In the Werewolf's Den

by Rob Preece

  Danielle guessed her own smile was more than a little frayed, but she stood with her fellow normal athletes, waiting for their moment of glory—and big bucks. Amongst the normals, the mood was upbeat. But their competitors looked confident as well. Like they knew something Danielle didn't.

  Carl thrust his ignition device deeply into the ceremonial torch, then stepped back as the games torch burst into flame. With loud cheers from the mixed crowd, the games were under way.

  The crowd's seating was strictly segregated, of course. The normals had been assigned the western side of the stadium, giving them some protection from the hot Texas sun. The impaired got along with what was left.

  Carl strode off the field toward the east side of the stadium. Even as the games’ founder, he wouldn't be welcomed by the normals. Since Danielle's event was the last of the day, she joined him there. He was still her herd and she intended to protect him—until she needed to terminate him.

  Carl's All-Sapient Games were nothing compared to the weeklong pageantry of the pre-return Olympics, or even compared to the large track-and-field meets that some old-style normal colleges still held. Between the money he had available and the limited resources from the third-rate television network that had agreed to broadcast, he had limited the contest to ten events. Still, a million dollars per event—essentially all the money he had left—created an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation beyond what Danielle remembered from her childhood.

  She thought people would watch the TV show. Carl seemed a bit worried about it, about whether he'd have any money left after the event. She couldn't bring herself to warn him that it didn't matter. Dead men don't spend money.

  The first event was the hundred-meter run—popularly known as the event that defined the world's fastest human.

  Danielle didn't think the normals would lose any of the events, but she was absolutely certain about this one. Three normals, two of them former record holders and one a college hurdler who had recently signed with the Dallas Cowboys as a wide receiver, had entered. Representing the magical world was a long-legged elf and a Were. From Danielle's research, neither of them had run anything for more than a decade. They were hopelessly outclassed.

  A well-known television commentator—representing another hundred thousand of Carl's dollars—fired the starting pistol and the runners were off.

  Mike the Vampire edged next to Danielle. “Carl asked me to pick the contestants. I think it'll be interesting."

  Danielle though he should have picked a troll rather than an elf. Sprints require strength, not grace. “If getting slaughtered is interesting it will be."

  "Watch."

  For a moment, it looked like Mike had been a genius. The elf reacted fastest to the pistol and was out of the blocks two full steps before the normals reacted to the shot.

  A collective gasp went up from the crowd, and then a hubbub of conversation as the normals recovered from their late start and pulled ahead.

  The Were lagged behind, obviously outclassed as he struggled forward, his legs churning but without the grace of the elf or the power of the normal runners.

  Until he shifted.

  A black wolf charged down the track rapidly closing the distance to the panicked normals. A murmur went up from the crowd. An ugly murmur from the normal side of the stadium.

  Could this be the beginning of Carl's distraction? “Isn't that cheating?” Danielle demanded.

  Carl had somehow joined them. “Everybody knew that these games were to pit normals against the magical. Nobody said the magical couldn't use all four feet."

  The wolf's final burst brought him even to the pack as they crossed the finish line. From where Danielle sat, it was impossible to determine who had won.

  The crowd's murmurs grew louder and uglier as everyone waited for the official results to be posted.

  Carl was grinning. A photo finish was exactly the type of result he had been hoping for. By now, phone calls and instant messages would be flashing through the normal world telling non-watchers to tune into the games, that something unique and exciting was happening.

  A huge display, rented by Carl for exactly this purpose, displayed the photo finish. The young hurdler, hugely popular in sports-crazy Dallas, had edged out the wolf by a fraction of an inch.

  A roar of approval went up from the normal side of the stadium. Their man had won and charges of cheating were quickly forgotten.

  "That won't work in the martial arts competition,” Danielle remarked. “Anyone who transforms or uses their teeth will be disqualified."

  "Of course, Carl agreed, almost too easily. “We all want to follow the rules."

  Danielle's phone rang and she checked the calling line I.D. It was Joe Smealy, of course.

  "Warder Goodman."

  "What the hell is going on there, Danielle? That animal nearly won against a human."

  "There is nothing in the rules prohibiting use of magical impairments,” Danielle said. She'd run those rules past Joe before approving them so he should know that.

  "Tough. There's a rule now."

  She didn't like it. The football stud had won without the need for special advantages and she liked to think that the other normals could as well. “Is that really fair, sir?"

  "Do we care about being fair to the impaired, Warder? Did they ask your mother if it was fair before they killed her?"

  He was hitting below the belt and she didn't like it. “I'll notify Carl that the rules have been amended."

  "Tell him...” Joe detailed his new orders.

  The Marathon started second, although it would be among the last to finish. The runners would leave the stadium, circle around the outskirts of the zone, and finally return to the stadium after the field events had been completed. Carl had planned the route to give the normals a chance to see how the magical lived—their crushing poverty and human suffering.

  "Warder headquarters says that if any Were run the marathon in animal form, they'll be shot as attempted escapees any time they near one of the warder posts. You'd better pull them from the marathon,” Danielle said.

  Carl shook his head. “Let them run. Mike will tell them not to shift."

  After a brief delay to notify the field about the rules change, and another to allow sponsors to get their message out, the marathon started.

  One of the network executives gave Carl thumbs up as the runners circled the field and headed out the stadium gates. Which meant he'd been right about the economic viability of his games. Viewers were tuning in. Danielle wondered who would get the money once this was over. Probably Warder Headquarters.

  Once the marathon runners were gone, the field events opened, beginning with the hammer throw.

  Four normals and a single dwarf lined up. The normals stood head and shoulders above the squat dwarf; one of the normals, grinning broadly, rested his elbow on top of Willie's head.

  The flood of mirth from the normal side of the stadium was matched by an ugly growl from the impaired side. Not that many of the magical liked dwarves—their surly personality made that difficult. Still, Willie stood for all of them.

  Could this be Carl's distraction? A riot now would send angry impaired burning and looting through the streets of the zone and dozens of normals could be hurt despite the heavy warder guard surrounding their sections in the bleachers.

  Carl glared at Willie and shook his head slowly.

  Willie's eyes shined black with anger, but he kept his back straight and didn't strike out at his tormentor.

  The normals stretched, whirled around with their hammers, and generally looked like serious athletes. Willie, in contrast, stood and sipped on a cup of coffee.

  Danielle wondered if allowing the coffee into the stadium was a good idea. Willie had assured them that he could control himself, that the coffee would merely enhance his reactions. When Mike had backed the dwarf up, Carl had agreed. But Danielle had heard too much about dwarves and coffee. Nothing of what she'd heard had been good.

/>   The judges explained the rules to the contestants, their voices carried by loudspeaker to the bleachers and to the viewers on the network. Each would have three throws. Only the longest throw would count. Any touch outside of the circle would disqualify that throw.

  One of the normals was first to compete.

  He crouched low, then gradually began to spin around letting the hammer gather speed as he edged closer to the foul line.

  The heavy hammer, when released, seemed to float into the air, drifting meter after meter, until it finally slammed into the ground.

  Wild cheers from the normal side and waving of the American flag accompanied the network sports anchor's claim that the eighty-eight meter throw was close to the American record.

  The normal smirked at Willie and dusted his hands with chalk. He did not, however, renew his attempt to use Willie as an elbow rest. Danielle was just as happy the microphones hadn't picked up whatever Willie had muttered at the normal.

  Willie stood up second. He picked up one of the hammers, stepped to the foul line, and simply threw it like he'd have thrown a baseball.

  The hammer slammed into the ground about three feet in front of him.

  Howls of laughter shook the stadium.

  "Damned coffee. I told him not to show off,” Mike the Vampire whispered in Danielle's ear. “I told him that those normals were good and that he'd have to give it his all if he wanted a chance."

  "Looks like he didn't listen,” Danielle replied.

  "He is a dwarf,” Mike admitted. “Listening isn't what he does best."

  In that case, why were they letting him compete? Carl asked Mike before Danielle could get the words out.

  "Same answer. Because he's a dwarf,” Mike explained. “I asked the dwarves who could throw the farthest and they told me to go with Willie. It seemed reasonable at the time."

  * * * *

  Danielle sighed. She'd been right about these games.

  The 100-meter had been a fluke, arguably a cheat. But Willie's poor throw was the kind of joke she would have expected in a contest between poorly fed impaired amateurs and the professional athletes representing the normals.

  She shot a glance at Carl, wondering if he was devastated, then wished she hadn't. What did she care how he felt? She had orders to kill him. The game was hardly important.

  Willie's second throw was even worse than the first.

  He'd clearly been watching the normals and this time he aped their technique, spinning around like a top and whirling the hammer until it became a blur.

  When he let go, the hammer had climbed straight into the sky and plunged down, digging a second crater only inches from the dwarf's hard head.

  If he hadn't gotten dizzy and staggered away from where he'd started, it might have killed him.

  She could imagine viewers turning off the games in disgust at Willie's poor performance.

  Again, the normal side of the stadium rocked with laughter. Even some of the impaired, she noticed, were laughing.

  Well, she shouldn't be surprised. The impaired were notorious for laughing at almost anything. Danielle couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good laugh. These days, she didn't find much funny.

  Snori the troll handed her an ice cream cone. She took it without thinking, then set it aside. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, exactly, but everyone knew that the impaired were sneaky. She was scheduled to compete in a couple of hours. Who knew what sort of drugs they might try to get into her first? Danielle didn't intend to be the only normal to lose that day.

  "What's the matter? Not hungry?"

  She hadn't thought about offending the poor troll. After all, she didn't know they were trying to poison her. Even if someone was, Snori wouldn't know about it. She trusted him. Besides, the troll's emotions couldn't have been easier to read if they'd been close-captioned.

  "Sorry, Snori. I'm scheduled to represent the normals in a martial arts competition in a couple of hours. I need to watch what I put in my stomach."

  "I heard about that. I'm looking forward to seeing you there. But you should eat your ice cream. Don't want to get overheated,” he told her. “Got to save that for your event."

  She wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but she didn't have time to ask because the crowd chose that moment to erupt into a fit of screams.

  Willie scratched his rear while the first hammer thrower wound up for his final throw.

  That wouldn't have been especially serious or create any particular stir in the audience, except that he'd decided to drop his trousers before doing so.

  The normal was so distracted that he stepped over the foul line before completing his throw. Which hardly mattered. His throw barely cleared the ten meter line.

  Danielle had never seen a dwarf butt before. She hoped she never would again. It was as hairy as a bear's, as wide as an elephant's, and bright red like one of those monkeys in the zoo.

  Hilarity from both sides of the stadium drowned out the angry contestant's complaints.

  The normal, the same one who had leaned his elbow on Willie's head to start the event, picked up another hammer and started toward Willie and the judges ran to intervene.

  Willie ignored the charging normal and bent over to tie his shoe, again strategically presenting his hairy butt to the enraged athlete.

  The normal screamed with rage and threw his hammer directly at the dwarf's rear.

  With their short legs, dwarves would never be great runners, but that didn't make them slow.

  Willie whirled around, caught the hammer in one hand, and tossed it back.

  It didn't look like much of a toss but it staggered the normal. That moment of distraction was enough for the judges to insert themselves between the angry normal and the placid dwarf.

  "Guess he got that jerk back for leaning on him,” Snori told Danielle.

  Trolls and dwarves were rarely friendly so Danielle didn't know what to make of this moment of solidarity among the impaired. She toyed with the idea that, somehow, this was part of Carl's plan—that he was trying to create some sort of unity among the impaired overcoming the differences that kept them at one another's throats and ready to betray each other to the warders.

  She shook her head. Maybe he was. She had underestimated Carl before. But that didn't matter any more. None of his plans mattered. By midnight, he would be dead. And she would be his killer.

  "I guess since he can't throw, he's just getting his revenge another way,” she said to Snori.

  "Can't throw. Are you kidding? He's a dwarf."

  Snori wasn't the brightest bulb, but he didn't have to be completely oblivious.

  "He's already blown two throws, Snori. Face it, he doesn't have a chance and he knows it. That's why he's playing these games. He knows that's the only way he can make a statement."

  "I'd never disagree with a sixth-degree black belt,” Snori said, sounding like he completely disagreed with her and was waiting for her to get her comeuppance.

  Which left her wondering if she could be missing something.

  After listening to the judges through a five-minute lecture that was broadcast nationwide but seemed to be made up mostly of words that the sensors bleeped out, Willie nodded firmly and stuck out his hand in a gesture of shaking with his opponent.

  The normal backed away with even more than the average reaction to the impaired. Since Willie was offering the same hand he'd used, moments before, to scratch his hairy butt, Danielle wasn't too surprised by his reaction.

  Snori's hooting laughter let her know that Willie's gesture hadn't passed him by either.

  "Guess they just won't be shaking,” Snori suggested.

  "Probably not."

  The judges let the other two normals throw, then let the first repeat his disqualified throw despite Mike the Vampire's complaints.

  None of these throws were spectacular, but then, they didn't have to be. Each of the three normals had already posted near-record throws while Willie hadn't cleared a meter. T
hings were looking bad for the impaired, just as Danielle had warned Carl to expect.

  After another lecture from the judges and a quick word, mercifully not broadcast, from Mike the Vampire, Willie took the field for his third throw.

  He stepped up to the line, reared back, and heaved the hammer on a flat trajectory.

  The heavy device spun like a football, its head pointing straight forward as it drilled down the field, only ending its trajectory when it smashed a hole in the concrete retaining wall behind the football goal posts.

  "Guess that means Willie wins after all,” Snori deadpanned.

  Oh, shit, Danielle thought. Carl did have a plan. Letting the normals win the first event, but barely, would increase viewership, letting everyone see the impaired clean up in the hammer throw. Maybe Willie's antics would get more people watching, just in time to see an impaired do what no normal could ever hope to achieve.

  She shouldn't have been surprised by anything Carl did. Even if she'd slept through the lectures at the Academy, personal experience had prepared her for constant betrayal by the impaired. Still, Carl's deception hurt her.

  With another eight events coming up, she wondered what other surprises Carl and Mike the Vampire might have.

  The crowd hesitated for a moment, as if in disbelief, when Willie's toss had carved a crater into the reinforced concrete, but then went wild. The uproar continued even as Danielle made her way through the stands back to the platform where Carl and Mike sat.

  Although the whole impaired side of the stadium was celebrating, only Danielle seemed especially surprised by the results. It was as if all of the impaired, like Snori, had known that Willie was showboating.

  The normal side, on the other hand, was shell-shocked. To see their champions not only beaten but humiliated by a mere dwarf seemed impossible and unfair. That he'd mooned them first only added to the aggravation.

  Her cell rang before she'd made it to Carl's box. “Warder Goodman,” she said.

  "Goodman, what the devil are you doing?” Joe never called her by her last name.

  "Getting ready for my event, sir."

  "Damn it, I thought I made myself clear. You've got to stop this nonsense. An impaired just beat some of America's best. What's that going to do for morale?"