The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Through his meditations, he heard her approach through the Kjarn long before the sound of the key in the lock and slowly he opened his eyes. This might need to be a swift job. With the door open, the soundproofing he’d thrown up around the room wouldn’t be as effective and she could still run. Could, but she wouldn’t. She surely knew he was here, and still she’d approached, unless she’d completely lost touch with her heritage. She was curious, and that curiosity would be rewarded tenfold. Yet as the door swept open, he found his hand dropping to his newly constructed kjarnblade for reassurance. He wasn’t expecting to need it. If he had to ignite it, then he had already failed his mission.

  In truth, Wim Carson had already arrived at the conclusion he was more likely to use it on Rocastle than on his prey. He smelled her before she entered the room, she saw them almost immediately, tensed up, only to enter regardless. Good, he hadn’t fancied chasing her through the hotel. Him, she recognised. To Rocastle, he registered a flicker of fear and surprise, of the unknown emanating from her.

  “I thought you were dead,” she said to him, her voice calm. Apparently, she hadn’t forgotten how to keep that level of poise. “I thought he killed you.”

  “Ascendant Arventino,” Wim said, his voice respectful. “I think you’ll find I am very much alive. And harder to kill than you might have been led to believe.”

  “Apparently so, Master Carson.”

  There it was. Not deference in her voice, that was too much to hope for, but an acknowledgement of the authority he’d once held. She kept his eyes as she bent down to remove her ridiculous heeled shoes, he nodded slowly and relaxed.

  “I see this is what you’ve been doing since the Fall,” he said. “You became a spirit caller.”

  “I was always a spirit caller at heart,” she said. “Training to use the Kjarn didn’t change that. So was my master.”

  “Your master was a lot of things,” Wim said coldly. He watched her remove her other shoe, shaking his head. “Not many of them good.”

  “He was a good teacher.”

  “As a Vedo, he was lacking. Dangerously unfocused on what he could have been. It was a mistake to give you to him. And now look at him. He abandoned you. The two of you could have done so much more. You lead the life of someone else not befitting to us, he hides away who knows where.”

  She said nothing, he felt a stab of anger filter through her. That had touched a nerve. Several maybe. “Neither of you are fit to bear the name.”

  “Master Baxter was a great man. He did…” She struggled with the words before getting them out. Idly he wondered if she believed them or if she was just paying lip service to someone she’d idolised. “He did what he thought was right. And that’s something not many of you ever did.”

  “Interesting you don’t count yourself among us,” Wim said.

  “He didn’t run,” Sharon Arventino insisted. “He had a plan, he was going to make it all better. If anyone could have…”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” Wim asked incredulously. “If he had this master plan to fix everything, where is he? How come he never came back for you? Why are you limiting yourself to being ordinary when you could be exceptional?”

  “Maybe some of us don’t want to be your kind of exceptional,” Sharon said. “My father, Alison Teserine… They pushed me into this. I never wanted it. But in a way, it made me, so I can’t complain. No changing the past, but my future is something I can do something about.”

  “Yes, I hear,” Wim said smoothly. “I hear congratulations are in order of your upcoming nuptials.”

  Rocastle let out a whistle of demented glee. Sharon ignored him. “Why are you here?” she asked instead. “Because the Vedo are gone, barring my master…”

  “And I!” Wim snarled, surprising himself with the venom in his voice. “If there are Vedo to hear the voice of the Kjarn, then their hope will never leave the world. I’m here to take you back.”

  She rolled her eyes, an expression of audacity that would have infuriated him then and infuriated him now. He wanted to strike out at her for her disrespect, held his temper.

  “I recently encountered a Cavanda apprentice,” he said. “That means there are more still out there. And only the Vedo can stand against them. I’ve seen it!” The words weren’t entirely true, but he believed them. He knew what those unchecked Kjarn wielders could do. “Without us, they will overrun the world.”

  “Then go to Master Baxter, find him and tell him.”

  “He’s not my master!” The venom returned to his voice. “He’s not fit for that mantle. Just because he survived doesn’t make him the head of the order. That right should be mine! He’s a pretender. He should be coming to me. As should you. I forgive your transgressions if you accept yourself as my apprentice and come back to the path you never should have been allowed to leave.”

  Sharon blinked. “Master Carson. As much as I hear what you’re saying…” She hesitated for a moment, he thought she might go for it. He’d given her an order after all. She’d stand with those that she belonged with. “I’m going to have to decline. That part of my life is long over. I’m not interested.”

  “You assume you have a choice!” White hot anger flared through him and he didn’t even try to restrain it. He revealed the hilt of his weapon, almost drew it. She did react to that, her eyes widening, and she threw out an arm, Wim grinning inside as he felt the Kjarn surge through her in a way denied to it for so long. It looked an effort, but the cylinder flew to her outstretched hand and he sighed as she thumbed the activation switch and the blade burst into life, a silver blade with flecks of gold and black running through it emerging. He could smell the acrid scent of white hot energy, the odour of disuse. How long since she’d last activated it? A while, if that smell was anything to go by.

  “Still works then?” he said dismissively. His own kjarnblade crept into his hand but he didn’t move towards igniting it. “Ascendant Arventino, I’m asking you to stand down. I do not want to fight you.”

  “And I don’t want to listen to you,” she said. She shot a sideways glance to Rocastle who made a hurt face and gripped his weapon tighter. She brought her blade up, shielding her body pointedly. “Or him. Both of you, leave! Now!”

  “I can’t do that,” Wim said sadly. “I need your help and…”

  “No!” She sounded furious as the words left her mouth. “I’ll never help you! I remember you, Wim Carson and I know what you’re capable of.”

  “You remember what? That I was friends with your teacher…”

  “You tried to murder him! And me.”

  That much was true, he had to admit. It wasn’t the entire story, but that fact was always going to condemn him in her eyes unless he could make her see sense. A lot of bad stuff had happened back then during the Fall and he couldn’t defend himself against the accusations. “I wasn’t myself. Nobody was that day. The madness had taken us all, bar you and your master. I don’t know why you two were spared…”

  “No, I wouldn’t expect you to,” she cut in with a sneer.

  “If I had been able to stop myself, I would have done so. But I’m better now. It took us all by surprise. But now my eyes are open, and I will conquer this. I will bring the Vedo back. You and I will be the first of the new…”

  “You can’t control this. I don’t know how you got your connection back but…” He took a step towards her and she raised her weapon. “Get back! I don’t care. You might be able to touch it again but you’re making the same mistakes as the old order did.”

  “The old order was perfect,” he said, trying to keep the control in his voice. “Cut off before its prime.”

  “You’re in denial,” Sharon said scornfully. “The old order deserved to die.”

  “You!” Something in him snapped and his words came out harsh and angry. His blade snapped on and he didn’t lower it, pointing it level at her throat. She didn’t move to knock it away, but he could tell in her eyes she wanted to. “You don’t know what
you’re talking about, stupid little girl! Just because you survived doesn’t give you a Divine-given right to comment on our ways. You or your deviant master.”

  “And why was he deviant? Because he chose not to follow blindly down paths trodden thousands of times before by you and yours? Because he was different? That made him the greatest of them all. Have you ever wondered why he and I were the only one unaffected by the Fall?”

  Wim had, but now wasn’t the time to debate it. She couldn’t know why. She wouldn’t. Didn’t. She was lying, trying to psych him out. “It won’t work!” he yelled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! How could you? What we did was magnificence, the work of the Divines and if Baxter survived it, then…”

  It felt like the pieces were falling into place. “Did Baxter get involved? Was he complicit in our destruction?!” Suddenly a great weight felt as if lifted from his shoulders, realisation dawning within him. “Were you?”

  “I wasn’t, Wim. Neither was he. It hurt him badly to have to dismantle it…”

  “But not enough to crush him! You’re both a disgrace!” Fury coursed through him now, as he’d never felt before and part of him knew it was wrong to feel like this, but he couldn’t stop it. All his reservations were pitiful against the anger bellowing in his being. “I came here to ask for your help but…”

  “I will not help you on your mad quest. Let things be. You can’t resuscitate the order. Not as it was.”

  “Ascendant Arventino,” Wim said through gritted teeth. “I do not, I repeat, do not…” He let the Kjarn burst go he’d been building up inside him, emphasising his words, the sheer power forcing her to take three steps back. She nearly lost her footing. Rocastle nearly fell back off his seat. “WANT YOUR OPINION!”

  As she righted herself, she glared at him. “I was so hoping you would do that.” And then she was on him, swinging her blade at him and that was that as his own blade came to block, the clash of light hurting his eyes as they met.

  “So much for never striking first,” she said. “You’ve forgotten that code you claimed to live by. Now who’s disgracing the order’s memory?”

  He didn’t reply, just blocked her next three strikes as she continued to shoot her dirty little mouth off. “No hate, no anger, just duty and the greater good. Sound familiar? It’s the opposite of…” She swung out again, a two-handed swipe at neck height that would have broken his head from his neck if it had connected. He didn’t recoil at the flare as blade met blade. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Next, she went low, and he slashed to block her from taking his legs away.

  Even amidst the anger, he found he truly didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted her to see sense, which had been the true purpose behind the harshness of his words. But if she wouldn’t see it, that only together would they be stronger, and she didn’t seem to understand. Or want to. He moved his blade in unison with hers, never pressing an advantage, just halting her attacks before they reached him. He was rusty. But so was she. They’d been suffering from the same malady in a way. The ability to touch the Kjarn in them had threatened to atrophy through underuse. Her movements were stiff, unfamiliar, but it looked like there was some sort of muscle memory remaining with her.

  Of course, her bastard master had ensured she was well drilled in that. Ruud Baxter, the disgrace of the Vedo, always chose a fight over another solution. Still their blades met, neither given as much room to move as they might have liked given the layout of the room. He swung at her, missed and cut a great scar down the middle of her, only barely blocking her counter attack as he pulled free. In retaliation, she sent a weak burst of Kjarn lightning towards him, the smell of static sulphur thick in the room. He caught it in his hand, felt his skin fizzle under the charge and he tossed it aside, blackening the wall with the blast. Once more she came at him and he brought his blade up to defend…

  Rocastle’s kinetic disperser boomed and suddenly her eyes widened as she was flung forward, he couldn’t have twisted to evade her even if he’d wanted to, reactions just too slow, he heard the gasp as his blade went through her body and out the other side. Nothing held up against the power of the Kjarn, it was what made the blades so formidable as weapons. As soon as he saw the look on her face, he felt the regret, deactivated his blade and she fell to the carpet, the back of her head a mess, her neck at an awkward angle. Wasn’t dead yet but…

  The wave of power hit him like a tsunami, almost hurling him from his feet and rendered him insensible, everything she was, everything she had been and what she could have become forcibly being expelled from the slowly dying shell that had once been her body.

  He’d felt it. Anyone with a single iota of Kjarn sensibility, within a hundred miles would have felt it. Anyone even who had a strong connection to her might even have felt it, such was the power he’d felt behind it. For several long moments he sat there slumped against the wall where he’d fallen, staring at the body. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. She was supposed to have listened to him. If she would have…

  “That was intense,” Rocastle said breezily. “Shame she had to twist. I could have…”

  What he could have done was lost in the moment as Wim rose to his feet angrily and flung out with the Kjarn, grabbing him by the throat and holding him upright in the air. He wanted so badly to kill the fat fuck, make him suffer like Sharon had. Nobody should die like this!

  “Why the hells did you do that?”

  With pressure on his windpipe, Rocastle couldn’t answer but still he managed to smirk as the force on his throat only grew. Killing him wouldn’t be the right solution. But right now, if there was a correct solution to the whole mess, Wim Carson didn’t know what it was.

  He felt like he didn’t know anything anymore.

  Chapter Five. Spiralling.

  “Once more, like an overindulged child, the more attention spins away from him, the more he clamours to pull it back to him. Ronald Ritellia will speak today about the latest tragedy to hit his grossly ill-thought out attempt at running a successful Quin-C in Vazara…”

  Kate Kinsella article ahead of Ritellia’s press conference.

  The twenty-fifth day of Summerpeak.

  In front of the media of the five kingdoms, Ronald Ritellia gripped the sides of his podium for reassurance, gnarled knuckles going white from the exertion. He didn’t look well, the colouring in his face faded and despite the best efforts of his makeup team, the fatigue made him look each of his seventy plus years of age. Thomas Jerome stood by his side, the Falcon with him but with the look of one ready to plunge the knife. In the crowd, he saw dearest Alana, the sole bright light in a dimming sea of sharks. Still he straightened himself up and adjusted his tie.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice dull and almost lifeless. The stories of how he had reacted upon hearing of another setback was already legend, rumours let slip by an onlooker seeking quick credits. Cynics had said he had wept for the increasing untenability of his own position rather than the lives lost. His most vociferous supporters had said his tears were ones of sorrow that such a tragic loss of life should have occurred under his watch. “Over the last few days, there have been plenty of debates not just about the future of this tournament but also my future as the head of the International Competitive Calling Committee. And today I have come before you to make an announcement that will greatly affect the way we view our sport.”

  He felt the collective assortment of press draw a breath of surprise as one. They thought they knew what was coming, could sense sudden hope he’d finally be out the door. That made him want to scoff. It made him want to curse each of them. How little they truly knew about real life.

  “What happened with Ms Arventino was a tragedy among tragedies. There have been fewer callers of her generation more loved and respected and a beautiful life was cut short. We can’t change that. Nothing will bring her back.” His voice took on a note of derision, losing its humility just for a moment. “My resignation will not bring her bac
k, nor will it change anything that has happened. Therefore, I do not offer it. It would be pandering symbolism of the lowest possible order and I will not give you the disrespect of doing it. Instead, what I will do is continue to embody the qualities that has made both this organisation and this sport the finest example of competition that the five kingdoms have ever known…”

  He tailed off, suddenly aware the mood had turned ugly. Some had started to mutter amongst themselves, the cameramen recording him looking like they were about to go into a frenzy. They might not have heard anything after his refusal to leave. He spoke louder, not quite shouting but determined to make his point.

  “We do not forget those we’ve lost. As of the culmination of this tournament’s final, the trophy will be renamed the Sharon Arventino trophy as a reminder of what it took to lift it. It will not be cancelled. To do so would be to allow these cowards who would slaughter an innocent woman to win and I refuse to do that. My administration in this office will not bow to glorified terrorism. I can assure you I have been in contact with Unisco and they’ve put their best people on the investigation. Somebody will be found. We will have justice.”

  Behind him, the Falcon crossed his arms with an exasperated look. “If we cannot have justice, then we have nothing. Our hearts and minds go out to those who she left behind.” He regretted asking it the moment the question left his lips. “Any questions?” He tried to ignore Kate Kinsella. He wasn’t about to dignify any poisonous bile that woman might spew with an answer. Instead he gestured to a clean cut Burykian gesturing impatiently for his attention.