by Scott Baron
“Well, then, there’s nothing else we can do about it. Let’s go.”
The dragon turned its head and tried to spit fire at the men in green, but the thick collar around its neck glowed brightly, snuffing its flames when it tried.
“It’s working!” Bini said with glee. “It can’t hurt us!”
“Can’t burn us,” Charlie said. “It might still be able to step on you, or eat you. So be careful!”
Each side had not one, but two Zomoki fighting with them. Normally this would have made for an incredibly short bout, but the magical restraints placed on the beasts effectively hobbled them, adding a deadly surprise element to the affair.
A spear from the red team had apparently already wounded the blue team’s smaller dragon. A poor throw gone lucky, finding a seam between its armored scales, though it seemed to have pissed off the dragon more than harm it.
“Follow the plan and fight together. Get Phamli to the pole and maybe we will all go home in one piece,” Charlie said. He didn’t believe his own words. Many of them would not go home at all.
The men raced for one another, a fierce battle among some of the best gladiators of the day. Of course, there were only so many available for the event who had true skill. As such, many of the men fighting were more fodder than predator.
Charlie’s friends fit that category, but he multi-tasked as best he could, peppering their opponents with defensive spells that used little energy, buying them some time while he fought his own attacker.
The man charging him was incredibly fast on his feet, and his spell casting was just as speedy. Charlie found himself quickly on his heels, diving and spinning from the man, waiting for an opening.
It finally arrived in the shape of a small puddle of blood, conveniently deposited from the perforated body of one of the red team’s men. Charlie positioned himself just past it and feigned a slight injury, hoping his attacker would take the bait.
Overzealous, the man did just that, rushing in when he should have been cautious. That would be his downfall.
A terrible shriek filled the air behind him as one of the blue team’s Zomoki had its heart pierced by the blade of a thick-necked orange man. He was one of Charlie’s green team allies, but he would have no time to celebrate as a gush of iridescent blood sprayed him from head-to-toe.
He didn’t even have time to scream as his life was snuffed out in an instant by the toxic blood. Moments later, the dragon succumbed to its injury and collapsed on top of him.
But Charlie didn’t have time to worry about that. He rushed to his slipping attacker’s flank and moved as if casting a spell, but when his opponent cast a counter-spell, Charlie dove forward, his short sword flashing from its sheath and embedding firmly in the man’s chest.
The sword had no power of any kind. A non-magic weapon in a battle of magic users. It was the one thing his dying foe hadn’t prepared for.
But Charlie couldn’t savor his brief victory as two blue-clothed gladiators raced toward him.
Shit!
He turned and ran. There was no dishonor in gaining a moment to regroup, and he was doing just that, one quickly falling foot after another.
As he fled, he saw that Phamli was at the base of the pole, but given the rapidly pumping wound in his side, Charlie doubted he’d be able to make the climb, let alone survive the day. It looked like they would have to win the hard way. By taking out all the other fighters one at a time.
Their black dragon lunged out, snatching an opposing fighter from the field and tossing him into the stands. The dead man’s body passed through the enchanted shielding with ease, but his weapons caught on it, the one thing keeping him from landing in the rapt audience.
Now the Zomoki were being seen as the real threat, and the men on the field, as if by unspoken agreement, turned their attentions on the beasts, determined to wipe them from the equation before they returned to trying to kill one another. A raging bellow caught Charlie’s attention, but not just his ears. He felt it in his whole body.
He turned and saw the source of the sound. An enormous red dragon, its scales the color of old rust and dried blood, was spewing flames against four attackers as they charged it with both spells and weapons. Charlie saw the lighter coloring of a scar on its wing. A scar where he had healed it years prior.
The dragon sensed him as well, turning its gaze on him, locking eyes a moment before dodging another violent attack. The blue team were hectoring the creature, and by the looks of it, had it cornered.
Without thinking, Charlie raced toward them, sword in hand as he drew his slaap from his belt. If there was a time to use it, this, he decided, was it. It was four on one, not counting the dragon, and Charlie didn’t know which of the many spells racing through his mind would be the most effective. He dodged a stun spell, then stumbled through his own incantation, accidentally singing two spells together as his melodic memory device tripped up his tongue.
“Floramar Ivanti Necctuzriha!” he blurted, unintentionally mixing the Drook propulsion spell with a magical throwing one. The results of his combined konus and slaap’s power with the strange spell was immediate.
And violent.
Two of the men were crushed flat to the ground, while the others were flung high into the air until they bounced off of the enchanted barrier.
What the hell was that? he marveled at his unexpectedly effective spell.
Movement caught his eye, and Charlie spun to the great fanged creature, ready to fight if need be, but held his hands up, palms open.
“Hey, fella. I’m the guy who fixed your wing. You remember me?”
The dragon gave him what looked suspiciously like an amused smirk.
“For one, I am not a fella,” a female voice said, reverberating in his head. “And remember you? Of course I remember you. You were kind to me, though I could smell your fear. Now, however, I can smell no such cowardice.”
“Wait a minute, are you actually talking to me?”
“I thought that was obvious. It is rather interesting, though. Not for a very long time have any of my kind been able to speak with a non-Zomoki like this. The only one who had that ability is long dead.”
“You mean Visla Balamar, I assume.”
“How did you––?”
A poorly-cast spell crashed into the soil beside them.
Their moment of grace had passed, and several men were racing toward them with the aim to do violence. The crowd didn’t know what to make of what happened next. A man and a Zomoki, fighting side by side, and not even from the same team. The gladiator in green was not magically protected from the red team’s beast.
The dragon spat flame and slapped with her tail, while Charlie threw defensive spells from his konus to protect her, then went on the offensive with his slaap. The speed at which spells were flying from his lips seemed almost unnatural. But then, he was an astronaut from another planet, fighting alongside a dragon and using magic. Unnatural was just a matter of opinion at that point.
Two of the attackers fell to stun spells, another succumbed to the dragon’s fiery breath, but the strongest of them landed a shot on Charlie, sending him tumbling to the ground, clutching his arm.
The dragon bellowed and charged the man, foregoing defense, opting for brute force. She was going to run him down, he realized, and quickly turned and ran away.
Her ruse worked, and the dragon quickly circled back to the injured human.
“Quickly, climb onto my back and hold on tight.”
“What are you going to do?”
“If a fighter claims the ring atop the pole, the combat ceases. Now, hurry!”
She dropped flat, allowing Charlie to scramble to her shoulders as best he could. The crowd was abuzz with utter shock.
With nothing to hold on to, he slid his hands around the shining band around her neck and held on tight. With a few flaps of her great wings, she launched into the air, but the protective dome pushed her back lower, where a Wampeh and two red aliens Charlie
had never seen before all threw spells at her in hopes of bringing her down.
“No!” Charlie shouted when he felt one fly true, stunning the Zomoki.
She managed to stay aloft, but only just.
“Konus Magusi!” he barked, the defensive spell draining the incoming ones of their potency.
As he cast, something unexpected happened. The band beneath his hands lost its glow, and as it did, Charlie felt an immense power surge from the creature beneath him.
“Oh, my,” she said, flapping hard, driving toward the towering pole. “Grab it and end this,” she said, but seeing another on the verge of defeating them, all of the opposing gladiators turned their spells skyward, driving her back with a ferocious onslaught.
“Enough!” Charlie bellowed, feeling the energy from the Zomoki flowing around him. “Banduzriha!” he shouted, drawing power not from the konus or even the slaap, but much to his shock, from the Zomoki herself.
A blinding flash burst out, the accidentally modified spell stunning every gladiator on the arena floor, knocking them to their knees. But it didn’t stop there. The spell blew right through the enchanted dome protecting the arena seats, sending the spectators flying.
Nothing like that had ever happened in all the years of contests, and no one knew what to do.
A startled hush fell over the crowd. Then they went absolutely wild, cheering with gusto as the dragon and its rider swooped in and grabbed the ring from the pole just as the powerful vislas overseeing the event frantically uttered the emergency spell, activating every collar to its fullest, knocking every last man and beast unconscious.
Charlie and his mount somehow sustained a moment longer than the others, but the glow of power around them faded quickly, and they too dropped to the ground.
The stands were pandemonium. It was the most amazing thing any of them had ever seen. This would go down as one of the greatest bouts ever, and they had borne witness. A pale man in the stands was particularly impressed with the chaos he had just witnessed, his pointed canines barely showing through his curious smile.
From his seat on the lower-tier sidelines, Ser Baruud’s brow was furrowed as he surveyed the scene. This was not normal, and for once, the great master didn’t have the slightest idea how to handle things.
In one of the private boxes high above the field of combat, someone else took great interest in what had just happened.
Charlie was on the radar of someone very wealthy, and very powerful.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
“Hey. Hey!” a female voice called out to him.
“What? Let me rest, I’m tired.”
“You are resting,” the woman noted. “And I’m tired too, you know.”
The voice was familiar. He couldn’t place it. Not at first, anyway. But as she spoke, the burning under his skin began to grow, spreading to a tingling fire itching across his body.
“What are you doing to me?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Then why does it burn like this?”
“Burn?” she asked. “What sort of burn?”
“My body. My skin. It feels like thousands of tiny flames are dancing across it.”
“Does it? Hmm. Interesting,” she said. “Use one of your spells to reduce the sensation.”
“I don’t know how to do that. And besides, I have no konus.”
“You don’t need a konus. And what do you mean, don’t know how? You possess great power. Something like that should be simple for you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And who are you? You seem so familiar. Are you come to carry me to the other side? Is this what death is?”
“Hardly.”
“Life, then. Freedom, perhaps?”
The mysterious voice tried to speak once more, but her words faded into the darkness as they drifted apart in the void of a dreamless slumber.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Charlie stretched in the soft sheets of his bed, the fine material smooth against his skin. From somewhere nearby, the smell of baked goods wafted to his nose, gently pulling him from his slumber.
Wait a minute––
He lurched through the layers of grogginess, forcing his eyes open in the well-lit room.
This isn’t the compound. How did I––?
The memory of falling flashed through his head, his last conscious thought being that he hoped he wouldn’t be crushed to death by the enormous dragon plunging down beneath him. Then blackness.
“Where the hell am I?” he croaked through a dry throat.
A glass of clear water sat beside his bed. He lifted it to his face and carefully sniffed it. No foul odor. Took a sip. Fresh and clean. He shrugged.
If they wanted me dead, I already would be, he reasoned, greedily drinking it down. From the hollow splash it made in his empty stomach, he figured he had been unconscious for a fair amount of time.
His senses returning, Charlie slid from the light blankets and gingerly rose to his feet, which were met, he noted, with a curiously warm stone floor. He found he was wearing a light pair of sleeping trousers, akin to his old pajamas back on Earth, but was, however, shirtless.
The konus and slaap were gone from his hand and wrist, he realized, and he felt a little naked without them. He’d been using his konus for so long now, magic had become as natural as technology had been before he was first thrown into this powerful realm in a distant galaxy.
A light tunic was draped over a nearby chair, beside which a clean pair of sandals awaited him. He quickly dressed himself, then walked to the window to see just where it was fortune had taken him this time.
The smells floating in through the open window were of a sort he had not experienced in ages. There had been plenty of greenery at Ser Baruud’s compound, but there was always a faintly clinging musty odor in the air from the planet’s swamps bordering the lush forests, if you paid attention to such things. Here, however, the air smelled almost like home. Fresh grass, blooming flowers, a breeze flowing through clear skies.
My God. It’s a paradise, he gasped. What did I do to deserve––? Memory of the bout flooded back. Could I actually be free?
It was hard to believe, but given his performance, the possibility was definitely there. No one had seen anything like that before, he was sure of it. And when he and the dragon had stunned the other combatants and snatched the ring, the crowd had gone absolutely wild.
“It worked for Ser Baruud,” he mused, a contented smile growing on his face. “I can’t believe I actually did it. I won my freedom.”
He would never see home again, but he had resolved himself to that years prior. Now, however, Charlie felt on top of the world as he filled his free lungs with the air of this new world.
Freedom. His prize. A reward for magnificence in combat. And what a treasure it was. Spread before him were rolling hills in the distance, and beneath his window––on the third floor, it appeared––were well-manicured grounds of a sprawling estate rivaling any palace on Earth.
Holy hell, I’m pretty high up. How did I wind up here, anyway? And where exactly is ‘here'?
Charlie gripped the thick stone windowsill and leaned forward to better see the structure he was in. Long stone walls, each piece intricately fitted so well nary a sheet of paper could pass through the seams that made up the lengthy structure. It truly was like a palace, though the lines had a decidedly alien lay to them, just a little different than anything you’d find on Earth.
Water features dotted the walls at lengthy intervals, magically controlled, obviously. Their output fanned out until a mist formed at the base, casting small rainbows along the lower portion of the building. But no mold had formed on the stone. Carefully crafted spells kept the walls free of condensation.
Likewise, greenery sprang up at the base of the structure, lush and healthy, but it too did not climb the walls. It was as if a beautiful yet impenetrable barrier had surrounded the estate.
The overall effect was something ak
in to an elfin castle, where the shortcomings of man’s seeming excellence in architecture were laid bare with the subtlest of tweaks to what had previously seemed a perfect design. The palace was perfection in stone and glass and magical enhancements.
Peering up, Charlie observed a lone, yellow sun. This was what gave the planet such a familiar hue. It almost felt like home. Almost.
He stepped back from the window and slowly paced the room, taking in his surroundings with a gladiatorial eye despite his newfound freedom. There were no weapons of any sort, nor anything that could be hastily crafted into one. The chair was hewn of stone, and the bed was a magically supported mattress with no actual frame holding it aloft.
Someone spent a lot of coin on this place, he realized. Especially if they put up an off-worlder in this kind of lodging.
But what if it wasn’t coin at all? What if the lord of the manor was a powerful wizard himself. Wizard. He had spent years learning to call them by their local names according to power and rank.
Visla. Emmik. Mester.
And now that he was on an Earth-feeling world, he so easily slipped back into his old way of thinking. Charlie allowed himself a moment of amusement at his slip-up. He had survived by assimilating as best he could, and from that moment on, he would redouble his efforts to fit in and not draw attention.
But he had drawn attention. He had impulsively joined forces with a dragon. A dragon! And he had done it in the presence of tens of thousands, and it had earned him a new life.
What happened to her? he wondered, remembering the amazing feeling of flight atop her deep red back, the wind racing across his skin. They had made quite an impression, he was certain, and they had won the bout in a heretofore unseen and entirely unexpected manner.
A bright glimmer from the nearby table caught his eye. The ring. His prize from the bout, threaded on a golden chain. He picked it up, admiring the simple, yet beautiful lines of the metal. Something tingled in his fingers.
The ring has a bit of power, he realized. But what kind, I have no idea. It feels strangely familiar, though.
