. More attacks came from Scorch and Seasel had to lunge out the way, Scott not even giving the order to counter attack. It was useless now, he needed an opening…

  Somehow, he doubted he was going to get one. Sometimes you had to make sacrifices. It was with a heavy heart he gave the command and Seasel shot in close to the kirofax as if fired from a blaster, claws outstretched and raking across the body. Scorch hadn’t expected it, let out a howl as keratin bit through flesh, blood sizzling as it met the oppressive heat outside.

  He saw Scorch rise onto its hind legs and he gave the command. Seasel lunged up and with razor sharp teeth, had the throat out in one slick violent twist. It plopped down onto the ground as the weasel spat it out and let out a shrieking sound of triumph. The heat faded but it had done its damage. The blisters were even more pronounced, the fur blackening in places, the burns affecting Seasel’s ability to move freely.

  Saarth said nothing, just brought back her fallen kirofax and smiled at him as announcer and video referee declared him to be winning. He ignored her, just folded his arms. One to me, bitch.

  Her next choice gave him a little more cause for worry, a giant silver ape with very pronounced fangs that immediately rose onto its hind legs and powerfully beat its chest with both hands. The hands that were bigger than Scott’s head. It dwarfed him too, it could have bent him in half with very minimal effort. He looked at Seasel in his stricken state and gulped. Not a chance this was going to be a winning victory for the weasel. It wasn’t defeatist, it was realism.

  Still it didn’t mean they couldn’t get a few good blows in. The command to get underway was given and it was punctuated by Seasel’s water blast. If nothing else, it’d be a good way to gauge its strength. The heat had died down; the attacks should be working again. They
were, he saw the blast hit the gorilla in the stomach and he’d hoped it’d double over in pain. No such luck, it rubbed the area with the back of a clawed hand and bellowed angrily. Well, they’d made it angry. That was a good start.

  Saarth cocked her head to the side and the ape charged towards Seasel, bringing one of those huge fists back with the very clear intent of smashing him into the ground. Even wounded, Seasel was quick enough to evade the cumbersome blow, darting out the way. Scott could feel his discomfort through their link and he winced. Seasel genuinely was hurting out there. The heat had done a number on him.

  Come on, come on, just a little more.

  The teeth flashed in the sunlight again and Seasel bit down on the back of the gorilla’s leg, about the only part of it he could reach from the ground, holding on there for several long moments. The ape turned its head, glanced down at the weasel, a puzzled look on its face as if to say ‘really?’ They’d been aiming for the hamstring, hoping to lame it but he got the impression it hadn’t been the best idea in hindsight.

  As the other leg came stamping down with intent of crushing Seasel beneath its weight, the weasel got away but barely. Until the other giant fat foot came down on his tail and the weasel howled in utter agony, the sound of breaking bone filling the stadium and silencing the crowd. It wouldn’t be a fatal wound, but it’d hurt like a son of a bitch and Scott couldn’t bear to hear that sound ever again.

  Genuinely speaking, it didn’t do for a spirit caller to be squeamish. But you’d have to have a heart of stone not to be touched by that sound. Saarth looked sick, her mouth turning down in disgust. But not for long, he saw as her spirit reached down and scooped the shuddering Seasel up in both hands. Scott knew it was over, didn’t close his eyes as he saw the ape take a half of the weasel in each hand and twist. Shutting his eyes wouldn’t have cut out the sound Seasel’s spine made as it was shattered. He stiffened though, held his breath and exhaled sharply.

  Fuck!

  He wasn’t having that. Not a chance. Seasel had done a good job, he murmured that to the crystal as he selected his next option. Wasn’t his fault he got beat, he’d just run into an opponent in which he’d been physically outmatched while gravely injured following the previous bout. This shit happened sometimes. Next choice was Herc, the giant stagbug coming in to fight. This’d be a much more even contest. With that thick armour making up his carapace and prodigious strength, Herc’d win this one no sweat no doubt.

  “Good job, Sarge,” Saarth said, rubbing her hands together. She’d painted her nails a different colour on each finger. “Now let’s do more.”

  Scott grinned coldly. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Herc. Put it down.”

  He didn’t hear the buzz so much as feel it and Herc and Sarge went at each other the moment permission came, limbs dealing savage blows and Scott kept up the instructions. The horn was where Herc’s true strength lay, a blow with that could overturn a speeder but at the same time, he guessed Saarth might know that he knew that. As an opening gambit, he couldn’t stomach it. The limbs could deal heavy blows themselves, she probably wouldn’t expect him to turn it into a scrap.

  Herc reached the surang ape first, moved his head as if to swing his horn and Scott spotted the movements in Sarge’s body, commanded Herc to feint and punch. He heard the blow hit hard stomach muscle and he winced. He was quite glad his overgrown bug didn’t have any bones. Sarge’s nostrils flared and the ape flung out a huge fist straight into Herc’s midsection. Another crack, Scott’s eyes began to twitch at the echoing force of the blow, almost felt like the stadium was shaking. He didn’t want to see what might have come of that. Herc’s carapace was thick. He’d modified it to be thick. But he didn’t want to know how strong that damn ape might be up close.

  Change of plan. We’re not going toe to toe here now. Up into the air.

  Translucent wings snapped out from the rear of Herc’s shell, fluttered too fast for the eye to see and he hovered up out the way of the next blow, not moving as easily as he might have before.

  It felt cold in the stadium suddenly, he wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. That wasn’t right, surely. The sun was blazing down still. Was the big ape doing something? Could be. He didn’t know. If it was, then he needed to take it out as soon as he could. This was distracting. Technically there were rules about targeting the caller, but only if you could prove intent. Raise the temperature, lower it, it’d affect the caller of the enemy spirit, but it could be argued that it wasn’t the intention of the opponent. The best way to deal with it was to knock the spirit causing the problem out as fast as possible.

  He tried to move his attention back to the fight, ordered Herc to swoop in and deal vicious thrusts into Sarge’s face with his forelegs. There was something here that didn’t feel right. If Saarth’s spirit was lowering the temperature, then surely Herc would be affected. But that wasn’t the case. Blow injury aside, everything looked normal, both combatants moving at the same speed. He heard Sarge bellow in pained anger as clawed forelegs dug into the squashed face, blood ran down the silver fur and a big meaty forearm swung out blindly, hoping to catch Herc.

  It wasn’t a wild miss but a miss all the same. He breathed a sigh of relief. Still in it for now.

  Chapter Nineteen. Caged Rage.

  “The important thing is not knowing when to strike. It is knowing when not to strike. No cage will ever hold you. No mortal man will ever break you, ever be able to tame you. You both are heirs of the legacy of the Cavanda. I promise you that. You are better than everyone else!”

  Blade Amalfus to Kyra Sinclair and Gideon Cobb, long ago.

  The seventeenth day of Summerdawn.

  The cage wasn’t the best situation, she had to admit but it could have been worse. They’d fed and watered her, kept her comfortable. So far, she was waiting for the other foot to fall. To what end did it benefit them keeping her like this? Maybe they planned to take it all away to make her talk. An interesting theory and perhaps it would work on someone not trained the way she’d been. From everything to nothing. An interesting interrogation technique to be sure. She didn’t doubt it was probably their intention. To make her spill whatever secrets they thought she had. Good. If they thought that she was valuable she could continue to play this charade.

  That she could escape at any upcoming time she desired did not even come into her thinking. She’d been captured and that stung, but she intended to turn this around on them. Being caged didn’t make her a captive. Far from it. If anything, that cage just kept them safe from her a little while longer. It had been the first thing she’d done upon awaking from her slumber, her body sore and complaining from the stun blasts but she’d checked out all avenues of exit. The Kjarn guided her, told her the bars to her cage could be overcome given the right amount of effort. Time was hard to fathom but she’d spent enough of it weakening the structure to the point minimal effort on her part would see them collapse.

  More than that, she had to leave with something if only for her own peace of mind. The way she’d fallen in battle grated and she needed to avenge it. Falling was fine if it served a purpose, only a fool fought gravity. If she destroyed an enemy out of being captured, then it would not seem weak on her part. Cobb might buy that. The master probably wouldn’t. But should it gain results, he wouldn’t care. Besides it wasn’t like he was around to approve or disapprove of her actions either way.

  Her thoughts went to him, to the kickback she’d felt in the Kjarn when she’d killed those men, when she’d let loose with all the force she could muster and hammered them to death. He’d always warned her and Cobb. Kill with the Kjarn and it will hurt more than you can imagine. The first few times anyway, Master Amalfus was someone she’d seen do it with such abandon she’d thought it wouldn’t be that bad. How wrong had she been? The kjarnblade was the loophole for it. Despite the weapon utilising the energy as a power source for its potent blade, using it hurt no more than it would using a blaster to snuff them out. />
  Maybe when she’d killed two of them simultaneously, the cumulative effect had just overwritten her ability to cope. She’d felt it, she knew that much, knew there wasn’t any other likely reason, just as if they hadn’t been using stun blasts, she’d be dead. Kyra wondered where her kjarnblade was, hoped they hadn’t left it in that cave. Retrieving it or fashioning a new one would be a hassle she could do without.

  As time went by, she’d spent it in meditation, honing, refining, forging anew her connections to the Kjarn. In teasing out her time, renewing her acquaintances, she found things she’d failed to grasp before were slowly becoming clearer. Maybe this time wouldn’t be a complete waste. More than once though, she could have sworn she sensed another presence close by, touching the Kjarn and she wondered if she was the prisoner of the Vedo. She rejected it almost immediately. For one, they were all dead, and they wouldn’t use shock troops to catch her. Besides, if she was close to Vedo, she’d surely sense more than a few sporadic bursts. Although they were getting more frequent, she thought. The boredom was starting to get to her. How much more time before she gave up on it as a bad job and walked out of here? As a torture technique, boredom was worse than deprivation.

  Still some part of her held back, refused to give in and she meditated continuously, focused to the point she didn’t eat or sleep. Meals went untouched. Sometimes she didn’t even need to use the bathroom, her bodily functions creeping towards minimal. When she finally broke for breaks, it was often with great relief.

  Then it happened. She found herself with a visitor. She’d been alone for what felt so long now, nobody but her own company, the sound of her voice startling as she took in the arrivals. Six of the same black clad masked goons flanking a fat guy with long purpling hair and a ratty acid green jacket. She caught a sense of him immediately and she didn’t like it, an unpleasant aura about him in the Kjarn, foul and malignant.