The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

“You sort of had it coming, Ronald,” she said, electing to ignore his elected title. “There are those who fail to appreciate constantly reaching for the sun is the best way to get burned.” She enjoyed that analogy, she had to admit. Maybe she was still thinking about watching him burn. “You intruded on a sensitive time, you poked the bear when he was hurting.” The look of outrage on his face at her words was priceless. How could a man with so much supposed power be so clueless as to the way he affected the world? “Do you see my point? What the hells did you actually think you were doing?”

  All the blood shot to his nose and suddenly she got the feeling she might have overstepped the mark. Of course, she found herself paralysed with not caring as to his reaction. They’d done all they needed to together, if he blew the whistle on what he knew about her now, he’d be going down himself. That would be anathema to him, would never give up willingly what he’d attained. It would be taken from him eventually.

  “You… You can’t speak to me like that!” He sounded insulted in his wheezing outrage and she hid her smirk. “I’m the president…”

  “Of the ICCC, I know. I’m aware of that. Stop acting like a spoiled bloody child then. Your need to be the centre of attention at every given moment has long threatened to ruin what little shred of dignity you have in the real world.” She smiled sweetly at him. Sweet but poisonous. “You really want me to tell you how it is, Ronald? I don’t think you do. You won’t want to hear it. Your precious ego might never recover.” Still she smiled through every word. And she’d thought this might be a boring conversation. “They despise you. They think you’re a joke of a president, someone who shouldn’t run a street cleaning business never mind one of the biggest organisations in the kingdoms. Most of them wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. Now, you might be able to deal with being hated, but not being taken seriously?” She laughed animatedly. “Oh, I imagine that’s the real kicker.”

  His lips had almost vanished into the slit of his mouth as he stared at her through heavily narrowed eyes and she folded her arms, leaned forward to stare him out. He blinked almost immediately. “You want to be taken a bit more seriously, start acting like you deserve it. The first thing you could do is not press charges against Nick Roper, admit you were in the wrong and apologise for ruining the funeral of that poor woman! If you want to keep your job, I’d do that.”

  Some of the bluster that had previously been lost returned to him in a flash. “Woman,” Ritellia said flatly. His choice of wording amused her. “If you feel that decision is in your own realm of personal power, you are flatly mistaken.”

  “For now, perhaps.” She put as much menace in her voice as possible, even Collison sat bolt upright in surprised. “If you wish to gamble on that in the long term, then do so. A fool’s gambit is named so for a reason. Think on what I’ve said. Is it really going to cost you anything to let something go and make a public apology?”

  She disconnected the call before he could say anything else, the disconnection tone being drawn out in the same mocking sound as her brother’s applause. “Damn, Claudia, way to put that guy in his place. That’s something I ain’t never going to forget.” Collison sounded impressed, a big grin on his face.

  “Ritellia is a parasite and he’ll be squashed like one someday soon,” she said furiously, finally letting her anger touch her. “Everything is falling into place, slowly but surely. My ascension is coming, soon I’ll break beyond the failures of the flesh and into the pages of history.” She noticed he was looking at her with something half-bordering on worry, half amusement.

  “Sounds good,” Collison said affably. “It’s important to have goals.”

  If he had any other thoughts on the matter, he didn’t voice them. Privately she was pleased. His lack of enthusiasm while unexpected wasn’t to be discouraged. He couldn’t depose her, plan to stab her in the back if he was apathetic about everything.

  She didn’t know how long Wim Carson had stood there before she eventually chose to acknowledge him. The man was like a spectre in the room, only the gentle rise of his chest and the flare of his nostrils showing any signs of life in him. His eyes remained closed, she turned her chair and cleared her throat. Still he didn’t respond until his eyelids slid open to meet her gaze.

  “Madam,” he said. “I believe it is nearly time for our journey to start. I will help you with what you require, I have the power and the knowledge.” He bowed his head low, glanced around the room. She’d almost felt like she lived in this office for the last several weeks, the one aboard the Eye of Claudia being an almost exact replica of her offices in the many Reims buildings around the five kingdoms, each built to the same design, awaiting her arrival. A bit of an affectation, an extravagant one she had to admit but she liked to know where things were.

  Of course, some things couldn’t be replicated. Not her most treasured possessions. She’d seen Carson eyeing them before but never with so much insouciance as he did now.

  “There are some puzzles yet to have their pieces fall into place,” Carson continued, moving towards her collection of artefacts. She couldn’t afford to leave them away from her for any length of time, the smaller ones anyway. It wouldn’t be practical to move the larger items around. The idea that some of them might get misplaced or damaged was just too painful to contemplate. “Have you ever heard of synchronicity, madam?”

  It was a random question; one she hadn’t been prepared to answer. Regardless she cleared her throat and gave him an answer. “The theory that everything in this life and any other is linked, that everything and everyone has a connection however trite?”

  “You are a learned woman,” Carson said, his voice lacking any sense of patronisation, which would have been easy for him. “One of many qualities, it would seem. But in some areas of knowledge, you are decidedly lacking. That link is the Kjarn.” He smiled gently and moved to her collection. “Without it, life cannot function as it does. It is the force which lets us command beasts to our will, it is the fuel for existence itself. Some believe that is what made the Divines what they became. What we cannot deny for sure, is that we all have a path before us. Everyone has a purpose; they just don’t know it.”

  “I see.” She wasn’t quite sure what else to say. The man unnerved her a little with his proto-philosophical musings and non-sequiturs

  “But, sometimes they do know. Some have the self-belief that what they do is the right course for their life, they move their ship off the vector their life should have taken. They forge something different. Will the new future affect the world around them? Invariably, yes. Such individuals are rare, most lack the force of will to do so. But those that do are famous.” He reached down, a sound of outraged died in her throat as she saw him touch her divine artefacts. “World changers. I see a lot of some of them in you, Madam Claudia.”

  Do you have a point with this? She found herself wondering, not quite daring to ask the question.

  “I sense your impatience,” he said. “And your surprise. My thoughts in this are that in the circumstances of these individuals, there are turning points in their lives, points that never they thought might be relevant and yet turned so important.” He picked one of the items up, the one that Domis had recovered months ago unless she was mistaken. The bronze tigress, the bust of Melarius.

  “Be careful with that,” she said.

  “Invariably,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The Kjarn makes its will clear to those who listen. If it is to happen, it will facilitate it. If not, well you haven’t heard of anyone otherwise.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how you acquired this piece, but it isn’t coincidence. Where I will take you is a door and like most doors there are two ways through it. I intended to force my way, but that is the ill-advised action. No telling what could go through or come back or even if it could be closed again. You don’t want uncertainty, I imagine.”

  With a sudden violent motion, he hurled the bronze tigress to the ground and before she could even make a
sound, lightning erupted out from the tips of his fingers just as he had employed against the interloper.

  A strangled cry died in her throat as she saw it strike the statue, saw the sparks dance across brown metal. All those credits and the time tracking it down had been wasted, she smelled burning metal harsh and acrid in her nostrils. She tried to move towards him, sudden irrational anger coursing through her at the casual destruction of her property but he held out his other arm and an invisible force gripped her tightly in place, too secure to move. She could only watch as the statue dissolved into a puddle of brown goop on her carpet…

  Except…

  Suddenly she could move again, watched as the small item hidden in the confines of the statue floated into the air between them, a jewel-like shape covered in melted remnants, molten slag dripping to the carpet below.

  “Or you could use the key,” Wim said simply. “Unnecessarily complicating things has never appealed to me.”

  Chapter Twelve. That Which Can and Can’t Be Faked.

  “And when Gilgarus and Melarius first copulated, they gave love to the world. Although they felt nothing for each other before, the product of their union brought it into existence. The first rays of love touched their hearts when their first child, Griselle, was birthed.”

  The first book of Gilgarus on the creation of love.

  The first day of Summerfall.

  His head ached and as he slid his eyes open, he knew immediately he’d gone too far the night before. A soft moan escaped Scott’s mouth as he rolled over to check the time, finding it a little past afternoon to be a touch distressing. His mouth tasted like sandpaper, he swallowed, found he had no saliva and let out another moan. Okay, the celebrations had been justified but at the same time, massively over the top. Some of the memories were already coming back to him, the drinking and the dancing among them. He shifted in bed and felt a stab of pain rush up his arm… Yeah, he’d fallen over at some point. Slipped! He didn’t fall. He was sure there’d been some Vazaran food at some point as well, if the gurgling in his stomach was anything to go by.

  He sat up, glanced around to see if Mia was okay. The bed by his side was empty, her clothes were gone… Had she come back? He couldn’t remember. Sudden rushes of fright passed through him, he racked his memories, hoped he hadn’t done something to upset her. Or insult her. Or both. Groaning, Scott let his head fall into the pillow. It’d been going so well too. His stomach churned, clamoured for his attention. Whatever the hells he’d ingested last night was disagreeing with him now. He supposed this was why they called it a comedown. The previous day, just wow… So good. Just so awesome, potentially up there with the chance to be the best day of his life and it may yet be topped. If he won, a big if. But more chance of it than four weeks ago.

  His life had changed since then, Scott reflected, where he’d been upon arrival and where he was now felt like the lives of two different people. It had been, he supposed, a massively successful tournament for him. He’d won plenty of bouts, just as many admirers, shipped off the potentially biggest most destructive distraction in his life (Jess would have loved to hear him describe her so), acquired a potent new spirit and then there was Mia. Scott looked in the mirror, found himself grinning like an idiot and quickly stopped. Life felt pretty good right now, he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not. Nothing lasted forever after all.

  Be good if it could. Even if he won in a few days’ time, what did it mean for his future? He harboured no illusions he really was one of the best in the five kingdoms. Part of him knew he’d had an exceptionally fortunate draw to get this far. He could already see the media calling him the most undeserving champion of all time, even if the upside would be that he was still a champion, deserving it or not. The champion of probably the biggest tournament ever seen, how he’d remain until someone took it off him at the next one. Nothing would ever tarnish the memories. He let out a bitter laugh, threw back the covers and rose, rubbing his belly to satisfy a troublesome itch and headed for the shower.

  Hot water scalded his skin, he gritted his teeth together and bore the thousands of tiny hot needles bouncing against him, raking his skin, his hair, burning all the ill feeling away. It wouldn’t be a perfect job but as he closed the water off and stepped out, he felt a little better. By the sink, he reached into the bag and popped an oral mint into his mouth, determined to wipe the taste of the purge from his mouth. That hadn’t been pleasant, the sickly bitter taste still permeating his taste buds. Several times he sucked vigorously and slowly the minty odour replaced the aftertaste of bile. That was when he heard the door open. He wasn’t worried. What was there to be worried about? Who else was it likely to be but Mia? And if she’d come back, he obviously hadn’t pissed her off.

  “Scott?!” She didn’t sound pissed off at least. “Where are you?”

  “Shower!” he yelled back. “Out in a minute.” He finished towelling himself, kicked the towel around the floor to mop up excess water puddled around his feet and then stepped out of the bathroom. She wasn’t alone. Of course, she wasn’t. Pete was with her and suddenly Scott found himself wishing he’d wrapped the towel around his waist. Two pairs of eyes glanced over at him, he caught the roll of Pete’s eyes, caught Mia’s smirk and suddenly he wanted the floor to open and swallow him.

  “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” he asked, more out of hope than expectation.

  Pete laughed, just for a moment, he sounded like the old Pete once again. “It’s not one of those dreams where we have a threesome, Scott.”

  Mia reached over and punched him on the arm. Still he laughed as he rubbed the sore area. “Oww, seriously? You got one hells of a right hook on you there, love.”

  “Don’t love me,” she said. “Not funny Pete.”

  Scott took that opportunity to nip back into the bathroom, wrap a towel around himself and slip back out, an uneasy grin plastered across his face. He could smell food, saw the bag from Willie’s next to Mia on the bed. And fruit coffee. “My patent hangover cure,” Mia said, holding a cup out. It smelled like roast strawberries. “Since someone got a bit too OTT last night.”

  “Was a good night though, right?” Scott asked hopefully. The fruit coffee did smell good, he had to admit. “Right?”

  “I’m not going to forget you climbing onto that bar and dancing to Queen RaRa,” Pete said, his smirk growing. “That was hands down one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.” He paused for a few seconds, his face wrapped up in concentration as if he were trying to remember something. “By the way, you can’t ever go back to the King Ichehano ever again. Management asked me to relay that message to you.”

  Scott frowned his brow trying to remember the club in question. He vaguely remembered the bar dancing, felt the colour flood into his face at the memory. And now he thought harder, he could sort of remember a pair of doormen trying to throw him out. They’d been successful as well, unless he was mistaken. Maybe that was why his arm hurt. “Yeah that wasn’t my finest moment,” Scott said, glancing sideways at Mia. Still his fruit coffee remained untouched. Gingerly he broke the lid and took a small sip. It was bitterer than he’d expected but filled him with a scouring warmth he found unexpected. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.” Pete opened his mouth as if there were something else he wanted to say but thought better about it and clammed up. Instead he shot Scott a grin.

  “You seem in a better mood,” Scott remarked. He took another draw from the coffee cup, sucked air through his teeth as he swallowed. “Less mopey.”

  “Want a Willie’s sandwich?” Mia asked. “I brought some.” She held the bag up. It didn’t take too long to consider it, Scott took it and shot her a grin. He caught the smell of fried bacon down from the still-warm package and upgraded his grin to a hug.

  “Someone’s affectionate this morning,” she said. “Or this afternoon, whatever.”

  “Ouch,” Scott said struggling with the packet. He glanced out through the cracks in the curtains, saw the blaze of the sun peeking
through and winced. “I really sleep through to the afternoon?”

  “Yeah, you looked so adorable asleep,” Mia laughed. “Thought I’d let you. Don’t expect breakfast in bed every morning.”

  “I’ll probably have to get you it at some point now, huh?” Scott grinned. Pete jammed his hands into his pockets and let out a long uncomfortable whistle.

  “Well I wouldn’t say no,” Mia smiled, Scott finally wrestling the sandwich out of the pack and he took a few great bites out of it, feeling grease run down his chin and warmth rush through his body. It had been smothered in Willie’s Warm Sauce, a condiment a lot better than the name made it sound. “Just enjoy it, yeah?”

  “I wanted to run a joke on you,” Pete said sourly. “Tell you that the final started in fifteen minutes, see how long it took you to realise…”

  “But I told him it wouldn’t be funny,” Mia finished. “You’re welcome.”

  “Wouldn’t have believed you anyway,” Scott said, glancing at Pete. “I’m not that slow and I’d have known you were lying.”

  “You can do that? I don’t think so.” Pete smirked at him. “And besides, I think you might have if you were half asleep and hungover.”

  “Well, you’re back to normal then I see. Crap practical jokes and sarcastic smirks.”

  “Remember that time I swapped your shampoo for hair removal cream?” Pete asked with a grin. “That wasn’t so crap, was it?”

  “Yeah, it was terrible. You didn’t have to wear a hat for three months while it grew back.” Scott furrowed his brow, breaking into a smile. “And that did backfire on you, remember? Because Je… Someone else also used that shampoo and they weren’t impressed.” It was his turn to break out laughing at the look on Pete’s face.

  “Oh yeah…”

  “Wait, what happened?” Mia asked, a bemused look on her face.

  “Well,” Scott said. “You’re a spirit dancer, right? You remember about a year ago when Jess… Yeah, my ex-girlfriend, don’t make a big thing about it… Remember when she was spirit dancing in a headscarf for several months?”