The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  There was no point in trying to explain it. Zel knew enough about the Underworld to know the device wasn’t truly a magical item, but if that’s how he needed to view it in order to keep his mind from balking at the concept, so be it.

  “Well, I want to thank you all again for your help. You have been true friends, and should you ever have need of our assistance in the future, you need only ask.”

  And with that, they all shared hugs and goodbyes before Whizzfiddle, Gungren, and Eloquen walked towards the nearest Underworld portal.

  Studying the Competition

  Teggins was sitting on the balcony, watching as workers flowed in and out of the arena.

  He wasn’t planning to interrupt the flow of things, but once his bet cashed in and Krag was crowned as the new champion, he would start weaseling his way into the system. Within a few months he’d be the majority shareholder, and by the time UDFC 101 started, he’d have everyone working for him.

  Lucille stepped outside, holding a roll of paper.

  “I’ve been working on something here that I think you should see,” she said as she unfolded it across the small table that Teggins had been using to hold his drink.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a map of the city.”

  “I already have a map of the city,” Teggins replied, holding up his TalkyThingy. “Shouldn’t you be doing research on the fighters instead of building maps?”

  “Just look at this.” She pointed at the map. “Notice the dots moving around?”

  “Ah, yeah,” Teggins said thoughtfully. “That’s a new piece of technology, eh?”

  “It’s magic.”

  “Ah.”

  Krag walked out and was staring at the map as well.

  “Those dots represent each of the fighters who have already arrived in town,” she said with a hint of pride.

  “Interesting.”

  Teggins liked this kind of use for magic. It made sense to him. There was no turning people into toads or making them fall in love with someone else. This was the art of manipulating circumstances for his benefit. He supposed the toad thing could be used for that, too, but he preferred the time-honored snapping of kneecaps when exacting punishment.

  “So you’re tracking them?” He nodded. “I like that.”

  “I thought you might approve.”

  “I do, indeed. Gives us a lot of chances to take out a potential threat, should the need arise.”

  “Gah!” said Krag before storming off the balcony.

  Lucille giggled. “He really doesn’t like that we’re helping him win, does he?”

  “Who cares what he likes?” Teggins said with a flip of his hand. “This is all about me getting a solid payout.”

  “Right.”

  “If Krag gets a little glory along the way, so be it.”

  What did Teggins care? Actually, he thought about that for a moment. If Krag jumped up on a high horse after this event, it would make for a splendid fall in UDFC 101.

  One thing at a time.

  “I just want to make sure I have the maximum bang for the buck on this venture. That means that we have to make him look good all the way until he wears that belt.”

  “And this map will help,” Lucille agreed, plucking the parchment.

  “Yes, I think it may.” He nodded appraisingly at her. “Good work. I’ll make sure you get an extra silver in your pay.”

  Her eyes lit up mockingly. “A whole silver?”

  “Watch yourself, Lucille. You’re easily replaced.”

  “Only if you’re willing to pay more than a silver.”

  Wimat Station

  Wimat station was one of the nicer portal stations. This was due to the fact that the majority of wealthier lands connected to it.

  But that didn’t mean it was entirely safe.

  In fact, Wimat was known for having a problem with scrags. This was the name given to those who hid in the shadows and mugged people if they got off the beaten track. Sometimes, though, when the guards weren’t around the actual portal area, the scrags would take advantage of new arrivals.

  It was all about timing, and Whizzfiddle wasn’t exactly known for having great timing.

  “Keep your eyes open for trouble, Gungren.”

  “You mean scabs?”

  “Scrags,” Whizzfiddle corrected.

  “Sinister intent rests upon the visage of a duo with destinies forthwith.”

  “Him say there am two bad-looking guys walking over here.”

  Whizzfiddle glanced over and spotted the two ruffians headed their way. Neither of them looked all that threatening, but living on the streets had a way of teaching people how to take care of themselves, regardless of their size. Fortunately, money typically made them go on their way since they didn’t want to attract too much attention. Guards could easily show up in the area at any moment, after all.

  “Indeed,” he said with a sigh. “They probably just want coins, but sometimes they can get a little rough.”

  “We could use magic,” Gungren suggested.

  “Remember that Wimat doesn’t allow magic except in the case of self-defense.”

  “That what this would be.”

  “True,” conceded Whizzfiddle. “Unfortunately, Wimat officers genuinely dislike magic, Gungren, and that means that we’d be spending a week being questioned.” He met the little giant’s eyes. “You’d miss your match.”

  “That not be a good thing.” He then began to slowly nod. “Oh, I remember now. We fought them guys in the cafe thing.”

  “Precisely, and the only reason I got out of the grip of the security team for using magic was because you, Bekner, Orophin, and Zel were there to intimidate the captain.”

  “Yep.”

  “The disquietude of our consensus resists lastingness,” Eloquen whispered.

  “Him said that we am too late.”

  Whizzfiddle blew out a heavy breath and turned to face the two gentlemen who had arrived. They were both wearing ratty outfits that marked them as being in difficult financial situations. Under normal circumstances, Whizzfiddle would do what he could to assist them, but he was adamantly opposed to their means of procuring funds. Aiding criminals was not something Whizzfiddle felt comfortable with.

  “How you gents doin’ on this fine day?” asked the taller of the two. He had a greasy smile that matched his hair.

  “Look like they’s travelin’ too heavy to me, Skillz,” said the smaller one, who had a similar look to his friend with the exception that one of his eyes appeared to have a mind of its own.

  “I think you may be right, Reapy,” agreed Skillz.

  “Thanks, Skillz.” Reapy bowed slightly. “I do what I can.”

  Even though giving in to criminals was bothersome, Whizzfiddle had to keep focused on Gungren’s quest. They had a timetable to keep.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” he said as he begrudgingly pulled out his leather purse, “so how about I give each of you a nice silver from my bag here and we all walk away from this unscathed?”

  Skillz’s eyes widened. “Probably could’ve gone about with a silver, except that you made a bit of a judgment error, old fella.”

  “I did?” said Whizzfiddle, frowning.

  “Plain as day, too,” Reapy noted.

  Whizzfiddle gave Skillz a questioning glance. “What?”

  “Ya went and showed us your purse full of coins, gramps.”

  “Ah, right.” Whizzfiddle groaned. Why did he always want to search for the better part of people? “I’ll have you note that I dislike being called ‘gramps.’”

  “Sorry, pops,” Skillz amended.

  “That’s not much better.”

  “See,” interjected Reapy, “the thing is that now we’s gonna want more than just a couple of silvers in order to be on our way.”

  Whizzfiddle could just wait them out. There was bound to be a guard coming through at any minute now. The problem was that he wasn’t sure precisely when that would happen. So
far neither of these two had pulled a weapon, and seeing that he didn’t have his flask in hand, that put him at a disadvantage.

  “Fine,” he said with a groan. “One gold each, then.”

  “So you’ve got gold coins in there, eh?” Skillz said, his eyes twinkling.

  “Blast,” cursed Whizzfiddle.

  “You not very good at this, Master,” Gungren noted.

  “How’s about you just hand over the entire bag, pops,” suggested Skillz, “and we’ll call it a day’s work?”

  “I don’t think so,” Whizzfiddle replied, growing weary of this discourse.

  “You wouldn’t want things to get rough, would you?” Reapy asked in a dark tone.

  “Actually…” He started to reach for his flask, but stopped. “Gungren, do you think you could do what you did to Bekner, but maybe not so hard?”

  “Punch them in the head?”

  “Right.”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s a Bekner?” asked Skillz a moment before Gungren’s fist connected with his noggin.

  It was lights out as the scrag crumpled to the ground with a thud.

  His partner in crime had his hands up in an instant, clearly shocked regarding the power that Gungren carried in his fists.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he said as he got out of reach of the little giant. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “You didn’t have any problem with it when you were trying to steal my coins,” Whizzfiddle spat.

  “We wasn’t stealing nothin’,” retaliated Reapy. “You were giving it to us!”

  “Oh, sure, right,” Whizzfiddle said with contempt. “Out of the goodness of my heart, no doubt?”

  “Right,” answered Reapy. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  It was Whizzfiddle’s turn to give the scrag a dark look. He pointed at the young man with a sinister finger and said, “You’ve got exactly three seconds to skidaddle or I’ll have my young friend here do to you what he did to Skillz.”

  “All right, all right, I’m going.”

  And he started going, leaving his friend lying by Gungren.

  “Wait,” said Whizzfiddle as he pointed at Skillz. “Aren’t you going to take him with you? You can’t just leave him there.”

  “I also can’t drag him away in three seconds.”

  “That was just a figure of speech. Take him and go.”

  “Sure thing, gramps.... Erm, I mean, pops.... Erm, I mean…”

  Whizzfiddle threw up his hands. “Just get moving!”

  Highlights, Part 4

  Payne wasn’t allowed inside of Crazell’s lair, so she waited for the dragon to exit the arena. Normally, Crazell would just fly home, but her manager, Ricky Schmicky, promised a quick interview in order to help build even more interest in the event.

  “We’re here with the reigning champion of the Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship, Crazell, and her trainer, Ricky,” Payne said. “Crazell, this is a momentous occasion for you and the UDFC because it’s the one hundredth event and you winning it would mark the twenty-fifth in a row. How does this make you feel?”

  “Tired,” came the dragon’s blunt reply.

  “Haha,” said Payne, finding it excellent that Crazell was using humor. “Very good. But seriously, how do you feel about all of this?”

  The response was in the same tone. “Tired.”

  “Oh.”

  “What Crazell is saying,” Ricky jumped in, “is that she’s tired of all these lowlifes thinking they can challenge her.”

  Payne had the feeling that wasn’t the case, but seeing that the dragon wasn’t giving her much useful information, she decided to focus in on Ricky. He was her promoter, manager, trainer, and everything else, so he would put a nice spin on things.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “Right,” Ricky said as his hands suddenly got animated. “For two hundred and forty years she’s reigned supreme in this event, but they keep comin’. It’s a wonder they even bother.”

  “I’d imagine it’s the indomitable spirit of the warrior,” Payne debated. “They always seek to challenge themselves.”

  “That is what brings the crowds, eh?” Ricky agreed, rolling with Payne’s commentary. “And let’s face it, there could be that one fighter out there who might be able to best Crazell. You never know.”

  Ricky was quite the salesman. Even though it was his own fighter he was talking about, he offered up just enough doubt to tighten the hook on any potential viewer who may have been on the fence about forking over ten gold to watch the event live.

  “That’s very true,” she agreed, doing her part to add some influence, “and with this being an anniversary event, the fighters are raising the bar this time around.” She then turned back to the enormous red dragon. “There’s promised to be some incredibly strong competition this time around. How does that make you feel, Crazell?”

  With a groan, she merely replied, “Tired.”

  A New Arrival

  “The rest of the fighters have arrived and I’m tracking them all,” said Lucille as Teggins walked into the living room.

  She had the map on the table and there were tiny dots flying all over it. There were sixteen fighters, not counting Crazell. It was a standard elimination tournament. Sixteen would battle, leaving eight, then four, and finally two. Whoever won that last battle would face the champion. Teggins knew that would be Krag, because if it wasn’t, Lucille was going to suffer his wrath.

  He had familiarized himself with all the fighters, but there was one missing, seemingly replaced by a new entrant.

  “Who is that one?” he said, pointing.

  “Oh, one of the fighters became sick and so there was a replacement added,” she answered. Then she tapped the dot and said, “His name is Gungren.”

  “Gungren, eh?” Teggins had heard that name before. “Sounds familiar.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t quite place it. “Who is his manager?”

  “Xebdigon Whizzfiddle,” she answered as if she were familiar with the man.

  “Ah,” Teggins said at length. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Whizzfiddle was a friend of my old mother. And as I recall, this Gungren fellow was a wizard, of sorts.” That made him relax. “No magic is allowed to be cast in the ring, though, so we don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Nope,” Lucille agreed.

  Teggins rubbed his chin as he lowered himself in a chair that seemed to cry as he did so.

  “But why would a wizard go to fight in a UDFC championship? And why, specifically, would Whizzfiddle be involved?”

  “That, I don’t know,” she admitted.

  He nodded at her.

  Again, it wasn’t like this Gungren had a chance of winning, especially since he was disallowed from casting magic in the ring, but Teggins didn’t like leaving things to chance. If there was some angle that this Gungren fellow may have, the crime boss wanted to know about it.

  “I’m thinking you need to find out,” he said to Lucille. “Just in case.”

  Theme Song

  Corg and Aniok had all the workout footage for Gungren pieced together, but something was missing.

  “It’s after needin’ somethin’, Ani,” Corg said while staring at the screen. “I like the footage mostly, but there ain’t no oomph.”

  “I thought it was pretty great the way he knocked that dwarf out,” Aniok said, chuckling.

  “Didn’t see that comin’,” agreed Corg. “We dwarves ain’t exactly soft on the noggin’, ye know?”

  “Obviously Gungren’s got one heck of a wallop.”

  Corg nodded. “As much as a smithy’s hammer, I’d say. Probably more.” He pointed at the screen when Gungren started running away from the little carriage. “I’m after liking the little bit here of him scootin’ up that hill and throwin’ his arms in the air like he’s just won somethin’. But there’s just…” He stopped and snapped his fingers. “The theme song we yammered about. Where’s it after be
in’?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Aniok as he grabbed his data pad. “Let me check to see if that’s come in yet.” He tapped for a moment and then said, “Yep. There are three options. Let me sync the first one, and here we go.”

  A song came on that sounded like carnival music. There were horns, and bass drums, and what sounded like an accordion. Corg had no clue how that was supposed to fit with this project at all.

  “That’s awful,” the dwarf said. “Sounds like it’s after bein’ for clowns and whatnot.”

  “Agreed. Let me try the next one.”

  It was better than the carnival music, but not by much. The sound was dark and creepy. There were strings playing in discord, using a minor key and everything.

  “That’s even worse,” Corg stated. “He’s not after killin’ nobody.” Actually, it might come to that, but Corg assumed it would be Gungren getting the worst end of the stick. Still, they were looking for excitement, not dread. “What kind of daft twits did ye ask to create these, ya loony Fate?”

  “My brother’s kid.”

  “Is he after bein’ five years old?”

  “In your years he’s more like five thousand years old.”

  Corg scratched his beard. “Do yer type mature slowly or somethin’?”

  “Let’s try the third one,” said Aniok, clearly ignoring Corg’s insults.

  This one fit the mold. It was upbeat with full orchestration. The vibe was powerful, just as a soundtrack for this type of show should be.

  “Now, yer talkin’! That’s a right soundin’ tune. Gets the blood pumpin’ and such.”

  “It really does, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye,” Corg said with a firm nod. “Now, if’n ye can get your screwy nephew to take that and make it longer than ten seconds, we’ll have somethin’ to work with!”

  My New Assistant

  Heliok was well aware that he’d promised to give West a fine reward for helping him with public speaking, but there was a chance that the troll might want something even better.