by O. J. Lowe
The words had barely left his mouth when Caldwell gave the gytrash a nod and it swept forward in a streak of fire and fur, hooves thundering across the floor. For a moment, Theo couldn’t quite hope to see what would be gained from it. In a head on collision, Caldwell’s spirit would surely come off worse. Atlas was built like a tank; he’d made sure of it.
The contact never came. As Thraxis closed in, Atlas tensed itself at Theo’s mental behest, grounding for the impact, only for the gytrash to leap above the giant body, smash all four hooves hard into the top of the shell, the weight of impact driving Atlas into the ground with a grunt. Cracks spider-webbed out from underneath the great body as Atlas’ weight crushed into the wooden floor.
Theo cursed quietly, it took a great effort for Atlas to rise again, tail already swinging to mete retribution. Even to him, it looked cumbersome as Thraxis neatly nipped aside, brushing the air where the gytrash had stood a few seconds earlier. On Atlas’ back, the shrubbery had caught aflame. It might not be too much of a problem, Theo noted, even if it was, the anklo would have to get on with it. The shell was thick enough for the heat not to permeate through. He hoped, anyway.
If it tries to go up top again, rear up, he urged Atlas silently. It was a risky strategy, Atlas’ weight meant rising on its hind legs would take a lot of energy. And if it fell backwards… Well, the weak spot of any anklo was widely acknowledged to be its stomach. At least here, stood with belly pressed against the deck, Atlas was protected from any ground attacks.
Thraxis closed in again, making to charge, Theo tensed himself ready for the inevitable leap. He couldn’t be trying the same strategy twice in succession surely. It’d worked once, expecting it to do so twice was foolish.
Caldwell wasn’t. This time the gytrash twisted at the last second, raking its flaming body across the anklo’s side, inflicting burns on one of its legs. It was not an attack that left Thraxis unscathed however, one of the bone spikes left a deep gash in black fur. Blood spattered the floor, aflame before sputtering out into singed soot. The giant tail twitched out, an attempt to smash the gytrash’s body, again Thraxis darted out of the way.
Too fast!
Or was it? As he watched, Theo found himself wondering if maybe the cut was deeper than he’d expected, the injury debilitating some of its previous speed. It didn’t appear as swift as it had before. As strategies went, bloodletting yourself on your opponent’s body was a pretty poor one, even for someone like Caldwell. He smiled coldly. Time to see exactly how injured. And maybe, just maybe, exacerbate it if Thraxis wasn’t moving freely.
Hit it with a uniblast!
Atlas obeyed immediately, the beaked mouth opening, lips glowing brightly with an air of luminescence. Caldwell had to realise what was happening, had to be reacting already. Either way, the beam shot out with all the force the anklo could muster behind it, the energy white hot and caustic. Thraxis dodged it. Barely. It streaked past, a clean hit against the barrier, sending ripples through the invisible shield. Half a second later and the gytrash probably wouldn’t be looking so hot. It was looking a little more cumbersome than it had. Smoke was billowing up from…
Theo laughed suddenly. It hadn’t been a clean hit, but Atlas’ attack had scored a blow. Half of Thraxis’ tail had been burnt clean off by the uniblast, the wound already cauterized by the heat. And suddenly Caldwell looked worried.
It’s going to come in at you again, Theo told Atlas silently. This time I want you to meet it. Get ready and… Now!
As Atlas started to lumber forward like a clumsy piano, Thraxis set off at the same time, neither caller nor spirit expecting the sudden movement from the anklo. With sudden giant strides of the anklo, it was on Thraxis before Caldwell could react. The beak snapped out and grabbed the horse by one of the hind legs. Fire erupted down the fur as the beaked mouth crushed down, the gytrash screaming. Somewhere amidst the sound, Theo was sure he could hear bone breaking.
“Throw it!”
He couldn’t help vocalising that command as Atlas swung its stubby head, twisting the gytrash about before hurling it through the air. It went towards the barrier, smashing straight through with uncontrolled motion, carrying on going through the crowd of retreating passengers, straight into a table at the other end where three men sat, unheeding of the bout going on beyond them.
Ruin. A game of chance and skill. The chip tokens were on the table, the deck was being dealt and Nicholas Roper had a good hand. Scratch that, he had a great hand.
He glanced down, hid a smile and put them down. He let nothing slip. Always he had this vision of his face being a mask of which nothing would penetrate. At the start of every game, three of the ten numbered cards from a fifty-card deck were dealt a tag at random, each of them decreasing in value. Then players were dealt five cards from the deck, the aim being to acquire as many of the valued cards as possible. Bids could be placed to acquire new cards or to discard useless ones. The valued cards this hand being four in first place, seven in second place and two in third place. The rest were useless for winning. Except in the case of when the rest of your spare cards added up to make a valued card. It was difficult to become a master of the game; the name Ruin came from the amount of times a player had chased the big prize only to go bust. It was a game that both helped and hindered those who took risks.
Nick had two fours and a seven, as well as a single three and four ones in his hand. Two pairs basically. Two top pairs. He found himself really working to hide his grin. With the pot at ten thousand credits, he needed to just play it cool. Or maybe… Maybe he could get it bigger.
“Give me,” Mark said, sliding a hundred credits over to the pot and watching as the automated deck slid out another card for him. He took it, studied it intently. Like Nick, he gave no hint as to whether it was good or bad. Mark was a sandy headed individual, a little short but with a friendly face. Wade Wallerington studied him intently. His move next, he looked like he was already pondering his options. His face blank, he leaned forward and rested his chin on a triangle made of his fingers.
Wade was older than either of them, touching his forties, ten years plus on Nick, his russet brown hair going grey at the temples. It’d even started to affect his beard in recent months. He’d never been overtly muscular despite his efforts earlier in life but beneath the copious volumes of his cape, he was still whipcord tough, wiry in his slenderness. A still fresh burn lay prominent on one of his hands. Nick could guess at the cause. Wade, when he wasn’t fighting, raised dragons at a sanctuary in the high north of Canterage. That he took some of the stronger ones to fight for him in bouts was just, in Nick’s eyes, something that happened to work out as a happy coincidence.
He’d known Mark longer. But he’d come to regard Wade as a truer friend. The three of them had been through a lot of stuff together. Him and Mark had started out at about the same time, way back when Wade had already been claiming his first title.
Yet the distance wasn’t that great between them any longer. If he was being modest, he and Wade were close to being even. Mark was almost there. Any of them would give the other a tough battle.
“I’ll bite,” Wade said. “Give me two.” He slid two hundred credits into the pot, took two cards in exchange. “And I’ll drop a card.”
“Sell out is set at a thousand,” Mark said. “Bit steep, ain’t it Wade?”
Wade shrugged. “Hey, only if you lose.” He winked at Mark, before sliding across his credits.
“Nick?”
He glanced at his cards for the dozenth time. Refusing to do anything would potentially alert them to the strength of his hand. If they folded, he’d win. Of course, with a hand this good, he could do better.
A grimace crawled across his face before he ran his fingers through close-cropped dark brown hair, flexed his muscles as he adjusted his big frame in the seat. This was Ruin. You ended up second guessing yourself so many times it got stupid. The best players were the ones who had conviction, resisted temptation to try for more.<
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“I’ll hold,” he said.
Despite that, more bets had come in. They were going for it. He’d be amazed if either of them had a hand that could better his. Twice he’d gambled, selling two of his ones for a thousand credits each and drawing out a three to replace them. He’d sold another one, keeping him his twin pair.
Finally, he grinned, picked up his cards and looked around the table. “Okay,” he said. “So how about it. Who’ll pay a thousand to see me?”
Mark folded immediately. Credit to him, he knew when he was probably beaten. Wade grinned at Nick, slid a thousand credits into the pot. Nick put his own thousand in, his fee to see Wade’s cards. This had gone on long enough.
For a long moment, he felt a twitch of panic in his stomach, suddenly worry Wade might have beaten him. He saw three twos, a seven and…
Yes!
Junk cards that if he was right, didn’t add up to anything. He placed his own down. Three cards might have trumped two. Yet three twos, as the third highest card, were inferior to two fours, the top-rated card in this game.
And that was that. Very nearly twenty thousand credits for very little work. He was about to scoop up the pot into his pocket and think about how best to squander it when a fucking gytrash came crashing into the table, scattering the credits, the deck and the drinks.
“What the hells?!” Mark exclaimed, looking at the beer suddenly covering his shirt. The fallen gytrash let out a quiet snort of apology before fading away. The caller quickly came over, sweating as he pushed his way through the crowd, an older robust gentleman with ginger-brown hair.
“Sorry, sorry, guys,” he said. “That was my spirit…”
Wade cut in. “Not your fault, stuff happens. Although…”
Nick didn’t hear the rest of it; he was too busy looking around for his credits. They’d been scattered amidst a sea of legs; the floor was littered with them. Already people were bending down to scoop up handfuls of the stuff and hand it to him.
All bar one. All bar the smirking man who still had his spirit out, one who unless he was mistaken was responsible for that gytrash crashing into the table in the first place. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t important. He was irrelevant. It was an accident; it could have happened to anyone.
Except…
“Guess that ruined their game,” he heard the kid laugh out loud. “Someone’s going to crash out.”
His anklo next to him joined in with the laughter, they were intrinsically linked after all, only to quieten down as the kid glared at him sternly. Hearing the giant forest turtle laugh sounded like it was gargling sandpaper.
“What an asshole,” Mark said. “Someone should teach him some manners.”
Nick smirked. Yeah, someone really should. “You want to do it, or shall I?”
“Be my guest,” Mark replied. “Make sure you don’t lose though, that’d be embarrassing for all of us. Don’t think I could take the shame.” He smirked as he said it, a lilt in his voice.
“You don’t need to do it,” Wade said. “You could just let it go. Wasn’t deliberate.”
It took a moment for Nick and Mark to look at each other, before shrugging. “Ah, I’ll pass,” Nick said. “Could use a bit of a warm up. Although I’ll give him a chance to apologise first. Can’t say fairer than that, can you?”
He glanced at the anklo, took in the environment and grimaced. Normally he would have set something that could fly into the confrontation, bombard it from the air to keep out of range of its attacks and inflict damage of its own. Of course, the ceiling wasn’t that high. Not enough for wicked aerial manoeuvres. On an especially rendered battlefield, it was different. You could churn up as much of the ground as you wanted. Here on a ship, it wouldn’t be ideal.
Mobility would be the anklo’s problem. It couldn’t move anywhere fast. In fact, if it moved at all on this ship, it’d likely leave breakages in the floor. It would be reinforced but even so, there would be a limit to how much it could hold. Therefore, the ideal strategy would be to exploit that somehow.
Couldn’t go underneath as well. Not on wood.
So, what to do?
Nick smiled as he approached, not an overtly friendly smile but one just neutral enough to hold a warning behind it. Hands in his pockets, he sauntered to a halt.
“You do know you just disturbed me and my friends, don’t you?” he said pleasantly. “Now, what are we going to do about that?”
The kid smirked. “Yeah, what of it? You want help picking it up?” He couldn’t miss the sarcasm in the voice.
“Nah, think I’ll just settle for an apology,” he still found himself remarkable calm. Even despite the scoff that came back in his direction.
“Yeah, I’ll pass.”
“Or we could go for option B and I settle for your anklo defeated on the ground.” Still calm, he did his best to make it sound offhand.
This time the scoff was more derisory. “Yeah, all right. Keep dreaming. You and what army?”
Finally, Nick smiled. “You know; I was hoping you’d say that.” He raised his summoner, container crystal already locked in. “Shall we then?”
The spirit that broke from Nick’s summoner appeared on the battlefield, materialising into a dark brown, almost black coloured shape that unfurled giant wings atop a lizard-like body, a great streak of scarlet down the middle of its chest. It stood up on its hind legs, a quad of claws digging deep into the arena floor. The head was shaped like the head of a giant spanner, the eyes at outside parallel sides of each point. The forearms were stubby beneath the impressive wingspan yet still ended in pointed claws. Beneath the head, a mouth that was almost a slash amid the ebony scales could be seen, filled with wicked-looking teeth. Completing the bizarre ensemble, a pair of fins protruded up out of its back, squat and stumpy but noticeable.
It was a creature Theo was familiar with. A famous champion used one, if he recalled, not that he’d do something so pointless as try to remember her name. A spannerhead winged shark lizard. Not quite a dragon but looked like it might have been a previous stage in evolution for one.
Should be a challenge, if nothing else. Already he was looking for weaknesses. If there were any, he didn’t see them on initial viewing. He’d know more when the battle began. Suddenly he wondered if he should take Atlas out. He might already have more of a handle on Theo’s strategy than Theo would on his. But he dismissed it. He’d been playing cards, not paying attention. He’d be going in cold.
This should be easy.
Nick studied the anklo in much the same way he imagined his opponent was studying Carcer. Unless it did something unexpected, he had a good idea what would be coming. Lots of strength, durability and probably some decent firepower… That would be a good assessment, given the way it had flung a gytrash across a room. Weaknesses, lack of speed and mobility. And doubtless the other guy had thought that too. And the soft underbelly. Of course, no way to get directly underneath it. He’d already given that some thought.
Unless…
He glanced at the floor, then at Carcer. That could work. Not a chance he’d see that coming. And get it right, there wouldn’t be much he could do about it. Nick glanced at the ceiling. They had sprinklers in here. It’d all depend how long it took them to activate.
“You ready yet?” the youth said petulantly as he glared at Nick. “Because…”
“Of course,” Nick interrupted. Carcer, go to the sky immediately, he added silently to his spirit. “After you!”
He guessed the uniblast was coming; it was what he’d have done. A quick surprise attack to catch the opponent off guard with overwhelming force. The burst of energy erupted through the air, striking past the space where Carcer had stood moments earlier, the shark lizard aloft like a giant butterfly. In the wild, they’d been clocked of going up to speeds easily matching an aeroship. In here, going that fast would be dangerous. At least the shields were working again; the uniblast hit the barrier and faded out.
Buzz it, he urged sil
ently. Get in at its face, try and distract it. At the command, Carcer swooped down like an oversized bat and raked his twin front claws across Atlas’ face, the blow leaving shallow cuts bleeding in the scaled head. The anklo bellow angrily, tried to snap at the serpentine neck. Carcer thrust backwards, neatly evading the cumbersome blow with arrogant agility. The anklo’s caller looked more and more furious by the moment, Nick could see his fists balled up against his sides. The beaked mouth remained open, bare hints of energy already starting to form.
Move!
Another uniblast tore out, again hitting where Carcer had been a moment earlier, again fading out on the invisible barrier. Nick grinned. Time to execute. Hey, Carcer! How about turning up the heat? He very quickly laid out what he wanted to do. If the shark lizard understood, he showed no sign of it, instead studying the scene with beady eyes. And then he rose, almost touching the ceiling and coughed a great stream of fire towards Atlas, covering its body. Nick was pleased to notice the flinch from the anklo, the other caller looking less than impressed with the efforts.
“The other guy tried fire as well,” he said. “You’re not going to burn through that shell. It’s harder than steel. You might as well try to burn… through the floor…” He suddenly went green as his attention turned back to the battlefield, realising Carcer was no longer directing the fires at Atlas, instead scorching the ground beneath the anklo’s giant feet. A ground already starting to look unsteady, Nick could hear wood splintering under the great weight filling the area. More than that, flames had caught hold of it, leaving Atlas caught within a ring of fire. Bellows and pained cries overshadowed the sound of shattering floor as fire licked at its paws and up its leg, finally scorching the soft protected underbelly. Nick suddenly caught the unmistakeable aroma of roasting anklo.
