The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  Eloquen took Gungren down to the workout facilities to give the little giant some exercise time. Since Whizzfiddle had picked up ample healing potions while they were in Kesper’s, Gungren would be able to keep practicing without feeling the repercussions.

  Whizzfiddle was planning to head off to the arena to have a look around. His hope was to alleviate some of the stress on Gungren by knowing where things were. It was already going to be a daunting experience for his apprentice, so anything that he could do to help would be worthwhile.

  As they parted in the lobby, the front desk dragon waved at him. It was odd, but he waved back since he didn’t want to irritate the fellow.

  And that’s when he spotted something out of place.

  It was a woman who was watching Gungren and Eloquen as they walked by. That, in and of itself, wasn’t strange; it was when she started to follow them that Whizzfiddle became suspicious. Plus, he recognized her.

  Her name was Lucille and she wasn’t known for being on the up-and-up with her magical abilities. In fact, her name was on the top-ten list of wizards who were marked as incredibly shifty. That was saying something considering that being shifty was part of a wizard’s standard motif.

  He spun and began following her.

  The hallway was long and adorned with massive paintings of dragon heads. Each had a name underneath them, and those names were often lengthy and full of double consonants. Whizzfiddle tried to say a few in his head at first, but it was no use.

  Gungren and Eloquen turned the corner at the far end of the hallway. Twenty steps later, so did Lucille.

  When Whizzfiddle arrived at the turn, he found a small area that overlooked the gym. There were many people using various exercise devices. He couldn’t fathom a solid reason for anyone to put themselves through such torture, but he assumed they had their reasons.

  Gungren was punching a large bag with his bare hands as Eloquen attempted to hold it in place. The elf was failing miserably.

  “Hello, Lucille,” Whizzfiddle said as he stepped up beside the woman.

  She jumped. “Oh! Uh…Whizzfiddle? My goodness, you startled me.”

  “Seems I have.”

  “I’ve not seen you in, what, ten years?” she said.

  “Sounds about right.”

  “I hope you’ve been well?”

  “I’m fine,” he answered, and then decided to cut to the chase. “May I ask why you’re following my apprentice?”

  “Your apprentice?” she said, overacting. “I thought you swore off having an apprentice since that Treneth of Dahl fiasco?”

  “Times change, Lucille.”

  “You can say that again. I remember my younger years like they were yesterday. Must be nice having perpetual life.”

  She was deflecting. This only served to solidify that she was up to no good.

  When a person such as Lucille was innocent, they spoke freely, but when they were doing something wrong or they could not defend their position with logic, they sought to deflect. It was akin to the political arguments Whizzfiddle used to have when he was quested to aid a campaign in the Underworld. His job was to detect when people were lying. This wasn’t a common practice for wizards on a daily basis…in fact, it was a punishable offense. But when there was a quest involved, rules were greatly relaxed. During that stint, he’d recognized that people generally tended to follow what they wanted to believe instead of what was factual. When logic seemed worthy of prevailing, those folks didn’t want to budge, so they would instead deflect. It made no sense to Whizzfiddle. Why wouldn’t a person want to know the facts of a situation instead of continuing to proliferate ignorance?

  But in the instance of Lucille, she was deflecting because she was lying.

  “Perpetual life isn’t all that grand, especially when you accidentally take a drink of long-life elixir at the age of six hundred and fifty.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  They stood silently for a moment. Clearly she knew that Whizzfiddle wasn’t stupid, but she’d obviously hoped he would just let the matter of her following his apprentice go. He would not.

  “Why were you following Gungren?”

  “Who?”

  “My apprentice. May I know why, please?”

  “I…uh…” She spun towards him with a look of “eureka!” on her face. “I think he’s cute?”

  “Was that a question or a statement?”

  “Both?”

  “I see.” That did nothing but prove she was full of hooey. “Are you working the event for someone this year?”

  Her eyes darted about. “How do you mean?”

  “Oh, come now, Lucille, I know the brand of wizardry you employ.” He crossed his arms. “My guess is that you’re here to either help one fighter or hinder another, and since I know you’re not getting paid by me or Gungren, you must be intent on derailing my apprentice.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.” He wondered if maybe that damnable Fate was involved. “Did Heliok put you up to this? A little extra insurance, maybe?”

  “Helly who?”

  Whizzfiddle frowned at her. “The innocent act does not become you, Lucille.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know any Helly guy.”

  “Heliok.”

  “Okay, Heliok.” She shrugged. “Don’t know him either.”

  She seemed genuine.

  “You seriously don’t know him?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then, again, I ask why you are here?”

  “I already told you, I think—”

  “Gungren’s cute,” Whizzfiddle interrupted. “Yes, so you said.”

  She didn’t reply.

  Whizzfiddle doubted her assertion, but he had an idea to put her in a corner.

  “Well, then go on in and talk to him,” Whizzfiddle suggested, pointing at the door. “I’m sure he’d like to know he has an admirer.”

  Lucille’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I couldn’t do that. I’m far too shy.”

  “Since when?”

  Instead of answering, she just looked back at Gungren as he was punching the bag. Whizzfiddle couldn’t help but feel bad for that bag, actually. It was getting quite dented up. And the look on Eloquen’s face spelled that he was going to need a shot or two of that healing potion also.

  Of course, that could explain why the elf was on this quest. He truly was Gungren’s friend. It all started out with him being the camera guy, but when Corg moved to shooting everything from Fateland instead, that left Eloquen in a rut. Gungren, being himself, befriended the elf, who was now sticking by his side until the end.

  “What is he, exactly?” Lucille asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s too big to be a halfling. I would guess dwarf but the lack of facial hair and the fact that his head is so big makes that unlikely. He’s clearly not an elf or a human.”

  “He’s a giant.”

  Lucille shook her head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. “How’s that?”

  “A giant.”

  “Him?” she said, pointing.

  “Yep.”

  “There are dwarf giants?”

  “Gungren is the first,” Whizzfiddle replied. “He was transformed via a spell by Peapod Pecklesworthy some time ago.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  Lucille began studying Gungren like he was some sort of exhibit. This was only magnified by the fact that she was looking at him through a glass window.

  “Does he know he’s a giant?”

  “Yes,” Whizzfiddle answered. “He’s also a wizard. A pretty decent one at that.”

  “Incredible! But wait…” She blinked a few times before looking at Whizzfiddle. “Why is he fighting at this event?”

  “That’s a piece of information I cannot share with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s his business to share or not, as the
case may be.” He gave her a once-over. “Plus, I don’t trust you, Lucille. You’re too shifty.” She seemed offended by this remark, but Whizzfiddle knew that, too, was naught but an act. “But, hey, seeing as how you claim to be sweet on him, why not just ask for yourself?”

  “Oh my, look at the time,” she said, glancing at a wrist that had no timepiece. “I have to run. Maybe I’ll catch up with Gungren later.”

  Whizzfiddle nodded and gave her a warning look.

  “I’m sure you will,” he said. “Just remember that I’ll be watching you.”

  Whizzfiddle, Eh?

  Lucille was clearly on edge as they returned to the room. She was pacing and chewing her fingernails as she explained what had happened between her and Whizzfiddle.

  Teggins wasn’t worried about the old wizard. He wasn’t worried about any wizard. Even if they got the better of him now, he’d get them back eventually.

  “A giant, eh?” Teggins said, holding up the profile picture of Gungren that was delivered to his room, along with the profiles of all the rest of the warriors in the event. “Doesn’t look like a giant.”

  “He was squished during a transformation spell.”

  “Ah, I see,” Teggins said. “So he was one of those in that quest of undoing that Treneth of Dahl tried to have me stop.”

  Lucille stopped pacing. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He waved at her. “Old business. Everything has been resolved to my satisfaction and therefore it’s in the past.” He then remembered how Treneth had treated him during that time. “Unless, of course, I ever get my hands on either Treneth or Curlang. But that’s not something to worry about for now.”

  “I see,” said Lucille.

  “No, you don’t, and that’s how I want it.” He glanced back at Gungren’s photo. “I’m thinking that a little giant playing around the ring without the ability to cast magic is interesting.”

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  “Nothing yet,” Teggins said, seeing that the little fellow had been listed as never having fought before. That must have meant this was a quest of some kind. Based on his size, the crossed eyes, and the kind face he wore, Teggins assumed that this Gungren fellow wouldn’t even make it past the first round in his first fight. “Just keep an eye on him like you do everyone else. I can’t see how he’s going to make much of a fuss in the long run. He’s too little.”

  “He seemed pretty strong when he was punching that bag.”

  “All the fighters are strong,” Teggins countered. “Even Krag here.”

  “I will kill squish giant.”

  “See?” He flicked Gungren’s picture across the room. “I’m not worried.”

  Climbing the Ladder

  Heliok had been summoned to Kilodiek’s office.

  While West could run interference for him when it came to Mooli, Lornkoo, and any other number of people beneath Heliok, he could do nothing to stop Kilodiek.

  “I have been receiving complaints from your underlings, Heliok,” Kilodiek said, sounding annoyed.

  “Oh?”

  “It seems as though you have brought in an Ononokinite to act as their superior?”

  “Of course not, sir,” Heliok replied strongly. “That would be preposterous.”

  Kilodiek glared. “Indeed, it would.”

  “I have merely brought him in to be my personal assistant, sir.”

  Kilodiek shot up from his chair. “Without my approval?”

  “I don’t recall there being a precept in the Fate management handbook regarding a manager requiring the approval of his manager in order to hire a new employee.”

  Heliok had him there.

  Kilodiek slowly sat back down.

  Managers were given autonomy when it came to filling their own ranks. Suggestions could be made by the higher-ups, actually, and sometimes following those suggestions was smart, politically speaking. But ultimately it was up to the hiring manager to decide who ended up working on their team.

  “There isn’t for standard protocol,” agreed Kilodiek, “but you’ve not brought in a Fate, Heliok. You’ve brought in an outsider.”

  “Again, sir, I also know of no rule against that.”

  “And again, Heliok, there isn’t one.” He appeared flustered. “But...well, it’s just not done, man!”

  That much was true, and knowledge of this move on Heliok’s part would undoubtedly rise up through the ranks of management. That would put him under scrutiny.

  He had to play this carefully.

  “I see no reason it shouldn’t be allowed, sir,” he said. “You must admit that we have done well with having Misty and Corg working on our team as of late.”

  “It has caused a lot more productivity, certainly, but it’s just a temporary measure and you know that.”

  “But why? Think of how we’ve been pushed lately. Aniok was once one of the worst workers in our division. He improved over his time here, yes, but when Corg came along, Aniok became a dynamo of productivity.”

  “I can’t argue against that.”

  “And were it not for Misty’s involvement, I may still be hunting for a way to improve our numbers on Ononokin.”

  “Again, true, but that’s your own fault. Twelve gods. I’ll never understand it.”

  It was the wrong thing for Kilodiek to say. Managers could give you all the grief they wanted about most anything, but it was disallowed to chastise a Fate’s creative outlets.

  “Because it’s my creativity,” Heliok countered, “which is protected under the—”

  “Yes, yes, I’m aware.” Kilodiek had his hands up in surrender. “I’m not bashing your creativity, Heliok, but this entire mess was your fault to begin with and now you’re bringing in people from Ononokin to solve it.”

  “What better way than to involve those who are most impacted by our decisions?”

  It made tons of sense to Heliok. Who was most likely to fix a hole in a sinking ship? The people on it, or someone on a different boat watching it sink?

  “That’s actually a very good point.”

  “And imagine how good it will look on your report when you show that kind of foresight, sir.”

  “Yes, well, that’s true.” He was starting to nod now. “Fine, you may keep him aboard, but if I’m going to be seeing a non-Fate in our area, I will wish to meet him.”

  “Of course, sir.” Heliok opened the door and called to West to join them. When he walked in, Heliok started his introductions. “Kilodiek, this is West. West, this is my superior, Kilodiek.”

  “Your superior?” West said appraisingly. “Meaning that he is higher up the ladder than you in the land of the Fates?”

  “That’s correct.” Kilodiek’s tone was suspicious. “What of it?”

  “I only mean that I find it rather fitting, sir,” West replied in his polished way. “You clearly have a nicer office, a more powerful desk, and your demeanor is one that displays strength and command.”

  Kilodiek’s chest pushed out a little. “Well, that’s true.”

  “And while I mean no offense to Mr. Heliok,” West continued, “I must say that a Fate of your status is far more deserving of an assistant than a Fate of lower position.”

  Heliok was nodding happily at how West was playing things. At least until he realized what the troll had just said.

  “What?”

  “You have a point there,” Kilodiek said, ignoring Heliok’s question. “I don’t have an assistant.”

  “A travesty, in my humble opinion, sir,” West stated.

  “It truly is,” agreed Kilodiek.

  Heliok turned to the troll. “West, what are you doing?”

  “Merely pointing out the obvious, sir,” West replied effortlessly. “Would you find it acceptable if Mooli or Lornkoo had a personal assistant while you did not?”

  “Absolutely not! They’re beneath me—” Heliok’s voice caught in his throat. “Oh.”

  “Exactly.” West was nodding sadly. “Now, Mr. Kilodiek is
above your station and therefore likely believes the same about you, Mr. Heliok.”

  “He’s right,” Kilodiek said to Heliok. “I do.”

  “I believe that a Fate at your level, Mr. Kilodiek, is far more deserving of my capabilities, no?”

  Kilodiek was nodding so quickly that Heliok thought the Fate’s head was going to pop off.

  “Most definitely.”

  “But I just hired him to be my assistant,” complained Heliok.

  “And I’ve just given him a promotion.”

  “This isn’t fair! I demand that—”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” West said in a firm tone as he walked to the door and opened it, “but it appears that you’re not on Mr. Kilodiek’s calendar at the moment. If you would like to make an appointment to have this discussion with him at a more appropriate time, simply have your assistant contact me and we’ll work out the details accordingly.”

  Heliok’s voice was quiet. “But I don’t have an assistant anymore.”

  “Such a pity,” said West as Heliok walked out.

  Meeting his Corner

  The time had come to check in.

  Whizzfiddle led Gungren and Eloquen down a small corridor under the arena. It was where all of the fighters were put. It was also the place set aside for signups, rule changes, and so on.

  They walked up to the main desk where a halfling was stationed.

  “Name?” said the bushy-haired little man.

  “Whizzfiddle. Xebdigon Whizzfiddle.”

  “I don’t see anyone named Whippaddle on the card.”

  “No, not Whippaddle, I said—”

  “I think him want my name, Master,” Gungren interrupted. “I are Gungren.”

  “Good. I’ve got a Gungren here.” The halfling glanced over the desk. “Who is in your corner?”

  “My master and Eloquen,” answered Gungren, pointing to each man in turn.

  The halfling held out his hand. “I need your Corner Cards.”

  Whizzfiddle patted his robe. “Corner Cards?”

  “You can’t run in his corner unless you’ve got Corner Cards.”

  “Where do we get those?”