Teggins had instructed him to clear a slot on the upcoming UDFC 100 card for Krag the Destroyer. That meant another contestant had to bow out.
Fortunately for Stillwell, there happened to be a fighter in town who was slated to be on the ticket. Even more fortunate was the fact that this fellow owed Teggins money.
His name was Pazo and he was an orc. A very large, very menacing-looking orc.
“My manager says you wanna see me?” Pazo said in a gruff voice.
“Yes, sir,” replied Stillwell, his resolve quickly fading. “I, uh...I need to ask you to, uh…well, you see…”
“Spit it out, guy. I ain’t got all day. I’m in training, you know?”
“Right.” Stillwell coughed. “It’s about that, actually.”
Pazo gave him a funny look. “My training?”
“In a manner of speaking. You see…” Stillwell’s heart was pounding so hard that he thought certain Pazo could see the pencils in his shirt pocket bouncing. “I’m going to need you to fake an injury so that I can replace you with one of my fighters.”
Stillwell cringed, expecting the worst.
It was very unfair of Teggins to send him into such a place and make such demands of a warrior who was planning to fight and kill people in only two days. The “don’t kill the messenger” defense never seemed to work out in the Underworld, especially in Dakmenhem.
“You want me to what?” Pazo asked in a confused tone.
“Fake an injury,” Stillwell said again, though much weaker than before.
The orc cracked his knuckles. “This some kind of joke, pal?”
“I’m afraid it’s not, sir,” answered Stillwell as his life flashed before his eyes. He was feeling dizzy. “You see, my boss, Mr. Teggins, he’s—”
“Teggins?” Pazo interrupted. “Did you say Teggins is your boss?”
“Yes, I did.” Stillwell hoped this was a good thing. “Why?”
“Nothin’, nothin’.” Pazo’s eyes were dancing. He was clearly thinking about something. “So he sent you here to tell me I’m injured?”
“I…uh...yes?”
“Right.”
Suddenly the massive orc shrieked, howled, and then hit the ground, gripping his ankle.
Stillwell jumped back as a crew of orcs rushed into the room. One of them went to Pazo’s aid while the rest gave Stillwell a stern look. It was all the little man could do to keep his bladder from emptying its contents.
“My leg,” yelled Pazo. “My leg just gave out. I was talkin’ to this guy and I stepped funny and…” He pounded his fist on the ground. “I think it’s busted.”
“Whadya do to him?” the trainer yelled at Stillwell.
“He didn’t do nothin’,” Pazo said, causing the goons to hesitate. “Look at that little twerp. You really think he could take me out?” The orcs all backed off completely at that. “I stepped funny, is all.”
“We gotta get you on ice, fast.”
“Nah,” Pazo said sadly. “I’m done for. No way I can fight in the match with my leg like this.”
“But this is a once in a lifetime chance, Pazo!”
“Don’t ya think I know that?” Pazo said with a groan. “What am I gonna do, though? My leg’s out, see?”
“But—”
“But nothin’. It’s out and that’s all there is to it.” He leaned in and whispered something in the trainer’s ear, then he said, “Call the club and tell them they need to find a replacement.”
“Yeah, I probably should.” The trainer was glancing around at the faces. “His leg does look pretty bad, ya know?”
They were all blinking in confusion as the trainer shoved them all out of the room.
Once they were gone, Pazo jumped back to his feet and began hopping around like he was the happiest person on the earth.
“Tell Teggins that this squares us, yeah?” he said, his eyes agleam.” No more payments or nothing, right?”
“I…” Stillwell remembered that Teggins had told him to do whatever it took. “Yes, yes. I’ll do that.”
“Hot damn. Been under his thumb for twelve long years. It’ll be great to be out on my own again.”
“I’m happy for you,” said Stillwell, anxiously wanting to leave.
“Thanks, pal,” replied Pazo, slapping Stillwell on the back and launching him across the room. He then rushed over and helped Stillwell back to his feet. “Sorry about that. You okay?”
Stillwell nodded reflexively.
“Great, great. I owe ya one, pal.” Pazo then stopped and said, “Well, not really, but you know what I’m saying.”
When Is the Interview?
Heliok felt that Misty had been putting his interview off for too long now. He had been promised that he would be on camera again before this entire ordeal was over, and time was ticking away.
“You said that during Gungren’s final leg of the quest, we were going to do another interview.”
“And we will, Heliok,” Misty replied, “just as soon as Gungren finishes. You’ll be asked questions and then you’ll go about fixing him up and everything.”
“Oh…”
“And imagine the glory of you doing that on the field at the UDFC, too.”
“If he wins, you mean?”
She shook her head. “Even if he doesn’t. You’d bring him back to life right there, proving on live video that you are a Fate.”
“Oh, that’s true.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “That’s very, very true!”
Misty got that look again that spelled she was about to do something worrying. She began walking around Heliok’s office with her hands up.
“Imagine Gungren’s just come back to life by your hand,” she said ominously, “and then we announce the Unreal Makeover show to the roaring crowd, and then I interview you right then and there.”
She stopped and gave him a sinister stare.
He gulped.
“Something wrong?” she asked in a far too innocent way.
“You want me to speak in front of a crowd that big?”
“Of course,” she replied as if it were nothing. “You’ll have to.”
“But…” The pull of the restroom called to him. “There will be a lot of people there.”
“So?”
“So...it’s just...well…”
“Ah, I see. Fear of public speaking?”
His eye twitched slightly. She knew damn well he was terrified of being put on the spot in the way she described. He couldn’t even handle the cameras during their first interview. Sure, he ended up doing quite well. So well, in fact, that he now craved having those lifeless lenses staring at him. But a crowd the size of the one at the Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship was a different thing altogether.
“I don’t know…”
“May I make a suggestion?” she said.
“Please.”
“There’s a group of people in the Underworld who get together and help each other overcome their fear of public speaking.” She pulled out her GnomePad and searched. “Here it is. They’re called the Breadmasters.”
“That’s an odd name.”
“I suppose it is,” she replied. “Never thought about it. Anyway, you should join that group and go to a couple of meetings over the next few days. They’ll help you, especially if you make a nice donation to their cause.”
Going to a place where he was forced to talk in front of people sounded dreadful, but if that was the purpose of the place, how bad could it be? It was very likely that there were many people with the same fear there. Besides, if this place could help him to keep calm at the final interview, then it’d be worth it.
“I’ll do it!”
Supplies
The town of Rangmoon was a bustle of activity today. People were shopping and laughing and even skipping around. Whizzfiddle didn’t know why and he didn’t much care. From his perspective, there was work to be done and that was a dreadful proposition.
Whizzfiddle did not like to work. I
t was one of the primary reasons he had embraced becoming a wizard in the first place. That, and the fact that when he drank alcohol he became filled with magical powers.
What he found very unfortunate was how the impoverished folks stuck to the alleys, unwashed, and poking their heads out now and then to ask for a little monetary help. Some were poor because of failed businesses, some because of lost parents…the stories went on and on. While most of those with money just turned up their noses at these people, that wasn’t Whizzfiddle’s style. He had tons of money and there was little that he needed in order to keep himself going. Hoarding his funds seemed silly, even if he was looking at a very long life. As a wizard he could pick up new cash quickly, especially with his experience. Plus, he had investments everywhere.
And so he set about casting quick spells that put a month’s worth of coin in each beggar’s pocket.
He didn’t stop his walk or anything. He just took out his flask, grabbed a healthy sip, and started transferring coins from his pocketbook to their pockets.
They knew he was doing it, too. They also knew of his standing rule. Each of them had to get a thorough cleaning at the bathhouse at least once a month.
Whizzfiddle, Gungren, and Eloquen passed by the local town’s clothier, A Hint of Moon, known for their somewhat transparent clothing, and stopped in front of Gilly’s Pub. It wasn’t the fanciest bar in town, but it had the best ale Whizzfiddle had ever tasted. This was due to the fact that Whizzfiddle had funded the original Gilly to set up the place and had also tasted each horrifying attempt at ale until Gilly hit the magical mixture.
“Good mornin’, Gilly,” Whizzfiddle said as he entered the joint as if he owned it. To be fair, Whizzfiddle did own one table, which he used whenever he was setting up a new quest for himself. Fortunately, he’d not had to take advantage of that table since Gungren had become his apprentice. “I hope all is well?”
“Master Whizzfiddle, sir,” replied the booming voice of the current Gilly. The pub had been handed down from generation to generation, after all. This Gilly looked only slightly different from the last, but vastly different from the first. He was big and burly with greasy black hair and bright rosy cheeks. “Right nice to see you in at such a time of day. Hello to you too, Gungren.” He then scanned Eloquen and added, “Got yourself an elf along with you, I see.”
“Strong eyes you’ve got Gilly,” Whizzfiddle replied with a hint of sarcasm. “Just like your father’s.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Right, well, we’re going on a bit of an adventure in support of Gungren. I’ll need to make sure my backpack is properly filled with ale, meats, and cheese, if you would.”
“We normally need a bit of time for such a thing, Master Whizzfiddle, but there’s a party in town tonight and we had a few extra barrels built out, just in case.”
The party explained why everyone outside seemed to be in a cheery mood. It would also mean that the shop owners in town had a windfall of cash coming. If history was any indicator, that meant Rangmoon would be a jolly place for at least a month.
“Wise.”
“I can spare three full barrels and plenty of foodstuffs, sir.”
Whizzfiddle calculated in the air using his fingers. “That should do it.”
“Boys,” Gilly hollered. A few moments later, a couple of Gillys appeared, looking more like their mother than their father. “Get down to the cellar and bring up three triple-x barrels.”
“Triple-x?” queried Whizzfiddle as the boys took to the stairs.
“Potency, Master Whizzfiddle,” Gilly replied with a wink. “I’ve been tinkering with alcohol content. It’s the same flavor, but it’s got more pop to it.”
“Is that so?”
“My father’d be proud.”
“As will I, should it truly spark my taste buds like the normal stuff.”
Alcohol content was important to a man like Whizzfiddle since it directly correlated with how much power he had to do magic. But taste was equally important since he had to drink the stuff in the first place.
“Been serving it for weeks now,” explained Gilly as he grabbed a mug and filled it from a tap. “Ain’t nobody spotted it, sir. Even me wife was none the wiser, and she drinks our ale like it’s water.”
“Mostly is.”
“Aye.”
Whizzfiddle sniffed the contents of the mug. It smelled the same as good old Gilly’s ale. It also had the same color, which made sense seeing that the mug was metal and not much light could get in.
He took a heavy sip and let it roll around for a moment in his mouth.
The flavor was indeed the same, though possibly a little sweeter. That could have just been his mind wanting to find a difference. Regardless, it was quite tasty. When it went down, he felt the power fill his body quickly.
“Whoa.” Whizzfiddle’s eyebrows shot up to the brim of his hat. “That is powerful stuff!”
“Aye,” Gilly replied proudly.
“Three barrels will be more than enough with that measure of alcohol.”
Once the three barrels were up, Whizzfiddle opened his backpack and cast a spell. All three of the containers instantly shrank down and slid comfortably into the pack.
“What about us?” Gungren said. “I not like beer stuff.”
“We have ginger beer for you, if you’d like, Gungren,” offered Gilly.
“Do it got alcerhowl in it?”
“No, sir. It’s just a bubbly drink with a hint of ginger and some sweetness.”
“That sound okay.” Gungren turned to the elf. “What about you, Eloquen?”
“A drink is a drink.”
Gungren looked at Gilly. “Him depressed.”
“Right.” Gilly didn’t seem all that concerned with Eloquen’s mental state. “Well, I’ll have them add a barrel of ginger beer, if that’s okay with you, Master Whizzfiddle?”
“Put in two barrels,” Whizzfiddle stated. “I’m going to go outside and make a quick call.”
“A what?” said Gilly, looking confused.
“Oh, uh...nothing. I’ll be outside.” He then dug into his purse and pulled out a bunch of coins, which he then placed on the counter. “Hopefully that’ll do?”
“More than enough, sir,” said Gilly happily. “Thank you, sir!”
“Best ale in the land.” Whizzfiddle took another sip of the triple-x. “Gungren, do you know how to shrink the barrels for the backpack?”
“Yup.”
“Good. I’ll be outside.”
Whizzfiddle walked out and moved to an area that was quiet. It was a little spot between Gilly’s Pub and Furnitureland.
After glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, he took out his TalkyThingy and searched through the listings until he found “Murray the Mole.” He pressed the video button and the little screen lit up.
It began to ring.
Two rings later the face of a mole filled the screen. He was brownish with red eyes and massive black-rimmed glasses.
“Whizzfiddle?” Murray said in his excited voice. He was always excited. “Is that you? Is it really you?”
“Hello, Murray,” Whizzfiddle said, knowing that he had to speak quickly if he wanted to get a word in edgewise with the mole. “Can you see me? I can see you, but I don’t know how this thing works.” He flipped over the TalkyThingy for a second. “Gungren showed me the basics of it, but I don’t know if I’m doing it right or not.”
“It’s fine,” Murray replied. “This is so exciting. Do you want to play a game? I would love to play a game. Maybe a riddle or a puzzle or something?”
“Actually, I have a search game for you, if you’re interested?”
“Search game? A search game sounds fun. Real fun. I love playing games. How does the game work?”
“There are three people that I need to get messages to,” explained Whizzfiddle. “I need all three of them to meet me at the Inn of Sargan at the base of the Kesper’s Range tonight, if possible.”
; “I can do that. I know I can do that. I think I can do that, anyway. What do I win if I get them all?”
“Win?” That was a valid point. Games usually did come with the promise of a prize. “Uh...my thanks?”
“Can’t ask for more than that,” Murray replied seriously.
“Really? I wonder if that’s enough for everyone. Probably not.”
“Who am I hunting for? I’ve got contacts all over the place in this grand network of joy you’ve hooked me up with. I’ve more friends than I’ve ever had in...well, ever!”
“Great. Great.” Whizzfiddle rattled off the names and details of the three people he wanted Murray to search for. Then he saw Gungren and Eloquen walking towards him. “Okay, I have to go now. Please do your best and, uh...keep in touch.”
“That’s it?” Murray said, looking somewhat forlorn. “You’re going to hang up already?”
“Hi, Murray,” said Gungren, causing Whizzfiddle to turn the TalkyThingy to the little giant.
“Hi, Gungren! You still going to play a game of Space Bingo with me tonight?”
“I can’t. Sorry. I’m on a quest thing. Will play when I get back, though.”
“Oh, that’s okay. There will be like fifty of us on anyway.” Murray pushed up his glasses. “So is it a fun quest? Good quest? Exciting? Rescuing a princess maybe? Ooh, ooh, maybe you’re slaying a dragon?” He said the last bit with a chuckle.
“That one, yep.”
Murray’s pace slowed dramatically. “Slaying a dragon? You? Really?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. Well, it was good knowing you.”
“Okay,” Whizzfiddle said, taking the conversation over again. “We have to run, Murray. Please work on that task, if you would?”
“On it. Good luck, Gungren!”
“Thanks.”
You Did What?
Teggins couldn’t help but want to reach out and strangle Stillwell.
The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship Page 4
