The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Bish couldn’t move. Couldn’t teleport again so soon. That was a weakness he’d yet been able to address, though given he’d been able to achieve it in the first place was remarkable. It was a tricky skill, handy but sometimes unreliable.

  It was nearly over, about the best he could do was try to take the elephant down with him. He gave the command, Bish steadied himself, digging toe claws down into the ice and levelled the blade point first towards the oncoming elephant. Wilsin’s reactions had to be good, it was better to overestimate an opponent than the reverse, but by this point Chydarm was moving too swiftly across the ice to manoeuvre, sliding wildly out of control…

  A sickening sound filled the arena followed by a bellow of agony as blade went through bone and into brain, Chydarm’s momentum carrying it straight through Bish who was press-rolled underneath, bones crushed, the arm bearing the blade shattered as it tore free amidst a shower of gore. Bish was down, defeated, dead but Chydarm was struggling, rampaging blindly in its death throes and Nick felt no satisfaction. He brought the garj back to the container crystal, pondered his next move as the struggles became less and less frenzied, fatigue and blood loss finally catching up with the injuries. Ice shattered beneath the great furred frame as the elephant keeled over and the crowd sounded their approval.

  Empson came out at the same time as Wilsin unleashed his veek, Scales, if Nick remembered right. A twee name but surprisingly accurate. Normally he liked to save Empson for last. Right now, the penguin felt a good choice. Never make your tactics too predictable. If the opponent could make a reasonable guess as to what you would do, they could counter it. Tactics instigated beforehand were usually more effective than those concocted on the fly although it worked both ways. You couldn’t plan for every contingency and a plan made up as you went along might be more effective given circumstances. Scales was starting to stalk around in listless circles, Empson puffed up the feathers on his chest and tried to look self-important. It was a look the penguin could pull off with aplomb, casual disdainful arrogance.

  Then they were underway and the veek continued to prowl, Wilsin unwilling to make the first move so Nick made the decision to force it for him, Empson’s beak clacking open, launching water bullets towards the creature. Five, six, seven, eight blasts of water, each packed with enough concussive force to deal serious damage should they land. Scales lunged sideways, evading the attack with smug ease, claws snicking into the ice to halt its movement. From motion to motionless in half a second. The furred tail swept about lazily, Scales bared pointed fangs in a low growl. Neither of them was intimidated. It looked like Wilsin was hesitant to attack, a mirror of Nick’s stance in the previous match, a waiting game being played. Keeping a safe distance across the ice, Scales looked content enough, like the caller knew he’d be okay if he kept out of range. Either he was playing some game, or he really hadn’t considered the full implications of the opponent he was facing.

  There was a reason Nick had chosen Empson. Empson was a penguin. On an icy battlefield. About as close to home as you could get in a tropical clime. He grinned and Empson belly-flopped down, shot across the ice like a feathered blaster bolt. Taken by surprise, Scales sprang into the air, hoping to evade. On another day, in another bout, the veek might have succeeded. When their paths intersected, the beak opened again, water gushing out at point blank range. Suddenly the normally flightless penguin was propelled into the air, thrown skyward by the momentum. They were in close, Scales letting out a yowl of surprise as razor-sharp flippers rose to try and deal a deadly blow.

  Surprise turned to pain, a fresh streak of crimson hit the ice, gore staining Scales’ stomach. Both came down simultaneously and Scales was suddenly atop Empson, leaping in to bite and scratch the enemy spirit. The flippers rose to block but while they might be tougher than normal penguin flippers, their main modifications had been enhancements to the edges and tips, not to the wings themselves. Nick heard squawks of shock and pain and tried to avoid wincing. Instead he chose to counterattack, the beak viciously jabbing at the scale ball in front of him. Scales flipped back, evaded the poke but swiped out with a fortuitous blow that sent Empson recoiling, blood billowing from his face. Nick caught the faintest blowback of pain, he winced but urged Empson on and the penguin obliged, dancing across the ice. Talons dug through the frozen water and shredded wings flailed, injured but still capable of dealing a potent blow. Scales went back on the defensive, weaving out of range, always threatening to slip yet always retaining its footing. The once flawless sheen of ice was starting to look uglier by the second, pockmarked and shattered, glancing at it gave Nick an idea.

  The bloodied beak sprang open and another spray of brine erupted out, covering the frozen surface below Scales, some of it soaking the surprised veek. Wilsin looked surprised for a moment, not least because his spirit was apparently unharmed by the soaking it had received. All until it tried leaping back again and hit the ground gracelessly, any sort of momentum lost on the soaked ice. The crowd let out an ooh of derision and he saw Wilsin’s façade of calm crack briefly.

  “Cheap tricks?” he called across the field mildly.

  “Always.” At the same time, he urged Empson to press the advantage and the penguin leaped, flippers positioned to deal a penetrating blow should he land where Nick intended, right above Scales. If it was a penetrating one, it would also be fatal.

  It wasn’t. Just. The veek managed to roll aside, blade-like flippers cut deep into the ice and it took Empson a second to yank them free. But that was all Scales needed to leap onto the penguin’s back, biting the exposed neck.

  Nick smelled blood and suddenly the penguin went into a frenzy attempting to shake the veek off, only succeeding narrowly. Scales hit the ice, rolled a couple of times and then rose, fur caked in ice flakes. As Empson turned to the smaller opponent, Nick saw the mangled state of his spirit’s back, deep bites and blood and knew immediately he might be getting into trouble. Wilsin’s veek was a lot better trained than most seen in this competition and there’d been a few, it was his main battling spirit when on Unisco duty and had plenty of experience. That much blood loss couldn’t be sustained. The problem when fighting spirits with claws or fangs. When they went deep, the wounds couldn’t be staunched, and they’d continue to be a problem until their end.

  He had to win fast then. At least Scales hadn’t come out unscathed either. At least one cut had gone deep, the veek was moving more gingerly than at the start of the fight. One leg trembled when weight came down on it, an unseen injury Nick couldn’t remember dealing.

  Penguin and lizard-cat came at each other again, razor sharp claws and bladed flippers meeting mid-air, a deafening scrape ringing out as they clashed. Empson withdrew, a trio of deep grazes left across the metallic edge of his flipper before slashing backwards in an exaggerated bobbing motion. Had it landed, it might have cut Scales’ head in two, but the veek ducked and the blow went high above its head. Suddenly open, it went for the stomach but Empson was already ducking his head to meet it with his beak. A sudden screech and Scales’ face was covered in blood, a good chunk of skin missing. The veek shook its head, spraying claret everywhere. Empson rose proud and fired a series of water blasts from the beak, each hitting the target hard with deadly accuracy and just for a moment, Scales’ eyes went blank, unfocused. The veek tottered, legs almost giving way beneath it.

  Nick saw the opening and took it, once more Empson shot forward on his stomach across the ice, wings outstretched in front of him like spears and this time Scales couldn’t do anything to evade. Both blade-like flippers tore into the veek who let out an agonised roar, suddenly impaled hard. Empson rose back onto his talons, the enemy spirit still skewered, Nick urged his spirit to go for the kill. He could see the muscles in the penguin’s ruined back tensing as he slowly tried to pull his wings free. It took a lot of strength to pull a knife from a body, natural healing abilities of a living being meant wounds already tried to close around it. Still, the penguin was strong. Scale
s was in its death throes, he could see the veek struggling but to little avail, the flailing limbs losing their vigour little by little.

  One final wrenching motion and Empson tore his wings free, twin halves of the veek’s body falling apart with their release. There was a scream from the crowd, one solitary cry of shock amidst the stunned silence as the segments hit the ice and the blood-soaked penguin let out a squawk of triumph. Even the stadium announcer had gone silent, a void soon remedied although the shock remained in his voice at the brutality seen.

  “Okay… On that note, Roper takes that round. He must defeat one more spirit to triumph. I don’t know what it is with veek, you know, we’ve seen some defeated in absolutely brutal fashion in this tournament so far.”

  Wilsin’s last choice was a dragon.

  Nick was no stranger to dragons, this one lean and packed with muscle, the body covered with acid orange and soot black scales while its wings were the colour of musty green leather. Unlike most dragons he’d seen, it had six limbs, four for standing and two forearms, each leg culminating in six spike-like claws. The forearms did look more developed but still way short of human standards. The face was a blunt triangle, pointed jaws with beady little eyes. When the jaws opened, he saw an impressive array of fangs. Strangely enough, it lacked for a horn which some dragons bore.

  On the battlefield, Empson was panting, bleeding from various cuts across his body. Although it was hard to tell which blood was his, it didn’t take a genius to realise he was struggling from the efforts of the previous fight. Still, they would go until the end.

  “What, you didn’t know about this one?” Wilsin asked, hands in his pockets. He looked utterly relaxed, like a man who knew it was in the hands of the fates and had ceased to care about the pressure. “This is Aroon. He’s a special dragon.”

  He chose not to reply, just flexed his fingers out in front of him, felt the muscles stretch and contract. “Prove it then,” he eventually said.

  The buzzer went, giving them the signal to start and Wilsin smiled. “Okay. Let’s get this shit going then?”

  “What, you mean you weren’t already?”

  Even as Nick said it, the dragon was already moving, taking to the sky with a flare of the wings. This complicated things. Fighting an airborne opponent wasn’t easy with something left grounded, and for all Empson’s qualities, the penguin was still flightless.

  More water barrages tore out, cutting through the air where the dragon had been seconds ago, Aroon ducking beneath them. The dragon was agile, Nick had to give it that, but it was also a bloody big target to miss in the air. The water blasts stopped, Aroon didn’t and he gave the order for Empson to jump. From a standing start, it wasn’t a powerful jump but as the enemy flew overhead, it was enough for the tip of a razor-edged flipper to rake across the stomach. He heard the roar before Aroon reacted as Empson fell. The dragon seized the penguin, wrapped his forelegs around him to add his weight to Empson’s fall and the two smashed into the ice. Dragon claws tore at the penguin’s body, ripping through feathers and muscle with almost arrogant ease. As Empson struggled, suddenly on the verge of falling, the pointed jaws opened, and dragon fire erupted, engulfing the bird at point blank range.

  Nick’s face betrayed nothing as Empson fell, he only let out a sigh inwardly. That cut had been a costly one. It had been a calculated gambit that hadn’t paid off. On the other hand, to deal any sort of blow with a spirit in worsening condition wasn’t to be sniffed at. Could have been worse. And now, he could focus on the finish. Sudden death. Loser went out. He needed something special to beat Aroon. He brought back Empson, smirked thoughtfully and took up Carcer’s container crystal. It might not quite be fighting fire with fire, but it would be an even contest. Carcer could match Aroon in the air and take those fire attacks.

  He had a good feeling about this.

  “And this is it, folks, the final clash in this enjoyable bout between David Wilsin and Nicholas Roper. Neither of them has held back, both have put in every inch of cunning and power they have, and it’s come to this. Dragon versus draconic-looking lizard. Wilsin’s Aroon has felled Roper’s famous penguin and now it looks as if it’s the turn of the shark-lizard. Let’s get this on.”

  Carcer lunged, went for Aroon with claws outstretched, going into a dive under a stream of incoming flame. Nick felt the temperature rise around him from the blast, felt a wave of exhilaration flood him as Carcer hit Aroon in the sides, claws punching against dragon scale. The dragon let out a whoomphing sound, lashed out with fang-filled jaws to try and rip Carcer’s throat out. Both had serpent-like necks, Carcer lunged back to evade and hit the dragon with a uniblast at Nick’s mental command, the attack throwing sparks across scales as the black glowed orange under intense heat. Some of them melted, struggling to hold up under the force and the heat.

  Aroon responded with another stream of white hot fire, Carcer weaved away from the blast, unable to keep his own attack up under the threat. In a flash, Aroon was homing in on Carcer, would have been on him had Nick not given the order to kick it up a notch. Aroon might be larger, Carcer was faster. If it was an open-air battlefield, it might have been more of an advantage. Here in the Ice Hall, as large as it might be, it was negated. The Ice Hall was still as large as most mainland stadiums, small by the standards of the others on this island. He’d once fought atop a volcano with Carcer and that had been something to behold as the shark-lizard had used the sky to full advantage.

  As it was, it took a few moments to cross the battlefield, Carcer turned, flared his wings and let out a challenging shriek towards Aroon who bellowed back in response. He felt a simmering of dislike burning through him, surprising him. Spirits normally didn’t feel emotions like that, maybe dislike was the wrong term. But there was clearly some sort of pride thing going on here. Maybe Carcer saw the bigger dragon, the more majestic one as some sort of insult to his presence and was determined to put it down. Something we both have in common then, he mused. Who am I to hold you back?

  Carcer shot through the air, evaded the cumbersome snap from Aroon’s jaws, the dragon looking a little sheepish at being so easily embarrassed, before raking his own claws across the broad back. Go for the wings, Nick urged him. Knock Aroon out of the sky and it’d be a lot less dangerous. The dragon twisted out the way, swiped out its powerful tail and caught Carcer a glancing blow across the chest. Nick winced as Carcer screeched, temporarily halted by the blow before resuming flight, the scales across his chest bent and scuffed. There didn’t appear to be too much damage, certainly not debilitating.

  Then let’s carry on, Nick urged silently. Carcer hissed angrily, a sign of complicity and then shot into the air, almost to the roof and certainly to the extent of the protective field ensuring the audience weren’t in any danger. He saw Aroon’s eyes follow the lizard into the air, tracing the upward path before Carcer fell, only gaining acceleration as he tore through the air to smash into Aroon’s right wing. Powerful claws shredded leathery flesh and Aroon howled, entire body twisting around to grab at Carcer like it had with Empson. Only Carcer wasn’t there to be grabbed, claws clutched at empty air, suddenly the lizard was at Aroon’s throat, clawing and biting, the surprise not just from the spirit but from caller and crowd as well. Wilsin looked surprised the scales were holding under the assault, even if Nick wasn’t. It only made sense a beast as majestic as a dragon would have stronger protection in exposed areas.

  It was all entirely natural as well. Dragons were mystical creatures and like most in that category, were resistant to any sort of genetic modification. Something about them prevented it. Maybe some higher power had decided they were as close to evolutionary perfection as could be gotten and so couldn’t be changed. It wasn’t important right now. All that happened was Aroon didn’t even try to twist to attack, just pushed through the air on only half a wing-set and hit Carcer with a body check that looked like it hurt. The weight differences between the two suddenly became painfully obvious, it wasn’t a fatal
blow, but a stunning one. Carcer took a few seconds, head shaking as he sought to recover…

  It would never come as Aroon’s jaws snapped open and a stream of fire struck head on, the blast engulfing him completely. Suddenly Nick was worried. Carcer’s scales could stand up to high temperatures. The problem was, that fire was beyond hot. It was a beautiful shade of blue white, probably would have been more impressive had it not currently been swallowing up his spirit. Life fire… He’d heard of it. Never quite seen it employed like this. Nick gulped, urged Carcer to break free. Hoped. Prayed. As the fires died away, Carcer fell to the ice, Nick heard it melting with a disgusted hiss as the smouldering body landed hard. Within moments, Carcer was laid in a pool of steaming water, Aroon landing on the ice ahead with an intensely proud look.

  Ah…

  Just briefly, Carcer managed to raise his head an inch or two out the water, struggled to hold it before sinking again with a dejected splash. If the burns didn’t defeat him, drowning would. It was over. He saw the timer counting down on the video referee, allowing Carcer twenty seconds to get back up. Twenty seconds that lasted a lifetime. There wasn’t even any hint of resistance from the pool, the steam had died down; frost was already starting to settle on the water.

  Undoubtedly over. The buzz of the video referee only settled it and he let out a dejected sigh, fought the urge to kick at the ground in front of him. Instead he brought back Carcer, heard the applause from all four corners of the stadium and realised that it could have been worse. He’d done all right, not terrific, not as well as he’d hoped. But he’d competed. He’d made it this far. And with all that in mind, he couldn’t help smiling with relief it was over as he walked into the middle of the field and embraced David Wilsin.

  “Congratulations my friend,” he said, surprised to find he meant it as well. He gritted his teeth together. “If it was going to anyone who beat me…”