The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  Game over!

  … All while failing to notice the orange energy forming about Tac’s jaws, it took a fleeting half second to charge and the blast struck Orange hard in the chest, she saw the rider throw his arms up in front of his face as he lost his grip on the falling dragon, both rider and spirit going down out of her sight.

  Beyond her concern. She didn’t even look back as Tac shot off away from the scene of engagement, if the spannerhead followed her then she’d have to deal with it but hopefully, just hopefully, it would have more important things to deal with.

  Nick Roper swore angrily and directed Carcer down after the falling Wade, his body limp and struggling as he tried and failed to find something to cling onto. Maybe he was trying for his airloop, but with his cloak aflame, it looked a losing battle.

  He should go after that woman and the taccaridon but she was already gone. And if he didn’t, Wade would die. He was already halfway there anyway, might as well take it all the way. The wind tore against his face and through his hair as Carcer bulleted after the ever-growing shape and he took a deep breath.

  … Almost there…

  Nearly…

  Nearly…

  Now!

  He jumped, the realisation as to how dumb the idea was flashing through his head before he left his mount and swung out his arms, the feeling of falling catching up with him quickly. Grabbing Wade with Carcer moving at that speed could have caused irreparable damage and it was a chance he hadn’t been willing to take.

  Nope, now he was risking his own life. That was infinitely better. He was falling too quick to be dry with his wit, desperate to grab Wade, his arm mere inches from his hand. Unfortunately, the ground was quickly approaching the two of them, he couldn’t delay this any longer. He pushed himself, his muscles screaming against the wind resistance and caught an arm, grimacing as the flames licked at his legs and clapped his fingers against the button on the inside of his palm, not a strong slap but just enough to achieve the desired effect. His own cape flared out suddenly stiff against the wind rushing up to meet him, catching the draft and gradually he felt his descent slow enough that by the time the two of them hit the ground, it was only with a slight bump.

  For the whole time, he’d been holding his breath. Back on solid ground, he finally exhaled and dropped to his knees, the adrenaline suddenly slowly slipping away as he let Wade gently down to the ground. Not easy carrying someone just as tall as you, even if they were a lot wirier than you were. Already he heard the klaxons of emergency speeders approaching and he brought a finger to his ear. Trying to maintain portable comm contact amidst a high-speed chase was hard. He hadn’t bothered. Too many distractions as it was.

  “So, Will,” he said slowly. “You want the good news or the bad news? Either way, you might want to get a speeder over here. Emergency one. Agent down!”

  Leaning back in his seat, Scott tried to ignore the sounds going on outside. It likely wasn’t important, someone had probably just gotten a little too merry and had an impromptu spirit bout in the street. Some places that was more legal than others but nowhere was completely happy with it. The general rule of thumb went, the more civilised a place was, the more they tended to be against it happening. It was only when he heard explosions and sirens that he sat up and took note.

  Already he was starting to arrive at the conclusion that this tournament was rapidly becoming memorable for all the wrong reasons. Not least just for him but for everyone involved. Storms to psychos to break ups to stuff blowing up. Maybe he’d made a bad choice coming here. It should have been one of the proudest moments of his life so far. So far, he found himself wondering if things were going to calm down a little.

  Either way, all he could do was keep on going and hope for the best. If it didn’t affect him, it was fine by him. Mia was out of hospital, but she hadn’t let him see her since. Bang went another dream. He sighed again and looked back to the screen. Wade Wallerington had won earlier in the day, the bout after the one where Sharon Arventino had also gone through. Maybe they’d be drawn against each other in the next round and he’d catch a break there.

  Somehow, he couldn’t quite picture it though.

  All he could do though now, was focus on Steven Silver and the challenges that awaited him here…

  Chapter Thirty-One. Silver and Sight.

  “The family Silver… Yeah they used to have credits. Real credits. Rich as hells. Now, not so much. Tends to be the way, you know. You have that many generations of frivolous relatives frittering away the credits… Yep, they get frittered right out of existence. They were pretty much royalty in their part of Serran. The Unifications War hit them hard. Steven Silver’s true title is Baron Silver of Calism. Doesn’t use it much anymore.”

  An oral account of his next opponent, heard by Scott Taylor.

  The eighth day of Summerpeak.

  The atmosphere was heaving, almost as hot as the midday sun bearing down on the battlefield, a mix of stone and gravel heating underneath its rays. It looked crumbly and Scott imagined the first impact on it would kick dust up into the air. He’d need to watch that. A lot of spirits still needed to be able to see and introducing all that dry dust into the air would be a problem. Still, at least it’d hurt his opponent as much as him, in theory. Steven Silver, almost regal in his pose as he stood across the arena, hands in the pockets of his suit trousers. They went with his waistcoat, dark grey with pinpricked white stripes down the length of them. Beneath it, he wore a cream coloured shirt and a scarlet tie, his hair as silver as his name.

  Somehow, seeing it now, Scott wondered if Steven Silver really was his given birth name. Changed names wasn’t an uncommon thing, he’d noted that many times before. He didn’t know much about him other than him being from Serran, he was supposedly a bit aristocratic, if he believed that guy he’d heard talking about him, and had a reputation as something of an explorer and expert in rare stones? Did that mean golems? He hoped not. He’d had enough on that regard from his bout with Santo Bruzack earlier in the tournament. The fewer golems he saw over the next few months, the happier he would be. Some callers went through life without seeing any and knowing his luck now, he’d probably see several in the space of a few weeks.

  Five spirits. Not too short, not too long. That had been the instructions from the video referee and he could deal with that. He liked that they didn’t tell you how many spirits you’d be using until the last minute. It prevented too many prior strategies to be used against you by those who really liked to think things through. There was a certain simple delight to be had in taking it on the hoof. And sure, Scott noted, he did like to see what his opponent might use against him spirit wise. And tactics-wise. But that was about the extent of it. To come up with solid tactics against countering someone’s best just… He didn’t feel comfortable about it. Some callers swore by it. He knew there was probably something in it. If he was honest with himself, there was probably a lot in it. If anything, he missed the days of ‘you bring your best and I’ll bring my best and we’ll see who comes out on top.’ Those felt a long time ago.

  All the pleasantries came and went, he’d heard them so many times now that they were slowly become etched into the matter of his brain. Scott smiled politely at Steven who nodded and tipped him a wave. All very nice and civilised. Not like that bout between Pete’s sister and that weird kid the other day. That had been nasty. Nothing like seeing an arrogant piece of shit get what was coming to them and seeing Sharon smack him down had been decidedly pleasurable. Now if Theo Jameson would just go the same way, he’d be happy.

  Still, no time to reflect on that now. Steven’s first choice in spirit was a bird about the size of a four-person speeder, its grey skin covered in a metallic sheen. As it landed on the ground on taloned feet twice the size of human hands, it opened its beak and let out a horrible mechanical-sounding squawk that made him want to cover his ears. How manoeuvrable could something like that be in the sky? Somehow, he got the impression he was about
to find out as he summoned Sangare to the field, the dragon proudly letting out a burst of flames as he appeared on the battlefield, wings kicking up dust.

  This would be an interesting matchup. If Steven was worried, he didn’t show it. Come on, five to go. Knock those five out and he’d be through. No doubt it sounded so much easier than the actuality would be. Saying or thinking was easier than doing.

  Either way, if he was going to do it then he’d need to do it now. The signal to get going sounded and already Sangare was in motion at his behest, a gout of fire erupting from his jaws ready to engulf the iron bird in its touch. Yet it appeared Steven was no slouch with the commands either as his spirit took two haltering steps and then hopped up into the sky, flaring out its wings and taking flight. Scorched earth remained where it had stood a moment ago. Already Sangare was up into the sky with it, a much larger presence than the grey opponent. It did fly well, he had to admit, but that wasn’t going to save it.

  At his silent command, Sangare struck again with a pillar of fire onrushing from his jaws, roaring through the air with vicious intent. Once more the attack failed, the iron bird ducked down under the flames and cut down through the air in a lazy dip that picked up pace as it came in towards Sangare. Scott caught the sight of the flames fizzling out on the barrier out the corner of his eyes just before he reacted, Sangare thrusting upwards to evade the pointed beak that had been directed towards a scale covered heart.

  He didn’t doubt the strength of dragon scale but too many bouts in this tournament so far had proven it to be not quite as impenetrable as was widely believed. He’d had it disproven in one of his own bouts, Nick Roper’s penguin. That didn’t matter now. The iron bird was in sight, in range and he gave the command. Sangare obeyed, still a new enough occurrence to make him feel a tingle of surprise and pleasure at his own efforts, and reached out to grab those broad iron wings with his forelegs, thick claws digging into sturdy metal and once more he heard that horrible screech as the iron bird struggled to get away. From that range, it couldn’t.

  He exhaled as Sangare coughed up a great fireball into the iron bird’s face from point blank range, the squawk going from outraged to agonising in a matter of moments. By the time the fires died down, the iron bird was still held strong in the dragon’s grip yet its face now resembled a pile of twisted slag. If it could see, Scott didn’t know how, its eyes had either been melted shut or exploded under duress of the heat, one of the two. Still it twitched and struggled, small efforts to be free but he knew that it was done for. Silently he urged Sangare to finish it and with minimal effort, the dragon heaved his forelegs down powerfully towards the ground, the iron bird hurtling towards the battlefield like a broken metal bullet. Dust and stone rose up as it crashed, a great groove churned up by its impact as it scrawled limply through the dirt, half buried and not moving.

  Holy shit…

  Scott blinked, not quite sure he’d exactly seen what had just taken place. Sure, Sangare was probably most likely his strongest spirit in terms of pure power. But he’d never expected it to go down that easily. One to him. Four to go and he’d be victorious. This might be easier than he’d expected. Or maybe Steven was just testing him out. He shot a glance at his opponent as he brought back his iron bird. He didn’t look too concerned by the matters that had transpired. Scott saw the disinterested look on his face and that, more than anything worried him. Either he was as cold as ice and he genuinely wasn’t worried, or there was something else going on here that he couldn’t work out. The first phase of some unforeseen strategy? Or maybe a common one. It wasn’t too unusual for callers to start long bouts with their weakest and finish with their strongest.

  I think I’ve got you worked out, Steven, he thought to himself as the silver haired man across the battlefield locked in another crystal and prepared option number two. This was going to be by no means as easy as it suddenly looked like it might be. He couldn’t allow himself to get complacent right now.

  She’d gotten a very interesting message that morning, contact from Darren Maddley offering an apology for what he’d said following their bout. He’d admitted he was out of order and he shouldn’t have done it. There’d been words towards the matter about the heat of the moment and rushes of blood but at least he had accepted responsibility overall and she supposed she couldn’t fault him for that.

  On the balcony of her room, she sat cross legged and barefoot, eyes closed as she meditated on things. Her former teacher had always pushed it on her, told her that when things felt murky, it was always wise to stop and think things through properly. On the move, things could become jumbled and hurried. Here, she could mull on them properly. A deep breath and she opened herself up to the universe of her thoughts, the family Maddley at the forefront of them already. Darren already looked better than his father had been, he composed himself in a far more appealing manner. Now she remembered back to Luke Maddley, she remembered the man he’d been and the revulsion she’d felt at the time. So arrogant, so full of himself, she’d been glad when she’d crushed him…

  No… That hadn’t been right. She hadn’t cared at the time but looking back she felt disgust. That shouldn’t have been the way. To revel in his defeat, to trumpet herself as invincible was to make herself as bad as he had been. Yet at the same time, he’d had a family. He hadn’t been a bad man, somebody had missed him despite his obnoxious attitude to those he’d deemed weaker. Darren had obviously loved him.

  Just like she loved Nick, even though she knew there were things about him that he wasn’t telling her. Yet didn’t every relationship need its secrets. The past was the past and there was no changing that. There were things that she hadn’t told him about herself and well, she didn’t intend to. The past was a long way gone and it was going to stay that way.

  Sometimes she thought about that past, about what could have been and what had happened. It could all have been so different but here she was. A champion. Soon to be part of a union.

  So why did she feel that little hint of regret? A question she might never answer. Not on her own. Sometimes she wished she could still talk to her former teacher. He hadn’t always had the answers but he’d made her feel better about neither of them knowing. He could do that, he had the gift. But he’d been long since lost out of touch, ever since the last Quin-C. Nobody knew where he was but she was sure he wasn’t dead. If he had passed on, somehow, she was sure she’d know. As it was, she felt uncertainty and doubt in regards of him.

  Still he didn’t want to talk to her. He’d made that perfectly clear. Her life was her own to lead and he wanted away from it. She absentmindedly pulled at the bracelet around her ankle and just for a moment, she thought she caught something on the wind, something that jerked her eyes open…

  … Sharon…

  Somehow that closed it for her. She couldn’t find her focus back after that. It couldn’t have been. She was imagining things. It didn’t even sound like him. Not at all. No. Never. She sighed, reached down into her bag and scrabbled around the bottom for a moment. The memories prodded at her as she withdrew the metal cylinder with the rubberised grip from the bottom. It was about eight inches long, easily long enough for her to get both hands on it. Nick had seen it before and inquired about it. Another half-truth. She’d told him it was a useless memento she’d picked up in Serran. True, of course, if not the whole story.

  He wouldn’t believe the whole story. Nobody would. She didn’t want to remember it herself. Not now. Too much time had passed for her to go back to that place, even in her memories.

  Even if her memories were all she would be left with… It was all gone now. Never to return. That was for the better. Her life had changed and she wasn’t unhappy with the way it had turned out. But always there’d be questions over that part of her life that she would always wonder about.

  The past was like a river, currents spreading out to affect the future, ripples producing tidal waves. Ruud Baxter had told her that. At the time, she hadn’t known whether t
o believe him or not. Looking back in hindsight, she got the impression he might have been more correct than even he had known at the time.

  Sangare had fallen. As had Herc and Seasel but Scott wasn’t too worried. They’d proved themselves to be evenly matched by this point despite his earlier misgivings, Sangare had dispatched the bird of course and weakened the next spirit, a large mollusc creature covered in a spike-ridden shell before being overcome by crushing jaws that had smashed through the dragon scales with apparent ease. Herc and Seasel’s abrasively combined efforts had done for said mollusc before Seasel had fought out a draw with Steven’s next spirit, a huge iron fashioned snake that had dwarfed him many, many times. Still, Scott had been pleased to see Seasel hadn’t been intimidated and ultimately the watery weasel had done well.

  Next choice? Crush. His giant orange crab appeared on the field while Steven’s next choice was a huge rhinoceros covered in what looked like steel battle armour. He’d started to notice a theme with the spirits on show here. He liked a heavy defence, it would seem but at the same time he could deal it out. Herc and Sangare had found that out the hard way in their clashes with the mollusc.

  “Let’s do it then?” he said, grinning at Steven. With each of them having two spirits left, it felt like they were slouching towards sudden death. But at the same time, he was enjoying it. The most fun he’d had since Mia had been attacked… He rejected that thought violently. Now was not the time to be thinking about her. Nope. Not even in the slightest.