The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  “You did what?” he said, fighting to keep his calm.

  “I spoke with Mr. Pazo and convinced him—”

  “I heard what you said, Stillwell,” Teggins interrupted. “The problem is that you didn’t have authorization to make that deal with him.”

  The perspiration was beading on Stillwell’s forehead like water on a hot griddle. It wouldn’t take much to break the guy, literally, and there were undoubtedly another ten who could take the scrawny worm’s place, but Stillwell was decent with the books and he was mostly harmless. At least up until now.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but you said that I had to do whatever it took to get the job done.”

  “Damn. I did, didn’t I.” Teggins relaxed, leaning back in his chair. He glanced back at Stillwell, who was still visibly shaking. “Well, I suppose you didn’t know any better. Besides, it won’t be long before Pazo comes to me again for money. He always does.”

  “As you say, sir,” Stillwell replied in a hoarse voice.

  “All right, all right. Calm down, Stillwell.” He waved at him. “You didn’t do anything outside of what I told you to do. As long as you keep it that way, you’re fine.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He scratched at the sides of his face. “Look, I want you to handle all of the arrangements for our travel and hotel stay at the event. I want the best. Price doesn’t matter.” He paused and remembered who he was talking to. “Scratch that. Knowing how you lean on every word, let me alter that last bit. Price does matter, but I want something nice.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  He studied Stillwell carefully. The guy was decent, but a little training went a long way.

  “You know what, bring me some options with pricing and all that. I’ll choose from your selections.”

  Nostalgia

  Crazell was lying on her bed of jewels, recovering from her workout. This was the only place she felt at peace anymore. The diamonds and rubies and emeralds and sapphires all made for an incredible bed to rest her weary muscles.

  “My jewels, my jewels, my lovely jewels,” she said to them in a loving way. “If only I could spend all of my time with you and never have to battle again.”

  She rolled over and looked up at the high ceiling of her cave.

  “But I can’t,” she said with a sigh. “The moment I stop fighting in that blasted tournament, I’ll have countless challengers showing up at my cave. They’ll never let me rest.”

  Crazell picked up a few of the larger gems and began casually launching them at the ceiling and then catching them when they fell back to her. She often did this when she was thinking.

  “I suppose I could always move.”

  The thought of transporting all of her jewels was daunting, but if it meant a new cave that couldn’t be easily tracked, it would be worth it. Besides, if anyone stole from her, she’d hunt them down and kill them. Of course, that would only mean that she’d be found again.

  “No, that won’t work. I’ll never be free. Never!”

  And with that, Crazell turned back over and began to sob.

  Breadmasters

  Heliok arrived in the bottom of a church in the land of Hazpen, which was located in the Underworld. Hazpen was considered the place to go when you were in your retirement years. This wasn’t because it was a great place to live. In fact, it was often too cold or too hot. But the younger generations preferred not to worry about the older generations, and so Hazpen was developed specifically with old folks in mind.

  “Everyone shut up,” said an ogre with the name-tag “Teef” pinned to his shirt. “We got us a new member.”

  “We ain’t supposed to meet until next week,” yelled out an orc. Her name-tag read “Choogah.”

  Teef held up a bag and shook it a little bit.

  “This guy just gave us a bunch of diamonds if we would meet now.”

  Choogah’s eyes lit up. “Well, then what are we waiting for? Start the meeting!”

  Teef looked to have once been a mean ogre, or at least that was the tale that his numerous facial scars told. He wasn’t very large, but that could have been due to his advanced age.

  Heliok noticed that most older Ononokinites were shorter than younger ones.

  “Come up here and tell us your name and stuff,” said Teef, waving Heliok to stand at the podium.

  “Up there?” Heliok said, taking another glance around the room.

  It wasn’t like the place was packed, but he didn’t know any of these people. Sure, he could snuff them all out with a snap of his fingers—were he allowed to, anyway—but that was an entirely different thing than having to speak to them. He had enough trouble talking in front of four or five people he didn’t know. A quick count showed there was double that number here.

  “That’s right, pal,” Teef said.

  “But there are a lot of people in the room.”

  Teef frowned. “What are you, some kind of chicken?”

  “I do believe that it’s his fear of speaking in public that drew him to our fine Breadmasters group, Teef, no?”

  Heliok searched for the person who said that.

  It was a troll by the name of “West,” and he didn’t quite fit in with the rest of them. Most of the people in the room were wearing polyester suits, but West wore a nice silk number with a red tie. He looked completely out of place…in a good way.

  “Oh yeah?” said Teef as he scratched his head.

  “What is your name, sir?” asked West.

  “Teef, you idiot,” responded the ogre.

  West took a moment before saying, “I was speaking to our new guest.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Heliok felt that all of this was strange. A bunch of grumpy old folks worrying about talking in front of people seemed pointless. Then again, maybe it was their life’s ambition to overcome such a fear? Or, more likely, they were all just bored of playing bingo.

  “My name is Heliok,” he said finally.

  “That’s a fine name.”

  “Thank you,” said Heliok, feeling quite comfortable with the way this troll was treating him.

  “And what is it you do, Mr. Heliok?”

  “I’m a Fate.”

  “I see,” West said with a slow nod. “Could you describe what your job as a fate entails?”

  “It’s Fate with a capital ‘F.’”

  “Did I say it differently?”

  “It just sounded like you were using a lowercase ‘f’.”

  West bowed slightly. Heliok liked people who bowed to him. It meant that they knew their place.

  “My apologies, Mr. Heliok. Now, what does a Fate do, precisely?”

  “We do a lot of things.” Heliok thought it would take far too much time to list everything that Fates were responsible for, so he just picked the basics. “We run quests, build worlds, make galaxies, and a bunch of other junk. My group tends to yell at The Twelve a lot.”

  “Well done, Mr. Heliok,” West said, clapping his hands as he held a proud smile. “You have just passed your first struggle.”

  Heliok looked around the room. “I did?”

  “Yes, you did. You’ve just spoken in front of everyone here.”

  “I…” His eyes opened wide at the realization that he’d done just as West said. “I did, didn’t I? And I wasn’t even nervous.”

  “Nor should you be, Mr. Heliok,” West stated firmly. “You’re a Fate who runs quests, who builds worlds, who makes galaxies, and who yells at The Twelve a lot.”

  “That’s right. I am that guy.”

  “You are, indeed.”

  “This group is great.” Heliok was feeling fantastic. No, it wasn’t like there were thousands of people staring at him from the stands, but it was enough. “Thank you for solving my problem.”

  “You ain’t done,” stated Choogah.

  “I’m not?”

  “Uh uh. You gotta write up a paper and present it to the group.” She squinted at him. “If you do
n’t, you don’t get your Breadmaster card.”

  “Is that so?”

  Teef nodded. “She’s right.”

  “What if I were to hand you another bag of diamonds?” Heliok asked.

  Choogah nearly fell off her chair. She stood up and began walking to the podium while fumbling to get something out of her pocket.

  “Well, what do you know,” she said, “I happen to have a Breadmaster card right here...all ready to go.”

  Heliok held it up and inspected it.

  “But it says ‘Choogah’ on it.”

  “Right, that means, uh, ‘Graduated with honors.’”

  “But your name is Choogah, isn’t it?”

  “Strange coincidence, eh?” she replied proudly. Then she turned to the audience. “Fastest graduate we’ve had, eh, gang?”

  They all applauded, except West.

  “If I may, Mr. Heliok,” the troll said, “you are being duped.”

  Choogah grimaced at him. “Stoolie.”

  “I, however, would like to proffer my services in exchange for a reprieve from my Old Troll’s Home.” He looked around and sighed. “Even if only for a few days.”

  “You mean you’ll coach me?” said Heliok.

  “Happily.”

  Highlights, Part 2

  Payne stood inside the Chateau von der Fiamma, which served various delicacies during the UDFC events. It was the only time the place was opened, since dragons didn’t tend to frequent it during the between years.

  The restaurant was massive, just like all of the buildings in Sed’s Point. It went with the territory. If you looked up at the ceiling when you walked in, you ran the risk of getting dizzy. Even the doors were enormous. Of course, they were built using the door-within-door scheme so that each race, regardless of height, would be easily able to enter.

  “This is Payne Sawsblade, coming to you again from Sed’s Point,” she said into the camera. “Today we’ll be visiting Chateau von der Fiamma, an oddly-named restaurant that’s been considered the top of the town during past UDFC events.”

  She spun and pointed at the kitchen.

  “As you can see, the famous Guy LaYumyum, head chef from The Credian in Gakoonk is training a local dragon on food preparations. Mr. LaYumyum is considered the premiere chef in all of the Underworld, so this should prove interesting.”

  The camera moved in slowly so as not to interrupt the lesson-in-progress.

  “When you slice the carrots,” explained LaYumyum in a pedantic tone of voice, “you do so with finesse and precision.”

  The dragon nodded and snagged one of the carrots, cleaving it in half with one of his talons.

  “No, no, no.” LaYumyum was waving his hands around madly. “This is incorrect.” He pushed his cutting board over. It contained paper-thin sliced carrots. “Compare these two carrots and tell me what you see.”

  “I see carrot pieces,” the dragon answered.

  “Well, yes, you do. But do you not notice how mine is sliced finely, each with the exact width?” LaYumyum held up two slices that were so thin they appeared almost translucent. “You’d need a measuring tape to spot the difference.”

  The dragon held up his two hunks of carrot, side by side. “Same with mine.”

  “While technically true,” LaYumyum conceded, “the object is to slice the carrots thinly. Your carrots are fine for a stew or flavorings for a broth—”

  “That’s what I’m making, then,” interrupted the dragon.

  To his credit, LaYumyum kept his cool. This was probably a good thing considering that the dragon could make the troll crispy hot in a matter of seconds.

  “We’re not making a stew or a broth, as you may recall.” He opened a book that looked to have been handed down for generations. “We are making a troll delicacy that involves duck, onion, celery, and thinly sliced carrots.”

  “Why don’t we make a dragon delicacy instead?” asked the dragon.

  “Because we’re not.”

  The dragon caught him in a dark gaze. “We’re in Sed’s Point, not Troll’s Edge—or wherever it is you’re from.”

  “It’s called Gakoonk,” LaYumyum stated as if offended.

  “Yeah, whatever. The point is that I don’t get why we’re making a specialty from your country when we’re in my country.” The dragon pointed around. “People are coming here, not going to Splatoonk.”

  “Again, it’s Gakoonk,” the troll chef said irritably. “And we’re making what we’re making because I said so, you imbecile!”

  The dragon’s eyes tightened and one edge of his lip lifted. That familiar rumbling of gas began to bubble.

  “Did you want to change what you just said to me, guy?”

  LaYumyum didn’t budge. This was dumb, of course, but clearly he didn’t get the memo about dragons not taking well to being talked to in a negative manner.

  “I am here to train you to be a master chef in less than a week,” the troll said without breaking eye contact. “You have done nothing but question my methods, chop your carrots in half, overpower everything with too much salt, refuse to tenderize the meats, and generally harbor a negative attitude towards this entire venture!”

  There was a growl from the dragon, but he didn’t attack yet.

  “But fine, fine, fine, Mr. Dragon,” Chef LaYumyum said in a boisterous voice, “since you are the chef in this kitchen and I am clearly here doing naught more than wasting my time, why don’t you tell me what the main ingredient is in this dragon stew you wish to make?”

  The dragon bared his teeth and said, “Troll.”

  Hotels

  Teggins looked over the hotel suggestions that Stillwell had provided. It was a pretty thorough list and the suggestions were solid, but it also demonstrated that Stillwell had lived a privileged life before falling under the debt of Teggins.

  “You got some decent picks here, Stillwell,” Teggins said with a nod. “Not bad at all. Obviously you’ve lived a little.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You seem to be recommending The Dragon Inn most, but the price is pretty toasty.”

  “I was merely basing my recommendation on the ratings via the Undernet, sir.”

  “Yeah, I know, but you gotta think about the money too. Not everything is about living high on the hog.”

  He glanced over the list again. It wasn’t all about the lap of luxury in his estimation. There was something to be said about frugality.

  “I think I’ll go with the Hotel Winged Bastion. More my kind of place anyway. Looks lived in, you know?”

  “Not really, sir,” admitted Stillwell, “but I shall make the reservations immediately.”

  “Good.”

  Stillwell started to leave the office when a thought struck Teggins. Who was going to run things when he was out? He could have Bank do it, but he’d never really trusted the man. Of course, he never really trusted anyone. It was the primary reason Teggins stayed on top. Anyone who had the hutzpah to double-cross him was kept on a very short leash, or sent to the Afterlife, whichever was the safest route for Teggins.

  But Stillwell was weak. He barely had enough courage to stay in the room with the crime boss.

  “Hold up a second, Stillwell.”

  “Yes, sir?” said the man in a shaky voice that proved Teggins’ point.

  “I’ve been thinking about things a bit. I’ll be gone for a few days and I don’t like leaving things unattended when I’m out. So I’m going to put you in charge.”

  The gulp reverberated throughout the office.

  “Me, sir?”

  “Yeah, why not? You’re my right-hand man, sort of, and it’s not like you’ve got the spine to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

  Stillwell opened his mouth a few times before finally saying, “But what if people ask me questions, sir?”

  “Simple,” Teggins replied. “You just answer them like I would answer them, and if you’re not sure about something just tell them they gotta wait.” He then shrugged. �
�If they don’t like that, they can take it up with me when I get back.”

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m just—”

  Teggins interrupted, saying, “I’m getting this feeling that you think I’m asking you if you want to do it, Stillwell.”

  “You’re not?”

  “You know me better than that, I hope.” He smiled in his devilish way. “I don’t ask people to do stuff. I tell them to do stuff.”

  “Oh, yes.” Stillwell looked like a man who would have been happy to be anywhere else at the moment. “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. Now, get me a nice room at the hotel, Stillwell, and then prepare yourself to run this place for a few days.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Getting Away

  Sir Zelbaldian Riddenhaur, or Zel, as his friends knew him, crossed the moat bridge and strode through the main gates to the castle. Guards stood to attention as he walked on by, their saluting hands planted firmly against their chests.

  It was a beautiful day in the kingdom and the sun shone down on the immaculate grounds that surrounded the main hall. He would have liked to have spent time in his own garden on this day, but duty called and Zel was not one to shirk responsibility. Honor was primary in his book.

  “Sir Zelbaldian Riddenhaur,” announced the doorman as he stepped into the hall.

  “Sir Zelbaldian,” Queen Prafia said from her lavishly adorned chair, “is all well?”

  It was difficult for things to be unwell in the presence of the queen, for her beauty was without equal. She had long blond hair, supple skin that contained just the right amount of tanning, and rather large…

  Sir Zelbaldian shook his mind back to the task at hand.

  “All is well in the kingdom, my queen,” he replied proudly, “but I must ask for a brief leave of absence.”

  She place her hand on her heart. “Is your mother in distress?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Has your father’s heart finally given out?”