The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  “Mmmm mmmm,” it said.

  “Good. I’d hate to have to teach you a lesson, ya know?”

  “Mmmm hmmmm.”

  Two little puffs of smoke exited its nostrils.

  “Now here’s what’s gonna happen,” Teggins said in a calm voice. “I’m gonna let you go, you’re going to get my key and hand it over, and then we’re going to walk away and think nothing of this incident again.” He pulled the dragon in closer. “Capisce?”

  “Mmmmpisce.”

  Learning the Ropes

  Gungren had a set of makeshift gloves on that Bekner put together for him. They were big, but so were the little giant’s hands. Gungren liked the red and green stripes of the tape around his wrists.

  They were standing in the basement of the Inn of Sargan.

  The barkeep, who also happened to own the place, told them they could workout there as long as they promised not to break anything. He wasn’t referring to their bones, but rather his boxes and barrels. At first, he wasn’t fond of the idea at all, and were it not for Whizzfiddle’s gold coins they would have had to practice outside.

  “All right,” Bekner said as Gungren hopped around and punched the air, “the first thing ye’ve got to do is learn to punch the fella in the nethers.”

  “The what?” asked Gungren.

  “Excuse me, Bekner,” interrupted Zel, “but I believe that is considered against the rules in the UDFC.”

  “That’s gonna make things tougher.”

  Bekner started pacing around. He looked to be thinking of other options. Gungren just kept punching the air and jumping around because it was supposed to help him be in shape for the event.

  “All right, all right,” Bekner said as though a thought had struck. “I’ve got it. The guy yer after fightin’ is gonna have to lean down, yeah?”

  “What you mean?”

  “‘Cause you’ll be littler than him.”

  “Not if him is a halfling,” Gungren pointed out.

  “Aye, but then you can just stomp him, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “But a big fighter is gonna have to be after leanin’ down to knock yer block off.” Bekner then made a fist and stuck out his first finger. “When he does, ye poke him in the eye.”

  “Also against the rules, I’m afraid,” Zel noted.

  Bekner threw his hands up in frustration. “What in the blazes kind of tournament is this?”

  “One that disallows pokes to the eye and punches to the nethers.” Zel held up his hand. “And before you ask, kicks to the nethers are also disallowed.”

  “You’re not leaving me much to work with here,” complained Bekner.

  “Sorry.”

  “Is he after bein’ allowed to hit the guy in the throat with his fingers?”

  “No.”

  “This is impossible.”

  Bekner plopped down on one of the boxes as Zel continued thumbing through the rule book.

  Gungren made a mental note to learn that rule book inside and out. While Master Whizzfiddle was not fond of reading manuals and such, Gungren felt it was the only way to be certain of what you were getting into. Besides, where there were rules, there were exceptions and loopholes.

  For now, he would just work on his endurance. He wouldn’t be able to build much up in only a couple of days, and he didn’t even have that much time with Bekner and Zel because there was still traveling to do.

  “Okay,” said Zel, leaning forward. “There is a pretty big list of things he can do. He can stab him with a sword, crush his head with a hammer, break every bone in his body, throw him into a flaming pit of doom—if one happens to be available, snap his neck, pull his teeth out one by one, crush his jaw under foot, saw him in half with a razor whip, and many other things that involve weaponry.” He spun the book around. “There are at least fifty more items here.”

  Bekner just blinked. “So he can do all that, but kickin’ the guy in the nethers is a no-no?”

  “It’s considered unsportsmanlike.”

  “These people are daft.”

  Zel merely nodded in response.

  “Gungren, do ye know how to use a razor whip?” asked the dwarf.

  “I doesn’t even know what one is,” Gungren replied.

  “How’s about a sword?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s not after bein’ that hard,” explained Bekner. “Ye take the side with the point on it and stick it in the other guy’s nethers.”

  “Can’t do that either,” announced Zel.

  “What? Ye just said you couldn’t punch him or kick him in the nethers. Ye didn’t say nothin’ about a sword to the nethers bein’ out-of-bounds!”

  “Anything to the nethers is against the rules,” Zel stated.

  “Fine.” Bekner breathed out heavily. “Anyway, usin’ a sword is easy. Ye stick the pointy end of it in the guy’s stomach.” He tilted his head a Zel. “That’s after bein’ allowed, right?”

  “Oh yes, most certainly,” came the emphatic reply.

  “Madness.”

  It did seem a little strange that you were allowed to kill someone in the ring in any number of ways, but some things were listed as unsportsmanlike. In Gungren’s estimation, the entire sport was a bit twisted. Beating people to a pulp so you could get a belt and some money didn’t make sense to the little giant. Killing each other over it was even worse.

  “Can ye be after doin’ that, Gungren?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Sticking the pointy end of a sword in another fighter’s belly.”

  “I can, but I not want to do that.” He shook his head seriously. “I not want to kill anybody.”

  “Kill or be killed,” argued Bekner. “This is war!”

  “He’s right, Gungren,” Zel said more calmly. “You have to expect that your opponents are going to do whatever they can to take you out of the fight. That includes killing you.”

  “I know, but that don’t mean I got to do that.”

  Bekner dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “This is gonna take some effort.”

  “Yes,” agreed Zel.

  Preparing for the Interview

  Heliok sat in his office across from West. The elderly troll was the vision of dapperness. His suit was pressed, his posture was straight, and his demeanor was professional.

  “The first thing you must do,” instructed West, “is hold yourself in proper esteem.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” replied Heliok, feeling confused.

  “Your confidence, good sir. You must not allow it to wane.”

  “Ah, right. That should be easy.” He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. “Remember, I’m a Fate.”

  “A Fate who attended a Breadmasters meeting due to a fear of public speaking, no?”

  Heliok resumed a more suitable seated position. “I see your point.”

  “Not to worry, sir,” West said, crossing his legs. “We must merely adjust a few simple aspects of your thoughts and you’ll be unfazed at the prospect of gaining the podium.”

  The troll pulled a card from his pocket. It was rectangular with lines on both sides. On the front was some writing that West spun to face him. This revealed the back of the card, which read “#1.” He then retrieved a pair of reading glasses and put them on.

  “First, you will have either memorized what you will say or you will have a teleprompter to aid you along.”

  “That could be a problem,” said Heliok. “You see, Misty asks her questions in real-time. I never know what she’s going to ask until it comes out of her mouth.”

  “I shall remind you again that you are a Fate, sir.”

  “I don’t understand your point.”

  West lowered the card, dipped his head slightly, and looked over the rims of his glasses at Heliok.

  “Are you not able to put a stop to time if you wish?”

  Heliok shook his head with fervor. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “But you’re
a Fate,” West said with a frown.

  “Which merely means that we are far more powerful than The Twelve, who are far more powerful than you.” Heliok sighed. “There are always limitations, West.”

  West removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t seem angry or frustrated, but there was clearly an issue.

  “This is disappointing,” the troll said finally. “I was rather hoping I could find a measure of promise out of aiding you in your cause.”

  “Is that your concern?” Heliok said, louder than he needed to. “Worry not, then! I shall make this a Fate Quest for you.”

  “Sorry?” said West, lifting his head.

  “If you succeed in assisting me to overcome my fear of public speaking, I shall provide you with whatever you wish...within reason.”

  “By definition, it would not be whatever I wish if it must be within reason,” argued West.

  Heliok shrugged. “What would you wish?”

  “A young body, long life, and a never-ending supply of money,” replied West without hesitation.

  “Done.”

  “Truly?”

  “Certainly, my man. That’s all within reason.” Heliok then grinned and added, “I’d also say that you are rather clever in selecting as you have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, West, most people ask for only one item. I never correct them, but I do find it amusing when they could have so much more.”

  West’s demeanor changed again. He now wore a face that was a mixture of relief and pride.

  This was great for Heliok, since he now knew West would pull out all the stops to help him.

  “Right,” said West, putting his spectacles back on. “Now that we have that resolved, I have a plan for helping you with card one.” He tapped the edge of the card on his knee. “Are you able to increase your rate of thinking?”

  “Of course,” Heliok answered without delay.

  “Is that not effectively the same thing as slowing down time to those who are less powerful than you?”

  Heliok often wondered why he didn’t understand all of the things that Ononokinites said to him. He assumed it was because he was so much more powerful and intelligent than they were, but wouldn’t that mean that he would be able to grasp anything they threw at him?

  “How do you mean?” he asked, feeling rather deflated.

  “If I were to ask you a question and you had no immediate answer, could you not increase your speed of thought to such a degree that it would give you ample time to come up with a solid answer while making it seem as though only a second had passed from my perspective?”

  Why hadn’t he thought of that? Certainly there must be some reason…

  Heliok paused and slowly began to nod. It was because his mind was full of more important things. Coming up with cunning ways around the fear of public speaking was beneath him.

  Still, this was an incredibly bright suggestion that West had provided.

  “That’s sincerely brilliant, West.”

  “It’s a gift,” West stated as a matter of fact.

  “What’s card number two?” asked Heliok as West began tucking the cards back into his pocket.

  “Honestly, my good Mr. Heliok, if you can manage thinking faster than the rest of them, you don’t need any cards at all.”

  Exploring the Town

  Whizzfiddle found himself bored with just sitting around as Gungren trained with Zel and Bekner. He would have spent time with Eloquen and Orophin, but he had no eye for design and they both seemed to be enjoying each other’s company enough that Whizzfiddle would have felt like a third wheel.

  So he headed out to survey the shops and such.

  He wasn’t much for walking in and out of stores, but now and then there was a gem of a place that sold interesting trinkets. One need only look around Whizzfiddle’s home to see that he collected a lot of odd knickknacks. He felt that it livened up his place.

  He passed by all of the primary stores, seeing not much more than clothiers and the like.

  But then his eye caught a mid-sized gypsy-style building. It was on large wooden wheels, and it was painted in all sorts of colors, giving it a very robust visual for the passerby. The paint job was tastefully eclectic.

  A little wooden stand outside said, “Living Audio” on it.

  This piqued Whizzfiddle’s interest and so he stepped inside and looked around.

  There were many boxes lining the walls, each having artwork and a title. It looked as though they were music discs of some sort. This was rather interesting considering that they were in the Upperworld. Whizzfiddle had seen these items in the Underworld many times, and he did find them quite interesting, but the locals in this area would have found this as nothing but odd.

  “Welcome to Living Audio,” said a youngish dwarf with the name “Sonic Missedhammer” sewn into his shirt. He was clearly standing on some type of platform because he wouldn’t have been able to see over the counter otherwise. He was also looking at the door, even though Whizzfiddle had moved over to one of the racks of discs. “What can we be after doin’ for ye today, madam?”

  “First off,” Whizzfiddle stated, “I’m over here. Secondly, I’m not a madam.”

  A tall elf walked in from the back room. The name on his shirt read “Willowy Wordsworth.”

  “Did you call me, Sonic?” he said in a voice that was made for oration.

  “Why would I be after callin’ you ‘Sonic?’” asked Sonic. “That’s my name!”

  “I’m asking if you were yelling for me to come out here?”

  “Ah, nay.” He pointed at the wall. “Someone came in. Nice elderly lady, from the sounds of it.”

  Willowy looked over and nodded at Whizzfiddle.

  “It’s a man, Sonic.” Willowy then said, “A wizard, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “That’s right,” answered Whizzfiddle.

  “Well, why didn’t ye say so?” Sonic bellowed. “We’ve got many audio delights for wizards, ye know?”

  “I did not know,” Whizzfiddle said, “and I’m standing over here now.”

  “Ah hah!” The dwarf spun and faced the back wall. “Yes, ye are.”

  Willowy spun his business partner to face Whizzfiddle.

  “Thank ye.”

  “Don’t mention it.” The elf placed his hands on the counter and smiled at Whizzfiddle. “So, what are you looking for today, sir?”

  “I’m just browsing.”

  “Ah,” said Willowy with a wince, as if he knew something was about to go horribly wrong.

  “Just browsing?” yelped Sonic. “Just browsing? Why are people after always just browsing?”

  “All right now, Sonic. Let’s not irritate our customer.”

  “What customer? Customers purchase things. It’s in the blasted definition of the word!” Sonic harrumphed. “He’s not a customer, he’s a browser.”

  Willowy looked confused at this statement. “What? You mean one of those things that you can look at the Undernet with?”

  “The underwho?”

  “The Undernet,” explained Willowy. “I’m sure I’ve told you about it.”

  “You know about the Undernet, eh?” said Whizzfiddle. “I know you’re an elf, but I assumed you were born and raised in the Upperworld.”

  “He’s an elf?” said Sonic. “That’s disheartening.” Then Sonic seemed to catch himself. “Wait…did I just hear the voice of a customer?” He turned to the back wall again. “What can we be after gettin’ for ye today, madam?”

  “It’s still me and I’m still not a madam,” Whizzfiddle stated, finally grasping that the dwarf was blind.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Willowy. “He’s lost his marbles, is all.”

  “I have not,” argued Sonic. “They’re right here in my pocket.” He fished around for a moment. “Hmmmm, that’s strange. They were after bein’ here earlier.”

  Whizzfiddle waved at the elf and pointed at his own eyes as if questioning whethe
r or not the dwarf was indeed blind. Willowy nodded slowly.

  “I brought back a case of gnome brownies after one of my travels to Hubintegler,” said Willowy a moment later, “and he’s been eating two a day for the last week.”

  “Ah, right.”

  Whizzfiddle understood that.

  Gnome brownies were the type that made you relax quite a bit. They were great for aches and pains. If fact, some places in the Underworld allowed doctors to prescribe them to help treat various ailments. But they did have side effects, especially in the way of withdrawal. These side effects had nothing to do with the funny weed. It was completely due to the fact that gnomes used a lot of sweetener in their brownies. Sugar was a very addictive thing, after all.

  “Speaking of brownies,” said Sonic, “are there any left? I have the munchies.”

  “See?” Willowy said to Whizzfiddle while raising his eyebrow.

  “See? No, I cannot see, and you’re after knowin’ that, Willowy.” The dwarf puffed out his chest as he pointed accusingly at a potted plant near the back wall. “You’re fired!”

  “Right,” Willowy said while shaking his head. “Okay. I’m fired.” He leaned in near Whizzfiddle. “Fires me at least three times a day.”

  “I heard that!”

  “And yet you stay?” mouthed Whizzfiddle.

  Willowy waved off the point. “He’ll forget in a few minutes. Again, they were gnome brownies.”

  “Indeed. It’s unusual to see someone get irritated when eating those.” He glanced again at Sonic. “Even a dwarf.”

  “Oh, he was mostly chilled out for the week, but he ate the final one last night before bed, so the withdrawal phase has begun.”

  “Ah.”

  Yep, that made sense. If you didn’t keep a steady supply rolling after you got hooked, you would indeed become quite irritable. Seeing that dwarves were renowned for being innately grumpy, tacking on gnome brownie withdrawal spelled for a very rough combination.

  “Who is that you’re after talkin’ to, Willowy?” said Sonic suspiciously.

  “It’s a customer, Sonic.”

  “A customer? Well, why didn’t ye say so?” He spun again. This time he was looking at Whizzfiddle. “Welcome to Living Audio. What can we get for you today?”