“Invitation to the tournament? Yes. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Boxer winked. “Good, because there’s something you’ve got to see. Alright, so you think a bird puppet showing up in the mountain was bizarre? Well, listen to this…”
Chapter 14
Earlier that day
For all Boxer knew, this place was the most dangerous in existence. He stood on a stone precipice hundreds of feet below ground, hearing the echoing roar of the molten earth underneath him. Next to him stood the most skilled warrior he had ever met. Behind him, the rock wall of this chamber had been carved into a gigantic fanged mouth. Fire spewed from between the teeth. Nearly a thousand battle-ready dogs faced him from across a narrow bridge over the magma. They flooded in from a tunnel at the far side of the room to gather on a network of precarious stone ledges and steel catwalks.
Boxer loved this place. Today, dogs gathered to worship their fiery god and pray for strength. Tomorrow, the HoundBlood Tournament would commence.
The other dog leaned in close to Boxer’s ear. “Another pathetic turnout,” he grumbled. He had a long brown and grey-black coat, and his pointed ears stood straight up. A tooled leather collar hung around his neck with an ornate gold medal, announcing his rank as the high commander of dogs.
Boxer chose not to answer. The hum of this many dogs talking at once would have made it hard to hear himself talk anyway. He eyed the exit tunnel at the far end of this chamber, where a pair of red-robed Doberman guards were busy pulling a metal gate shut.
“It looks like that’s the last of them,” said Boxer. “I think they’re ready for you.”
“Alright. Let’s shut them up.”
Boxer cleared his throat, tilted his head back, and howled. The grizzled dog joined in. The chatter died down as the other dogs in the chamber gave the two of them undivided attention.
The commander gave Boxer a curt nod before stepping forward to address the public. Boxer settled in to listen.
“It’s good to see you all,” the commander began. His sharp voice needed no amplifying equipment. “For those young enough to be participating for the first time, I want to welcome you. I am General Pincher. I imagine this place is a little nerve-wracking for you. Well, worry not. This volcanic hotspot is dedicated to our supreme god Karkus, Giver of Fire and Earth, and a testament to his awesome power. Here, we brave danger and cheat death in order to give praise to the War Hound!”
“The War Hound!” most of the crowd bellowed in response. “Karkus the War Hound!”
“In a changing world,” Pincher continued, “centuries-old traditions like our HoundBlood Tournament become more vital than ever. In the last five decades of peace ushered in by our porcine overlords, the necessity of our role as peacekeepers and guardians has been increasingly called into question. Even our own people grow more apathetic each year about their duty to participate in our sacred contest.” He paused, letting the angry buzz rise and fade in the crowd.
“The cowardice of the sheep and the arrogance of the birds combine into a toxic environment of complacency. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Fleece City, the hive of decadence directly above our heads.” Pincher pointed up at the ceiling with a disgusted scowl. “I can’t stand to set foot in the place. The other races look down their noses at the dogs that guard their borders. They think it absolutely barbaric that we hold this tournament every year. The very fact that we determine our social and military hierarchy by fighting ability is alien to their ‘civilized’ ways. They act as if we are relics of a bygone era and this current age of information and prosperity will last forever. They would rather we fade away like horns on sheep. They do not understand the necessity of our role because the last war was too long ago for most of them to remember.”
Boxer found himself nodding.
“That is why we keep to our traditions,” Pincher proclaimed. “We know better than anyone else that peace is a delicate balancing act. You’d think the birds would understand this too, with their political intrigue and weasel words. The HoundBlood Tournament keeps us honest! Here, you back up your words with your teeth!”
The crowd responded with barks of vigorous approval. Boxer smirked. He always enjoyed his commander’s way with words.
“We fight every year because it reminds us who we are and what we are capable of,” Pincher bellowed, “not like the avian frauds up on their mountain who spit lies and call it rhetoric. So who’s really civilized?”
The unified howl of hundreds of voices filled the chamber and threatened to split Boxer’s ears. Pincher let it fade rather than try to yell over it.
“So we forge ahead, undaunted, as we have done every year,” he said turning to face the fanged carving, “because we have the strength of our Lord Karkus to see us through. Let us turn to him, and—”
Right at the climax of his speech, Pincher cut off in mid-sentence. His pale eyes widened as he stared down into the pool of molten rock below them.
Boxer saw it too. He ran out onto the middle of the bridge to get a clearer look. From here, he could hear the voices of the dogs nearest to him.
“Looks like it just crawled right out of the magma!”
“That doesn’t look like any dog I’ve ever seen.”
“Look at its skin.”
“And those claws and teeth! Could it be… Karkus?”
“Shut your mouth, there’s no… well, it does look like some of the carvings.”
The panicked creature scaling the rock wall below the catwalks looked like it had been sewn together from a patchwork of animal hides. Black smoke billowed from its body, caused by the chunks of rapidly cooling molten rock clinging to its fur.
As it drew closer to the crowd, using curved claws and powerfully muscled limbs to scale the nearly vertical wall, the dogs nearest to it began to draw back. Onlookers were pressed against the railings and dangerously close to the many ledges.
“Open the gate!” Pincher shouted at the Doberman guards. “People, start exiting the shrine. Leave this to Boxer and me. We will have answers for you in time. But we do not need to be creating a dangerous situation.”
The dutiful citizens wasted no time in moving to evacuate the room to make space for others. The two guards pulled the halves of the gate apart to let people through.
It had taken a long time for everyone to fill the chamber, and it was going to take just as long for it to empty out. So there were still plenty of dogs to witness the moment the newcomer climbed onto the ledge at the far end of the rickety bridge. It took a second to scan its surroundings before heading for the exit tunnel.
Boxer, still on the bridge, stood transfixed. The creature was somewhat canine in form, and yet very alien. Its arms were much longer than its legs and it transitioned smoothly between bipedal standing and running on all fours as it moved about. Its eyes were burnt orange with tiny pupils, and its ears stuck straight out from the sides of its head.
A young chow boldly stepped into its path, bringing the creature to a halt.
“What are you?” the impulsive young dog snapped at the creature. It bared its fangs at him in response.
“Clamber, get away!” Pincher barked from behind Boxer. “You don’t know what it is!”
“If it’s not a dog, it’s not allowed in here!” Clamber argued. “And if it really is Karkus, he won’t mind proving it in combat!”
The chow sprang forward amid yelps of protest from other dogs around him. He opened his jaws and rushed at the creature, which raised itself back onto its hind legs as he drew near.
The creature backhanded Clamber’s face so hard he spun around and fell on the spot. Two other dogs ran to retrieve him as the monster slipped past him to make its escape.
Clamber was bleeding from the ear, his eyes rolling about in his head. He was pulled into the protective midst of dogs watching the spectacle.
The stupid kid will be fine, Boxer thought, but he’s definitely out of commission for the tournament.
“It’s esca
ping!” someone in the crowd barked. “Get it!”
Angered at Clamber’s injury, the pack surged forward. The monster found the exit tunnel blocked by a horde of aggressive dogs. It leapt away to grab hold of a huge stalagmite.
Boxer watched the beast search for handholds. It seemed to think it could find another exit if it kept climbing higher. Something in the way the copper eyes moved intrigued him.
It’s intelligent. I’ve got to defuse this before they mob it to death.
“Move!” he shouted. “Clear a path! I’ll bring it down!”
“Let Boxer through!” Pincher roared.
Boxer cleared the bridge’s rope railing, sailed for a terrifying second over the molten pool, and caught hold of the stone spike. He gripped the rough surface of the stalagmite with his claws as he began to climb.
The monster let go with one hand to brandish claws at him. Boxer bared his teeth and felt his hackles rising. With another step, he would be close enough for it to reach out and slash his face. He readied himself, coiling his hind legs underneath him.
Indeed, as soon as he raised himself higher, the beast took a swipe at him. Boxer dodged the blow and lunged straight up. Their chests collided and he locked a foreleg under the creature’s attacking arm.
For a brief second Boxer’s rear feet left the stone—he was trusting his life to the strength of the monster’s grip—then his legs were again bent underneath him, pressed against the stalagmite. Boxer used his free foreleg to strike the monster’s other hand, breaking its grip on the stone spike at the same instant he pushed off the stalagmite with both rear feet.
As Boxer had hoped, his push made them fall away at an angle so they landed on the stone ledge rather than dropping straight down into the magma.
Several dogs jumped out of the way as the two of them crashed onto the rock surface. The creature struggled valiantly, but Boxer’s ground fighting technique was simply superior. He threw himself across the beast’s shoulders.
A second later the fight was over. Boxer lay on the ground, panting, his four legs locked in a wrestling hold that trapped the beast’s arms out in a crucifix position. It strained and shrieked, its poor leverage rendering it unable to utilize its tremendous strength.
Confident that it was restrained, other dogs moved in, teeth exposed. The creature let out a horrifying belly roar, but no one backed down.
“No!” Boxer yelled, grimacing with the effort of contesting its power. “Get away! No one else is going to get hurt here!”
“It’s a menace!” a dog in the crowd yelled. “We should kill it before it can cause any more damage! Look what it did to Clamber with one blow!”
“It was defending itself!” Boxer shouted.
His words had no effect. They kept moving forward.
“That’s enough!” Pincher commanded, halting everyone. The old wolf regarded Boxer with his ghostly pale eyes. “Boxer, we’re putting it in the dungeon.”
“Sir?”
“This creature crawled from the fire below. It is too strong for most dogs to face in single combat. What could it be other than a test from Karkus?” The corners of Pincher’s mouth twisted up a fraction of an inch. “It’s a sign we need to be stronger. Some trial is coming. He wants us to prepare.”
He raised his head and addressed everyone in the room. “This beast will feature in the tournament tomorrow. Anyone and everyone who wishes to fight it will be given their chance. Those who are beaten will be driven to train harder… and our entire pack will improve as a result. Karkus has indeed provided for us. He is great! He is all-powerful!”
“He is all-powerful!” the dogs responded in a chorus.
Boxer obeyed his commanding officer’s order, but his conscience bothered him. When they put the creature in a holding cell, it put its face to the bars and stared into Boxer’s eyes until he had to turn away and leave it there.
Chapter 15
“The creature was looking right at me,” Boxer said to Old-Timer and Caper as he finished his story. “I realized he wasn’t just some dumb brute. His eyes looked right into my soul and said ‘I blame you.’ He knows I could have helped him, but I chose not to.”
“No, you didn’t have a choice,” Caper said. “Disobeying Pincher’s order would have had you right there in the cell with him.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean I feel good about it,” Boxer replied. “Pincher ordered them to chain the poor creature up to keep him from doing that wild leaping during the tournament. And Pincher named him, too. These flyers are going out tomorrow.”
Boxer reached for his collar and pulled out the piece of paper. He handed it to Old-Timer, who unrolled it as Caper looked over his shoulder. The paper depicted a crude drawing of a chained, hairy beast crashing through a brick wall. Block letters across the bottom read: “COME ONE, COME ALL, FOR A CHANCE TO FIGHT THE MAULER.”
Old-Timer sighed as he handed the flyer back. “Interesting stories. Two strange creatures, both appearing in the shrine of a god. Your religious leaders are determined to use them for their own purposes. There may be a connection there. It’s been a fateful day.”
“You say that with conviction,” Caper said. “It sounds like you saw something today, too.”
The old ram nodded fervently. “I did. Another parallel, this one to me and my son. I went to the quarry today, as I usually do. I learned the black ram Shiver has a daughter. Like my son, she has an impressive ability that her father is trying to hide. This morning she spoke up in my defense. Shiver is afraid she will be punished for it. He asked me not to return until she has left for University.”
A cold look crossed Boxer’s face. “I need to tell you I received some news this evening from the captain of the wall guards.”
“Fowler?”
Boxer nodded. “Scurvert struck again tonight, just a few hours before you both arrived. A girl.”
Old-Timer felt the strength leave his legs. Both of his companions rushed to his side to help him to the ground.
“Is… is she alive?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“I don’t know,” Boxer replied. “That’s all the information Fowler gave me. I’m sorry, old friend. If I had known there was a connection to you, I’d have looked into it more. I will get back with Fowler first thing in the morning.”
Old-Timer shook his head, trying to fight off a wave of nausea. “No. You shouldn’t appear too interested. I’ll do that myself.”
The decision gave him some resolve, allowing him to stand up. He took a long, deep breath. The thought of that bright-eyed young girl in the clutches of Scurvert threatened to overwhelm him again, but there was nothing he could do about it at this moment. “There are two others who need help. It may be too late for this girl, but not for the puppet and this Mauler creature.”
“I agree,” said Caper.
“Aye,” Boxer piped up. “We have some planning to do.”
Chapter 16
“Good morning! It’s another breezy summer day here in sunny Megatropolis! Clear skies all day, with a possibility of some of that pitter-patter after 9 PM. I endorse this message! You can trust me—am I Charlie Chugg, or not?”
Durdge stared at the TV screen across the waiting room so he wouldn’t have to look at the secretary. She was round and pink, wore way too much makeup and perfume, and he never got tired of thinking up ways to make fun of her wig.
He sat on her desk, his stubby legs dangling over the edge. Behind him, she went about her business, pretending he was not there.
When the news program ended, and some inane talk show came on, Durdge got bored of looking at the TV and turned to the window. From here, the eighty-eighth floor of Chugg Corporation Headquarters, he could see everything. The whole of the Megatropolis stretched out before him. The green plains lay past that, with Fleece City nearly in the middle. He could see the mountains, forests, the big river, and even the quarry far in the distance.
Even this view didn’t interest him for very long. He’d seen it plent
y of times. He already knew that he and the rest of the pigs were the lords of all they surveyed.
The secretary’s phone rang. She reached for it, but Durdge dove across her desk and got there first. She sat back, looking mortified. Durdge would have smiled if he had the ability to make facial expressions.
“Hello?” he said in a bad impression of the poor woman’s voice.
“You’re not Gorga. Who is this?”
Durdge just about squealed with delight when he heard the voice on the phone. “Hi, Scurvert! Gorga’s indisposed. I’m, uh, filling in.”
“Durdge, is that you?”
“N-no.” Durdge had to suppress a giggle. One of his favorite activities in the world was upsetting Scurvert. If Durdge had been able to go back and write down the monologues of verbal abuse he hurled at Scurvert every chance he got, he could have published a decent-sized novella by now.
“I don’t have time for this.” Scurvert sighed.
“Where can I transfer your call, sir?”
“You know where.”
“Tell you what, how about I hang up, go up to his office, and ask him if he’d rather talk to you or me? Bet you I know what the answer will be.”
“Damn it, Durdge. This is an emergency.”
“Is that so? See, I’ve been waiting to speak with him for a good few minutes now. How about you tell me all about it and I’ll decide if it’s worth bringing up to him during my meeting?”
“No, I’m not telling you. Transfer my call. Now.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to call back during regular business hours. Hanging up in three… two…”
“This is serious, Durdge! It’s about those rams!”
Something in Scurvert’s voice told Durdge that he wasn’t simply annoyed. Durdge knew to drop the games when necessary. “What’s going on?”
Scurvert relented. “It turns out Old-Timer’s visits to my quarry have given at least one little ewe some ideas. I took care of the girl, but I think Old-Timer needs to be silenced for good.”
The Healer Page 5
