The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  Homer was also leaning in. “Maybe he’s playing a game of diversion?”

  “What do you mean, Homer?”

  “It’s a ruse that gets the other fighter to lower their guard before an attack. Usually this is done by playing the game of being a slow guy. In other words you time your moves to be slower than normal. Not so much that it’s obvious, but just enough to get your opponent in a rhythm. Then you jump to full speed and attack.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I’ve never seen the yawn tactic, specifically, though.” He was nodding. “That one is novel, Optical.”

  The bell rang and both fighters stood up from their respective chairs as their corners cleared the area. The referee had his hands out, keeping the fighters at bay until everything was gone. Then he slashed his hand down the middle and yelled, “Get to it!”

  “The warriors are walking to the center of the ring,” Optical said into the microphone. “Krag is a bit wobbly, but Gungren is staying back.”

  “The little giant must be aware of the ruse.”

  “Krag has both hands in the air. It looks like he’s going to go for his patented two-hand slam…” He then stood up and stared down at the field. “Or maybe not.”

  “Has he just fallen over?” said Homer in disbelief.

  “You’ve clearly been gifted with top-notch eyes, Homer.”

  “I think he’s asleep, Optical.”

  They were both standing slack-jawed as they looked down upon the body of the mean ogre. Not a single punch was landed. The fighters had never even touched each other.

  Krag literally just passed out.

  “Indeed he is,” Optical said after realizing he’d not said a word in nearly twenty seconds. That was far too much time to pass for radio. “Uh, the ref has waved off the event without even a single punch thrown. This is astounding.”

  “More like ridiculous.”

  “The judges appear to agree with you, Homer,” Optical said while pointing. “They’re making their way out onto the field. Obviously, they think this may be a case of foul play.”

  “Good.”

  “Indeed.”

  Something Isn’t Right

  Gungren and the referee stood over Krag, who was snoring like he’d just passed out from an all-night bender.

  The crowd was a mixture of boos, shouts, and murmurings. Considering how much money had been spent on attending this event, Whizzfiddle wasn’t surprised at this.

  He looked over to watch the judges heading out to the field. Seeing that he was certain they were searching for foul play, he strode out to help protect his apprentice.

  “What is going on here?” said Teresa, since she was the first to arrive.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” the referee replied. “He sure is snoring a lot, though.”

  Stiermark knelt down and studied the fallen Krag. He lifted the ogre’s arm and let it go, watching it drop like a stone. Finally, the wizard shrugged and stood back up.

  “Looks like he’s majorly wiped out, man. I could shroom it up and see what happened to him, if you want?”

  “Every time you do that,” said Sephnedra, “you end up claiming there are purple horses flying around or some such.”

  Teresa raised an accusing eyebrow at Gungren. “Did you do something here?”

  “What you mean?” asked Gungren.

  “Excuse me,” chimed in Whizzfiddle, who was standing behind the judges, “but I’ll not have any of you casting judgment against Gungren for any wrongdoing. He’s a fine lad.”

  Teresa spun around, shielded her eyes from the sun, and said, “Xebdigon Whizzfiddle?”

  “Hello, Peg,” Whizzfiddle replied.

  “It’s Teresa, thank you very much.”

  “Oh, right. Forgot. Sorry.”

  “You don’t have a Corner Card,” the ref said, pointing at Whizzfiddle. “You can’t be out here!”

  “He’s right, dude,” agreed Stiermark. “You gotta bolt.”

  “Gungren is my apprentice. Therefore, I have jurisdictional rights.”

  The referee’s head shake was firm. “That doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Yep, it does,” Gungren corrected him. “It in the rule book. Page ten.”

  “You can read?” said the ref as he gave Gungren a surprised look.

  “You can’t?” Whizzfiddle shot back in his apprentice’s defense.

  “Watch yourself, wizard.” The ref flipped open the rule book and began mumbling as his eyes scanned the page. “Well, I’ll be. It seems he can be out here.”

  “Yep.”

  Whizzfiddle had never met Sephnedra or Stiermark before, but he had seen their names in the event pamphlet. He knew Teresa from a long time back when he had helped her to get permission to move to the Upperworld in order to get away from technology and pursue witchcraft.

  “Why is Sephnedra doing ballet and looking like she’s figure skating on the dirt?” the elderly wizard asked.

  “It’s her power source, dude,” replied Stiermark.

  Sephnedra finished her little dance, said a chant, and touched the fallen ogre. A hint of light left her hand and Krag roused. He shook his head a few times and grunted.

  “What happened?” he said finally.

  “You lost,” answered the ref.

  Krag clearly couldn’t believe this, as his face was contorted into a mass of confusion.

  “Did he knock me out?”

  “No,” replied the ref. “You…well, fell asleep.”

  “I what?”

  “You fell asleep. You went for a two-hand slam and you passed out.”

  “Damn.” Krag punched the ground, causing everyone to take a step back. Everyone except Gungren, anyway. “I thought they were double-crossing me, but they weren’t.”

  Teresa tilted her head. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Teggins and Lucille,” Krag replied and then glanced up quickly.

  “Teggins, eh?” Whizzfiddle said as he started scanning the crowd. “That explains why Lucille was following Gungren around.”

  “Are you talking about the crime boss from the Underworld?” asked Sephnedra.

  “There he is,” said Whizzfiddle, pointing.

  Teggins was pushing through the crowd, obviously trying to make his exit. Lucille was going in the opposite direction.

  Whizzfiddle pulled out his flask and took a heavy swig. He then cast a spell that lifted up Teggins and Lucille, bringing them both down to the field. Teggins was wriggling at first, but eventually he just started flexing his hands. Lucille undoubtedly wanted to pull out strands of her hair. Fortunately, Whizzfiddle already knew about her particular power source and so he had been sure to lock her arms in place.

  “What’s all this about?” said Teggins while looking from face to face. “I was just going to get some popcorn.”

  “I’m sure you were,” Whizzfiddle replied, shaking his head.

  “You were a friend of my old ma, Whizzfiddle,” Teggins said with a grunt. “How could you?”

  “Last I recall, you sold your old ma for ten gold to work at a hotel.”

  Teggins winced. “You heard about that, eh?”

  “I’m gonna rip you in two, Teggins,” Krag said as he stood up and lunged at the crime boss.

  As if the ogre were naught but a fly, Teggins reached out and slapped Krag hard. The ogre flew a good five feet before landing in a heap.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Who’s next?” said Teggins, giving them all the stink-eye.

  “Me,” Gungren said, stepping forward.

  Teggins swung at the little giant, who ducked under it and then came up with a punch right to the crime boss’s chin. It didn’t knock the man out, but he was wobbly.

  “Shouldn’t have underestimated that guy,” Teggins said while shaking his noggin as if trying to clear his brain from fog.

  Whizzfiddle refueled and quickly cast a spell of binding against Teggins. It linked his wrists behind his back as iron chains hooke
d his ankles to each other.

  Krag got back up, rubbing his head. Obviously he’d not known how powerful Teggins really was.

  The ogre went to go after Teggins again, but Stiermark stepped in his way.

  “Chill, dude. It’s all good. We’ll let the cops deal, dig?” He then handed the ogre something. “Here, have a shroom, it’ll cool your bones.”

  “I am kind of hungry,” Krag replied, taking the item from the wizard.

  “Don’t eat that,” Sephnedra shouted as she grabbed it. “You’ll see cosmic bunny rabbits and eight-headed field mice for hours.”

  “She’s right, dig? It’s pretty rad though.”

  Everyone eyed Stiermark for a moment before shrugging. To each his own, thought Whizzfiddle. He wasn’t exactly in a position to judge the man anyway, considering what his own magical power source consisted of.

  “Looks like you’ve been caught cheating, Mr. Teggins,” Teresa said. “Would you like to save us all some time and just confess?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Teggins replied.

  “Did you say, ’wooden shoe’ just then?” Teresa asked darkly.

  “What?” Teggins frowned. “I ain’t confessing to nothing.”

  “Fine.” Teresa pulled out some herbs and crumpled them up in her hands. She then cackled and yelled, "You will say what’s right and true or for the rest of your days you’ll be a fool!"

  Whizzfiddle noted that she didn’t need to speak her spells in all capital letters. That was one benefit to being a witch, for sure.

  Teresa blew the mixture in her hand at the crime boss’s face. His eyes turned red and he sneezed a few times.

  “What in the blazes was that?” he asked while coughing.

  Teresa squared her shoulders. “Did you try to rig this event or not?”

  “I…I…”

  “If you don’t answer honestly,” the witch warned him, “you’ll get dumber and dumber.”

  “That’s a very useful spell,” Whizzfiddle stated.

  “Witchcraft is so much better than wizardry.”

  The three wizards scoffed at this.

  Whizzfiddle knew there were some very useful aspects to witchcraft—healing potions came to mind, but to claim it was better than wizardry was farcical. It was like claiming that one type of sport was better than another. Those who enjoyed sport A would say it’s better than sport B every time.

  “Well, Teggins?” Teresa asked again.

  “All right, all right. I did it.” He then sneered at her. “I entered Krag into the contest and I cheated to get him all the way to the finals. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll be out of the slammer in three days, tops.”

  Sephnedra did a quick dance as everyone stared at her. She then stopped and said a few words that caused Teggins’ eyes to droop significantly.

  “He won’t give you any trouble now,” she said to the arena guards. “Take him away and bring him to the Underworld authorities for immediate processing.”

  “This one, too,” Whizzfiddle said, pointing at Lucille. “Her arms are bound. Make sure you keep them that way. If she’s able to pull even a single hair from her head, she’ll be able to do magic.”

  As the two were dragged away, Whizzfiddle noted something sparkling in the sand by his feet. He knelt down and picked it up while the judges conferred with the ref. It only took a moment to realize what he was looking at.

  He shoved it quickly into his pocket and glanced around in shock.

  “That was a steaming spell, Seph,” Stiermark was saying. “Yours too, Teresa. Anyone else got the munchies?”

  The ref gave the stoner wizard the onceover.

  “Right,” he said finally. “So seeing that Krag’s manager was responsible for this debacle, does that mean that Gungren is the winner?”

  “I judge that he is,” ruled Teresa.

  “Most definitely,” agreed Sephnedra.

  Stiermark smacked Gungren on the shoulder. “Little dude’s got my vote.”

  No Way

  “I can’t believe it,” said Corg with a gasp. “The dinky giant is after goin’ to the big show.”

  “And you said he never had a chance,” Heliok chided the dwarf.

  “He didn’t.”

  “But there he is.”

  “I can see that, ye flashy monkey,” Corg retaliated, “but it shouldn’t be possible.”

  “And yet it’s obvious that he…” Heliok paused as his brow creased. “Did you call me a flashy monkey?”

  “Aye, that I did.” Corg started wagging his finger at Heliok. “Ye are absolutely sure ye didn’t use any of your fancy Fate sprinkles to make him be after gettin’ this far, right?”

  “Fate sprinkles?”

  “Yer wily magic, ye wispy cloud of—”

  “Corg,” Misty intervened, “let’s not lose our temper just yet, okay?”

  “Ye mean you’re losing yours, too?” Corg asked.

  “Heliok,” she said without replying to Corg, “when this all began, you said you wouldn’t interfere unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And Gungren winning this event is not an absolute necessity.” She took a couple of steps away and then spun back. “In fact, your rules stated that he only needed to participate fully, which he could have done in the first battle.”

  Heliok gave her a dull look. “I know this already, and I’ve already told you before that I’ve had nothing to do with this.”

  “But you have to admit that the way in which he has climbed through to the final round is a bit incredible.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he said firmly.

  Gungren had no business making it to the finals. He had won his first two fights fair and square, and though the last one turned out to have been a win due to unfortunate circumstances, the real culprits behind that were found and were now going to face justice…supposedly.

  “I will say it one last time,” he stated with resolve. “I’ve done nothing to influence this outcome aside from paying off the original competitor that Gungren replaced. I am as amazed about this as you are.”

  “Yer sure about this?” said Corg.

  “Oh, for crying…” He pointed at the other Fate in the room. “Ask Aniok. He’d know.”

  “Well, Ani?” said Corg. “Is what he’s sayin’ after being true or do I need to give him a swift kick in his nethers?”

  “He’s telling the truth. There’s been no interference by the Fates in Gungren’s battles thus far.”

  It was nice to know that Aniok hadn’t gone so far under the wing of Corg that he’d forgotten who his real boss was. Not that it would have mattered anyway, seeing that Heliok had done nothing wrong.

  “Then the lad has really whooped up on the competition?” Corg said as his jaw slackened.

  “If you want to call it that, sure,” Aniok replied with a shrug. “The last guy kind of just fell asleep.”

  “Aye.”

  Now that this accusation was proved to be false, Heliok felt he was owed an apology. If anyone else had been so wrongfully accused, they’d get one, so why shouldn’t he?

  “Uh-hem.”

  “Well, we’ll just get back to filmin’ then,” said Corg.

  “UH-Hem,” Heliok repeated, a little louder.

  “No point in wasting time,” Corg said, patently avoiding even looking in Heliok’s direction. “Could be plenty of B-roll we can get.”

  “UH-HEM!”

  Corg spun on the Fate. “Are ye after need some water or somethin’, ye hackin’ imbecile?”

  “No, I do not need water. I would—” He jolted. “Hacking imbecile?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  Heliok was nearly in a fit of rage. “How can you even dare to call me such a thing?”

  “Well,” Corg replied matter-of-factly, “ye was just hacking, right?”

  “Yes,” admitted Heliok.

  “And ye are an imbecile, if’n ye remember?”


  “Of course, but—” He jolted again. “What? No! I do not remember any such thing.”

  “You dinnae remember that yer after bein’ an imbecile?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Corg scratched his beard. “Memory’s goin’, it seems.”

  “My memory is fine, thank you very much.”

  The dwarf studied Heliok for a moment. All it would take was a snap of the Fate’s fingers and he could send the dwarf off to live inside the core of the nearest sun in an instant. Corg wouldn’t live long, but that wasn’t the point.

  “Ye do seem to have your wits about ye at the moment,” Corg said curiously.

  “I always have my wits about me, Mr. Sawsblade.”

  “If that’s true,” countered Corg, “ye’d have to agree that while ye’ve got no memory of bein’ an imbecile in the past, you know that you’re after bein’ one in the present, right?”

  “Of course, but—” He nearly burst with frustration this time. “This conversation is over!”

  Glory Is upon You

  Ricky and Crazell were at the arena in her dressing room. The rooms for dragons were obviously much larger than standard rooms. It was so big, in fact, that Crazell was doing her stretches.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said, Craz,” Ricky said as he milled around in front of her, “and you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  She lowered herself. “Honestly?”

  “I don’t own you, baby. You’re your own dragon.”

  “But your family has—”

  “Has what?” Ricky said with his hands out. “Exploited your talent for many years? That’s all we’ve done, when you get right down to it.”

  She wanted to agree with him, but the fact was she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to place all the blame on the Schmicky family while taking none on her own shoulders. It would be the easiest way, sure, but it wouldn’t be right.

  “No, Ricky,” she said as she gently stuck a talon under his chin and lifted his face to hers. “You have given me a purpose all these years. Yes, I have grown tired of it, but that’s not your fault.”

  “And now you’ll pay for it every day from this day on.” He pulled away from her and plopped down in one of the chairs. “You were right, Craz. You’re never going to get any rest after this. Unless you continue fighting in the UDFC, of course.”