The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  He must have seen the twitch in his finger, the brazen amount of self-restraint because the fat fuck kept on laughing. “I don’t care about that,” he said stiffly.

  “Sure, you do. You wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Rocastle giggled. “It’s personal. Just like between me…” He jabbed a porky finger into his own chest, one of his good ones Nick noticed. Not the fake ones, he wondered what the story was behind that. One of them fake ones screwed into Mia’s cheek, making her squirm. “And this bitch.”

  “Seriously what the hells did she do to you?!” Scott yelled. Nick grimaced. Shut the hells up, keep out of this. Don’t antagonise him!

  Rocastle only laughed. “Private, private. I’d have thought she’d have told you. Guess the budding relationship still has its secrets. You’ll never ever get to know…”

  Nick cast a glance over to the troll, realised those options sucked. It’d take a high-powered shot to get through its thick skull, more than a single X7 blast. Plus, their brains were naturally quite small, hard to guarantee a hit even if he could punch through with a lucky shot. He doubted it’d stand motionless and let him shoot it in the head without some sort of reaction. His side was starting to burn, his legs aching from the run. If he was going to do something, he needed to do it now. “So, who cut your hand up then?” he asked. “That looks like it hurt.”

  No response. Rocastle narrowed his eyes at him for a moment. “More than you can imagine.”

  “No. I really doubt that,” Nick said, his voice quiet. Thanks to you, I’m no stranger to anguish and pain. Maybe he should just do it. Put him down and to hells with Arnholt’s daughter. But then he could imagine the director’s face if he lived through his own injuries, not a guarantee itself. He’d be devastated. There’d already been too much of that.

  Although, there might be another way.

  When a spirit’s owner was killed in battle, the first thing an enraged spirit did was revenge itself upon all closest enemies. Having shared a consciousness with the deceased, it would be aware who that was. Cacalti would probably go through Mia, likely through Scott and even to Nick if he shot him. Nick had seen it before, he’d used it as a deterrent on more than one occasion. On the other hand, though…

  He lowered his weapon and smiled sweetly. The pain in his side was forgotten, he felt the adrenaline flood his system. He was going to enjoy this. “Let me introduce you to the encore,” he said. “You think you know pain? Not even close.”

  He moved, darted the short distance between them, saw the realisation in Rocastle’s eyes and almost walked into the first punch. Nick ducked beneath it, tackled him with full force and caught an instinctive knee in the gut for his trouble. He might have been fat but there was some muscle there as well, like hitting a side of beef. Pushing him back, he threw a fist of his own, caught him on the jaw and Rocastle howled with pain as something cracked. With murder in his eyes, the fat man came back, spat out a tooth and went on the offensive, slow deliberate punches that held power but lacked precision.

  Nick blocked the first two, spun and kicked him in his standing calf, buckling him to his knees. The momentum of his swing took him the rest of the way, suddenly down onto his belly and he had to roll out the way as Nick moved, trying to stamp on his spine. Suddenly the fat man was in motion, his legs sweeping Nick’s out from underneath him. Nick hit the dock with a grunt, bounced his head off it. Vision swimming, he caught a kick on his injured side and bellowed in pain. Giggling manically at the result of his blow, Rocastle brought his leg back again, winding powerfully up as if he were about to kick a football downfield. This time Nick managed to roll and catch it both handed, twisting his ankle hard and simultaneously kicking into the standing leg. He heard vicious twin snaps of breaking bones and Rocastle went down screaming, wasn’t getting back up. With his leg bent almost at a right angle, he tried to stand on one leg and failed miserably, Nick got to his feet and kicked out again, three, four, five times to the face, each of them a satisfying crunch and then rolled up into a standing position. He saw the pleading in the fat man’s eyes amidst blood and bruises before he put his foot on his throat and started to apply pressure. It didn’t take long for his face to change colour, Rocastle’s breathing coming out harder and harder, his hands beating weakly against Nick’s leg as he tried to get free and failed miserably.

  Come on… Come on…

  It was with a huge bellow the troll suddenly rose to its full height, tossed Mia aside and charged towards him, murder in its eyes. He’d had the desired effect.

  Gotcha!

  Nick barely had time to go for his summoner, didn’t register the splash in the ocean as he jumped off Rocastle and barely evaded the charging troll. Empson appeared, flexed his wings and suddenly the two spirits were at it, penguin versus troll. He did notice Scott charge past him though, straight into the ocean and he stiffened.

  Whoops!

  Not what he’d had planned. Couldn’t account for everything, but he’d partly succeeded. He’d gotten her away from this psycho at least. If she didn’t drown, it was a job well done.

  The salty water burned his eyes, threatened to stifle his lungs and made him want to retch but Scott tried to push it from his mind as he dove through the murky depths of the ocean. It couldn’t be that deep here, surely. She couldn’t have gone far…

  There. Drifting. Not moving on her own, just sinking and moving further away from him. He cursed mentally, kicked his legs and went after her. He wasn’t about to let her go. Not just yet. Not like this. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He needed to breathe, stupid, stupid, he hadn’t thought this through properly and they might both drown for it. The harder he pushed, the faster he’d run out of air… That didn’t deter him, he forced himself to go, reaching helplessly for her with his hand. Just… too… far away!

  She twitched, whether a current had caught her, or she was coming around for sure, or the Divines loved him, Scott couldn’t say. But as he felt her hand in his, he didn’t question it, pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arm around her body. Her eyes weren’t open, he kicked his legs and started the short climb back to the surface. With her dead weight… an unfortunate choice of term… it took twice the effort, his muscles aflame, the light spinning above his head, his lungs spasming out of control. When the first breath unconsciously escaped, he inhaled ocean water and began to splutter, almost lost his focus. Almost.

  Just a little higher…

  As he broke above the surface, he heard that shriek again, the same he’d heard at the stadium. Deep breath, he forced himself under again. He knew what it meant, and he didn’t want either of them to be a target. Scott forced his mouth to Mia’s, let some of his air into her Hopefully, it’d be enough.

  Nick couldn’t believe it, he snapped his blaster up and started to fire. Some of them landed but either the lizard-bird’s skin was too thick to be affected or he’d misjudged and missed. One of the two. He couldn’t let them get away. Not now. Empson had gone down from the shriek. Be interesting to know the properties behind that bit of power. And Claudia had swooped down on her mount, he’d gone for the weapon when he’d seen her creature scoop Rocastle by the legs up in its talons. In the distance, he could see aeroships incoming, just be a little faster and they could corner her here. It’d all be over.

  He emptied the power pack, must have hit something but to no avail. Claudia only smiled sweetly at him, the sort of sweetness that turns sugar to bile in the stomach. At least one shot had been on target, he could see the rip in her jacket where it had landed, yet she didn’t appear even slightly hurt by the blasts. “Oh, hard luck, Nicholas,” she said. “I’d deal with you right now, but time does press. Even for me. You’ll get your turn though. Don’t despair.” She waved playfully. “Farewell.”

  And they were gone, the spirit taking wing and accelerating off into the distance. By the time the aerofighters caught up, it’d be too late. Hells, even by the time he’d found Carcer’s container crystal, they were already nearly out of sigh
t.

  Nick swore in anger, dropped to the deck, the fatigue finally threatening to catch up with him, before he saw the two heads break the surface and he moved again, went to throw them a hover ring. They’d been an upgrade on the old life ring, they held a highly-concentrated burst of superheated oxygen intended to create a brief hovering effect, enough to get them out the ocean.

  As the two of them landed, Nick shut his eyes and grimaced. Judging by the state of Arnholt’s daughter, it didn’t look good. Scott crawled onto all fours, choking and retching but he’d be fine. He didn’t hesitate, went to apply mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She wasn’t moving, her skin freezing cold. Four breaths, thirty chest pumps.

  You’re not fucking dying today, you little bitch! Come on, you best fight this!

  Harder and harder Scott pumped, Nick only watched, not much more he could do for her. The technique was decent, most spirit callers did know rudimentary first aid techniques just in case the worst happened while they were out in the wild and he had a horrible feeling about the way this might end. Saltwater streamed down Scott’s face, his own breath coming out ragged as he continued to work away, almost as if he hoped he could bring her back by sheer force of will alone. His hands continued to work away, against her chest, his face contorted in determination. For a moment, his eyes shone blue, Nick wasn’t entirely sure he’d seen it and the younger caller let out a guttural bellow of something primal, as much frustration as anything else.

  As she coughed up salt water and gasped for breath, Nick found himself thinking maybe today wouldn’t be a total write-off after all. One small glimmer of hope out of a huge shit storm.

  Everyone saw it, the hoverjet circling the stadium. Whether they paid any attention to it or not was up for debate, it circled three times, streams of fire coming to greet it every time it strayed too close to the pillars. The fourth time, it went in close and didn’t pull out, the fires burning through the shields and the structure of the metal as it struck one of the pillars and exploded in a giant fireball, superheated gas and flame taking away most of the pillar with it. It wiped away the projector housed inside, immediately the doom dogs started to fizzle out and vanish as the other three projectors tried to pick up the slack, immediately pushed beyond their operating limits. Simultaneously, the debris falling into the stadium struck Cacaxis on the head, tonnes and tonnes of bricks, mortar and metal smashing down in great chunks, too many for the beast to ignore easily.

  That might have turned out to be the breaking point for it apparently decided enough was enough. Trapped between tonnes of falling rubble, it started to shrink down again, digging down into the dirt, retreating, out of sight and gone back to where it had come from. Soon the only remnant left behind was the great gaping hole amidst a once pristine battlefield.

  Around the stadium, those still inside stood silent for a moment, not entirely sure what had just happened. Those Coppinger gunmen who hadn’t been killed made a run for it, many of them quickly killed in short order. In a matter of moments, the battle was as over as rapidly as it had begun, it didn’t take long for comprehension to dawn and even amidst the sobering thoughts of what had just had happened, a few cheers broke out…

  Chapter Twenty-Six. The Prospects for Blood.

  “Carcaradis Chaos Once Again…”

  “Dozens of Dead in Stadium Massacre…”

  “Ritellia Murdered in Ritual Sacrifice…”

  “Unisco Promise Full Investigation…”

  “Final Bout Declared Official Draw…”

  “Coppinger Claims Island Attack Retaliation…”

  “ICCC to Face Possible Suspension Due to Tournament Horrors…”

  Media headlines following the Battle of Carcaradis.

  The twelfth day of Summerfall.

  Trying to avoid scratching at the bandage on his side, Nick stepped out into the afternoon sun, wearing his best black suit and did his utmost to fit in with the pervading aura of misery blanketing Carcaradis Island in the last days. It wasn’t hard. The day of mourning for all those that had perished during the attack was well underway. The island had been silent, grave-like even, all previous days of joy felt so very far away.

  They’d been burying the deceased throughout, everyone knew someone who’d fallen because of what Claudia Coppinger had done, he’d noticed the sense of disbelief permeating the place many times now. Maybe it hadn’t affected him as much because he’d known about her before. He was noticing it in some of his co-workers though, some really struggling with the depths she was willing to stoop to. Madness was always difficult to comprehend at first, he’d found. Derenko hadn’t been the same since what was now being dubbed the Battle of Carcaradis by the media, they did like their nicknames. The first shots fired in a war now holding a lot of speculation as to the causes and possible effects, with nobody having any sort of clear answer as to why. Political, social and religious commentators were suddenly finding themselves in high demand, speculating as to the ends, means and outcomes of what was now going to happen over the next few months, maybe even years.

  Nick supposed it was true really, wherever there was to be war and strife, then there would be someone making a quick credit off the back of it. Word had it, every major arms company across the five kingdoms was predicting major profits for the next several years at the prospects for blood. He knew a guy who worked for BRO, he’d told him that they were already commissioning a new assault rifle for the hard times to come. Still, it wasn’t time to think about that, not on a day like this. It felt like the rest of the world could wait until tomorrow. Today was a day to remember the past. He moved through the deserted streets, noted how different it was from the day they’d buried Sharon. Then, there had been people everywhere to pay their respects. Today, people had left the island as fast as possible, people were staying in their rooms in shock at what had happened, people wanted to be in their own little bubbles, suffer in their own solitary company. He couldn’t blame them, but he didn’t have that luxury.

  Honestly, he was amazed that more Unisco agents hadn’t been killed in the struggle, even if Arnholt and Leclerc were still in the hospital, the former not even having regained consciousness yet, Prideaux Khan had taken a flesh wound but had later been discharged after brief treatment. Fank Aldiss and Alvin Noorland were perhaps the two biggest losses, Tod Brumley had been treated for superficial burns, but they reckoned he’d recover the use of his arm in time. Beyond that, wounds had been not unlike his own, nothing that wouldn’t heal with time.

  Truth be told, he was still pissed at what had happened. He’d had Rocastle dead to rights, he’d blown it spectacularly. Someday soon, it was going to reflect badly on him. He somehow got the impression the director wouldn’t be too pissed at him for making the choice he had, but maybe he should be. If he told Nick that he’d made the right decision, wouldn’t that be him letting his personal judgement cloud the situation? Praise in circumstances like these felt hollow, pointless even. He didn’t need it, didn’t want it. Still he’d managed to defuse the situation okay. It had been a risk, getting that troll’s survival instinct to kick in by choking its caller until it needed to intervene, but it had worked. By the time Empson had defeated the troll, Claudia Coppinger had showed up, defeated Empson and survived being shot. He knew he’d hit her at least once, knew that she’d shrugged it off. All in all, not the best things to report back to his superiors. Although, but for her intervention, he would have succeeded. The whole thing had been a mess from start to finish.

  With Brendan King being nominally in charge of operations for the time being, it was an uncomfortable situation. He was loving his new circumstances; Nick could already see part of the Field Chief was hoping Arnholt couldn’t continue with his duties. There were already whispers the Senate were still considering Unisco reforms to deal with the crisis. It looked likely he’d pull through; the train of thought he likely wouldn’t be the same man. The injuries had been bad but considering what had happened to many others, he could be gratef
ul to be alive.

  He could see most of his fellow agents already in the cemetery as he entered, Brendan, Lysa, Brumley, Okocha, David Wilsin was finally out of the hospital, Wade and a tearful Derenko. He’d taken it hard, the loss of Aldiss. The two had been close for as long as Nick could remember, he’d never seen as close a friendship between two agents, always a dangerous situation given the volatile nature of the job. Good on them, he was sure it was good while it lasted. He’d never liked funerals and lately it felt like there’d been too many of them.

  When Sharon had died… He remembered how that had gone, he’d thrown the punch at Ritellia, it felt like just yesterday. Ritellia’s body had already gone, paid for by the ICCC to be shipped back to his home and buried there. A great homage for a great leader, they’d said. It might be the last time they were able to indulge themselves like this. He’d seen the headlines. Kate Kinsella had gone for them again, spreading her venom across the rest of them now that Ritellia was no longer a viable target. Even those softer targets like Adam Evans and Linda Alizaire, who she normally was marginally less unpleasant to, had taken the flak. In her writing, he got the impression in a strange sort of way, she was quite sad about the death of the man she’d criticised so frequently. Maybe No Fucks Given, the charming nickname bestowed upon her always making him smile, was only human after all.

  They were doing Aldiss first, laying him to rest in one of the newly dug holes in the ground. He ran a quick count, winced at the sheer number still to be filled. Credit to the ICCC, they had stepped in to pay for it all. Probably trying to curry public favour while they still could, even if the gesture had much the same impact as offering to buy someone a new coffee maker after you’ve burned down their house. The zent looked tired, Nick supposed working non-stop the last few days would do that to you. But when he spoke, his voice was full of vigour and authority, above all else, comfort. Exactly what you wanted from a holy man. He spoke of how Fank Aldiss gave his life, so others may live. As was protocol when a Unisco agent died like this, the organisation had granted full disclosure of their status, the zent never mentioned it though. Too professional. Brendan King spoke a few words, talking about how it was a pleasure to have met him, to have known him, stopping just short of saying that they’d worked together. Wade stepped up and spoke briefly, said that he’d always have good memories of the times they’d battled each other. He’d been quite a popular city champion in Serran, had Aldiss. That many of his fans had tried to get out to pay their respects was testament to the man and the way he’d done things.