The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “This is something I’m exceptionally pleased with, if I’m honest,” she said. Wim continued to look around, saw signs of damage to one of the walls, like it had been hastily repaired and not aesthetically completed “You know what the people of these kingdoms are like? They admire the strong. They admire their spirit callers and they appreciate their Divines. So, I thought why not combine the two.”

  A chill danced through his spine and Wim squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about what might come next. He didn’t want to know.

  “You look like you’ve had some trouble,” he said, inclining his head towards the damaged wall. Reaching into the Kjarn, he could smell the past of the room and it wasn’t pleasant. Fire, lightning, death and destruction, all one big blend. Briefly, he saw the spectral remains of a man thrown against the wall, neck bent sideways, and limbs shattered.

  “Well some did escape,” she said. “But we recovered them. Mostly. There’s still one unaccounted for. No great loss, it was flawed really. And we still have some that remain works in progress. But I think we have the start of something truly special here.”

  Wim strode past her and onto the hanger floor, only then truly catching the smell of the area. It took him back to memories of that zoo, he moved to some of the cages and peered inside curiously. Some of them were empty. Others weren’t. Amongst the creatures inside, he saw a huge six-eyed snake with golden coloured scales, a snow-white bear with a mane of fine blue-grey fur around its neck, a pure black leopard with thick bristly fur. That one bared its teeth at him and through the Kjarn he caught a sense of its malevolence, not just that but of the thousands of tiny microbes in its breath. He held his, involuntarily. They weren’t getting through the energy field but at the same time it felt a futile gesture. Even from here, he could tell they were toxic.

  He stared at the amber eyes and felt pity for the creature. It hadn’t asked to be created. Quickly he moved on to a red scaled komodo dragon with black markings across the crimson, saw claws suitable only for digging. He passed a great yellow bird with a beak the size of a sword, who rose as it saw him and sent sparks of lightning crashing off the force shield that cast its cage into a bubble. He recoiled involuntarily, took a few seconds to regain composure.

  “That one made it as far as Canterage,” she said, by his side suddenly. “It took a lot to bring it back. The nekeriti. Of course, it wasn’t the most troublesome escapee.”

  “No?”

  “You want to meet that one? It’s funny really. This one hid in a cave atop a mountain in Serran. We had to use full strength ion blasts to bring him down. Funny coincidence as it happens, it was also where we acquired that girl.”

  “The one unconscious upstairs?”

  She shook her head. “The dead one. The one who jumped.”

  Again, he didn’t bother to impress upon her his theory, just followed her. She stood as if not particularly impressed by what sat inside. Wim on the other hand felt a great surge of pity as he saw the creature, a bipedal feline covered with thin tawny covered fur cut so short it almost looked shorn. In places, black whorls had been cut into the skin, giving it a mutilated look. It looked, he thought, pitiful.

  I do not require your pity.

  The voice took him by surprise he had to admit as the eyes rose and met his. The feline face with its stubby ears and saucer sized eyes took upon a sinister look. He heard her laugh as she saw his reaction. The words weren’t words as such, more like a booming echo of thought forcing its way through his head. It demanded attention, almost impossible to ignore.

  “The trewma does that. Psychic ability is not easy to create in a living being. And the results are often unstable. We need to keep them at manageable levels to avoid him… Yes, I think of him as a him… overcoming this entire facility. Drugs, the cage is laced with dampening fields, all come into play. He wasn’t anywhere near as eloquent until after he came back.”

  “Well I do have to say you seem to have done a good job at sinning against nature,” Wim said without emotion in his voice. “In a really twisted way, I admire what you’ve done here you know. You’ve seen what you had to work with and you thought fuck that. Well done. Not many people would take it this far. On another level, it fills me with sorrow. I fear that there will be no corner of this kingdom with which you can safely flee when all this is over. It’s going to end very badly for someone. That advice, I freely.”

  “You forget,” she said, her voice almost a hiss. “It isn’t going to be me. When the reckoning comes, I will be the new Divine-Queen of not just the five kingdoms but the entire world. I’m not as insular as most of these people here, I want it all. I will carve it up how I see fit and none who deserve it will escape my wrath. That includes you should you continue to make flippant remarks!”

  More and more, he was starting to consider reconsidering his decision to help her. He’d never consider himself in over his head, but it felt like the water had reached his shoulders, one more step and he’d be approaching trouble.

  He does not trust you.

  “Shut up you,” Wim said to the trewma. “This is between me and her.”

  She does not trust you either.

  Believe it or not, he already knew that. There was very little she could hide from him emotionally with the Kjarn at his side. The depths of her deranged secrets he’d rather not know, but here they were being forced down his throat. “That’s the sign of a mutually beneficial relationship. Knowing that the other isn’t to be trusted.” He gave the thing a grin.

  You are like the other one, aren’t you? The Kyra Sinclair?

  That name meant nothing to him. He shrugged. “You tell me.”

  She isn’t dead.

  He shrugged again. “If she is or she isn’t, not my issue. Nothing could have survived that fall.”

  Unless she didn’t fall far enough to die.

  That thought had occurred to him, Divines knew he’d tried to push it to the Mistress enough. This thing seemed to know him way too well, he shook his head at it, trying to dismiss the unease gnawing at him.

  I liked her. She was entertaining.

  “Wish I could say the same for you,” she sneered, taking Wim’s arm and moving him along past the cage. “He’s not altogether there, that one. Probably a mistake creating him. He’s not a weapon. He’s a bomb. Best we can do is wheel him into a location and hope he doesn’t cause too much collateral damage.” She sighed. “I wish we’d been able to recapture the last one though. Nobody knows where that ghost went.”

  “You created a ghost?”

  “That is correct. Good one too. Powerful. Unstable though, had too much personality. We didn’t get the chance to break it.”

  She did nothing but take credit.

  The thing’s voice took on just enough of a snide tone to make him smirk. He folded his arms and looked at it. Or a him, as his host insisted on referring. He could feel the presence in the cage, like a hurricane kept barely in check by gossamer threads. If it got free, he dreaded what might happen to the kingdoms.

  “I’m not like her,” he said, almost surprising himself with the words. “She’s different.”

  She is broken inside.

  “Honestly, I think everyone here might be,” Wim said softly. You, me, especially her… The last part he added silently. If the trewma was as telepathic as she made out, he’d hear it.

  Absolutely.

  He was sure the thing almost grinned at him as the words formed in his head, an eerily human look that made him want to scratch an insatiable itch on his body, his skin crawling. It had to be the room. Nothing existing in here was right, nothing natural, small wonder he felt sickened by it all.

  In the next room, he saw hangars full of warships all ready to be launched, more than he could count but hundreds of people buzzed around below working to get them ready. Some truly were people, some were clones, for he could feel the intermingling of their Kjarn auras. And beyond that, he saw a classroom, Harvey Rocastle stood at the fron
t, arm in a sling and his lips moving.

  “What’s happening there?” he asked curiously. “And shouldn’t Rocastle be resting up? He took a grievous wound.”

  “He’ll be missing his fingers permanently,” she said. “They can’t grow them back. Not quickly. And I need him. It was his own fault that he lost half his hand and guards died. It will be his fault if he falls behind on his task because of his own ineptitude. These are his Angels. Before the start of the Quin-C I despatched him to the island to have a look for the disenfranchised callers among the bunch, those who might be angry and desperate enough to strike back at a cruel world. Nothing like a bit of sport to get the blood fired up. And once they’re in, they’re ours.”

  Beyond the glass, a slender red-haired girl with heart shaped glasses was at the front of the class, not a stitch on her, not in uniform like the rest of the students. Her cheeks were flushed, and it looked like the others were laughing. Possibly at her expense if the embarrassment Wim got through the Kjarn was anything to go by. Poor girl, he tried to avoid studying her naked form, especially as Rocastle’s good hand flashed up, her body arching, mouth opening in silent screams as birch bit milky skin leaving a welt under its kiss.

  “He wants them to be every bit as sneaky and sadistic as him. Of course, there’s some indoctrination, just a little something to keep them leaning towards our point of view, can’t have them suddenly growing a conscience and giving the game away. In a way, it’s doing them a favour you say. That would be unfortunate if they had a change of heart and a horrible accident befell them. Because this is such a dangerous place.”

  “Why them?”

  “Well with spirits like those in there,” she said, inclining her head back towards the way they’d come. “They’re going to need a strong practiced hand to guide them. A spirit that can’t be controlled is no good to anyone.”

  And who keeps you in check? He had a strange feeling he knew the answer. Nobody. She’d burn across the five kingdoms like wildfire given the chance, unchecked and implacable, hungry for death and destruction.

  “I see.”

  “You’re not impressed, I see.” She sounded a little disappointed. That surprised him, like she’d been eager for his approval.

  “It’s not that I’m not impressed. I’m more worried. It seems you’ve thought about everything here, you’ve stockpiled resources beyond most. How the hells did you even manage to put all this together without someone working it out?”

  “Oh that?” She waved a hand dismissively. “That was easier than you’d think. Classic misdirection, you see. What did my company do all those years ago? All the materials were dug out of the Vazaran sands, we sucked half the country dry of metal and mineral. Of course, transporting it was going to be a problem.” She narrowed an eyebrow at him, his reaction apparently still not what she’d been expecting. “Unless…” He still didn’t bite and she tsked her tongue against her teeth. “Unless they’re already expecting you to be building something in Vazara. Something requiring a lot of material and transportation and manpower. You know, like a hotel resort to provide a tournament for example.”

  Her laughter brought a scrape to his nerves, he involuntarily winced. For laughter, there was nothing worse than it being devoid of joy. It was cruel, plain and simple, a relishing of her own genius. Worse, he’d examined it from all angles and realised the truth. She had plenty to be pleased about.

  That had been then, and this was now. Wim Carson had thought more about it in the days since and he’d found himself not only convinced that she could pull it off but that she would. The woman had a sense of sheer bloody minded will which meant she wasn’t going to let go of something until it was pried from her cold dead hand. Soon. He’d have to help her soon. Then he could return to his life, the one torn from him before his time and things could go back to normal. They could hide away in the Fangs and nobody would be any the wiser to his presence. They… He would need to rebuild. He needed to find Vedo. Not actual Vedo, they were mostly dead, but those with the potential he could shape. Mould in his own image, take the flaws of what had gone before and make them better. Learn from mistakes. There were possibly some of the old ones left, they’d be welcomed in if they submit to him. And by a happy coincidence, he knew where to find one. He’d seen her at that tournament not too long since. That was to be his next task. A trip back to the mainland.

  He looked at the cylinder in his hand and sighed. The moment of truth, it would appear. If it failed to work, perhaps it was an omen the path he was walking was the wrong one. He still hadn’t ruled out failing to help her. If he chose not to, it was very unlikely she could force him to. He hit the activation button, strangely unafraid it might blow up in his hand and take it away from him like that Sinclair girl had done to Rocastle. It was a little slow, maybe a fraction of a second off but the blade erupted into life, a blue blade with sickly yellow flecks through the centre of it.

  He was due to carry on then. He took several experimental swipes with it and felt old confidences returning to him. A neat downward swipe bisected the workbench down the middle with very little resistance. Both halves fell to the ground with a crash and he felt a small satisfaction he hadn’t experienced for a long time. All other distractions be damned, Wim Carson felt like things were looking up.

  Deep in the Eye of Claudia, something stirred, something broken and exhausted. Lost in the recesses of a Kjarn-induced healing trance, she didn’t know just how defenceless she would be if found. It was unlikely, but even a slim chance wouldn’t be any good if it went against her. Lacerations and cuts trailed up her arms and hands, her shoulder slowly knitting back into place where she’d hit one of the arches. As she’d fallen through the hole she’d managed to cut into the hull, she’d torn her leg on a jagged edge of metal, the floor beneath her slick with her own blood.

  Deep in her trance, Kyra Sinclair didn’t care. Couldn’t care. As far as those above were concerned, she was dead, and the time would yet come when her resurrection would truly prove them wrong.

  Revolution’s Fire.

  Chapter One. New Orders.

  “Divines save us from the politicians. They say religion has been the cause of every war for the last two hundred years. I always personally think that’s not entirely true. If there weren’t our leaders and their followers around to exacerbate the situation, I think we might have had a lot less bloodshed. Nobody should ever have to die because someone with more power than sense wanted a war.”

  Corbyn Jeremies, Canterage revolutionary politician and self-proclaimed pacifist.

  The eighteenth day of Summerpeak.

  “This is disturbing on quite a few levels.”

  Terrence Arnholt did sound unnerved by what he had in front of him and neither Nick Roper nor David Wilsin could blame him if they were honest. It felt good, Nick had to admit, to be back in the fold, albeit how temporary it might be. Several days after he’d been put on leave, he was back here now. This ramshackle hamlet put together to form the Unisco command post hadn’t changed, still had that sense of quaintness other parts of Carcaradis Island lacked. “Not just about Mazoud, about Leonard Nwakili as well…”

  “Once a spy, always a spy,” Brendan said dismissively. “I can’t see why this unsettles you so, Director. We both know what Nwakili is capable of. Whatever he needs to suit him, he does. That’s probably why he’s survived so long. He’s a sly animal.”

  “We should know. We train them that way.” Arnholt still sounded tired. As Nick looked closer, he saw dark rings around bloodshot eyes and the way his shoulders threatened to sag. “We just never expect them to live as long as he did.”

  “Nice to know there’s faith in us,” Wilsin said.

  “Hope for the best, expect the worst, Agent Wilsin,” Brendan said. “That’s always our plan when we send agents into the field. We know there’s a chance that you’ll never come back. You should know that as well. It’s drummed into you enough.”

  Now that was true, Nick tho
ught. Divines above knew it was true that they put it into you about how you were one mistake away from being a corpse. It was a make or break truth. Some couldn’t handle that pressure. In a way, he’d always wondered if it depended on how much the trainee wanted to live or not. Did Unisco find itself made up of those who secretly had a death wish? Or really, was it only filled with those who wanted nothing more than to live? An interesting conundrum, something he’d considered more than once, if only to understand himself a lot better. Who is better suited to the job, someone who isn’t afraid to die or someone who wants nothing more than to survive at all costs?

  “Nwakili isn’t the problem here,” he said aloud suddenly. “With Mazoud behaving strange, I’d say the Vazaran Suns are probably more of a threat.”

  “If you believe Nwakili isn’t a threat, then you’re sadly misinformed about the state of the world,” Brendan said.

  “I didn’t say that. I’d say right now that the Suns are more of an issue. That much firepower… Nwakili said he wouldn’t have a chance if they suddenly snapped tomorrow. They have one of the largest standing armies in the five kingdoms. Easily since the Senate made everyone else trim their own down. And I don’t know about you, that terrifies me, Field Chief. If they went rogue tomorrow, it’d be a very bad thing.”

  “Yes, well what you perhaps don’t realise about Nwakili is that he’s a master manipulator. He’s capable of holding a dozen strings and make them all dance to his tune. More than that, what makes him exceptionally dangerous is that even when you know he’s working you to do his bidding, you still can’t help yourself.”

  “Make no mistake,” Arnholt said. “I was Nwakili’s friend once. I knew him well. But I don’t trust him. Only an idiot would. You two…” He gestured to Nick and Wilsin. “What do you honestly think he’s inferring here? Letting us know about this now? Pointing the finger at Mazoud, telling us how dangerous he is, coinciding with my own failed negotiations with the man.” Neither of them replied and the director sighed. “Combined with his own inability to withstand an assault from the Suns and the repercussions if he made a move against them…”