The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Nick pricked up his ears, considered the figure. She didn’t look like much. Certainly not the richest woman in the five kingdoms. She looked like she should have been organising her grandchild’s first birthday, something like that. There was something familiar in the way she held herself, he couldn’t quite place it right now though he was sure he’d seen her before somewhere. That would irritate him now until he worked it out, he knew.

  “Throughout my life, I’ve had two loves, one of them my family, the other being Vazara. I first came here a little girl, I saw the amazing indigenous wildlife wandering the plains and I was awed. I wept because I’d never seen anything so beautiful. This place has a lot of negative press but no worse than anywhere else. Somebody gets shot in Vazara, it’s a big story. Same thing happens twice as often in Premesoir, nobody bats an eyelid. You know what, I want to give something back to a country that’s given me a lot of good memories over the years. I want to give it an honour many would shy away from.”

  Her voice rose several octaves before she took a drink of water and licked her lips. “I want to be the one to see the first ever Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup come here. I have a location in mind, I have a development plan and I intend to use local resources to create jobs and make this a reality. Together, we can make an idle impossibility a reality. This is very much in my plans, if it fails then I have failed…”

  “Strong stuff,” Okocha said as the video finished playing. “And of course, she succeeded. Nobody saw it coming. After discussions with Ritellia and Nwakili, Carcaradis Island was awarded the tournament.”

  “Why this island?” Leclerc wondered. “You have an answer to that? Because nobody else seems to.”

  “I did wonder myself,” Okocha replied. “Best I can work out is some sort of compromise from the ICCC and the Senate about security. They were leery as hells about having it on the mainland. This was a happy medium. I’m not happy Coppinger and Nwakili bent to Ritellia on that but hey, still here so… Sorry, I digress.” He moved another image to the centre, a shot of an untamed jungle from the air. “This was Carcaradis Island before it all started. Looks different now, huh? She was as good as her word; she saw that thousands of Vazaran workers were shipped out here to clear it all away…”

  “This before or after the natives all got wiped out?” Nick asked, the question bringing silence to the room. He wasn’t about to forget that, even if Okocha hadn’t brought it up yet. He remembered that night in the sewers all too well. The key word there might have been ‘Yet’ but given the way Arnholt had danced around releasing the information to the media, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been omitted deliberately from the brief.

  “That came later. Apparently, nobody realised they were here until the workers started dying,” Okocha said. “I found correspondence, some of it official and well, it looks like Reims might have brought the Vazaran Suns in to pacify the natives.”

  “Huh, Mazoud again,” Wilsin said in Nick’s ear. “What are the chances? It proves there’s a connection between Coppinger and Mazoud.”

  “It took them a while, it took a lot of the Suns to do it and possibly the reason that Nwakili was able to bring them under control,” Okocha said. “Because there were that many out here protecting the workers while they did their jobs, it left them underpowered on the mainland. Eventually they got rid of the natives and the island was built up from scratch.”

  “Remember those scare stories?” Derenko asked. “How they didn’t think it’d be ready for the start of the tournament? I can see why when you look at it like this.”

  “Never underestimate the power of credits and an eager Vazaran workforce,” Okocha said. “You’d be amazed what those two things can accomplish. Before long, all the materials were being shipped in to create the resort and the stadia from the ground up. Thousands became tens of thousands of workers…”

  “Resources!” Pree yelled, before adjusting herself. “Sorry. When she said resources, where did all this material come from to build it? I mean, you’re talking hundreds of tons of concrete and metal here? Maybe more. I mean, it’s not a number than you can easily lay your hands on.”

  “Not a bad question, Agent Khan,” Okocha said. “I’ll check into that. I mean, I don’t remember seeing too much mentioned, maybe I’ll find answers. You see anything, Agent Perrit?”

  Perrit shook her head. “No. Nothing. I did see credit payments to Local Vazara Haulage, Echedjile…” She cleared her throat. “Sorry, it’s a tough word to pronounce that. Echedjile Excavations and Tom Harper Drills.”

  “Doesn’t sound local, that last one,” Derenko remarked. Nobody laughed. “Suggestive, I think. Are there any good drill places in Vazara?”

  “Yeah but they’re expensive,” Okocha said. “I think. And good by Vazaran standards is still inferior to other kingdoms top standards. I’ll try and talk to the companies, see if we can find out what they got. They should have it on record.”

  “Amount of credits that went into them, they should remember it off by heart,” Perrit said dryly. “Unless they’ve been paid to forget.”

  “We all seem to be operating under the assumption Reims has done something wrong here,” Noorland said suddenly, slurping down some of his ricefee. The smell of soy and rice filled the room as the film across the top of the liquid was broken. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? What happened to a little objectivity?”

  “It doesn’t look good, Al,” Wilsin said. “There’s something going on here. We’re just missing a piece of the puzzle. Something we’re not quite seeing.”

  “That’s not assuming guilt. That’s trying to work out what’s going on,” Lysa said, not entirely gently. “Remember? That’s what we’re supposed to do.”

  “When you’re quite finished,” Brendan said sourly. He nodded at Okocha who cleared his throat and folded his arms, not quite in a huff yet, but close.

  “Right so, basically built the island up from scratch from the drainage to the buildings in six or so years…”

  “Wait a second!” Nick said. “So that chamber we found in the drains, the one with the Kalqus statue. If they built around it, they should have known it was there. More to the point, why the hells would the workers build around it. Divine of water in a country that has a lot of desert. Seems like they’d be bowing to it right there and then while offering supplication.”

  “Maybe they’d built around it, so it’d be left alone,” Aldiss said. “Possibly. They wouldn’t want people to come and disturb the Divine.”

  “Which is just supposition,” Fagan remarked. “From both of you.”

  “Shame there’s nobody we can ask,” Pree Khan said. “Reckon there’s any workers still out there who’d tell us?”

  “Might be hard to track them down,” Okocha said. “But I’ll dig into it, see what I can find. Or maybe there’s some of the Suns who were there who’ll talk to us. Probably harder to get rid of a group of comrades armed with powerful weaponry than it is a bunch of unarmed workers.”

  “Harder but not impossible,” Arnholt mused. “There was a rumour of a V.S commandant who did break free of the organisation a few months ago. Maybe he’s still out there. Think his name was…”

  “Joseph Itandje,” Brendan offered. “I remember it. If they did catch up with him, they probably wouldn’t advertise it. Probably just one more corpse in the street nobody wants to identify.”

  “Will, you’re better than anyone the Vazaran Suns have,” Arnholt said. “See if you can track him down. Double priority.”

  “Gotcha. So, they absolutely work like the forges of Ferros to get it all together, taking the natives of the island hostage while they do apparently and slaughtering them daily over an altar. And then when the tournament starts, you have monsoons linked with the very chamber Agent Roper just mentioned, a vanished doctor who was paid by Reims, three genetically identical soldiers guarding said doctor. We have attempted kidnapping of the director’s daughter, also by so
meone who worked for Reims in some capacity.”

  He wrinkled his nose at the odour from Noorland’s drink. “We have dead Sun soldiers wiped out by Agents Roper and Wilsin, the same group later took out a Unisco flight squadron to get back the same kidnapping lunatic associated with Reims and might have enough credits to pay them to do the same again. We have terrorism and murders, neither of which can be linked to Reims, but just because we haven’t found a connection doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist,” Okocha said, pausing to draw a grateful gasp of breath as he ceased speaking. “As you can see, Agent Noorland, this isn’t supposition. This isn’t just taking shots at Reims. There is something happening here.”

  “You know, that might be the understatement of the year,” Noorland said, rubbing his chin, before putting his mug down. “We best get working on tracking down Itandje then. If it’s important. See what he knows.”

  “I want a team ready to go retrieve him if he’s confirmed alive,” Arnholt said. “He was senior enough to know what was going on back then, even if he wasn’t involved directly. Perrit, keep up the work and follow up on those companies, I want it found out what business they did with Reims, I want numbers and I want details. If one piece of information is out of place, sit on them until they tell us the truth. The rest of you…”

  He looked around the room. “Fagan, I want you and Leclerc ready to get out there the second Okocha makes a location for Itandje. Aldiss, you and Derenko run backup for them. Anything you need, take. The rest of you, keep an eye out. Anything trivial, anything out of the ordinary, make a log of it. There’s something going on here might slowly be appearing to be our motto for this mission, but it doesn’t make things anything less true. If there is a bigger plan, then something else will happen and I want to be prepared. We’ve been too reactive here, I want more proactivity. The best way to foil an attack is to make sure it doesn’t happen in the first place. Even if there isn’t something going ahead, a little extra vigilance won’t hurt. Remember, the safety of everyone here on this island is on you. On us. If we fail, then they will fall. It will be our fault and I for one do not want to live with that. Can you?”

  The question was met with silence and contemplation, just the reaction he’d been expecting. Nobody made to move, nobody went to leave. He let them, allowing the words to sink in before nodding his head at them. “You’re all fine agents. I’m honoured to have you working under me here. If anyone can figure out what’s going on, if anyone can stop it, it’s you. On other matters, good luck to Agents Roper and Wilsin. May the best man win.”

  The twenty second day of Summerpeak.

  May the best man win…

  Those words still echoed through Nick’s head as he stared across the icy battlefield towards David Wilsin stood looking ultra-confident on the other side, arms folded, and summoner nestled on the crook of his elbow. The crowd were getting riled up and the announcer was doing his absolute best to whip them into a frenzy. He felt confident himself. He had a plan and he intended to stick to it.

  The video referee buzzed to start, and he shot Wilsin a cool grin. “Shall we start then?”

  Chapter Two. Friends and Foes.

  “No rivalry is uglier than that between those who call themselves friends.”

  Former spirit caller, James Carter.

  The twenty-second day of Summerpeak.

  Three each. Pretty standard. Nick grinned, sent in his first choice of Bish, the garj for the first time since that ill-fated bout with Scott Taylor. His one black spot in the tournament so far. Redemption would come. It was the garj’s time to renew the faith Nick felt he’d shown in him. His grin grew as Bish saluted with a bladed appendage, raising limb to forehead in a graceful sweep before turning to face Wilsin.

  Neither of them showed any reaction as Wilsin brought his spirit into play, a golden-furred elephant with three tusks and a powerful trunk. Nick counted four cavernous nostrils at the tip, hot breath exploding from them periodically. The size difference immediately worried him, Bish was slender and graceful, the rapier while the elephant, Chydarm, was a tank, power and durability. This might be interesting, he thought, studying the enemy spirit with cool disinterest. He folded his arms, observed as it took one trundling step forward and peered at Bish through small dull eyes.

  The starting sound rang out with shrill familiarity and he cracked his knuckles. Wilsin reacted first, the elephant lunging on the attack with deceptive quickness, four huge feet pounding into the ground. He was surprised the spirit didn’t slip on the ice, but he couldn’t let bemusement nullify him. He gave his commands and Bish vanished, a faint shimmering around his body before reappearing across the arena, suddenly between spirit and caller. Nick hadn’t expected it to fool his opponent, not even for a moment, the elephant spinning surprisingly gracefully for one so large, twisting on the spot before unleashing a uniblast in the direction of Bish.

  It was what he’d have done in the same situation. In graceful motion, Bish sprang out the way of the blast and retaliated with an attack of his own, sending a trio of rainbow coloured balls of energy towards Chydarm. All three landed, smashing into the broad face, flattening across the skin. In seconds, they’d moved to crawl across the eyes, seeking the dull watery pools.

  The attack had been good, one he was proud to have developed. The energy had been telekinetic in nature, controlled by the power of Bish’s mind and still moving despite impact. Ever since that failure against Scott Taylor, he’d decided to work with some of his lesser spirits and he’d trained plenty with Sharon, Wade and Lysa to make that happen. It wasn’t the first time he’d faced an opponent like this with Bish. Strength didn’t trump style every time, but it made things interesting.

  With a crash, Chydarm’s trunk thrust into the ice, breaking through with a deafening clang, Nick fought the urge to wince, suddenly curious as to Wilsin’s plan Still the energy fought its way across rough fur, desperate to get into eyes, to scour and scrape, to blind the giant foe. He could see movement in the giant proboscis, tensing and quivering beneath the ice. Nick watched, curious, before the trunk erupted as rapidly as it had entered, water and ice slathered down Chydarm’s face. Nick barely had chance to react before the last of it was shot towards Bish. The garj teleported again, vanishing before the makeshift quad of icicle spears could land fatal blows. He felt a second of relief, saw Bish reappear behind Chydarm, blades raised just as he’d commanded.

  The elephant wasn’t fooled, brutally kicked out with a back foot the same moment the blades came down and Nick winced as he heard something snap, the huge foot meeting Bish’s body in less than gentle fashion. Simultaneously, Chydarm let out a great bellow of pain, blood suddenly staining both the ice and Bish’s blades. Still the garj moved, staggering back as Chydarm rounded on him, suddenly on the offensive as the tusks rose to try and impale its opponent. Blades came to block them, batting them aside but he could see his spirit wasn’t moving easily. The movements were laboured, sluggish. The determination was there, he could feel it feeding back to him and he urged Bish on. He’d taken a blow, but he wasn’t down and out. To give up now would be to fail. The garj were a proud species, they didn’t do well with failure. and he grinned as he felt a spark of defiance flood the spirit.

  The next exchange saw blade meet tusk, both blades holding the giant spike at bay before retaliating with scissoring pressure. He doubted they’d be able to cut through the ivory, those blades were meant for rapid-fast slashes, leaving bloody gashes rather than sawing through tough bone, but they’d keep it off balance. Now he could see a look of frenzied determination on Chydarm’s face as the elephant tried to bring its greater strength into play. He saw Bish’s feet slide on the ice, traction slowly lost as Chydarm jerked its head.

  Bit by bit, it was gaining an advantage, he knew that wouldn’t suit Bish if they went toe to toe. The garj wouldn’t survive a punching match Hitting and running wasn’t an especially viable option either, not with that wound. He could feel the backlash of pain, fire
from a broken rib or twenty. Not fatal but debilitating. The garj was fighting on though, determined not to falter. Nick wondered how long determination would conquer pain. It was a battle that couldn’t be drawn out. On the other hand, Chydarm wasn’t moving easily either. Blood stained golden fur where Bish had thrown a slash into the rear leg. The cut was deep, maybe severing a tendon or a hamstring. A couple more, it wouldn’t be able to move at all.

  The uniblast nearly caught him by surprise. As tactics went, it was a risky one at close range but usually an effective one if the wielder was strong enough to survive the backlash. Uniblasts generated a lot of light and heat, combined into an incredible destructive force, at close range they were as dangerous to the attacker as the target. He saw the mouth open, Wilsin throwing caution to the wind and he gave the teleportation order. Bish vanished, not quickly enough as the smell of scorched flesh permeated the arena, Nick wrinkled his nose as he caught it, didn’t know whom it had originated from, but it couldn’t be good.

  Ahead of him, Bish reappeared in a flash. His worst fears were confirmed, the garj was wobbling on unsteady long legs, flesh blackened and burned, one blade corroded to half size. He grimaced as he saw his spirit totter for a moment, almost slipping. By the looks of it, Wilsin could smell blood. Chydarm bore blisters about the mouth and face but they were little more than superficial, and Nick had a horrible feeling the charge was coming. He wasn’t wrong, the elephant dropped its head and broke into a lumbering run, ice shattering beneath it. Within seconds, it was sliding, building momentum while gliding across the frozen surface like the kingdoms biggest figure skater.