Tournament of Death Blog

DESTINATION TRUTH - Jersey Devil & Yeren

2010-04-08T22:00:00.001-07:00

SyFy Channel - Original Air Date 3/31/10

Josh & crew go to New Jersey to look for the legendary Jersey Devil. After goofing around in the woods, they set up the usual camp and surveillance equipment and look for the beast. They hear strange and frightening sounds (coyotes, it turns out), and spot something warm using the Flir during a helicopter trip -- but they can't pin it down. Their night vision cameras even spot something flying through the treetops -- but for all the detail, it could be a UFO as easily as a monster. In the end, they conclude that some "sightings" are certainly caused by local animals, like the coyote wails and the fleet-footed deer that dashes out in front of their car. But whether there's a real monster...? Again, this seems like an investigation where more time might yield more conclusive results.

Then they head out to China to look for the local bigfoot, the Yeren (spelled differently in other shows, I believe). The Chinese government has set aside some habitat for this crypto beast, and Josh and company want to see if there's anything behind it. One local expert believes he has actual yeren hair; sadly, they don't get to test the samples on their own. 'Nobody's better at almost finding monsters than us," observes one of the team as they head into the wilds. Granted permission to explore an area normally forbidden to foreigners, they set up their usual high-tech surveillance and camera traps, then go looking for yeren. They chase shadows in the woods and sounds in a cave, but find nothing. Later, they chase more shadows through the woods, get some footage, and find some scat, which they take for analysis. But the sample is too degraged to yield results, and their bit of Flir footage is too distant to yield any identification. As the crew member said, "Nobody's better at almost finding monsters than us."

TOD: Who are those characters and where do I know them from?

2008-08-30T21:55:00.001-07:00

EXTRAS

Some astute readers have certainly noticed relationships between Tournament of Death and several other of my stories. Crimson is the most obvious example, but I thought I'd give a brief run-down of the connections between this story and my other Blue Kingdoms work. Sometimes, Iike Robert E. Howard before me, I feel like I'm tapping into a vast reservoir of stories from a world as real as our own, and I just have to wait for the right time for them to reveal themselves to me. This project, written on the fly from very few notes, felt that way a lot.

BRAK - The basilisk (lizard-man) warrior appears in "The Blood Red Isle" in Zombies, Werewolves, & Unicorns (which appears in shorter/adapted form in "Court of the Blood Red Queen" in Blue Kingdoms: Shades & Specters).

CRIMSON - The main character in "Forever Crimson," a short story collected in Martian Knights & Other Tales. Crimson also appears in an unreleased short story (I'm shopping it around), where she meets Captain Ali al Shahar, another of my ongoing BK characters (see Martian Knights & Other Tales and Blue Kingdoms: Buxom Buccaneers).

BARONESS LINDY GRIFFENHOLT - And the Golden Order appear in my unpublished novel A Reliable Dragon. The Golden Order has also been mentioned in BK stories by other authors.

CAPTAIN HAMMACK - Is named for my old friend & game designer, Alan Hammack. Al wrote "The Ghost Tower of Inverness," the first D&D module I edited (and wrote some of the background for). With the tower setting for this story, I thought it would be a nice tip of the hat to mention him. "Ghost Tower of Inverness" is mentioned in the 2nd D&D movie -- Dungeons & Dragons: Wrath of the Dragon God -- which is a good film, much better than the first D&D movie. He hasn't appeared before, but I wanted to give him props here.

MIDKNIGHTS - Uldred & Erisa are the latest in a string of Midknights (amoral, mercenary knights) to appear in my stories. There's a trio of Midknights in "Shipmates," in Pirates of the Blue Kingdoms, and two more in "The Blood Red Isle" in Zombies, Werewolves, & Unicorns (which appears in shorter/adapted form in "Court of the Blood Red Queen" in Blue Kingdoms: Shades & Specters).

REX REGUS - Is original to this story, but Al Kabar have appeared in stories by Lorelei Shannon (who really nailed her portrayal of the race I envisioned) in Pirates of the Blue Kingdoms and Blue Kingdoms: Buxom Buccaneers. I think there might even be an Al Kabar in Robert E. Vardeman's tale, and perhaps some others, in Blue Kingdoms: Shades & Specters.

VALARD GOLDENWING - Is original for this story, but sirens have appeared in other stories, including "The Gift of the Dragons" in Martian Knights & Other Tales.

SIR WILLIAM OF AVALAND - Though Sir William hasn't appeared before, his "boss" Lord Avalard appears in the story "The Girl in the Mirror" from the upcoming Lilith anthology from Popcorn Press.

TOD - Chapter 16 & Epilogue

2008-08-24T18:09:00.000-07:00

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CHAPTER 16 – REWARDS

Baronette Brion Wilde’s heart raced as the surviving contestants materialized in front of the reviewing stand, and he cheered just as long and loud as everyone else in the crowd.

Most of the competitors who entered the Empyrian Tower had died, but a handful had survived, including his old friend Crimson. Watching images of the team’s fights in the magical brazier, Brion had become more and more convinced that the whole tournament was a sham—a meat-grinder devised for the amusement of the mob and the self-important wizard-prince. What better way to avoid giving away a valuable prize than assuring that none of the participants lived to collect it?

Now the wizard-prince’s promise would be put to the test, and a splinter of worry nagged the elf’s brain: Would Amontet keep his word?

The survivors had been beaten half to death. All of them were bruised, broken, and bleeding from multiple wounds. Crimson looked as bad as any still-living warrior that Brian had ever seen. Piro appeared worse. The orange-haired teen lay on his back, eyes closed, pale and motionless, looking for all the World-Sea like a corpse. Crimson had insisted that the boy still lived, but Brion saw little hope for Piro’s recovery.

Amontet stood atop the tall dais in front of his golden throne, a king surveying his vassals. “Bring me the gem,” he commanded.

Rogina, who had been working near where the team materialized, took the diamond from Pius and hurried up the stairs. She bowed and handed the glittering stone to Amontet.

The wizard-prince’s handsome, hawkish face broke into a measured smile. “You may go,” he told Rogina. She bowed and retreated back the way she’d come.

Amontet held the Empyrian Diamond at arm’s length and it caught the first rays of the sunset, spraying the audience with golden rainbows. “Behold the price offered for the ultimate prize!”

No, Brion thought. The price of your favor isn’t that glittering bauble. The price was the lives of those who competed in this tournament. He remembered those who had fallen just in the final stage: Roj Bond, Neilo, Orlando, the brutish Tarkon, and Amontet’s own man, Seth—whose headless body still lay on the ground at the tower’s base. Perhaps in the next hours, Piro would be added to the list of casualties as well. Had the price been too high? Clearly the wizard-prince didn’t think so.

Amontet raised the diamond above his head and the gemstone began to glow with a brilliant inner light. The diamond floated out of the wizard’s hand and into the air, glowing ever more brightly as it rose. A blinding flash enveloped the island, and when the light faded, the gem was gone. Again, Amontet smiled his measured smile.

“Now those who recovered my prize shall have their own rewards,” he said. “Let the contestants come forward.”

The bloodied survivors looked at the steep stairway leading to the throne, and their battered shoulders sagged.

“I hope you don’t mind if we take our time, Your Majesty,” Crimson said.

The audience tittered nervously, but the wizard-prince’s benevolent expression did not change. “By all means,” he replied.

Crimson looked into the stands, searching, until her pale blue eyes lit upon the baronette. “Brion,” she called, “come look after Piro.”

Heart in his throat, the one-hundred-and-seventeen-year-old elf left the stands and knelt beside the mortally wounded boy. Piro looked even worse up close than he had from afar. If he was breathing, Brion couldn’t detect it. “Be careful,” the elf whispered to Crimson.

“I know what I’m doing,” she whispered back.

Together, she, Pius, and Erisa hobbled up the stairs to the top of the dais and knelt before the wizard-prince.

Amontet looked at each of them in turn. “You have completed the tests, scaled the tower to its summit, and returned with proof of your heroism. Now, claim your prize.” His dark eyes focused on Erisa. “Midknight, what do you desire? Fabulous treasure? To have your wounds healed and live a long and healthy life? A villa of your own or a castle? Perhaps even an island or a fleet? Name it, and it’s yours.”

Trembling, Erisa gazed up at him. “My wounds don’t matter,” she said. “Wealth and land, neither of those things matter.” She took a deep breath. “Save my man. Save Uldred. Restore him and make him like he was. That’s all I want.”

The wizard-prince nodded and closed his eyes. His face became serene, almost beatific as he concentrated. Then his eyes flickered open and he said, “Granted. Go to him.”

Tears streaming down her face, Erisa bowed and hobbled down the stairway as fast as her wounded leg would carry her. She left the reviewing field and ran to the tents of the healers to find Uldred.

Amontet spread his arms wide and the audience roared their approval; even Brion was impressed, though not with the wizard-prince’s humility.

The ruler of Tet-Zhozer turned to Pius, the next in line. “Your turn, priest,” Amontet said. “Name what you desire as your reward.”

Shaking, Pius gazed into Amontet’s eyes and said, “Your death!” In a flash, the priest’s hunting knife sprang into his hand, and he lunged for the wizard-prince’s heart. “Die, heathen monster!”

Quick as thought, Crimson interposed herself between Pius and Amontet. The priest gasped, too late to stop his blow, and his knife stabbed through Crimson’s shattered armor and lodged deep in her side. Her lips drew into a pained grimace, but she didn’t cry out.

Pius yanked the blade free, but before he could use it on Amontet , the twin snake-like bands on the wizard-prince’s arms sprang to life, transforming into black cobras. The snakes lashed out, sinking their deadly fangs into the priest’s neck and shoulder.

Pius gurgled in pain, his outburst cut short by foam bubbling up from his throat. The snakes’ venom spread quickly from the bites, turning the priest’s flesh a moribund purple. Still entangled with the fatally wounded Crimson, Pius sank to the floor of the platform.

Even before they fell, Brion was sprinting to help his friend. He reached the dais just in time to hear Pius’ final whisper.

“Girl, what have you done?” the priest said. “Don’t you know he’s a demon?” Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he died.

Brion pushed the priest’s corpse away, knelt, and scooped Crimson into his arms. He gazed down into her pale blue eyes. “Crimson!” he said, tears welling.

“Hey, Brion,” she replied weakly. “Don’t worry about this. This is how it was meant to be.”

Brion glared at the wizard prince and cried, “Save her!”

Amontet, whose serpent armbands had returned to their original form, regarded the dying warrior dispassionately. “Is that your wish, woman? Is that what you desire as your prize?”

“Tell me something,” she said, blood bubbling from her lips. “The boy, Piro . . . Does he get his prize. Can he wish to live?”

“No,” the wizard-prince replied. “He had no hand in surrendering the diamond to me. He was merely baggage.”

Crimson took a ragged breath. “Then, my wish is that you heal him,” she said, “not me. Save Piro’s life.”

“Crimson, no!” Brion blurted. “You’ll die!”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of her bloody lips. “No kidding.”

Amontet nodded and almost smiled. “Then your desire is granted, woman, and these games are at an end.” With a crack of thunder, he vanished from the platform.

“Crimson . . .” Brion said, his heart breaking.

“Sorry . . . Brion,” she replied, coughing. “This is the way it has to be—the way it was meant to be. You told me so yourself.”

Now confusion battled with Brion’s sadness. “What are you talking about? I never . . .”

“Sure you did,” she said. “You just don’t remember it . . . yet. I need to tell you something . . . I’m unhinged in time. You’ll ask me what that means the next time we meet, and I’ll tell you. It’s your future, but my past.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get it next time. And I won’t be gone long; like a bad penny, I always turn up.” Her eyelids fluttered, but she managed to wink at him. “Why do you think I look a little different each time we meet? Next time will be in Venitcia, harvest time, and the wine is very sweet. I’ve already been there, but . . . you won’t go for several months.”

“But I’m not going to Venitcia,” Brion protested. She was rambling, almost incoherent. “They don’t even like me there!”

“You’ll go, and I’ll meet you by the water. That’s where you tell me how the tournament turned out—how I died, but saved Piro. We saved the girl, too, this time, despite Tarkon’s interference. I guess that’s something. I guess that means our fates aren’t always written in stone.”

“Crimson . . . you’re not making any sense.”

She stroked his cheek with her bruised and bloody hand. “I know,” she said, “but you’ll understand next time we meet. And the time after that, we can start afresh.”

“Yes,” he said. She was babbling, of course, but that was only to be expected at the end. The best thing he could do was comfort her. “Yes, of course. You’ll get better and we’ll go to Venitcia in time for the new wine festival.”

“Nice try,” she said. “But you’re a terrible liar. I know I’m dying. But I’ve been blessed by the gods—or maybe cursed—and, for me, death isn’t forever.”

He didn’t know what to say.

A grimace of pain flashed across her battered face. “See you next time, in . . . Venitcia.”

And with that, she died.

Brion clutched her to his chest and cried until his tears ran dry. Eventually, he felt a gentle touch upon his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Piro, healed but looking very confused.

“What happened?” the flame-haired mage asked. “Did we win?”

“No,” Brion replied. “Everybody lost. Even Erisa.”

Piro looked forlorn. “How did Crimson . . . die?”

Brion gently laid her body down. “She . . .” he began.

But something strange had happened. Instead of the dead body of his friend, the corpse on the dais belonged to an entirely different woman. She was almost the same height and build as Crimson, but flatter in the chest and not nearly so trim and muscular. Her features weren’t the same, either. The face was similar to his friend’s, but more angular and less pretty; this woman didn’t even have red hair. Her clothes had changed, too, from Crimson’s red tunic and armor to the black and white garb of a Seatopian barrister. The warrior woman’s weapons and gear had vanished as well. Only the corpse’s terrible, fatal wounds remained the same.

Brion’s jaw dropped. “By the gods!”

“Where did she go?” Piro asked. “What happened to Crimson?”

Brion shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, “but perhaps, come harvest time, I’ll find out.”

The sun had set, the stands had emptied, the bodies had been buried, and Max was feeling the usual post-games depression. The Tournament Maximus had been a rousing success, despite the rather strange finale. The Midknight had won, lots of contestants had died, and there had even been an exciting assassination attempt at the end. What more could an audience ask for?

And that, of course, was what worried Max. What would he do for an encore? How would he ever top this? He strode through the makeshift tent village on the shore of Shumakai’s bay, thinking. Around him, spectators were breaking down their pavilions, captains were packing up their ships, and the camp-followers had already sailed to new ports. Even the grandstand was gone; the contract for the engineering-magic that constructed it had expired an hour after the games ended.

Rogina found Max amid the post-games chaos, but instead of looking happy, she looked worried.

“Boss . . .” she began.

“I know, Rogi, I know,” he said as she fell into step beside him. “It always depresses me, too, the swirl and chaos coming to an end, even after a good show—a great show, I daresay.”

“Boss, that’s not it,” Rogina said. “Have you noticed?” She pointed to the Empyrian Keep, towering over where the grandstand had been.

Behind the tower, clouds swirled, forming into a massive thunderstorm, but that was not what had drawn Rogina’s attention. What had caught her eye, and now caught Max’s as well, was the tower itself—the brilliant white spire which now looked almost . . . transparent.

As Rogina and Max watched, the Empyrian Keep faded into nothingness.

“I think,” Max said, “that’s our cue to leave.”

EPILOGUE

My life is often confusing. Being unhinged in time, I never know when or where I’ll be reincarnated next. Sometimes it’s in one world, sometimes another. Sometimes I know the place like the back of my hand, sometimes I wind up in some oddball backwater ruled by intelligent mice or big blue flowers. Usually, my succession of lives flows along in a clear, linear progression in from the past to the future, just like everyone else in the multiverse.

But every once in a while, Chronalos and his god buddies pull a fast one on me, and I end up looped back in time—if not precisely into my own timeline, then into the splices between my many lives.

As you might imagine, living in a non-linear order makes it hard to build or maintain relationships. Worst, is when I meet someone who knows me, but I don’t know them yet because I’m going to meet them in my future, which turns out to be their past. There are all kinds of confusing variations on that theme, too, but I do my best to avoid such entanglements. Heck, I try not to even think about them.

So, when I wake up in a new place, reincarnated into the body of someone who’d wasted their own life, the first thing I usually do is look aground and get my bearings—trying to figure out not only where I am, but when I am as well. Waking up in Shakespeare’s London is a lot different, for instance, than waking up in the London of World War II—not that either of those examples probably means anything to you.

This time, I woke up in a back alley of Venitcia. Venitcia is the capital of a small country with a big ego in a part of the World-Sea known as the Blue Kingdoms. Waking up there was good; I’d been in Venitcia before. It’s always easier being reincarnated in a place you know.

That said, Venitcia isn’t my favorite island in the multiverse. The canals are nice, but the politics would confuse Machiavelli, and let’s not even get into the religion. But, despite all that, Venitcia is still beautiful and it’s also home to some very nice bistros—assuming my new incarnation was taking place after they’d actually been built. Given that possible complication, is it any wonder that I prefer eateries and inns with a long, well-established history?

Being famished, as I often am after coming back to life, I was hoping that the White Swan would still be open down by the seaward edge of the Grand Canal. Nice place the White Swan, good vegetable pies, fresh sausages, and great wine if you manage to get there in the right season.

This incarnation, I got lucky. Not only was the Swan actually there, but I’d also arrived during the wine harvest festival. Perfect timing.

I was walking toward the Swan’s front door to order my breakfast, I noticed an old friend sitting at a table by the waterside.

“Brion!” I called, delighted to see him. Elves are some of my favorite acquaintances because they live so long. A long life means I can maintain a friendship with someone like Brion Wilde despite the time-jumping nature of my existence. Running into an elf friend is like visiting the Pyramids of Tet-Zhozer: stop by ten, twenty, or even a hundred years later, and not a lot is going to have changed since the last time you visited.

Brion rose and embraced warmly me as I came to his table. “Crimson,” he said. “Good to see you. You look . . . different.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I said. And, really, I hadn’t. Mostly I look the same when I’m reborn, right down to my clothes and weapons, but there are always some variations. That’s what comes from living out parts of other peoples lives; I tend to resemble the raw materials from which the time gods assemble me.

“I honestly didn’t think you were going to show up,” Brion said.

Uh oh. Things were starting to look complicated. “Have you been expecting me?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“How long?”

“Ever since you died at the Tournament Maximus.”

Tournament Maximus? I didn’t remember that. Maybe it was in my future. Great. Or not.

“Mind if I take a seat?” I asked. “I think I have some explaining to do.”

“Be my guest,” Brion replied, smiling and pulling out a chair for me. “And I have a quite a story to tell you, too. But first, I should order some wine.”

THE END

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD - Chapter 15

2008-08-24T01:31:00.000-07:00

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CHAPTER 15 – STAGE THREE: STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

Supernatural cold stabbed through Erisa’s body as the flying lion’s paw slashed across her exposed abdomen. The Midknight gasped and staggered back, realizing nearly too late how close she was to falling off the stairway. The heels of her boots dipped over the edge and she reeled, trying to both recover her balance and defend herself against the beast’s follow-up attack. Only a few dozen of the spiraling stairs remained to reach the top, but each nine-foot-wide tread had a three foot rise, making every step a climb rather than an easy walk up.

Erisa had no idea if she or any of her companions would live long enough to reach the summit. For a moment, as the cold pain shot through her, she wished to the gods that she had stayed on the island and never entered the tower on Shumakai. Then the memory of Uldred flashed through her mind. If he dies, I don’t want to live anyway, she thought.

Piro, standing six steps above Erisa, shouted, “Hey!” and threw a green fireball into the lion’s hindquarters. The creature reared, glancing back over its winged shoulder at the young mage. Erisa recovered her balance and lunged, thrusting her sword into the lion’s chest. The creature grunted and died, toppling over the edge of the stair and spiraling into the clouds below.

“Thanks!” the Midknight called, only then spotting the new lion swooping in behind the young mage.

Before she could shout a warning, the winged lion landed on Piro’s back, sinking its claws deep into his flesh. The fire mage cried out and crashed face first onto the stairway.

Erisa pulled herself onto the next stair, desperately wanting to help the teenager, but knowing she was too far away; there was no time to use her bow or her invisible snare, either. As she hauled herself up, the slashes on her belly sent stabs of cold pain up her spine.

The winged lion bared its fangs, preparing to sink them into the back of Piro’s neck.

Just then, Crimson hurtled down from above, leaping the gap in the curving stairway and landing on the lion’s back. Her sword flashed, severing the beast’s left wing. The flying lion roared and bucked, but, without its wing, it overbalanced and toppled over the edge of the stairway. Crimson leapt from its back and caught onto the edge of the tread by her fingertips. Erisa grabbed her hand and helped Crimson scramble up, and the two women went to assist Piro.

One complete turn of the spiral stairway above them, Seth and Pius continued battling two more of the flying beasts.

Piro groaned as the women lifted him. Deep gouges marked his back, his shoulders, and his legs, staining his flame-spangled jumpsuit with blood. “I’m all right,” the mage asserted weakly, though clearly he wasn’t.

“Help him,” Crimson told Erisa. “We’re almost at the top.” Without waiting for a reply, the red-haired warrior bounded up the stairway to help Pius and Seth.

Under other circumstances, Erisa might have resented Crimson’s presumption. At the moment, though, she was glad to hang back and recover her strength.

“I’m all right,” Piro repeated groggily as she helped him up the next flight. Erisa glanced skyward to check on the rest of the team.

Pius and Seth kept climbing as they fought, and before Crimson caught up with them, they reached the last stair. Seth was in the lead, facing a flying lion without a mark on its white coat. The beast slashed and dodged, wheeling into the air and then diving back down. Seth fended off its claws with his sword, but didn’t capitalize on small openings in the lion’s defense.

He’s looking for his perfect cut, Erisa realized. The idiot!

Pius had no such compunction. He stood back to back with the half-elf, fighting the wounded lion that had tried to take them from behind. The beast stood on the stair tread below the priest, its right wing flopping uselessly at its side. But though it was grounded, the monster’s claws and fangs remained sharp, and it flayed and snapped mercilessly at the priest. Pius’ defense was nowhere near as perfect as Seth’s. Deep slashes ran down the priest’s red and purple tunic, and blood dripped from his wounds onto the stairway. Pius deflected most of the monster’s blows with his spiked mace, but with each parry, his mace moved more slowly.

Crimson sprang up the final stairs, and her sword flashed across the hindquarters of the winged lion fighting Pius. The beast’s legs buckled, hamstrung, and it roared in pain. Pius seized the opportunity and bashed its head in with his mace; the snow-white body slumped to the stairs, dead.

“Thanks,” the priest told Crimson.

“Let’s help, Seth,” she replied, climbing over the monster’s corpse.

Pius glanced at the half elf, battling at the top of the stairway. “I’m not sure he wants our help,” the priest said.

Crimson cursed.

Erisa and Piro reached the hamstrung lion’s body just as Crimson and Pius mounted the top of the stairs.

A dozen yards ahead, Seth battled the remaining beast in the cloud tops. The half-elf wheeled and dodged, avoiding the lion’s claws and teeth, parrying and not taking easy opportunities to attack. “Keep back!” he called when he saw the others. “This one is mine.”

Crimson looked like she would rush forward anyway, but Pius put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait,” the priest told her. “It’s what he came for.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do us if he gets himself killed,” Crimson countered, but she hung back anyway.

Erisa and Piro reached the top tread of the stairs. Ahead of them stretched a circular platform of clouds a hundred yards wide. The clouds were apparently solid, as Seth was standing atop them, rapt in his duel with the sole surviving winged lion. Purplish-white mist, gradually fading into opacity the higher it went, hung above the empyrean scenery. The gentle colors of a summer sunset suffused the landscape, though Erisa saw no source for the softly glowing light. If not for the deadly winged lion, the whole thing would have looked . . . heavenly.

Beyond Seth and the beast, in the middle of the cloud island, rested a small, marble dais. A seven-foot tall pedestal stood atop the platform, and atop that rested a diamond the size of a man’s head. The gemstone glittered in the orange and pink light, casting rainbow reflections across the clouds. Erisa gasped at its beauty.

“Wow,” Piro agreed, perking up.

At that moment, the remaining lion swiped at Seth with its left paw, putting all its weight behind the blow. The half-elf wheeled to the right as the monster missed, turning its back to the swordsman. Seth’s sword flashed in a semi-circle, severing the lion’s neck with a single cut.

The monster’s bisected carcass collapsed into the clouds, kicking up wisps of pink and white mist.

Seth looked at the corpse and smiled contentedly. “Perfect.”

Erisa and Piro cheered and hurried forward, along with Crimson and Pius.

The priest’s hearty laugh shook the clouds. “Well done, swordsman!” he cried.

A slight smile cracked Seth’s thin, handsome face. Then he turned and walked toward the gem atop the pedestal.

But as he set foot on the first step of the dais, twin fungus-white tentacles snaked out of the purple mist hanging above the diamond. One tendril seized Seth’s waist and the other wrapped itself around the half-elf’s neck.

Before anyone could even shout a warning, a sharp SNAP! echoed across the clouds, followed by a hideous popping and rending sound. Erisa, Piro, Pius, and Crimson watched in horror as one tentacle ripped off Seth’s head, and the other tossed his body over the side of the cloud platform. The gore covered tendrils then slunk back into the mist, taking the half-elf’s head with them.

Screaming with rage, the four remaining team members rushed toward the blood-stained dais. Erisa drew her bow and shot arrows into the purple vapor, while Piro, still unsteady on his feet, blanketed the air with a barrage of fireballs.

“Get the gem,” Crimson told Pius as more tentacles dropped out of the mist. Two, then four, then six of the pale tendrils snaked down toward the companions.

Crimson hacked at two, and the tentacles’ ends fell into the cloud tops, twitching. Pius crushed the tip of another with his mace, turning the limb into whitish pulp; the tendril quickly pulled back, into the mist. Piro burned two more snaking appendages out of the sky, though his aim was erratic and more of his fireballs missed than hit their targets.

Erisa put two more shots into the mist, guessing where the tentacle-creature’s body might be, then aimed her third shot at the remaining tendril. Her arrow pierced the limb a half-dozen feet from its end, but the tentacle kept coming. The tendril lashed out, whipping its pointed tip like a striking snake. Erisa dodged, but not fast enough, and the monster’s limb impaled her right calf, going straight through her boot and bursting out the other side.

A world of brilliant white pain exploded in Erisa’s brain. She screamed and dropped her bow, and her survival reflex caused her hands to grope for her sword. Before she could seize it, the tentacle yanked her upward, lifting her into the air by her wounded leg. The Midknight’s heart pounded and her head throbbed. Her questing fingers couldn’t find the pommel of her sword.

Then a streak of silvered steel flashed before her eyes, and she fell, crashing down amid the clouds. She looked up, the bright spots behind her eyes clearing, and saw Crimson standing over her, sword dripping purplish ichor.

“This is going to hurt,” Crimson warned, and—without ceremony—yanked the still-twitching tendril out of Erisa’s leg. The Midknight gasped and, for a moment, the world spun.

“Find your bow,” Crimson said. “Keep shooting. We need to draw this thing, whatever it is, out of the mist.”

Erisa nodded, unable to find her voice. The slashes on her abdomen had flared up again, multiplying the pain in her leg. Nausea swirled in the Midknight’s head, but she groped for her bow and, somehow, found it.

Crimson pushed forward, cutting down two more tentacles, chopping off sections as she went.

Erisa reached under the top of her armor, above her exposed midsection, and ripped off the clothing beneath. The armor would chafe now, she knew, but she needed the cloth to stanch her bleeding leg. As she wrapped her makeshift bandage tight, Father Pius reached the pedestal holding the Empyrian Diamond.

The priest grabbed the glittering gemstone in his left hand and pulled it down from its perch. His eyes went wide and he smiled, momentarily caught in diamond’s brilliant spell.

“Pius! Look out!” Piro shouted.

The priest wheeled and smashed his mace into the tentacle trying to snare him from behind. But the blow skidded off, and the tendril wrapped itself around the priest’s left leg. Pius let go of his mace and seized the hunting knife at his hip. But before he could cut himself loose, the tentacle squeezed and twisted, breaking Pius’ leg with a resounding CRACK!

Pius screamed in pain but managed to cut himself free as he fell. He landed on the bottom step of the dais, still clutching the gem as the severed tentacle writhed beside him.

As Pius fell, Crimson and Piro continued flighting the flailing tendrils. For every one they cut or burned down, though, another snaked from the clouds to attack. Piro fought bravely, though he looked pale and sweaty, and his fireball throws were not nearly so accurate as usual.

“Piro,” Crimson said, “throw as much fire into that mist as you can. Erisa! When the creature shows itself, shoot for all you’re worth!”

Erisa nodded, still woozy and unable to find the voice to reply. Crimson, Piro, and Pius lay two dozen yards away, and the Midknight felt glad for it. Apparently, the monster didn’t have enough limbs to attack both her and the rest of the group.

As Crimson cut down four more writhing limbs, Piro threw his hands skyward and shot forth a fountain of flames.

For a moment, the entire sky filled with fire, burning away the concealing mist. An instant later the blaze faded, revealing a huge pale orb, ten feet wide, floating above the pedestal. The creature had neither eyes, nor mouth, nor any other recognizable features. Its smooth surface was the color of fresh mushrooms. As Erisa and the others gaped, the creature absorbed its wounded tentacles and grew fresh ones. The huge, bulbous body showed no signs of having been harmed by the burning sky.

“What in the name of all the gods is that?” Pius whispered.

“Who cares?” Crimson replied. “Kill it!” Erisa fired her bow as the red-haired warrior leaped toward their revealed enemy.

Crimson soared through the air, higher than any normal human being could leap, but her jump still fell short. The creature lashed out as she came, attacking her with eight tentacles at once. Crimson sliced off six of the tendrils, but two got through her guard and smashed into her chest.

The impact hurled Crimson backward through the air, and she crashed into the cloud cover near the top of the stairs.

Erisa’s heart skipped a beat. Was Crimson dead, and could they survive without her? “Priest!” the Midknight called. “Summon your fire circle!”

Pius looked terrible: his face pale and sweaty, his body trembling, his shattered left leg unable to support his weight. The priest’s voice cracked as he spoke the words of power, “B-by Holy S-Saint Vardin, I invoke the Fire of Righteousness!”

As before, a circle of blue white flame sprang up around him. The questing tentacles which had been reaching toward Pius, recoiled into the monster’s blob-like body.

Erisa shot again, her shaft flying straight into the pale monster, seemingly to no effect. Three more arrows and she would be out. Slowly, the floating creature bobbed away from Pius and toward her, forming a half-dozen deadly tendrils and extending them in her direction.

Erisa’s mind raced. Should she abandon her bow in favor of her sword? Could she even stand up to use it? And if she did, how many of the tentacles could she fell before they slew her? She fired her remaining arrows, severing two of the incoming tentacles, and then dropped her bow. But even as she did it, she knew she wouldn’t have time to re-arm before the wicked limbs grabbed her.

“Hey, ugly!” Piro called. The flame-haired mage had fallen to his knees after setting the sky ablaze, but now he wobbled to his feet and cast a fireball at the monster’s bulbous body. The fireball fizzled out as it hit, and though the monster wavered, it did not turn away from the Midknight.

Unexpectedly, Crimson appeared at Erisa’s side. The red-haired warrior’s tunic had been ripped away, revealing the shining red chainmail beneath, but she looked more angry than hurt.

Crimson cut down three of the tendrils snaking toward Erisa, and that gave the Midknight time to stand, seize her sword, and lop off the fourth. Erisa’s leg seared with pain as she chopped, and she dropped to her knees once more.

“Don’t ignore me, you freak!” Piro called, hurling more fire at the monster. Though the young mage still looked woozy, his fireballs blazed ever more brightly.

“Piro, no!” Crimson shouted. This time, the teenager’s ploy had worked, and the orb was now forming new tendrils to attack him.

“Help him!” Erisa gasped. “Don’t worry about me!”

Crimson sprinted toward Piro, but she had to skirt around Pius’ fiery circle, which separated her from the boy. Piro kept throwing fireballs, but, in his wounded state, he couldn’t match the monster’s ability to regenerate limbs. Before Crimson could reach him, a tentacle snaked through Piro’s defense and wrapped around his neck.

The mage’s eyes bugged out and a horrible SNAP! filled the air.

“No!” Crimson wailed. She leaped the distance separating them and chopped the tentacle from Piro’s neck before it could rip his head off or drag him into the sky. Piro slumped limply to the cloud platform, stirring up puffs of pinkish mist as he it.

Crimson’s face contorted with rage, and she hacked at the monster’s rubbery limbs, all of which now focused on her. She was fighting alone, with Erisa too far away to help and Pius passed out within his fiery circle.

Erisa tried to stand, but her wounded leg buckled under her, sending stabs of pain through her body.

The monster floated lower, focusing on the red warrior, forming more and more tendrils the closer it came. One got through Crimson’s whirling blade and gouged a chunk out of her left shoulder. Crimson grimaced, but did not cry out.

Is this how it ends? Erisa wondered. Taken one-by-one when we’re so close to finishing? By the gods, NO!

Desperately, she reached into the pouch at her waist and pulled out the one trick she had left: the invisible snare she’d been saving since she and Uldred arrived on Shumakai.

Gods, let it be enough! she thought. She uncoiled the magical, transparent rope, feeling its length with her hands, as more and more tendrils got through Crimson’s guard. Most of the tentacles rebounded from Crimson’s red mail, but some ripped jagged gashes in her skin and clothing.

“Snare!” Erisa hissed, speaking the magic’s activation word. Then, from her knees, she hurled the transparent rope toward the monster. The line sailed unharmed over Pius’ fire circle and struck the thing’s bulbous body. As it hit, the snare wrapped around the monster’s circumference and then turned completely invisible.

Erisa pulled with all her might. The weight on the end of the rope felt like a rowboat filled with rocks, but the tentacle-orb floated toward her slightly. And as the Midknight’s muscles strained, the pulling got easier.

The creature flailed, seemingly unable to comprehend the force that tugged on it. Its tentacles flashed wildly, but didn’t sever the invisible line.

Erisa propped her healthy leg in front of her for leverage and hauled for all she was worth. With every tug, fire shot from her wounded calf and her clawed belly to her brain. She fought down the agony, refusing to give up. With one great, final heave, she pulled the monster into Pius’ wall of cleansing flame.

The creature made no sound as it hit the fire, but its tentacles thrashed in a staccato frenzy. It grew more tendrils, only to have them burn off and drop away. It did not die, though, but instead, pulled back on the rope, trying to escape the fire.

Erisa screamed as her muscles strained to keep the thing in the flames.

Just when Erisa thought she would pass out from the effort, Crimson appeared on the other side of the burning circle. The red-haired warrior’s clothes and mail hung in tatters; deep lacerations covered her skin and her face, but determination burned in her pale blue eyes.

She leapt into the air and brought her sword down in a deadly arc. The blade bit into the top of the monster’s bulbous surface and cut clean through to the bottom. Purplish ichor sprayed into the air and the monster flopped into the fire, dead.

Crimson touched down on the cloud platform and spat blood from her mouth. Then she grinned and said, “Perfect.”

Erisa would have laughed if not for the slashes across her abdomen. “Release!” she whispered to her snare, but the line did not retract; the fall into the enchanted fire had destroyed its magic. Leaning on her scabbard as a crutch, the Midknight got to her feet and hobbled toward the fiery circle.

“Priest!” she called. “You can pull down your firewall! The fighting’s over.” At least, I hope to the Gods that it’s over.

A moan came from within the flaming circle, and Pius sat up, looking bleary. He whispered a counterspell and the blue-white fire died away. Neither the cloudy floor nor the dais had been scorched by his magic.

Crimson crouched beside Piro’s body on the far side of the platform.

“Leave him,” Erisa said. “He’s dead.”

Crimson shook her head, tears streaming down her lacerated face. “His neck’s broken, but he’s still breathing,” she said. “Dammit! This is not the way it was supposed to be!”

“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Erisa said. “Pius is a warrior-priest, not a healer.”

“Would that I were!” Pius moaned.

“If I immobilize Piro’s head and heck, he might be able to heal,” Crimson said. Already she’d begun to rig a makeshift brace using her scabbard, two knives, and strips of her shredded clothing.

Erisa put her hand sympathetically on Crimson’s shoulder. “We’ll never be able to carry him all the way back down.”

Crimson looked at her, and the Midknight saw the heartbreak in the red-haired warrior’s eyes.

“Maybe we won’t have to carry him!” Pius blurted.

Both women turned as the Eye of Amontet floated toward the dais, growing larger as it came. “Well done!” said the disembodied voice of the wizard-prince.

As the eye expanded, it grew brighter until it was so luminous that Erisa had to squeeze her eyes shut to avoid being blinded. The last thing she saw was Pius clutching the Empyrian Diamond to his chest, and Crimson holding tight to the body of Piro.

Then the light enveloped them, and—in the next instant—they were back on Shumakai, in the reviewing field next to the huge burning brazier.

As all three of them blinked to regain their sight, the packed grandstand burst into ground-shaking applause.

Erisa smiled wanly, but neither she, Crimson, nor Pius could muster the strength to stand. Piro lay on Crimson’s lap, pale and unmoving. We made it, the Midknight thought. We’ve won!

Everyone turned toward the royal box as the floating eye of Amontet—twin to the one that had followed the contestants into the tower—began to radiate brilliant golden light. The eye shrank to a normal scale as, around it, the glow expended into the shape of a tall, regal man.

When the illumination faded, Amontet stood before his golden throne—and this time, it was no projection, but the wizard-prince in the flesh.

Amontet’s smooth tones resonated across the assembly as he looked at the surviving contestants and said, “Congratulations!”

TO BE CONCLUDED . . .

NEXT: Just Rewards!

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD - Chapter 14

2008-08-23T09:11:00.000-07:00

TOD MAIN — F.A.Q. — BANZUKE — CHARACTERS — WORLD — STORY

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CHAPTER 14 – STAGE THREE: BATTLE IN THE CLOUDS

“Keep climbing!” Crimson called to the other five remaining contestants as she pulled herself up the ice cliff.

The rest of the group followed in the red-haired girl’s wake, using the handholds she cut in the ice and carefully following her path. Stuck in the rear of the group—and hating every moment of it—Tarkon sneered.

He knew the others admired this red-haired woman, but for the life of him, the Vortex Gladiator couldn’t figure out why. Yes, she was attractive—in the way that all chattel were—and yes, she had some skill in combat. But her puny muscles could not compare with his sea-hardened ones. Used to resisting the pressure of the depths, he was much stronger than any of these fools—despite his dearth of climbing skill. He was also more effective at killing, having slain far more of their enemies than anyone else had—at least, until the last obstacle.

That fact vexed him. Crimson had somehow killed all the lightning creatures after Orlando fell. The priest, the flame-haired boy, the half-elf, and the Midknight had helped—apparently—but the red-haired girl had slain the most, at least, to hear the others tell it. Tarkon, having crossed the void successfully—it had been child’s play to do so—had missed the fight entirely. He hated that. Just as he hated the fact that the others seemed to admire Crimson more than they admired him.

Did they not understand that he, Tarkon, was superior: a king among his people? Had they never heard of the Vortex Gladiator race, future masters of all the World-Sea? Were the vey words “Vortex Gladiator” not respected and feared throughout all the Blue Kingdoms?

Yet, the other followed this slip of a girl as though she was the natural leader, when, in fact, the only advantage she had over Tarkon was that she climbed well. Climbing was unnecessary beneath the sea or in most war raids, so Tarkon had less skill in it. Which was how he found himself in the humiliating position of bringing up the rear as they climbed, rather than leading.

At the head of the group, Crimson yelled something, but Tarkon couldn’t make out the words through the building wind. The Midknight girl, climbing in the middle of the group, turned and relayed the message, shouting, “Hold tight! Something’s coming! Could be elementals!”

She turned away, giving the Vortex Gladiator a generous view of her lightly-armored buttocks. The undersea warrior frowned, unable to decide whether he admired the Midknight’s boldness—for wearing so little protection—or whether she was just another surface fool, too dumb to realize that in battle, every advantage should be taken.

Silently cursing himself for being distracted, Tarkon used his grieve knives to gouge out deep hand and footholds in the icy cliff face. Then he drew his immense sword and waited.

The others were braced as well by the time three cloudy, whirling elementals reached the frozen escarpment. The flame-haired boy threw fireballs into the creatures as they arrived, softening them up for the rest of the group. Tarkon admired the tactic, but the boy annoyed him. Back home, such a youth would either have been killed or, at the very least, had his tongue cut out.

Though weakened, the elementals kept coming, one choosing to attack Crimson, the second the half-elf, and the third the priest.

“Cowards!” Tarkon bellowed. “Attack me, if you dare!”

If they heard him, the elementals didn’t have time to respond. The others worked together like an experienced raiding party: Crimson and the boy vanquishing one foe through a combination of fire and steel, the half-elf and the Midnight slaying the other with well-placed cuts of their magical swords. The priest spoke some kind of spell, and the third elemental vanished entirely. Before any of the enemy even reached Tarkon, the fight was already done.

Then and there, Tarkon decided he would deal with Crimson in the same way he’d dealt with the annoying flying girl.

Father Pius V. Corpus extended his hand to Crimson, who pulled him up over the edge of the ice cliff. “Thanks,” he told the red-haired warrior. As she helped up the next person in line, Pius adjusted his white and purple tunic and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He was glad that Crimson had taken the lead on this last obstacle, and not just because she was a good deal easier on the eyes than Orlando had been during their climbs. May the gods cleanse my impure thoughts!

With the acrobat dead, the only other choices to lead the group were Seth, the Midknight, or Tarkon—all of whom were completely unsuitable for the roll in the priest’s eyes. He, of course, did not want to draw undue attention by assuming such a position.

Crimson was a natural leader and had defeated the cloud monsters—which she called lightning elementals—almost without assistance. Her strange, silver-traced sword seemed to suck the life out of the beasts. And those she didn’t kill directly she slew by reflecting their own lighting back at them with her blade.

Seth, Piro, and Pius himself had tried to help, but the father held no illusions: Crimson had been responsible for the victory.

But there’s something wrong about that girl, Pius thought. Something unnatural. Some deviltry. Something that puts me on edge. She feels . . . out of place, among ordinary people. Still, he had to admit that she was both a good leader and an amazing warrior. In a fair fight, she might even give that brute Tarkon a run for his money. “Crimson Death” I heard some of the other contestants call her. Now I know why.

Crimson extended her hand to Tarkon, the last of group up the cliff, but the gladiator merely glared at her. Crimson laughed and walked away; Tarkon pulled himself up.

Erisa, the Midknight, scowled at him. “I think you’re failing to grasp the situation here, big guy,” she said. “This isn’t a competition. One of us isn’t getting the prize; if we finish, we all get the prize.”

Tarkon grunted noncommittally.

The look on his helmeted face would have stopped most people dead, but Erisa had clearly put up with enough of his attitude. “Didn’t you hear what Max said?” she continued. “We’re supposed to be a team. This isn’t a winner-take-all tournament.”

Tarkon laughed, his boastful voice harsh and grating. “Life is winner-take-all. You soft-skin surfacers better get used to it.”

Erisa shook her head and turned away; Pius and the others ignored him.

“What’s next?” Piro asked. Though he had displayed his fiery temper in bursts during the fight, he’d been much more sedate since Neilo died.

The six of them were standing on a shelf of ice near the top of the mountain. Icy mist filled the air around them, giving the whole area a strange, bluish overcast. The silver line of the course ran from the shelf up a narrow path to the very pinnacle of the mountain. Where it went beyond that, none of them could tell.

To Pius, the entire scene felt vaguely unreal—as though they’d stepped into an incomplete painting where the artist had merely roughed in the sky to finish later. Everything around them seemed primal, only partly formed. At the same time, though, the place seemed almost . . . heavenly.

“We go up,” Crimson said. “Follow the path until it ends.”

“And keep fighting, I’m sure,” Erisa added.

“Life is struggle,” Tarkon said.

“If you’re a jerk it is,” Piro whispered, seeming to momentarily forget that he no longer had Neilo to share his jests with.

“Easy, lad,” Pius cautioned. Then, more loudly, he announced, “Let’s go. It’s not getting any warmer.”

Without further discussion, they marched up the ever-narrowing path, tracking the magical silver line. Crimson went first, followed closely by Tarkon—who was eyeing her in a savage way that made Pius uncomfortable—then Pius, Erisa, and Piro with Seth bringing up the rear. Trailing behind them all came the eerie, disembodied eye of Amontet.

When the group reached the pinnacle, the obvious trail stopped, though the enchanted line stretched out, over the cloud tops, toward a distant mountain peak.

“How are we supposed to get over there?” Piro asked. “Fly?”

“Too bad we don’t have anyone with us who can fly,” Crimson said, glaring at Tarkon.

Pius felt sure that she was referring to the girl from Wudan, whom Tarkon had put out of the competition for reasons the priest couldn’t fathom at all.

Seth reached over the edge of the peak and prodded the nearest cloud with his sword blade. “This almost seems solid,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘almost?’” Erisa asked.

“He’s right,” Crimson agreed, pushing into the white fluff with her hand. “It feels like soft peat with mud beneath. If we move across the clouds quickly, we should be able to make it to the far side.”

“And if we don’t move quickly?” Erisa asked.

“Then I’m guessing we sink through and fall to our deaths thousands of feet below,” Crimson said matter-of-factly.

“But there are gaps between the clouds,” Pius pointed out.

“Those we jump,” Crimson said, “just like we did in the cloud cavern.”

“Do you think there are more of those creatures—the lightning elementals—here?” Piro asked.

Crimson cast her pale blue eyes over the cloud tops. “I don’t see any,” she said.

“Too bad,” Piro put in, and blue flames danced around his fingertips.

“But I’m sure there’s something equally dangerous between here and there,” Crimson added.

Pius swallowed hard. Even with the string of ropes to guide him and keep him from falling, he hadn’t liked the crossing in the cloud cavern—and not just because Orlando had died there. This obstacle, with no solid ground anywhere, was far worse. Remember the mission, he told himself. The order is counting on you . . . the World-Sea itself is counting on you to see this through to the bitter end. His throat felt very dry as he asked, “Who goes first?”

“I will,” Piro said. “I’m the lightest, so it only makes sense.”

“No!” Tarkon boomed. “A warrior should go first—and that warrior is me.” He looked at Crimson, as if daring her to challenge his primacy.

She bowed without taking her eyes off the big warrior. “Be my guest. But remember, you have to keep moving, no matter what.”

“I am no chattel for you to command,” Tarkon said. And with that, he turned and stepped onto the cloud butting up against the edge of the precipice.

Pius almost felt disappointed when the gladiator didn’t plummet to his death. Instead, as Crimson had suggested, he began to sink slowly, like a man standing on thick mud. Tarkon took another step, and the sinking stopped. Then he leaped, as he had in the cloud cavern.

That nearly proved his end, because when he landed, he sank into the clouds up to his thighs, and had to exert considerable effort to pull himself out and get moving again.

“We’ll need to be careful when jumping across the gaps,” Seth commented.

Crimson nodded.

“I’m next,” Piro asserted. “If the clouds hold that anvil-skull, they won’t have any trouble with me.”

“Never complain when someone else volunteers to be bait,” Erisa said. “That’s an old Midknight saying.”

Most of the group smiled. “I’ll be right behind you,” Crimson assured Piro.

“Then me,” Erisa said.

“Do you want to go next, priest, or last?” Seth asked.

Neither, Pius thought, but found himself saying, “Next.”

“Get going, then, kid,” Erisa told the flame-haired teenager.

Piro nodded and made his way across the cloud tops, walking briskly at first and then skipping along lightly.

Crimson smiled at the rest. “See? Nothing to it.” She stepped onto the clouds and followed the boy. The others trailed after, leaving a reasonable gap between each contestant, hoping—and in Pius’ case praying—that the clouds would regain their firmness between crossings.

In the meantime, Tarkon had leaped the first two gaps in the clouds. On the first he landed lightly, recovered, and quickly moved ahead. On the second, though, he plowed into the cloudbank and sank nearly up to his waist.

As he struggled to extricate himself, Piro pointed and cried, “Look!”

A formation of triangular, nearly transparent fins cut through the clouds heading for Tarkon and the other competitors.

“Spirit sharks!” Crimson called as the torpedo-shaped beasts burst through the cloud cover and soared into the air. “Don’t let them bite you! Try to reach the other side!”

Pius barely heard her warning; the mention of “spirit sharks” had sent a chill to his very soul. He’d heard of them before, of course, probably every holy man in the Blue Kingdoms had. They were creatures of the outer planes, caught between heaven and the sea, searching for lost souls to devour.

Among the living, spirit shark attacks caused paralysis. A bite to an arm or leg would rip the flesh’s vital energy away, rendering the limb useless; a bite to the head or body could kill instantly. Worse, the sharks were immaterial, and could pass through armor and even thick walls. Normal weapons did not affect them; Pius prayed that his mace and some of his holy powers might.

“Father, keep moving,” Seth warned from behind.

Pius realized he had been sinking as he stood stunned at the thought of the sharks. He pulled his feet out of the cloudy mire and kept walking, though not so swiftly as he had been.

Ahead, Tarkon plowed forward, his huge sword at the ready as the sharks moved in. He struck at the first one as it swerved out of the sky, but his enormous blade passed harmlessly through the creature’s sleek, seven-foot long body. Tarkon grunted and stumbled as the shark bit his leg. When he rose again, that leg was rigid, immobile.

Piro, still a long distance behind the gladiator, seemed to be having better luck with the monsters. His fireballs made the ghost fish turn away, and his frenetic fighting style kept him out of the path of the sharks’ flashing teeth.

Crimson moved quickly and methodically across the cloud cover. She looked confident, but she was only at the first gap, and the sharks hadn’t reached her yet.

Pius glanced back, but there seemed little safety in the lonely mountain peak they’d come from. Besides, Seth—his curved blade drawn and at the ready—was already on the warrior-priest’s heels.

As Crimson leaped the first gap, Tarkon limped onward. He turned and cut at a nine-foot-long monster trying to attack him from behind. Again, the gladiator’s huge sword chopped at the creature’s neck, but it was like cutting fog. The spirit shark struck Tarkon, and if it had been a real fish, it would have bitten him in half at the waist.

“Argh!” Tarkon roared, falling face first into the cloud bank. As the two sharks attacking him arced through the sky, angling for another attack, the gladiator struggled to his feet.

He grunted in pain as he rose, and trembled though his body showed no visible wounds. He straightened up, his legs planted wide in a defiant stance, his sword at the ready. But the gladiator’s movements belied his posture; he looked like a marionette whose feet had been nailed to the floor. Pius feared that, at any moment, Tarkon might topple, never to rise again.

“A blessing, priest!” Seth called from right behind Pius. “A blessing on either Tarkon or his weapon! The sharks are unholy spirits, and the favor of the gods may deter them.”

Pius shook his head. “The power radiates from my body, and he’s too far away. If he were a believer, perhaps. . . .”

“For yourself and me, then,” the half-elf said, pushing Pius from behind. “And for the sake of your gods, keep moving! Do you want to sink?”

Pius picked up his feet, and it was like dragging them out of a bog. He’d been so worried about Tarkon that, again, he’d stopped in his tracks.

The warrior-priest prayed as they walked, and he soon felt the radiant power of the gods flowing through his heart. Her reached out with the power, encompassing Seth and even the Midknight Erisa. Gods forgive me for protecting such heathens and scoundrels! he thought. May it be to the greater good. Unfortunately, Crimson, Piro, and Tarkon remained well beyond his protective influence.

With his legs paralyzed, Tarkon had also begun to sink. By the times the two sharks swarmed in again, he’d already dipped into the cloud up to his thighs. Tarkon turned, trying to find an angle to cut at both creatures. It was pointless, though; he had no protection against the ethereal fish.

But before the insubstantial predators could strike, a barrage of fireballs flashed in front of them. Two struck the smaller shark, and it vanished in a puff of mist. The larger creature turned away, its caudal fin switching like the tail of an angry cat.

Piro came sprinting across the cloud toward Tarkon, fireballs blazing, driving the hungry spirits away. Far from looking happy, the gladiator brandished his sword at the boy.

“I don’t need your help, brat!” Tarkon growled.

For a moment, anger and sympathy warred on the young man’s face, then he shrugged and ran on toward the far peak.

The gladiator wrenched his body back and forth, as if trying to break free of the sharks’ paralysis. But despite his efforts, he continued to sink.

“What’s he doing?” Erisa wondered aloud. “Why didn’t he let Piro help?” Like Pius, she, too, had slowed to watch the awful spectacle unfolding before them; the priest and the half-elf had caught up to her.

Seven spirit sharks remained; three chased Piro toward the far peak, two charged toward crimson, three came for Pius, Erisa, and Seth—who were now moving together in a group—and the final two angled for the paralyzed Tarkon.

“A blessing for my arrows, priest,” Erisa said. “And maybe I can solve this problem before it reaches us.”

“Agreed,” Pius said, “but your first shot has to help Tarkon. I know he’s within your range.”

“He’s not worth it,” she said, “but I can spare one shot—if you and Seth protect me when the sharks attack.”

“Agreed,” Pius and the half-elf said together.

Erisa strung her bow and Pius chanted his blessing as the trio trotted across the clouds.

Crimson broke into a dead sprint. The first shark came at her as she leaped the second gap. Her silver-traced blade flashed striking head, dorsal, and tail, and the spirit burst into swirling fragments of mist. She tucked and rolled as she hit the next cloud, stirring up gouts of billowing moisture as she regained her feet once more. Crimson was close to Tarkon, now, but three sharks still prowled between her and the gladiator.

Erisa’s bowstring twanged. Her shot flew straight and true, passing through what passed for the gill slits of the pale fish nearest Tarkon. The shark twitched, bleeding mist, and spiraled down into the clouds and out of sight.

Pius’ heart pounded in his chest, and he prayed silently for the safety of his companions. Would Crimson reach Tarkon in time? And, if she did, would she help him or pass by—as Piro had? The priest knew Crimson was a friend of the fallen girl, Yan. Certainly, she had enough reason to hate the undersea warrior. Would she help him, or leave him to his grisly fate?

Erisa’s bowstring sang again, and the shark nearest to Pius and Seth fell dying—if such creatures truly died. The priest and the half-elf readied their weapons, knowing she would not be able to shoot again before the final two fish attacked.

Tarkon slashed as the monster facing him came in, but again his attack did no damage. The ghostly fish gulped down the full length of the gladiator’s sword arm, appearing for a moment to swallow the limb whole. Then the fish appeared again on the other side of Tarkon’s body and plunged into the clouds below.

The gladiator screamed as his sword tumbled out of his fingers and fell through one of the gaps in the clouds. His right arm slumped limply at his side. Only a hundred yards separated him from Crimson now, but a ten-yard-long monster fish soared between them—angling for the red-haired woman.

“Watch out, priest!” Erisa’s warning cry came almost too late.

Pius spun, clouting his mace into the misty head of the shark attacking him. The blow struck home, and the shark began to disperse, but not before it sank its ghostly teeth into his side. Pius gasped and his knees buckled. His hand jerked open, and only his mace strap, wrapped around his wrist, kept his weapon from falling into the clouds.

He looked up and saw translucent jaws with sharp white teeth coming straight for his face. Then Seth’s blade flashed, slicing away the second shark’s head, and it dispersed before it could bite.

“Sorry,” the half-elf said. “Not my best cut.”

Pius shook his head, sweat dripping from his long, wavy hair. “I-it’s . . . Thank you.” His side felt frozen, though the sensation was already beginning to fade.

Erisa supported the priest, putting her shoulder under his arm and lifting Pius to his feet. “Keep moving, Father,” she said.

Pius nodded weakly, refocusing his eyes on the team’s goal. His group’s foes had been vanquished, but Crimson still faced the largest shark of the school.

The monster swam through the air between the red-haired warrior and Tarkon. Its caudal fin, nearly as tall as a man, threshed the atmosphere, stirring up the cloud tops as it passed.

Crimson charged straight toward it. The spirit shark opened its mouth wide enough to swallow her whole. At the last instant, she dived to the cloud tops, under the creature’s jaws. She rolled, landed on her feet, and stabbed her sword into the insubstantial beast’s throat.

The weapon traced through the shark’s body from tip to tail, bisecting it cleanly. The spirit disintegrated in a swirl of grayish fog.

Seth gasped. “Perfect!”

Crimson didn’t stop to admire her handiwork. She ran across the cloud to Tarkon, now mired up to his shoulders in billowing white mist, and extended her hand. “Come on!” she said.

“Never!” he hissed, his denial echoing across the sky. Hatred blazed in his eyes as the enveloping clouds reached his chin.

“Take it!” she commanded.

In response, his unparalyzed arm shot up toward her. His left hand opened and then clenched into a fist. In response, a long triangular blade flashed out of his grieve. He stabbed the knife at Crimson’s face.

Crimson snapped her head to the side, and the blade flashed through the billows of her red hair, passing within inches of her right ear.

Tarkon seized her flowing locks in an iron-like grip, trying to drag her down with him.

Crimson lurched to her knees, but her sword flashed, cutting through her scarlet tresses, freeing her.

Still clutching the handful of hair, Tarkon broke through the clouds and plummeted to his death. His scream of rage lingered long after he vanished from sight.

Crimson gasped, recovering her breath. But as she tried to rise, the cloud beside her erupted as the final, forgotten shark breached into the sky. It snapped at her, and Crimson rolled aside, barely avoiding its triangular teeth.

But her narrow escape had a price: she landed hard, sinking up to her waist in the clouds. She dropped her sword as she hit, and the weapon skittered away into the mist. The remaining shark turned and came at her again. Erisa shot, but the Midknight’s arrow flew long, arcing over the creature’s dorsal fin. Pius prayed, knowing that none of them could reach Crimson in time to save her.

Crimson groped for the knives concealed in her boots as the shark dived on her.

The monster threw its jaws wide just as an orange bolt of flame streaked through the sky. The firebolt struck the shark in the eye, and the spirit twisted away. Two more fireballs hit it, and the shark evaporated into swirling mists.

Piro skipped over the clouds and offered Crimson his hand. “You didn’t think I’d leave you for fish food, did you?” he asked with a smile.

Crimson took hold and he pulled her up.

“Thanks,” she said. “I knew there was some reason I wanted you along.” She smiled at the boy and he laughed. It took the red-haired warrior only a moment to find her sword amid the clouds.

With the spirit sharks vanquished, the remaining contestants reached the far peak without further incident. As they set foot on solid ground once more, all five of them collapsed, exhausted.

The Eye of Amontet, dispassionate as ever, hovered nearby, watching and waiting.

When the last chill of his shark bite passed, Pius found the strength to speak. “Where are we?”

Just then, the clouds shrouding the mountaintop parted, revealing a towering white stone stairway. The steps started at the mountain’s pinnacle and vaulted into the sky, spiraling up, unsupported, high into the clouds before vanishing from sight.

Crimson gazed at the impossible structure and whispered, “The final stairway.”

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT: The Final Stair

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TOD MAIN — F.A.Q. — BANZUKE — CHARACTERS — WORLD — STORY

TOD - Chapter 13

2008-08-23T00:23:00.000-07:00

Somehow, this didn't post yesterday, even though I sent it to this blog at the same time I sent and put up the others. My apologies. Today's post to follow almost immediately.

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CHAPTER 13 – STAGE THREE: HEART OF ICE

Seth took one precise step to the left and the boulder sailed harmlessly past his head. The creature that had thrown the rock—a yeti from the look of it—ducked back behind the snowy ridge as Piro let fly with a burst of orange flame.

"Conserve your energy," Crimson warned, her pale blue eyes searching the landscape for the yeti and its companions.

The monsters had been popping up and lobbing rocks at them since the team finished climbing. It had grown suddenly cold as they crested the cliff; the landscape at the top was a vast frozen mountainside. The others were relieved to discover that the silver stripe marking their way did not continue up the mountainside, but rather meandered between the ridges of the towering peak.

"I didn't see this mountain from below," Pius had remarked.

"Laws of time and space don't apply. Remember?" Erisa put in.

Seth had little use for either the priest or the Midknight; they were too noisy, too willing to speak without thinking, too sloppy in their combat—as were Piro and Neilo. Orlando was better, very precise in his movements, but the acrobat knew how good he was, and his flashy costume made sure everyone else knew as well. Tarkon, while effective, was little more than a brute, lacking the subtlety of a true warrior. The late Roj Bond had suffered similar problems.

Of all Seth's companions, Crimson was the only one he had any respect for. Her often-glib tongue belied her considerable weapons and command skills. Yet, there was something strange about her, something that seemed out of place. Seth couldn't put his finger on exactly what felt wrong about the red-haired warrior, and that was why he'd decided to keep a very careful eye on her.

"There's another one!" Neilo blurted, breaking Seth's reverie.

Another yeti appeared holding a huge boulder. Before he could throw it, though, Crimson's bow twanged and the monster fell dead, an arrow in its eye.

"Nice shot," Pius said.

"Indeed," Seth added. Though he didn't trust Crimson, she did impress him—and the half-elf was not easily impressed.

"Keep—" Crimson began.

"Yeah, we know," Erisa said, picking up the thought. "Keep moving."

"I was going to say, 'Keep an eye out, there may be more of them,'" Crimson concluded.

"Yeah," Erisa said. "That, too."

They walked past the shaggy body and into a defile between two ice shelves, following the magical silver line.

Neilo looked at the furry white corpse a long time as they passed. "That thing looks something like a bugbear, don't you think?" the elf asked. "It's about the same size and shape."

"Now that you mention it," Erisa said, "a lot of these things we're fighting seem familiar. Like someone knew what we might be facing and used the preliminary rounds to prepare us."

"Well?" Pius demanded. "What about that, Seth? You're supposed to be Amontet's man."

Seth glanced at the Eye of Amontet, hovering nearby, following and watching. "My master sees clearly in many areas," the half-elf said. "He had some intimation of what the tower might contain."

"Which explains how you breezed through the preliminary rounds," Piro quipped. "Rigged!"

Seth resisted the impulse to cut the youngster in half. "I am not privy to all my master's knowledge," he said. "Nor was he privilege to my decision to join the tournament."

"But he let you compete," Crimson said.

"Of course," Seth replied.

"Then maybe he designed the tournament so you couldn't resist joining," Erisa suggested. "Maybe he knew you were going to participate even before you did."

"It is entirely possible," Seth agreed.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Pius asked. "To be manipulated by someone you trust?"

"Why should it bother me?" Seth replied. "Does it bother you that your gods may have fated you to die in this tournament?"

Father Pius reddened but did not reply.

"So, if you're not here to do your master's bidding," Crimson said, glancing at the hovering eye, "why are you here?"

"I'm searching for something."

"What?" Orlando asked.

"The perfect cut."

Piro smirked. "Let us know when you find it."

Seth looked directly into the flame-haired mage's eyes. "You'll know."

Walking at the front of the group, Tarkon turned. "There is no perfect cut," he said, his deep voice filled with disdain. "There is only victory—or death."

Piro shivered, despite his burning hair. They hadn't seen any yeti for an hour or more, and the snowy mountain defile had risen up and arced over them, becoming a steep-walled tunnel into the side of a glacier. The silver line ran straight into the heart of the ice.

"This sucks!" Piro complained. "First white monkeys throw rocks at us and now we're walking through icicle land. How much more of this is there going to be?"

"You can always turn back," Orlando said wryly.

"I'm sure the 'white monkeys' would be happy to see you again," Erisa added.

"At least no one got killed fighting those monsters," Neilo said. "Or the spider-things, either."

"I wouldn't count on that trend continuing," Pius said. "Unlike the tests on the island, there are no flying monkeys here to take the wounded to hospital."

Piro rolled his eyes. Why was the rest of his team always so gloomy? "Okay, I give up," he said. "Neilo's right. It's not cold and we have nothing to worry about. We've gotten this far because we're the best. We're supposed to win. That's why we survived the preliminaries. That's why Mister High-and-Mighty is going to give us a fortune. That's why—"

"Shh!" Crimson hissed. She stopped dead, listening. Tarkon and Seth, on point, had ceased walking as well. Ahead, the ice tunnel stretched into darkness.

"What do you hear?" Orlando whispered.

The red-haired warrior shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Echoes."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Neilo whispered to Piro. The elf was trying to sound reassuring, but a slight tremble gave him away.

Piro appreciated it. Despite his bravado, he'd been feeling nervous since they entered the ice tunnel. Confined spaces gave him the creeps, and, being a fire mage, cold enclosed spaces creeped him out even more.

"The tunnel opens up ahead," Tarkon said.

"Yes," Seth agreed. "I can hear it, too. But what's that other sound?"

"More spider-cats?" Pius suggested.

"No way to know," Crimson said. "No sense speculating, either. Everyone be on your guard."

"As if that needed saying," Piro added. Neilo flashed him a smile, which made Piro feel a little less nervous. His heart had been pounding, though he was doing his damndest to conceal it..

"Let's get going," Orlando said. "The course doesn't end here."

As the group walked, the ice tunnel's walls widened out and the ceiling fell away, forming a frozen cavern so immense that none of the travelers could see the other side. Gigantic icicles dangled from the barely visible ceiling, and titanic spikes of ice thrust up from the slick floor.

A vague moaning—seeming to come from some remote distance—echoed through the huge space. There was another sound as well, a strange clicking, like claws on stone or pebbles tumbling down a cliff face. The silver trail led straight through the cave into the darkness.

Tarkon led the way, marching into the cavern as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"Look at that guy," Piro whispered to Neilo. "He thinks he's invincible."

Neilo grinned, his face creasing into craggy lines. "Maybe he is invincible," the elf suggested sarcastically.

Piro smiled. He admired the way Neilo had soldiered on since their horrible encounter with the sirocco. He seemed like a dope at first, Piro thought, but he's pretty brave. He and Neilo brought up the rear as the group marched across the cavern.

The moaning grew louder as they went, and though the volume of the clicking sound did not increase, the noise became more frequent. Soon they came within sight of the cavern's exit: a gaping maw in the side of the ice cave. Blue-gray light—Daylight, perhaps?—filtered in through the opening.

"No sweat," Piro said, more relieved than he wanted to admit. "It's a snap." He snapped his fingers, casting sparks.

Just then, snowflakes began drifting down from the frozen roof high above. Neilo looked up, a smile breaking across his withered face.

"Enemies!" Crimson cried, dropping into a defensive crouch. The rest of the team tensed as a swarm of tiny creatures swooped down from the ceiling.

The things looked like foot-high people made out of pieces of cracked ice. Their skin was blue-white, they had pointy, wicked-looking faces and small, frosty wings on their backs. They flew in great, swirling arcs, opening their tiny mouths and spouting blasts of icy breath.

"Priest!" Seth called, barely avoiding a frost cloud. "Your fire circle!"

"I can't!" Pius replied, smashing one of the monsters with his spiked mace. "We can't fit everyone inside!"

"Protect who you can, then!" Crimson said. "But don't worry about me! I've fought ice sprites before." Already, her silver-traced sword had cut down six of the creatures. Her maroon tunic and mail showed no sign of frost damage; the monsters hadn't even touched her.

"By Holy Saint Vardin, I invoke the Fire of Righteousness!" Pius said. Immediately, a ring of blue-white fire sprang up around the priest. It protected four of the group, but Crimson, Seth, and Neilo remained outside the perimeter. Piro was caught in the middle of the blaze, but he merely laughed at the flames and stepped outside to continue fighting.

The ice sprites who had been flying near the circle screamed and darted away, some of them melting into nothingness as they fled.

Trapped within the fire, Tarkon bellowed in frustration. "Let me out, Priest! Or by the gods of the deep, I'll slay you and walk out on my own!"

"Use a ranged attack," Orlando said, pulling a sling and a fistful of silver shot from his billowing sleeve. Erisa strung her bow and quickly nocked an arrow.

"Vortex Gladiators have no need for such cowardly attacks," Tarkon replied. "We kill our enemies face-to-face."

"Then make your face useful and throw rocks at them!" Erisa snapped.

Way to go, sexy! Piro thought as he waded into the enemy. He'd been waiting for an opportunithy to show off his powers since they began this stage. With ice creatures like these, he could really cut loose. He tossed fireballs right and left, red and orange, yellow and blue, sizzling sprites out of the sky. The frosty imps fled from him in terror.

"Piro! Watch where you're throwing!" Crimson called from the far side of the circle as a partially melted ice stalactite crashed down close to Seth.

"Hey, sorry, Red . . . Whoops!" Piro yelped as his feet skidded out from under him. Apparently, some of his pyrotechnics had hit the floor, melting it. Skidding on the wet spot, Piro toppled onto his back. He landed hard and the air rushed out of his lungs.

Immediately, the ice sprites rushed him, blasting with their icy breaths. In an instant, Piro was chilled to the bone and could hardly move.

"Get back!" Neilo cried, springing between the sprites and the boy. His enchanted longsword flashed and several of the creatures shattered into frosty shards.

Neilo flashed a smile at the fallen youngster, but as he did, the sprites changed targets. A half-dozen of the foot-high creatures barreled into the elf, knocking him away from the boy. As Neilo staggered, more sprites swarmed in, circling like a whirlwind, spitting their icy breaths, slashing with their tiny claws.

Piro wanted to scream, he wanted to help his friend, but his body remained stiff and uncooperative.

Seeing Neilo's predicament, Crimson and Seth rushed to help, their swords flashing wide arcs of death.

Before they could reach the elf, though, the sprites broke away, leaving Neilo alone. The elf stood blue and motionless, frozen like a statue of pure ice. As Piro and his companions watched in horror, another icy stalactite—weakened by the young mage's stray fireballs—crashed down from above and shattered the elf into a million pieces.

Incoherent rage built up within the fire mage, burning away the effects of the sprites' icy breaths. NO!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, and all the terrible fury of his rage burst forth.

"We're lucky he didn't kill us all," Erisa muttered, glancing toward Piro who sat bleakly at the side of the chasm with his head in his hands. After Neilo died, the young man's tirade had destroyed the ice sprites, but nearly brought the ceiling down on the rest of the team a well. The group had been forced to flee the cavern, only to come to a precipitous stop at the obstacle lying just beyond the crumbling exit.

"Cut him a break," Crimson told the Midknight. "He didn't mean to cause that cave-in."

"Aye," Pius agreed. "He slew the beasties, and no more of us died. That's a blessing, at the least."

"The elf might not have died either if you hadn't penned me within your ineffectual fire circle," Tarkon grumbled. The rest of the group ignored him.

Orlando felt torn between sympathy and anger. Who was really to blame for the deaths of Neilo and Roj Bond? Certainly the group had made mistakes, but the victims had made mistakes of their own, too. And it wasn't the either the team or its deceased members who had sent the group into this strange deathtrap.

The acrobat looked at the eye of Amontet—hovering impassively nearby—and then at the half-elf, Seth. How much did the swordsman know? And, despite his protests, was Seth, even now, doing his master's bidding?

Brought up in the stratified society of Venitcia, Orlando had been trained from birth to see conspiracies everywhere. Doing so was a survival trait in his home city. But were the acrobat's suspicions real in this instance, or just paranoid fancy?

Concentrate on the job at hand, he told himself. A mantra he'd repeated often during his fabled career.

That job now consisted of crossing a wide chasm by jumping across a series of pillars to reach the other side. It was similar to the stepping stone challenge in stages one and two, but instead of water, a seemingly bottomless pit gaped between the "steps." Icy mist hung in the frigid air, and small clouds floated aimlessly over the void. The moaning they'd heard within the cavern had been distant wind, blowing over the mountaintops high above.

Crimson studied the abyss and the stepping-stone plateaus. "Another trap your boss foresaw?" she asked Seth.

"So it seems," the half-elf replied.

"Any tips for getting across it?" Erisa asked.

"Don't fall in," Seth replied.

"All right," Crimson said. "I'll go first."

Orlando stepped in front of her. "No," he said. "This job seems made for me. I have years of experience in situations like this. I should be the one to tackle the obstacle."

"You might be better at acrobatics," Crimson said, "but you have less experience in combat than me or Tarkon. I'm sure there must be a trap here. Let one of us go first."

Before they could argue further, Tarkon stepped to the side of the abyss and leaped. His armored legs propelled him easily to the top of the first icy pillar, then the second, and then the third. He moved so quickly that his passing stirred the mist, and pulled along the small clouds in his wake.

"See?" Orlando said. "Nothing to it." He didn't mind being subservient to the red-haired warrior-woman occasionally, but he thought now a good time to show the others he was just as capable—at least in this instance.

He pulled his collapsible staff from his belt and expanded it to its full length. Then he ran to the edge, planted the end of the pole, and easily vaulted to the next plateau. His staff, enchanted to always return to him, didn't fall into the void but vanished and reappeared in his belt.

"Toss me a rope," he called. "I can secure it as a safety line for the rest of you." Crimson tossed him a long coil, securing one end on her side of the span.

Orlando fastened the proper length of rope to the top of the pillar, curled the rest over his shoulder, and vaulted to the next plateau. By then, Tarkon had reached the far side of the obstacle; Orlando couldn't even see the big man's armored form amid the clouds and mist.

"Well?" the Vortex Gladiator's voice echoed back to the rest. "What are you waiting for?"

"Waiting for you go grow some manners, ox," Erisa muttered. Piro, his eyes still red with tears at the loss of his friend, looked up and smiled slightly.

"Come along as you're ready," Orlando called. "I'll keep laying guideline." He fastened the new line and then vaulted to the next plateau.

As he landed, he saw Crimson bound over the first gap.

Doesn't she fear death at all? Orlando wondered.

He fastened the next rope and jumped again, and then again, and then twice more.

Don't let your ego get the better of you, he told himself. One competition here is enough. Concentrate on the course and the obstacles.

He was near the center of the chasm now, with the mist and small clouds making it difficult to see either side.

But why were the clouds moving? The gladiator sat waiting on the far ledge, but the clouds were drifting back toward the middle of the abyss. Yet, Orlando felt no breeze.

The hackles stood on the back of his neck.

The tiny clouds—each about the size of a man—moved faster now, scudding straight for him. Orlando looked back, but he was too far away for his companions to help.

"Come back!" Crimson shouted, seeing his predicament.

Orlando drew his staff and vaulted back, with the moving clouds following close behind.

He reached the next platform, reactivated his staff, and vaulted again. By the time the discarded staff reappeared at his belt, the clouds were even closer.

Vaulting with the staff is slowing me down, he thought. I'll have to jump without it.

He leaped, and as he did, lightning crackled from the nearest cloud behind him. The fine hairs on his back stood up and he felt the prickle of sparks dancing along his spine.

His body jerked reflexively, and he undershot the plateau, slamming hard into the side. But his fingers caught the edge, and, body aching, he pulled himself up.

"Orlando!' Erisa shouting this time, concern in her voice.

And Piro. "No!" And a sizzle of fireballs, petering out before they came anywhere near the encroaching cloud creatures.

Orlando staggered to his feet. Measured the distance to the next plateau, and jumped.

Lightning crashed into him in mid-leap, and his body went rigid.

Then he was falling, short of the next platform . . . far too short.

Falling . . . and no net to catch him.

Falling . . .

Falling.

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT: The Long Climb

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD - Chapter 12

2008-08-21T02:09:00.000-07:00

TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

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CHAPTER 12 – STAGE THREE

Brutus Maximus stood on the reviewing stand and gazed out over the nine contestants remaining. They were a good team, possibly good enough to complete the task that Amontet had set for the tournament's final phase.

The wizard-prince's avatar—the glowing, disembodied eye—hovered over the throne in the royal box, carefully watching the proceedings.

During the night, mage-engineers had laid down a sliver road leading from the reviewing area to the final challenge: the Empyrian Keep—which stood less than a half mile from the packed grandstands.

The shimmering white tower stretched high into the sky, nearly touching the dark gray clouds rolling in overhead. The intricate scrollwork on the spire's exterior seemed to twist and change in the shadows of the gathering darkness. An hour ago, the morning had been bright and sunny, but now the day was nearly as dim as twilight. Tension hung thick in the air over the grandstand. The attendees talked to each other in hushed tones.

The nine finalists—Crimson, Erisa, Neilo, Orlando, Pirokles, Father Pius, Roj Bond, Seth, and Tarkon—eyed the keep warily, perhaps guessing its place in the tournament's ultimate test. Even the usually boisterous Piro remained silent.

Max frowned. He understood the nervousness of the crowd and the contestants, but it was almost as though the tower, the island, and even the weather itself were anticipating the start of this challenge. His people looked antsy, too. Ilsa Gorvald drummed her fingertips on the grandstand rail, and Herrin paced the platform, muttering to himself. Even Rogina, usually the calm in the eye of the storm, seemed tense as she stood at Max's elbow.

"Ready, Rogi?" Max asked.

She nodded nervously. "Whenever you are, Boss."

Max activated the spell on the amulet that amplified his voice, and he addressed the crowd.

"Welcome to the final stage of the Tournament Maximus!" he boomed.

The crowd roared wildly, exorcizing their anxiety with thunderous applause. Only Brion Wilde, now seated among the audience, didn't clap. Max ignored him and addressed the surviving contestants.

"Congratulations!" the organizer said. "You are the finalists. Among all those who came to Shumakai to compete in this tournament, you are the ones who will continue during this final stage. You are the only ones who have the chance to win the ultimate prize—a favor from the Wizard-Prince Amontet, himself."

As Max spoke the name, the eye hovering above the golden throne momentarily transformed into the image of Amontet—calm, powerful, confident. When the likeness faded again, two eyes remained. One stayed hovering above the throne, but the other drifted down to the contestants and floated nearby, watching.

"As you can see, Amontet's spirit will journey with these brave warriors to personally watch their progress through the final tests," Max said. "Have no fear, though! You, our audience, will be able to experience the thrills as well, just as you have during all the other stages."

Again, the people in the grandstands roared their approval—all save Brion Wilde.

"All of you know that this is no ordinary tournament," Max said, "and some of you have anticipated—especially those in the betting pools I have seen—that this will be no ordinary final stage. Like the last tests, in this phase, our contestants will be competing together, as a team."

More applause, and this time, nods of approval from the contestants themselves, too—all except Tarkon.

Max continued. "Like the other stages of the tournament, this final series of tests pits our contestants against extraordinary obstacles. These trials, though, have not been wrought by my expert team. No! These final tests remain a mystery to everyone involved, and they will be found there—" He pointed to the tower. "—within the mysterious Empyrian Keep!"

The crowd gasped, but the contestants remained steely; clearly the survivors, seeing the silver road, had anticipated this twist.

Max leaned over the rail and spoke in awed tones to the audience. "No one knows where the tower came from. No one knows who built it. No one knows what perils await within!"

Secretly, Max suspected that Amontet might have a very good idea about the tower's interior. Why else would the wizard-prince have been so specific about the types of challenges required for the preliminary rounds? Max felt no need to share that guess with the crowd, though; better to let the fear of the unknown build their anticipation.

The games' organizer straightened and let his voice boom out over the crowd once more. "Who would dare find out? Our champions, of course! And those brave souls who finish this test will gain the tournament's grand prize!

"There's one final catch, though: in order to win that prize, our contestants must not only survive the challenge, they must not only reach the top of the Empyrian Keep and return, but they must also bring back proof of their deeds! For the top of the tower houses a singular treasure.

"There are only two things known for certain about this legendary keep: one is that the tower is not bound by the normal laws of time and space; anything can happen within its walls. The other thing we know for certain is that at the keep's apex lies the Empyrian Diamond—a gem of such fabulous beauty that Amontet has sponsored this entire tournament to obtain it!"

Max turned his eyes to the contestants, who looked anxious to start. "Anyone who survives and returns with the diamond will gain Amontet's favor—a prize even more valuable than the gemstone itself!"

"What are we waiting for!" Roj Bond shouted, pumping his muscular arms in the air. "Let's do it! Let's go!"

Max laughed. Sometimes no more words were necessary. "Indeed!" he boomed. "Let the contest begin!"

The crowd cheered as the contestants walked down the silver road toward the tower. With them went one of the glowing eyes of Amontet and—unnoticed by anyone—the tiny, insect-like magical birds that allowed Max to broadcast the action to the huge, burning brazier.

Max smiled. Whether anyone survived or not, he had won this day. After this, his reputation would be restored. He'd be able to write his own ticket at any arena in the World-Sea.

Or maybe I'll just retire, he mused. Amontet's paying me enough. What could I do for an encore after this, anyway?

As the crowd roared its approval and thunderclouds built overhead, the contestants reached the base of the keep.

Untouched by human hands, the tower door swung open.

THE TOWER: FIRST CHALLENGES

That the tower did not obey the laws of time and space became immediately apparent as the nine contestants crossed the keep's threshold. Passing through the door, they found themselves not within a building, but standing on the steppes of a high desert. Before them stretched a vast, dusty plain bounded in the far distance by a tall cliff.

"Gods of Mercy!" Pius said. "What deviltry is this?"

"Maximus warned us this place would be strange," Orlando said.

"Deal with it, and let's get going," Crimson added. Despite the unfamiliar landscape, the magical silver stripe still showed the course they needed to take.

"Red's right," Roj agreed. "Time's a wastin' and we need to get to that prize."

Tarkon said nothing, but began walking toward the distant cliffs.

"Big talker, that guy," Piro whispered to Neilo. "Once we're outta this place, remind me to toast his biscuits as payback for Yan."

Despite the strength of their company, Neilo felt nervous. "We can't think about that now," he whispered back. "We need to concentrate on the tasks at hand—like Brion would if he were here."

"Well, that quitter's not here, is he?" Piro said. "I'll bide my time, but the minute we don't need that big galoot . . . Pfft!" He snapped his fingers and sparks flew.

"Come on, boys. Move it!" Erisa said. "My man may be dying out there, on the island, and I need to get back with the prize before he does." She jerked her thumb toward the cliffs and walked on.

Neilo licked his lips. The Midknight looked very alluring in her scanty blue armor, despite the circumstances.

Piro grinned and nodded. "Yeah. She's hot. Let's go, Loser."

The fire mage's quip jangled Neilo's nerves, but the young elf fell in step with the rest. The group soon formed a marching order, Tarkon at the front, followed by Roj and Crimson, with Piro, Orlando, Neilo, and Pius in the middle, and Erisa and Seth bringing up the rear.

The tower exit, which had been merely a threshold standing in the middle of the sandy plain, soon vanished from view. The landscape sloped uphill as they went, and gentle winds stirred ochre dust into air.

Crimson stopped, her pale blue eyes staring at a tiny whirlwind in the distance. Orlando came to a halt as well. "It's just a dust devil," he said.

"I don't think so, but let's hope," Crimson replied. "Keep the group moving." She returned to the front of the line, and the others kept walking. But the further they walked, the more Roj Bond drifted toward the back.

"Are you all right?" Neilo whispered as the muscleman drifted back to him. Roj looked pale and sweaty, and his massive limbs were trembling.

"Fine," Roj snapped. "I just wanted to check the rear guard for a while. Okay? Worry about yourself."

Neilo nodded, but he kept an eye on the warrior. When the group neared the cliff, Roj had dropped all the way back to the rear of the column. Unaware Neilo was watching, Roj reached into a pouch at his waist, took out a small, black bug, and swallowed it.

Some kind of magic, Neilo deduced. Probably to keep his strength up. I wonder how long he's been taking those bugs, and how long they last?

He hoped the big man's strength wouldn't give out just when they needed it. The young elf had no sooner formed the thought, than the desert wind suddenly whipped up, filling the air with hot, gritty dust.

Crimson wheeled to the rear and cried, "We're under attack!" The others immediately formed into a defensive ring, all save Roj, who lagged behind.

A dirty whirlwind, half again as tall as a man, streaked out of the sandstorm, heading straight for the muscleman. Roj drew his sword and sliced at it, but the weapon passed harmlessly through.

The swirling creature wrapped around him, and Roj's muscular body began to shake. His skin wrinkled and then cracked. He cried out.

"No!" Neilo shouted. He ran forward and stabbed his enchanted longsword into the creature, but even as he did, Roj crumbled into dust.

For a moment, the monster's hot wind and sand swirled around the young elf. Neilo kept slashing bravely, and the dusty elemental reeled back; apparently the elf's enchanted sword wasn't to its taste after all. Neilo retreated, panting.

"It's a sirocco!" Seth called to the rest. "An air elemental that thrives on heat! Normal weapons can't harm it!"

"Well, let's see if this can!" Pius boomed. He pulled a small, round bottle from a pouch at his belt and hurled the container at the elemental. As the bottle arced through the dusty air, the priest whispered a fervent prayer.

Instantly, the bottle burst and white clouds filled the air above their enemy. Thunder cracked and torrential rain poured down, drenching the sirocco and taming its hot winds, leaving a small, nearly transparent figure behind.

Crimson leapt forward and chopped off the thing's head. As the body fell, it, too, crumbled into dust. As the last of the creature vanished, the sandstorm died away.

"Well cut," Seth said. "And well done as well, priest."

"I could have killed it, too," Piro boasted.

"Perhaps next time," Orlando said—without a trace of irony.

Crimson looked at Neilo, concern written on her pretty face. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," the elf replied.

Crimson didn't say anything, but merely pointed to his hands.

Neilo looked down. He hadn't noticed until that moment, but as he'd fought the monster, the dusty elemental had left its mark on him. Neilo's skin—recently so young and pliable—was now dry and withered.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm sure the healers can fix it." In fact, he didn't feel sure about that at all. How much life had the elemental sucked out of him? He was an elf, but even elves didn't live forever. He fought down the worry. I have to go on, he thought. For my brothers. For mother!

His bravado didn't seem to convince Crimson.

"Besides," he added, trying to sound braver than he felt, "this is nothing compared to what happened to poor Roj."

The spider-cats attacked when the remaining group had climbed halfway up the desert cliff. The creatures looked like mountain lions, but they had six legs, could scramble across sheer walls like an insect, and the ends of their tails sprayed sticky webbing. Worse, their slick coats took on the appearance of whatever they were crawling across—not immediately, but quickly enough to make them difficult to see.

Erisa hated them from the moment she first laid eyes on one. She'd been in the middle of the "pack"—which is how she'd come to think of the line of eight remaining contestants—when the first monster appeared out of a crack in the cliff face, right in front of Orlando.

The acrobat got bit in the left arm, and only his considerable gymnastic skills saved him from a nasty fall ending with a quick, fatal stop. Others feline arachnids sprang out of cracks on all side, quickly surrounding the team and trying to entwine them in sticky webs.

Too bad for them they decided to get in my way today, Erisa thought as she rammed her sword through the nearest spider-cat's yellow eyes. Like the others, she'd been on edge since Roj Bond's sudden death, and the appearance of a solid, mortal foe—even halfway up the side of a steep cliff—almost seemed like a blessing

"Fry suckers!" Piro cried, hurling bolts of orange flame at the monsters.

"Careful, boy!" Pius thundered. "Those webs are flammable! If you don't watch out, you'll scorch us all!"

Tarkon and Seth went about their business wordlessly, cutting down the felines with efficient gusto. Crimson's blade felled just as many, though she occasionally took time to yell instructions, like, "Climb up to the next ledge; it's more defensible," or warnings like, "Watch out, Neilo!"

That seemed to have become her favorite refrain. The elf—who still looked like hell—hadn't been the same since their encounter with the sirocco. Erisa wasn't sure whether he'd been badly shaken by Roj's death, or if the monster's withering attack had just taken the life out of him. Whatever the case, Crimson seemed to spend a lot of time protecting Neilo's back.

Because of that, the red-haired warrior mostly left the Midknight alone—which was fine. Erisa knew her business and was nearly as efficient in killing as Crimson, Seth, or Tarkon.

They'd make good Midknights, all of them, she thought—then regretted it as thinking of her mercenary order made her remember Uldred. She almost wished she were with him. He'd made her promise to continue the contest, though. It was the last thing he'd told her. He'd only woken momentarily in the healers' tents, just long enough to say, "Go on . . . Finish it for me. Win the prize. You . . . deserve it!"

Tearfully, she'd agreed to continue, not just because he'd asked her to, but because a plan of her own had begun to form in Erisa's mind. But would her scheme do any good if Uldred died before she returned with the gem?

"Erisa! Watch it!" Crimson called.

Erisa was about to curse her out, but stopped to duck under a leaping spider-cat instead. The creature landed on the cliff wall next to the Midknight and plastered her right leg to the cliff with a gob of sticky webbing.

Exerting all her strength, Erisa ripped her leg free, twisted, and stabbed her sword through the spider-cat's back, pinning it against the escarpment. The creature died, but as it did, it lost its grip on the cliff face. It fell with Erisa's sword still in it, pulling the weapon and the Midknight along.

Erisa shook the cat free of her blade, but not before she'd been pulled to the brink of the ledge she'd been standing on. She tottered and clutched for the cliff face with her left hand, but only succeeded in bruising her fingertips on the rock. Her toes slipped over the edge and she cursed, silently wishing she hadn't ripped free of the webbing, which might have held her in place.

The Midknight fell, knowing in that moment that the only way she'd see Uldred again would be in the afterlife. Something he'd once told her flashed through her mind: "I'd trade eternity in paradise for a moment in hell with you."

See you in hell, my love, she thought.

Then, suddenly, she jerked to a stop. For a moment, Erisa thought that another spider-cat might have snared her. But looking up, she saw Orlando, his left arm still bleeding, dangling from the edge of the cliff and holding onto her with his right hand.

"Climb up quickly!" the acrobat said. "You're pretty spry, but I can't hold on forever!"

At that moment, Erisa could have kissed him—though skinny guys with blow-wave blond hair weren't really her type. Instead, she did as he asked and quickly scrambled back to the cliff face. Once she had, Orlando pulled himself up as well.

The other members of the team were just finishing off the last of the spider-cats.

"Nice catch," Crimson told Orlando as he and Erisa re-secured their footing on the cliff face.

"I've made better," the acrobat replied, "but few as pretty—or well timed."

"Remind me to return the favor some time," Erisa said.

But in her mind she thought, Uldred, my love, we're not done yet!

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT: The Tower Takes Its Toll

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD Final Stage - New Polls: Who Lives? Who dies?

2008-08-20T12:55:00.001-07:00

Stage Two is over and the Tournament of Death now enters its final phase! This is a great time to start reading if you haven't already.

Also, since all the characters for the finals are set, there are two new polls up on the TOD blog.

Who should DIE?
Who should LIVE?

http://www.tournamentofdeath.blogspot.com/

There's still time for readers to affect the final outcome of the story, so vote now!

And feel free to leave comments, suggestions, and feedback about the whole tournament as well.

Thanks for reading!

TOD - Chapter 11

2008-08-20T01:08:00.001-07:00

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CHAPTER 11 – STAGE TWO: STRAYS

FINAL TEAM: BRION WILDE, CRIMSON, PIRO

"Not another stray!" Piro moaned as Brion Wilde and the rest of his team paused at the edge of the forest. "How many of these losers are we going to stop for?" Frustrated, the flame-haired boy set a piece of driftwood afire and chucked it into the plesiosaur-filled bay they'd just crossed.

"We're not stopping, we're just adding another hero to our epic quest," Brion told him wryly—though the boy didn't seem to get the joke. "It takes virtually no time to help someone out."

"And more people makes a stronger team," Crimson added.

"Not if those people are losers!" Piro complained.

Brion shook his head indulgently. The youngster had been complaining ever since their group found Neilo Finnek cowering in a tree four obstacles ago. The elf had managed to kill one frost leopard, but its two companions cornered him at the top of a tall baobab. The cats' deadly breath couldn't reach the elf, but he couldn't get away, either. Luckily for Neilo, Brion and company had happened along just then.

Some clever swordplay from Brion and Crimson—and a few well-placed bursts of flame from Piro—had driven the leopards off. For Brion, the encounter confirmed Crimson's recommendation of the youngster, but now the baronette was beginning to wonder. Was Pirokles one of those people who just liked to complain, or would his groaning affect his performance in future challenges?

Since being rescued, Neilo had proven himself a brave and competent swordsman. Not innovative, but someone a team could count on in a pinch. With Crimson and Brion leading—it was hard to keep the red-haired warrior woman from taking the fore, and Brion saw no reason to resist—Neilo was an effective team member. Yet, Piro was still going complaining about him.

Perhaps he misses Yan, Brion thought. She's more his age than the rest of us are. He must feel very alone in a group like this. Brion missed the girl from Wudan, too, but there was no sense in trying to chain her to the team. Clearly she had her own path to follow. The question was, would this new contestant they'd just discovered make Piro even more unruly?

Crimson walked over to the muscular warrior sitting on a log at the edge of the forest and offered him a hand up. Roj Bond looked at her as though the proffered hand might hold a concealed weapon, and then let her help him to his feet.

"I didn't give up," he said. "I was just restin'." He didn't look like he'd been resting; he looked beaten up. Brusies, scratches, and sweat covered his taut skin. He was breathing hard, and his eyes looked haunted.

"Sure," Crimson replied, without any race of doubt or criticism. "How far did you get into the forest before coming back?"

"You sayin' I turned tail?"

"Nope," she replied. "A smart warrior knows when to beat a strategic retreat and re-think his plan. You look like that kind of smart guy to me."

"Yeah. That's me," Roj agreed. "All brains."

Brion marveled at Crimson's confident ease with people. Perhaps she was older than she looked. Nearby, Piro turned to Brion and mouthed the word "Loser!" Brion shook his head disapprovingly.

"So, what did you find in the forest?" Neilo asked, looking slightly nervous.

"Damn thorns," Roj replied. "Livin' plants. They drop down from above and try to wring your neck. Got some kinda poison on 'em, too. Makes you numb."

Piro snickered, but Bond didn't notice.

"I was . . . lucky to get back out," the big warrior said. "I wouldn't take that path if I was you."

"Good thing we've got two more to pick from, then," Brion said. After every challenge, the silver paths converged briefly before branching into three choices again. Here, at the edge of the forest, lay one such choice. "Are you with us, Master Bond?"

Roj glanced at Crimson—looking fine, as always, in her maroon tunic and mail. Then he stretched and flexed his huge muscles. "Yeah. Sure. I guess so," he said. "Why not? Doesn't matter how many we reach the finish line with, does it." He made it a statement rather than a question.

"Excellent," Brion said. "Let's get going then."

"About time," Piro opined, his flaming hair blazing brightly. "I've got a thing or two I want to show those plants."

"I think she'll be all right," Crimson said as she carefully brushed the last of the poisoned brambles off of Umira. The triton's big eyes fluttered open, but she looked weak and disoriented.

"See?" Piro said. "She'll be fine. I told you we could have let the monkeys take her."

"I s'pose should let 'em take you, too, kid, if you get caught," Roj said.

"You bet," Piro replied. "Ain't gonna happen, though. I'm no loser."

"If we stick together," Brion said, "we'll all pass this stage."

"Only to fight each other in the next," Roj added.

"Maybe," Brion said. "We'll cross that canal when we come to it."

"Maybe we won't have to," Neilo offered hopefully. As the others had been tending the triton, the younger elf had gone to scout the burning brazier and silver torches nearby. "All the tests so far have pitted contestants against the course, rather than against each other."

"Neilo's right," Crimson said. She draped the still-wobbly triton's arm over her shoulder and helped Umira to walk. "We stick together on this and we'll get through. If we start stabbing each other in the back, we're screwed. There's only one more obstacle, and there's strength in numbers."

Roj Bond nodded. "An' after that, it's every man—or whatever—for himself."

"So what's the last obstacle look like, Neilo?" Brion asked. He'd found the younger elf's confidence increased as he was given more responsibility.

"A message from the brazier said we're to take a lit torch up that path to the finish line," Neilo replied.

"So something up there is gonna try to put our torch out," Roj observed.

"Literally and figuratively, I'm sure," Crimson added. She took her arm from around Umira, who finally seemed capable of standing on her own.

"Who will carry the torch?" the triton asked blearily.

"I will," Piro said. "And I pity the fool who tries to put it out."

"Just hang on!" Brion called to the rest as the wind raged around them. He'd taken the lead when the path narrowed, and positioned Crimson to guard their rear. Bond, Piro, Umira, and Neilo made up the middle, with Piro working furiously to keep their silver torch lit, and the other three clinging precariously to the cliff face three-quarters of the way to the top of the path.

Two air elementals assaulted them—one in the front, the other in the rear. Neither were the strongest enchanted beings Brion had ever met, but with such a narrow ledge, they didn't have to be. Fortunately, Crimson seemed experienced fighting such creatures, too. The silver tracery on her sword blade sparked every time she struck the elemental facing her. As the weapon sparked, the wind died slightly, though the creature's wailing increased.

Suddenly, as if by telepathic agreement, the elementals' tactics changed. Rather than attacking the front and rear of the group, the windy beings simultaneously rushed up the cliff face and then blustered down on Brion and Crimson from above—intending to carry both warriors off the cliff.

Brion reacted quickly, speaking a word of power and sending lightning coursing through his sword. As the elemental crashed into him, he thrust the blade deep into the creature's shimmering outline. The airy monster dispersed with a final, wailing howl, but the wind of its destruction still pushed Brion off the ledge.

He grabbed on to the edge of the path, bruising his fingers on the stone, and dangled over the cliff side, trying desperately to hang on. At the other end of the group, he saw that Crimson was in the same predicament, though in her case, it seemed to have been a deliberate choice.

The elemental attacking the red-haired warrior had rushed past, and was now hovering in the open air, several yards from the team. Crimson had, somehow, thrust her stone knife into the cliff's edge, and was clinging to the weapon as though it were a climbing piton. Apparently, luring the elemental into the open was part of her plan. "Piro!" she cried. "Finish it!"

With a gleeful shout, the young mage flung a ball of green-white fire into the center of the remaining elemental. The creature screamed and disintegrated, the air around it exploding with a sudden "Pop!"

With both monsters gone, the wind on the path died down considerably.

Roj's strong hands grabbed Brion by the arms and pulled the elf back onto the trail. Umira and Neilo helped Crimson climb up, too.

"Now we're even," the muscle man told Brion.

"I didn't know we were keeping score," the baronette replied with a grin.

"Keep moving," Crimson urged. "We don't want those elementals coming back."

The group hurried up the narrow path quickly, but they encountered no more elementals.

As the six of them crossed the finish line, the entire grandstand broke into thunderous applause.

UMIRA THE ACCURSED

The Baronette Brion Wilde really knew how to live, and his tent on Shumaki proved it. After the group had completed the course, after they and the other survivors had been feted by the tournament organizers and audience, Brion had invited his team—the people he'd finished with—back to his tent. And what a tent it was!

To Umira, it looked like the tent of a king—with silken walls, pillows on the floors, plush camp chairs, and even a divan. Small lamps of intricate design held back the darkness of the Shumakai night. Like most of the others, Umira was relaxing in one of the cushy seats, drinking wine from Brion's private stock. Pirokles, on the other hand, was stomping around the tent, his hair blazing so brightly that Umira worried he would set the pavilion on fire.

"Yes!" Piro enthused. "We rule! We are the best!" He looked around at his fellow team members as if expecting them to share his enthusiasm.

Umira didn't feel nearly as confident as the young man, and, from the look of them, the others didn't, either. They picked at the fine foods Brion had laid out for them and looked thoughtful—even the muscleman, Roj Bond. Brion himself sat quietly in a dark corner, nursing his drink. The triton couldn't guess what the baronette might be thinking.

"Don't you guys get it?" Piro asked. "We made it! We're going to the final round! We're winners! We can get the prize!"

"You're the one who doesn't get it, kid," Roj said. "I'm happy to be here, but I lost my brother, Gil, in the first stage, yesterday. That kindof takes the edge off."

"I lost a brother today, as well," Neilo said. "And my other brother, Heilo, is still in the healer's tents, along with your friend Yan. They're trying to get all the water out of his lungs, but there's no guarantee he'll survive."

"I would be there as well, if not for all of you," Umira said. "Though I am glad to have survived. I am humbled as well."

"And those elementals weren't the last obstacle, kiddo," Crimson added. "There's another stage tomorrow."

"Yeah," Piro said. "But today, we won! Live for the moment, you know? Let tomorrow take care of itself."

Slowly, Roj Bond smiled. "It is pretty sweet," he said. "And my brother went out fighting. He'd have liked that." He lifted the jug of rum from Brion's camp table and took a big gulp.

Piro smiled. "That's what I mean," he said. "We took all comers today, and we kicked their ass. We had more people in our group coming out of the tournament than we had going in. Who else did that? Nobody! We rule!"

"Pirokles is right," Neilo agreed, brightening. "We made an amazing team. And if I'm right, we'll get to keep playing as a team during the next stage."

"And if we do, who's gonna stop us?" Piro asked. "With Brion and Crimson plotting our moves, we'll get through whatever Max's goons have cooked up for us in a snap!" He flicked his fingers and sparks flew.

"Except that I won't be competing tomorrow," Brion announced from his dark corner. Everyone turned and stared at him.

The enthusiastic flame on top of Piro's head died away. He looked as if someone had just punched him in the face.

"What are you talkin' about, elf?" Roj said. "It's like the kid said, we're a team! A damn good one!"

Brion rose and surveyed the room, looking at each of them in turn. "If that's true," he said, "then you'll take my advice and get out of this competition now. That's what I'm doing."

"But . . . why?" Neilo asked.

"I'm surprised you need to ask that, Master Finnek," Brion replied. "I only have friends—including a very brave girl—in the healers' tents; I haven't lost any relatives on this accursed isle. I've seen enough of this tournament, though, to know that whatever the prize is, it's not worth it. It's not worth your brothers' lives—either of you—or anybody's. It's not worth the life of that brave girl from Wudan, and it's certainly not worth the life of anyone in this tent."

"It wasn't the course that nearly killed Yan," Crimson said, her lips drawn tight. "It was one of the other contestants."

"That Tarkon brute you mean," Neilo said. "Yes, that's what I heard, too."

"What?" Piro said, his hair blazing up again. "Why would he do that? How come nobody told me?"

"Guess you didn't have your ears open when we were mixing with the spectators, hothead," Crimson said fondly. "You should pay more attention. You'll live longer if you do."

"But . . . why?" Piro asked, still stunned.

"Some people will do anything to win," Brion explained. "But I am not one of them. That's why I'm getting out now, while I've still got my skin, and why I'm urging the rest of you to do the same. I'm going to stay here, in camp, and try to help Yan and the other victims of this . . . entertainment."

Neilo shook his head and went to stand by Prio. "Sorry, your lordship, but I'm continuing. I have my reasons, and they're good ones, believe me," he said. "My brothers would want me to go on."

"Yeah," Roj agreed, joining the younger elf. "Mine, too. Quitting now would be like Gil died for no reason. You know? What about you, Red? You chickening out, too?"

"Nope," Crimson said. "I'm in this 'til the end."

Brion's face fell, and Umira's heart felt heavier as well.

"Sorry, Brion," Crimson continued. "I have my own reasons to see this through. I can't back out now."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Brion told her.

"Don't be," she replied. "I've been through tougher things than this tournament, believe me. I'll see you again. Count on it."

Brion slowly nodded. "I'll hold you to that."

She smiled at him. "Please do." She crossed the tent and stood next to Neilo, Roj, and Piro.

"And you, Blue?" Roj asked Umira.

The triton starwatcher stood and moved to Brion's side. "Brion is right," she said. "Whatever the prize, the cost is not worth it. I thought it would be, but I was wrong. I will withdraw from the competition as well."

"No sweat," Piro said. "We can do this without either of you."

"I hope you're right," Brion said.

"You bet I am," Piro replied.

MAXIMUS & ROGINA

Rogina pulled back the tent flap and found Max lounging in his padded camp chair. The organizer's eyes were closed, and the lights in his custom pavilion were dim. He seemed to be enjoying the quiet of the cool Shumakai night.

"The elf's not competing," she announced. "He's dropping out."

"Which elf?" Max asked, not opening his eyes. "The one with one brother in the medical tent and the other one in the morgue?"

"No," Rogina said. "The Baronette Brion Wilde."

Max sat up, surprised. "Really? After finishing so brilliantly? After leading the rest through the jaws of death and rescuing three other contestants? That doesn't make any sense."

"I can't explain it," Rogina said. "Seems like he had an attack of conscience or something. He spent a lot of time in the medical tent with that girl—the one who claimed to be from Wudan."

"So he's gone soft."

"Apparently."

"That's a pity," Max said. "He would have made a good team leader for the final stage. Any other bad news?"

"The triton's dropping out, too."

Max frowned. "What a pitty. Fine figure on that one, and I hate to see it go to waste. If she'd won, Amontet might have been able to do something about her skin condition—and fixed her teeth, too."

"Boss, that's cruel. People can't help how they look—not unless they're wizards."

"My point exactly," Max said, taking her hand. "Amontet is willing to shell out a lot to get what he wants—nearly anything, so far as I can tell. And as everyone here can tell you, he can do just about anything."

"Yeah. I get that," Rogina said. "Though I still don't get why he's got us doing his dirty work."

"Do you care?" Max asked.

"Not as long as I'm with you."

"Come to bed then," Max said. "In the morning, we'll send the survivors into the tower."

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

NEXT: The Final Stage Begins!

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD - Chapter 10

2008-08-18T22:50:00.001-07:00

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CHAPTER 10 – STAGE TWO: STRENGTH & SPEED

FOURTH TEAM: ORLANDO, ROJ, ERISA & ULDRED

"We will help each other," Orlando the Acrobat said, "but we will not lose for each other. Is that clear? If one falls, the rest will go on."

To the Midknight named Erisa, Orlando looked more than a bit absurd in his tight-fitting, colorful outfit. But the acrobat's face was deadly serious, and despite his clothing, Orlando seemed very competent; he'd survived the first stage with very few wounds, which was why Erisa and Uldred had agreed to team up with him.

"Got it," Roj Bond grunted, though Erisa wasn't sure the muscular warrior was capable of getting much of anything.

"Wouldn't want it any other way," she agreed. Uldred nodded.

Orlando smiled, showing his perfect teeth. "Good. Let's get signed in and start, then." He walked toward Rogina and her gnome assistant.

"Faerie," Roj whispered as he went.

"If you don't like him," Uldred said, "why'd you agree to work with us?"

Roj flexed his muscles, puffing up his body almost to the size of a half ogre. "Strength and speed," he said. "That's the name of this game. I got the strength, and he's got the speed."

"What about us?" Erisa asked.

"You got a bit of both, so that's good, too." Roj turned and followed the brightly dressed acrobat.

Erisa cupped her hand and whispered to Uldred. "If Orlando's speed, and he's strength, then that must make us the brains."

"As usual," Uldred said with a smile.

Orlando stared down at Roj, who lay panting on the shore of the bay. The muscle-bound warrior didn't seem to have been harmed by the sea monsters, but he didn't look capable of continuing, either. "We can't wait for you," the acrobat said.

"Yeah," Uldred agreed. "That was the deal."

"I just need a minute," Roj insisted. "A minute to catch my breath."

"You can catch up with us, then," Erisa countered, annoyed at the delay. "You've been lying there for twenty minutes now."

"Just another minute," Roj said. "One more."

"You said that ten minutes ago," Uldred noted.

"All right, then, go!" Roj barked, the veins standing out on his ox-like neck. "See if you can do it without me! You can't! I'll be identifying your bodies for the tournament officials in the morning!"

"Right," Orlando said smoothly. "Nice knowing you, then. Good luck with the final obstacles." He turned and walked into the forest.

"Jerk," Erisa muttered as she and Uldred followed.

"Do you think anyone else has made it this far?" Uldred asked, picking the remains of the strangling vines off his armor as he, Erisa, and Orlando left the jungle.

"No way to tell," the acrobat said. "This stage has three paths, remember? They only converge here, at the end of the course."

"I don't see anyone ahead of us," Erisa said. "That has to be a good sign, doesn't it?" As it turned, out, Roj Bond had been right—getting past the vines had required a combination of strength and speed. Too bad the muscleman probably wouldn't make it through the forest on his own. Erisa grinned at the thought.

"Sure," Uldred agreed. "We're aces. Just one more obstacle to go."

"Let's not count our basilisks," Orlando warned. "There's a pretty big blood stain on the ground here, and no way to tell whether the person who made it survived to go on. Being first doesn't matter—just finishing. And besides, I'm sure this last test will be a corker."

Ahead of them stretched a tall cliff with a narrow path snaking up the side. At the bottom of the escarpment stood a burning brazier, with a row of unlit silver torches next to it.

As the three challengers approached the fire, words appeared in flaming script above the brazier:

To complete the test, bring a lighted torch to the finish line. One torch per group.

The burning letters hung in the air for a few moments, then vanished.

"That seems straightforward enough," Orlando said, taking a torch and lighting it.

"There's gotta be a catch," Uldred said.

"There's always a catch," Erisa observed. As Orlando began climbing the winding path, she whispered to Uldred. "Do you have any magic left?"

"An expanding net," he said. "You?"

"Two fireball gems and an invisible snare. Do you think Orlando has any more tricks up his billowing sleeves?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Uldred replied. "He seems to like you."

"Jealous?"

"Of that faerie? Ha!"

Erisa chuckled and the two of them hurried to catch up with the acrobat.

They were halfway up the cliff face when the wind hit. It began as a slight breeze, but built with each step they took until their torch was guttering and in serious danger of going out.

Orlando turned his back to the wind, protecting the torch's flame with his body. "I can walk backward," he told the Midknights, "and keep the torch from going out, but you'll have to alert me for impending dangers. One of you should go in front of me, the other behind."

"I'll go first," Erisa said, carefully navigating around the acrobat to take the lead.

The strategy worked, keeping the precious flame safe as the trio made their way up the snaking trail. As they went, the path narrowed until it was barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, even if their strategy had permitted doing so.

The gusts built to near hurricane force as the team climbed. They struggled to walk without being blown off the side of the cliff; the wind howled like a thousand tortured souls.

Without warning, a ghostly shape appeared in the gale, directly in front of them.

"Elemental!" Erisa warned. She drew her weapon, thankful for the blessing that allowed the Midknights' blades to affect such enchanted creatures. She hoped that Orlando's magical staff would work against an elemental as well as it had against vines and sea serpents.

Orlando's staff sprang into his hand, expanding to full-length as it appeared out of his billowing sleeve. But he still kept his back to the wind, protecting the flickering torch. Eldred drew his sword as well, though the wind nearly whipped it from his hand.

The elemental came at them. The wind of it felt like being hit by an ox; somehow, all three contestants kept their feet. Erisa slashed at the airy monster, but—despite the blessing—her sword had little effect. Orlando flailed blindly, nearly striking Erisa by accident.

"Out of the way!" Uldred shouted, pushing the acrobat to his knees and stepping around him to join Erisa on the front line.

The Midknight nearly made it, but the elemental suddenly rushed up the cliffside and then back down, barreling over the edge and taking Uldred with it.

For a moment, time froze as Erisa's lover hung suspended in the air, his face a mixture of shock and horror.

And then he fell.

"No!" she screamed.

The elemental hovered in the open air, gloating in its victory over the fallen knight.

Erisa stabbed her hand into the pouch at her waist, found a fireball gem, yanked it out, spoke the activation word, and threw with all her might.

The gem soared into the center of the airy, non-human creature and exploded. With a hurricane wail, the elemental vanished, and the wind died down—though it didn't cease entirely.

Stunned, Orlando regained his feet. "I-I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry my ass," Erisa said, peering over the edge. "He might still be alive. We're going back down to get him."

"But the elemental may reform," the acrobat countered. "And we all agreed—if one falls, the others keep going. We're almost through the final obstacle. We can win!"

"I don't want to win without him!" Erisa cried, her eyes filling with tears. "None of it matters without him!"

Orlando shook his head. "I can't go with you," he said. "Not when I'm so close." He gazed at the torch, still flickering in the strong wind. "Go if you must. I'll . . . I'll wait for you at the top—at least a little while."

Erisa's eyes blazed with anger though her heart was breaking. "Fine!"

She found Uldred on the third switchback below where they'd fought the elemental. He was lying on the trail, bleeding, his body twisted at unnatural angles. Astoundingly, he was still alive.

She hugged him and kissed his face, but he didn't respond.

So she found the expanding net amid his equipment and lashed it between their sheathed swords to fashion a rough liter. Gently, she rolled her lover onto it and then dragged Uldred's body back up the trail.

At nearly the same spot on the path, the winds built again and the elemental re-formed.

"Screw you!" Erisa said, tossing her remaining fireball gem into the creature.

The burst of magical flame dissipated the elemental once more, and she and Uldred continued up the path.

When they reached the top, she found Orlando sitting by the trail, despair written across his handsome face.

"I-it went out!" he said. The silver torch lay extinguished at his feet. "I nearly got to the top, but the wind. . . ! I couldn't keep it lit."

"Well you could have come back and helped me, then, couldn't you, jerk," Erisa said. The acrobat's predicament would have been comical if she weren't scared to death about Uldred. He hadn't woken in all the time it had taken to reach the top, and now his breathing had become ragged and irregular.

"Relight the torch and let's get going," she said.

"What?" Orlando replied, uncomprehending.

"That fancy magical writing didn't say you had to finish with the same flame you started with," Erisa told him. "Relight the torch and let's get going!"

Orlando's face brightened, then fell. "I don't have any fire magic," he said. "Do you, by chance, have any more of those fireball gems?"

"Nope."

His chin slumped onto his chest. "Then we've lost. Either that, or we have to go back and start again. And if we do that, I'm certain that elemental will have reformed."

"Good thing I've got flint and tinder, then," Erisa said. "Otherwise, you'd be screwed—just like you tried to screw us."

Orlando looked up, his face showing a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "I didn't try to screw you. We all agreed: if one fell, the rest would go on."

"Yeah, right," Erisa said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Now help me carry Uldred to the medical tent before I take that torch and leave your sorry ass behind. And gods help you if my man doesn't survive!"

YAN ZHIGONG & TARKON

Yan Zhigong wanted to stay with Brion and his friends, she really did—except they were all so damn slow! Even the cute fire mage didn't move very fast. The girl from Wudan soon tired of circling back to find the rest of the group, or having to wait for them to catch up. In the end, as Brion had suggested, she struck out on her own.

Being on her own proved a lot more fun.

She played tag with the frost leopards, tied the sky serpents into knots, and tangled the webs of the crystal spiders. After that, she rode on griffonback until all the griffons were too worn out to play any longer.

Then she skipped down to the bay, where she noticed the undersea gladiator, Tarkon, struggling against some sea monsters. So she decided to help him out.

Dancing across the wave tops, as her masters had taught her, Yan soon reached the site of the battle.

The creatures Tarkon faced were like nothing Yan had ever seen before. They looked a little bit like dragons, but not nearly so noble or graceful or wise. They had big, turtle-like bodies—though they didn't have any shell—and they had four wide, porpoise-like flippers for feet. A flat, triangular head, almost like a snake head, sat atop their long sinuous necks, and equally long snaky tails sprouted from behind their rear flippers.

Tarkon was clinging to the flank of one of the beasts, trying to climb up its side so he could cut off its head with his oversized sword. As he climbed, another of the three turtle-serpents surged forward to strike at the gladiator's unprotected back.

Yan bounced off a wave crest, bounded over the monster Tarkon was fighting, and kicked the ambushing creature in the chin. The turtle-serpent's head snapped back, its eyes rolled up, and its long neck whipped into the water. Before its unconscious body sank into the brine, Yan skipped over its body toward the third monster.

The snake-like head of the third turtle-serpent dived straight for the girl from Wudan, its jaws wide, its mouth full of rows of pointy teeth. As it struck, Yan jumped over it, putting her hands on the top of the creature's skull and vaulting high into the sky.

She somersaulted, twisting in the air, and landed squarely on the beast's humped back. The monster turned, but its neck wasn't flexible enough for its head to reach her. Yan dropped into a spin kick and broke its spine, just above the shoulders. At the same time, Tarkon lopped off the head of the turtle-serpent he was fighting. As the body sank, he swam toward shore.

Yan danced along the wave tops beside him, amazed that he could swim in his heavy, lobster-like armor.

Tarkon scowled at her. "Who asked you to interfere?" he barked as he trudged ashore.

Yan shrugged. "It looked like you needed some help."

"Well I didn't," Tarkon snapped. "Stay out of my way, girl."

"Okay," she replied, smiling.

Without looking back, Tarkon trudged into the jungle.

For a moment, Yan thought about turning back to find her friends. But they were probably still a long way behind, and the griffons were too tired to play any more. So she decided to continue on.

At first, she wanted to run across the treetops to the far side of the forest, but when she tried it, the silver course line disappeared and the flying monkeys began to swarm all around her.

Pulling feathers from the monkeys' wings was fun for a while, but Yan soon tired of the novelty. Besides, it seemed to her that the monkeys weren't enjoying the game nearly as much as she was. So she dived down through the forest canopy and found the silver trail once more.

Avoiding the stinging vines proved a considerable challenge even for the girl from Wudan. Several times, the brambles snagged the baggy sleeves and legs of her green robes. She twisted away from the plants easily enough, but it bothered her to think that they might have harmed the lovely dragon designs that Master Pau had embroidered into her garb.

As she walked, checking the silk patterns, the trees around her thinned out and the canopy raised up to a lofty height. For a moment, Yan admired the view. Then she noticed Tarkon, helmetless, hanging fifteen yards above the ground. A bramble as thick as Yan's thigh had wrapped itself around his neck. Two similar-sized creepers had relieved the gladiator of his helm and his enormous sword and were dragging the items up into the concealing foliage. Tarkon struggled feebly, his face turning blue and his eyelids fluttering.

"That's not fair!" Yan decided.

So when a thorny tendril as thick as her waist shot down to snag her, she avoided it and deftly ran up the vine's length into the canopy. Reaching the underside of the foliage, she sprang toward Tarkon, ten yards away.

Her spin kick severed the vine holding the gladiator's neck and he crashed heavily to the ground. Yan sprinted down the nearest tree trunk, concerned that she might have injured the warrior.

But Tarkon was already rising by the time she reached the forest floor. He grabbed a new vine snaking toward his neck and snapped it in half, then—without even a word of thanks—stomped out of the jungle.

Yan followed, more slowly than usual because the bare skin of her foot had brushed some poisoned brambles when she saved Tarkon, and her legs were feeling a bit numb.

I shall have to apply some of Master Pau's healing salve once I get back to my tent, she thought.

She found the Vortex Gladiator standing at the base of a winding cliffside trail, next to a burning brazier and a rack of silver torches.

"Are you all right?" Yan asked.

"Of course," he replied without looking at her.

"Sorry about your sword and your helmet. I could go back and get them if you like."

"It doesn't matter," Tarkon said. "Winning is all that matters. And I am not weaponless in any case." He flexed a muscle in his massive forearm and a long, triangular blade sprang out of his right grieve.

Yan's eyes went wide, and she marveled at the concealed weapon. "Awesome!"

Tarkon turned and plunged the blade into her side.

Yan gasped as her blood gushed out, staining the green silk of her robes. Tarkon yanked his blade free, and Yan crumpled to the ground.

"When I need help, I'll ask for it," he rumbled. "And I never need help."

As Yan lay bleeding, the Vortex Gladiator went to the cauldron, lit a torch, and started up the long trail to the finish line.

The girl from Wudan watched him go, unable to understand what had just happened.

Then her neck went limp, her head rolled back, and she found herself staring at the sky. It really was a beautiful day.

Oh look, she thought as the world began to fade. The monkeys are coming. Maybe this time, they'll want to play.

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT UP: Stage Two Concludes - Brion & Crimson & Piro – Oh my!

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD - Chapter 9

2008-08-18T01:11:00.001-07:00

TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

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CHAPTER 9 – STAGE TWO: TEAM PLAY

SECOND TEAM: GRIFFENHOLT, BRAK, JAZT

"Move it!" Baroness Lindy Griffenholt barked. "We don't have time for stragglers!" She'd picked her other team members for their combination of strength and magical ability, but she was starting to think that perhaps she should have factored in speed.

Brak, the basilisk, had proven himself capable of quick movement during combat, but in the parts of the course between ambushes, the lizard-man liked to take his sweet time.

Serves me right for working with non-humans, Lindy thought.

Hu Jazt, the wizard, was even more of a problem. Lindy had thought that his prodigious shape-changing ability would make him swift as well as powerful, but that wasn't working out, either. Every use of his magic seemed to take more out of him. Between bouts of combat, he was either gasping for air or gulping down one of his magical potions.

Lindy was starting to believe that Jazt's handsome face and slender figure were just another of his shape-changing disguises.

I bet he's really fat and overweight, she thought. "Let's get going!" she called to her partners. "This cliff isn't going to climb itself!"

"A moment, dear lady," Jazt said. "Just a moment."

"Not a race," the lizard-man grunted. He'd taken to drinking from his waterskin every time they stopped. If they hadn't been able to refill after defeating the river elementals, surely he would have run dry by now.

"Well, I'm starting before the next group catches up with us," Lindy said. She wiped the leopard blood from her sword, sheathed it, and jogged to the cliff face. The magical silver line delineating the course headed straight up, and the top of the escarpment was at least forty yards away.

Lindy found her first handgrip and began to climb, Brak and Jazt following just behind. To the west, Lindy could see a flight of winged monkeys, watching and waiting. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Those beasts won't lay hands on me today, she thought.

The cliff proved difficult, but she'd climbed trickier back in her homeland while hunting griffon eggs. The lizard-man was keeping up, barely, and Jazt had transformed himself into something that seemed to be half man and half spider.

Lindy blanched at the sight. Disgusting!

Despite his new form, the wizard was still struggling as he climbed. His breath came in ragged puffs and his limbs trembled as he crept up the cliff.

A prickling sensation on the back of Lindy's neck made her turn, and she drew her sword just in time to slash the head off a cloudy-white snake diving through the air at her. "Sky serpents!" she cried as more of the sinuous creatures swarmed in.

Lindy had experience in fighting while climbing—she'd once fended off a flock of blood shrikes during an egging expedition back home—and apparently the basilisk knew how to fight while climbing, also. Brak easily clung to the cliff face with one hand while cutting down flying snakes with his saw-toothed sword.

Jazt, on the other hand, was having trouble. Holding on to the cliff face with his spider-like rear limbs, he'd transformed his arms into snakes to counter the sky serpents' attacks. With each moment, though, the flying swarm snapped closer and closer to the wizard, and Lindy and Brak were both too far away to help.

Realizing his predicament, Jazt began to change again. His head became leonine—the head of a chimera, Lindy realized—and breathed fire. The serpents attacking him withered in the flames.

"Keep climbing as you fight," Lindy urged, knowing they'd each have to make it to the top on their own. She cut down two more serpents and headed for the apex of the cliff. Brak felled three of the cloudy-white snakes and climbed as well.

Jazt opted for a different approach, and batlike wings started to sprout from his back. This final transformation must have been too much for the shape-change magic he was using, though, because before the wings were fully formed, the wizard's body began to bloat. Expanding like intestines dropped in boiling water, Jazt swelled to twice his size and then, suddenly, burst.

Dead before he could even scream, Jazt tumbled back down the cliff face with the swarm of flying snakes trailing after his body, nipping at the streamers of gore.

Lindy and Brak gained the top of the cliff; neither one spoke or looked back. Before them lay a grassy plain. Both the human woman and the basilisk broke into a run, anxious to reach the next challenge.

Soon they reached a broad chasm, much too wide to jump. A swath of rope netting, clearly laid down by the tournament organizers, spanned the gap.

"You first," Brak said.

Lindy nodded. Her years of climbing had left her with no fear of heights, even when only a few strands of hemp stood between her and a fifty yard drop onto jagged rocks. Sheathing her sword, she took her first few steps upright before dropping on all fours to scramble the rest of the way across. Brak sheathed his saw-toothed sword and crawled tentatively onto the net.

When Lindy reached the halfway point, the ropes began to tremble out of sync with her own movements or Brak's. Looking back, the baroness saw a half-dozen nearly transparent spiders crawling swiftly across the netting toward Brak.

"Move your tail!" Lindy called back to the lizard-man. "I'm not waiting for you!"

Brak snarled an answer, but if the words were a human language, Lindy couldn't make them out. She scrambled as fast as she could toward the far edge of the chasm; the lizard man followed, but he was slow and clumsy in the mesh.

As Lindy neared the edge of the net, two crystal spiders raced to meet her, casting webs as they came. The arachnids were each the size of a serving platter, and Lindy knew she wouldn't be able to stand and fight them with her sword.

Drawing her knife from its bootstrap sheath, she plunged the blade into the abdomen of the first spider as it pounced. The creature's eight legs twitched and clawed at her, even in death. She twisted and flung it into its companion, knocking the second spider off the netting and into the chasm. Lindy rolled to her right onto the solid ground at the defile's edge.

She glanced back at her companion, still caught in the middle of the mesh. The basilisk was fighting valiantly against the spiders, but the nearly transparent monsters had stopped his forward progress. With each moment, more and more of the arachnids appeared atop the netting. With each moment, Brak became more and more entangled in silky strands of web.

"Sorry," Lindy called to the basilisk. "Try to catch up if you can."

She barely heard Brak's snarling, incomprehensible reply as she followed the silver line to the next obstacle.

Too much brains or too much brawn, she thought as she ran. That's why they failed.

From the spider chasm, the terrain sloped steeply downhill, becoming rockier as it went. Ahead, Lindy saw the western edge of the island's bay, glittering in the late morning sunlight. The silver trail ran in that direction.

I wonder what the obstacle at the bay will be, she thought. And is there another challenge in between?

As if in answer to her unvoiced question, a keening cry pierced the humid air.

She whirled, recognizing the sound, and her sword cleared its scabbard in an instant. She brought up her blade barely in time to fend off the talons of the diving griffon.

Her weapon deflected the beast's scythe-like claws, but didn't stop the creature's oncoming weight. The griffon slammed into her, knocking her breath out, and snapped at her neck.

Lindy twisted her head away; the monster's beak missed her neck and took a chunk out of her left shoulder, instead. She stabbed with all her might, driving her longsword through the gaps in the griffon's ribcage and piercing its heart.

The beast fell to the rocky ground, twitching but not quite dead. Lindy withdrew her sword and drove it through the creature's eagle-like eye.

But before she could pull the weapon out, something hit her hard from behind. Fiery pain coursed up Lindy's back as she heard the rending of her mail hauberk and felt the scrape of talons against bone.

The second griffon keened in bloodthirsty delight as it soared into the air once more. Lindy fell face-first onto the ground, her sword flying from her hand as she hit. The world around her became an agonizing blur.

It took all her strength and willpower to roll onto her back and face her enemy. The second griffon soared into the sky and wheeled for another attack run.

As she lay on the rocky slope, bleeding, Lindy Griffenholt wished to the gods that she had not left the lizard-man behind.

BRION WILDE, CRIMSON, & YAN

"So," Crimson said to Brion as they stood in the starting area, "do you want to team up?"

"Sure," Brion replied, happy not to have to face the second stage's obstacles alone.

Crimson smiled. "Just like old times."

"Ooh!" cooed Yan. "Can I come, too? I promise I won't slow you down."

"The question is, will we slow you down?" Brion asked.

"I heard about your run through the last stage," Crimson said to the girl. "I don't know that the 'old man' and I can keep up with you."

"If you can't, I'll just scout ahead," Yan replied.

"If you get ahead, you shouldn't come back for us," Brion warned. "Don't give up a chance to cross the finish line just to see how we're doing."

"I'm not too worried about winning," Yan said. "I'm supposed to be experiencing new things and meeting new people."

"Suit yourself, then," Brion said. This strange girl never ceased to amaze him.

"Would you mind a fourth?" Crimson asked. "I met someone earlier who I think could use some . . . guidance to survive this test. He's about Yan's age and quite skilled as a mage. We could probably use some extra magic in the mix."

"Sure," Brion said. "So long as it's not that flame-headed kid,"

Crimson smiled. "Well, as a matter of fact. . . ."

Brion sighed. "All right. But he's your puppy, not mine."

"Ooh!" said Yan. "He's a mage and a lycanthrope?"

THIRD TEAM: PIUS, SETH, UMIRA THE ACCURSED

Seth shook the sea-monster's blood from his sword and wiped the blade clean.

"That was bloody brilliant," Pius V. Corpus, the warrior priest, boomed. "Nicely done, swordsman. Oh, and you, too, triton."

"It was nothing," Seth, the swordsman, replied, not looking at the priest. "An unworthy cut. I will do better."

"Unworthy!" Pius said, laughing as he wrung out his white and purple tabard. "You'd think you killed such monsters with two strokes every day!"

"That's the point," Seth snapped. "Two strokes, not one!"

Umira the triton stood in the shallows at the edge of the bay and gazed at her own reflection. How could these two men argue about such things? Was it a problem to slay your enemy with two blows rather than one? What did either of these people have to complain about?

The triton starwatcher ran her webbed hands over the protruding gill slits on her neck, the rough blue scales of her skin, her fin-like ears. All these things as well as her shark-pointed teeth marked her as "accursed," not fit to dwell either above the waves or below. She lacked the human-like beauty of her triton people, or the half-human/half-fish grace of the "blessed" tritons that men called mermaids.

Instead, she was a horrible mix of the two, a freak—unwanted, outcast . . . accursed. Her fate had driven her to become a starwatcher, a triton who could live on land. But even here, she was outcast. How could the problems of these two preening dolphins compare with her trials? What reason could such accomplished humans have to want the tournament's ultimate prize? But for Umira, to be like other people, to be unnoticed . . . that was worth any price.

"We should go," she said, her voice as silky as summer tide. A surface man had fallen in love with her voice once, and then run in terror as soon as he saw her.

"The triton's right," Pius said. "Time and the gods wait for no man. You'll have other chances for your perfect cut, I'll wager, half-elf."

"Of course," Seth replied.

The three of them left the bloodstained shore and hiked into the jungle, heading for the main grandstand. These woods were older than the bugbear forest at the start of Stage Two. The trees stood taller, and their canopies were thicker, blotting out the sky. The cool, green world of the forest reminded Umira of the kelp beds near her home.

When I return, they will admire me, she thought. They will say, "There goes Umira the lovely, winner of the Tournament Maximus."

Long vines dangling from the branches overhead swayed gently as the trio passed beneath. Just like the kelp, dancing in the gentle currents of the Mere Tritonia.

But there was no breeze in the forest, so what made the vines sway?

"Trap!" Umira cried as the first streamers snaked down out of the trees. The coils were thick and ropelike with spiny thorns along their lengths.

Umira drew the twin serrated long-knives from the holsters at her hips and severed the creepers as they flayed at her. Seth's slender blade cleared its sheath in a moment, cleanly slicing through a dozen green trailers at a time.

Pius swung at the vines, but his spiked mace had little effect, so he dropped it—letting the weapon dangle from its wrist strap as he drew the hunting knife strapped to his thigh. "Keep moving," the priest warned. "If we don't get out of here, they'll have us hanging for sure." He and Seth ran forward, following the silver trail, with Umira bringing up the rear.

The attacking vines grew more numerous as they went. Soon, the air was alive with snaking green tendrils.

Seth's razor-keen blade kept the group going, clearing a swath through the greenery more effectively than a phalanx of men with machetes.

Finally, the trio broke through the tangle of creepers, and into an area where the trees were older and taller, with the canopy twenty yards high.

"I see the end of it!" Pius called. "There's a break in the foliage ahead!"

As he spoke, a vine as thick as a man's arm snaked down toward the back of his unprotected neck.

"Look out!" Umira cried. Her sea-strong legs launched her through the air, closing the gap in an instant. She slashed with her twin blades, severing the deadly vine before it could touch the priest.

Pius and Seth turned as she landed, catlike, on her bare feet. "Behind you!" the priest warned—too late.

In saving Pius, Umira had forgotten to watch her own back. Now two vines, each as thick as full-grown pythons, seized her in their thorny grasp—one wrapped around her slender waist, the other encircled her right wrist.

As Pius leapt to help her, more huge vines snaked down from above. One seized the priest's left arm, and he howled in pain.

Umira felt it, too, though she did not cry out. The plants' thorns were covered in some kind of poison, stinging at first and then making whatever they touched go numb.

Pius hacked himself free as Seth felled a trio of vines trying to ensnare them. Umira managed to chop through the vine holding her wrist, but two more caught her. One wrapped around her leg, and the other seized her right arm. As she struggled, the vines lifted her into the air.

"By Holy Saint Vardin, I invoke the Fire of Righteousness!" Pius cried. Instantly, a circle of blue-white flames sprang up around the priest in a circle four yards wide. Seth, nearly caught in the burst of fire, quickly stepped back inside the perimeter. The attacking vines shriveled away from the priest and the half-elf.

"Triton!" Pius called, reaching for Umira.

But she was already five yards off the ground and being drawn higher by the moment. More vines grabbed her arms and legs, pulling them tight, limiting her movement. She kept her grip on her long-knives, but couldn't summon the strength or leverage to wield them.

"Immobilus!" Pius cried, pointing toward the nearest creepers and speaking a Word of Power.

Instantly, the vines entangling Umira ceased moving, though they still held her spread-eagled ten yards above the ground, looking down on her former companions. Though the vines were now motionless, their numbing venom still coursed through the starwatcher's veins.

"Triton!" Pius called, but the poison numbed Umira's vocal cords, and she couldn't reply.

"Why didn't you use your spells earlier, priest!" Seth said accusingly.

"The scourging fire does not move," Pius explained. "I didn't want to hem us in. And I couldn't use the word of immobilization while being assaulted."

Seth brushed some broken brambles off of his silk robes. "Unfortunately for the triton."

The two of them gazed up at Umira, dangling ten yards overhead. Though the plant's venom had numbed her body and she could not speak, Umira's mind remained alert. Looking at the men's faces, she knew what was coming next.

"I'm no climber, and I've no powers that can help her at this distance," Pius told the half-elf. "How about you?"

Seth looked away from the dangling girl. "My alliance with the triton was one of convenience only."

"If you're suggesting that she's not worth our necks to rescue, I'm afraid I must agree," Pius replied. He cupped his hands and called up into the trees. "Sorry, starwatcher! There's nothing we can do! We'll try to send the flying monkeys for you once we reach the finish line."

And with that, the ring of fire parted and the swordsman and the priest walked out of the jungle toward the final obstacle.

They left Umira the Accursed behind them, hanging.

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT UP: Midknights, Tarkon, & Yan

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD - Chapter 8

2008-08-17T01:46:00.001-07:00

TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

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CHAPTER 8 – STAGE TWO

As darkness fell on the throne room in far-off Tet-Zhozer, the Wizard-Prince Amontet let his concentration fade, and his Ba, which had been watching the Tournament Maximus, returned to his body.

He took a deep breath of the cool night air, and the scents of his beloved kingdom filled his nostrils. "Well?" he asked the hooded figure crouched beside the throne. "Will it suffice? Do we have the pieces we need?"

"Clockwork whirs, fates change," the sage rasped. "Fortune favors you, but who knows what awaits once the beasts are loosed?"

The wizard-prince rubbed his smooth chin and peered into the twilit gloom. "You know, Sage, though I suspect you will not tell—except in riddles."

"Those who see their own future too clearly may be tempted to change it."

"And is that not what we're doing, changing my fate by seizing my destiny?"

"Fate cannot be changed," the hooded figure said, "but destiny is what we make it."

Amontet rose from his throne and strode to the room's sole balcony. He stood at the rail and gazed out on Amon-Ka, Tet-Zhozer's capital. Below the palace, the city lights blinked on like glittering jewels in the darkness.

"In time," the wizard-prince said patiently, "even fate will become clear."

The day following the finish of the first stage, the remaining contestants stood on a slip of sand at the westernmost point of Shumakai island. Most of those assembled looked antsy, ready to get started with the new challenge—whatever it might be.

Yan Zhigong, standing next to Brion Wilde, showed no signs of nervousness. Indeed, looking at her, one might almost have thought she was preparing to go on a picnic.

"You look tired, Master Brion," she observed.

"I didn't sleep well, Yan," Brion replied. He had been more than a little surprised to find the youngster amid the returning contestants. Not only that, but Yan showed no sign of the cuts and bruises that all of the other competitors—even the Vortex gladiator—had suffered during the tests. Clearly the girl hadn't been kidding about hailing from the near-legendary Wudan Temple. "How did you fare on the first stage?"

"It was thrilling," she enthused. "Better than the training exercises back home. Do you think they'll let us do it again after we finish the rest of the tests, Master Brion?"

"I doubt it," he said, amazed that anyone would even consider such folly. "And it's just Brion. No 'master.' Master Wilde is my sister." He grinned to show he was joking; Yan grinned back.

Maximus and the other officials were still setting up, so Brion took a moment to assess the two-dozen or so competitors remaining in the tournament. Some he knew by sight: Baroness Lindy Griffenholt, Orlando the Acrobat, Seth the Swordsman, the three Finnek brothers, and Father Pious V. Corpus, a warrior priest in the order of St. Vardin. Other's he'd noticed before the field got thinned: a pyrotechnic young mage, a twitchy older wizard, a basilisk lizard-man, and the two young Midknights in their scanty, deep-blue armor. He'd noticed one other contestant as well—the red-haired warrior walking toward him through the crowd, a woman whom Brion thought he knew personally.

"Crimson?" he asked as the woman approached.

"Hi, Brion," she replied, her tone bright and familiar. "Good to see you again."

"You look different," he said. She was shorter, her face thinner, her cheekbones higher, and her nose more angular. But there was no mistaking her red tunic and mail, her silver-traced sword, or her pale-blue eyes.

"Same soul, different lifetime," she quipped. "You going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Crimson, this is Yan Zhigong from Wudan," Brion said. "Yan, Crimson."

"Pleased to meet you," Yan said with a bow.

Crimson bowed in return. "You, too. Wudan's a long way from here."

"Yes, it is."

Crimson turned back to Brion. "Nice job with the Stair of Swords," she said.

"Thanks."

"Lucky for Max you were the last contestant. You made a hell of a mess."

"To tell you the truth, at that moment, I didn't much care."

"You should keep your emotions in check," she said jovially, "or they'll get you killed."

"And you would know about that?" Brion replied, annoyed at her presumption. "Puh-lease! I have at least ninety years experience on you."

A sly smiled tugged at the corner of Crimson's pretty mouth. "I'm older than I look."

Something about the way she said it made Brion believe her. "Just keep your wits about you if we have to face each other in the next round," he said.

Yan broke in, her dark eyes sparkling. "Here comes Master Maximus."

Brutus Maximus ascended the stair of the small official platform at the edge of the beach. With him came two people, one a small, wiry man, and another whom Brion recognized as Ilsa Gorvald, the woman who'd flown the hippogriff in the opening ceremony. Gorvald looked entirely too pleased with herself.

"She's got something nasty planned for this stage of the tournament," Crimson whispered, as if reading Brion's thoughts.

"Whatever it is, I hope it will be fun," Yan whispered.

"Congratulations, each and every one of you!" Max's magically amplified voice boomed across the desolate beach. "If you're still standing here, that means you've crossed through the most difficult obstacle course ever devised, and thereby made it to the second stage of the Tournament Maximus."

The assembled competitors cheered, though less than they had the day before—and not just because there were fewer of them. Like Brion and everyone in the group save Yan, the rest seemed wary about what the next stage might bring.

"Looking around at your fellow survivors, I'm sure you will all be relieved to know that this next stage does not pit you against each other."

Brion certainly felt relieved, and Crimson looked as if she did as well; Tarkon huffed in annoyance, and Yan continued to beam, wide-eyed.

"Far from it, in fact," Max continued. "In this next stage, you are encouraged to cooperate with each other to conquer the dangers ahead."

Ilsa Gorvald stepped forward. "Today's challenges will be even more difficult than yesterday's," she said. Then added, "No offense to Master Herrin." She nodded courteously toward the thin man in the toga, who dipped his head in return.

"This time," Gorvald said, "you will not be facing mindless machines. The obstacles in this stage will be every bit as tough, ruthless, and cunning as you are. I do not expect that many of you will survive. Any not up to the test are free to leave now." She surveyed the crowd with her steely eyes, as if waiting for the first contestant to quit.

No one left, though about half the crowd looked nervous.

"Very good," Max said, stepping forward once more. "Your challenge today is to make your way from here to the main grandstand—again following the magical silver stripe that delineates the course. Unlike yesterday, though, you will see three paths to choose from. Attack the course alone or in groups, as you see fit. Those that pass this test will move on to the next stage and compete for the ultimate prize—a favor from the wizard-prince himself!"

That got the crowd roaring again, though Brion wondered, would the prize be worth the price?

Looking around at his fellows, no one else—not even Crimson and Yan—seemed to share his concern.

Brutus Maximus beamed. "Choose your teams and choose your paths. The first ready will be the first to enter the course. Go!"

FIRST TEAM: THE FINNEK BROTHERS – Nyarri Elves

Geilo Finnek glanced at the start of the three tournament trails and then turned to his two brothers. "We should pick the left-hand course," he said.

"No, the right," his brother Heilo argued.

"No, the left!"

"Let's just pick one and get going before everyone else starts," Neilo, the eldest of the trio, said.

"We're ready!" Geilo blurted, running up to the race organizer. "We'll take the left!"

"Just a moment," Rogina said. "This . . . gentleman is ahead of you."

Geilo frowned. "See, I told you we'd miss being first if we didn't pick!"

"Sir," Rogina said, looking at the first warrior in line, "are you sure you don't want to pick any teammates?"

Tarkon the Vortex Gladiator stared her in the eye, never blinking. "I don't need anyone," he said. "Surfacers are weaklings."

Rogina crinkled her nose. "All right," she said. "You can get going."

Tarkon put on his helmet, drew his thick-bladed sword, and stomped into the jungle.

"He took the left!" Geilo complained.

"We'll take the right, then," Neilo put in. "We take the right! We're ready to go!"

"If one falls, the rest go on," Heilo reminded his brothers. "That's the pact. Keep going, no matter what. Remember, mom's counting on us." He stuck his hand out and the other two Finneks put their hands atop his.

"Go!" they all cried.

"I guess you're ready," Rogina said. "Good luck."

The brothers took the right-hand course and trotted off into the deep green foliage.

"This is great!" Heilo raved after the reviewing stand had vanished from sight. "I thought we were going to have to fight each other, but instead we get to work together."

"Hey," Geilo interrupted, "someone's following us. Who was next in line?"

"I didn't notice," Neilo said. "Maybe that burning kid. He looked pretty hot to get going."

"Hot to get going!" Heilo snorked. "That's funny!"

"Look out!" Geilo yelled.

Thundering through the forest behind them came a nightmare creature. It had the body of a monstrous bear and the head of a giant insect. The creature hissed, and smoking saliva fell from its mandibles.

"Bugbear!" Neilo cried. As one, the Finnek brothers drew their swords and fanned out in three directions.

The bugbear went for Geilo, who had been bringing up the rear. It swiped its massive paw at the elf, but Geilo parried its claws with his enchanted longsword.

"Hey, ugly!" Heilo said, throwing a handful of glittering dust at the monster. The powder burst into green flames, setting the bugbear's shaggy coat on fire.

The creature shrieked in pain as flames licked up around its mantis-like head.

"Die, Monster!" Geilo said, thrusting his blade into the bugbear's heart. The beast shuddered and fell, nearly toppling on the elf. Geilo's sword got caught in its carcass.

"Why did you use the flame powder?" Neilo said to Heilo. "We might need that later!"

"I don't tell you when to use your magic," Heilo replied. "Don't tell me when to use mine!"

Without warning, three more bugbears burst from the forest. They fell on the surprised Geilo, still trying to extricate his sword from the corpse. With a swipe of one huge paw, the lead bugbear struck the startled elf's head from his shoulders.

"Geilo!" Heilo cried.

"Run!" Neilo said. "There's too many of them!"

As the three monsters fell to devouring their fallen prey, Neilo and Heilo turned away. The two remaining elves ran through the jungle as fast as they could, following the magical silver stripe of the course.

"W-we should have tried to help him!" Heilo complained.

"It was too late," Neilo replied. "Remember the pact: If one falls, the rest go on."

"I-I never thought we'd have to live up to it!"

A short while later, sweaty, tear-stained, and panting, they reached the river. The bugbears, apparently satisfied having one victim, didn't follow.

Neilo stopped and wiped the perspiration and tears from his face. "I know this place," he said as they stood on the riverbank. "We've done this obstacle before!"

Ahead of them stretched a course of stepping stones, spanning the river rapids.

"It's a cinch!" Heilo agreed. "Which stones are the ones that sink?"

"Nine, thirteen, and seventeen, I think," Neilo said. "And maybe one more near the far shore. I fell in before that."

"Yeah, I swam once I got that far, too," Heilo said. "Let's go." He leapt onto the first stone and began winding his way to the far shore. Neilo followed.

Seven stones in, though, the river suddenly rose up around them.

"What the. . . ?" Heilo gasped.

"Water elementals!" Neilo replied. "They added a trap to the trap!" He drew his longsword and slashed at the watery-figures reaching for them. The enchantment on his weapon disrupted the elementals it hit. The creatures splashed back into the rapids, but quickly reformed.

Heilo sliced the elemental reaching for his ankles, and it disintegrated into droplets of spray. "Keep going!" he said, "we have to reach the far side."

Slashing and hacking, with the elementals splashing at their heels, the two remaining brothers leaped to the next stone.

"Next one's a trap," Neilo warned. "Jump hard!"

Heilo leaped over the next stone and onto the one after. The stone was smaller, though, and there was no way both brothers would fit onto it at the same time. "I'll go to the next!" he called.

"Right!" Neilo said, slashing away at the elementals lapping at his toes.

The two elves leaped simultaneously, Neilo avoiding the trap stone, and Heilo jumping from the safe stone to the next.

But when Heilo landed, the new stone sank out from under him. He submerged momentarily, then resurfaced and shouted, "They changed the trap!"

"I'll help you!" Neilo yelled, looking around desperately for some way to reach his brother without being caught himself.

"No!" Heilo cried. "Remember the pact!" Then the elementals surrounded him and pulled him under. The rapids swallowed both Heilo and the creatures.

Weeping profusely, Neilo leaped over the trap that had claimed his brother and raced to the far shore. He nearly succumbed to another sinking stone, but noticed it swaying in the current just before he jumped, and leapt over it instead.

Gaining the river bank, he gazed back into the rapids, but there was no sign of his brother.

The silver stripe of the course headed on, across a broad grassland toward some broken trees and a line of tall cliffs beyond.

"I'll do it, brothers," Neilo said between sobs. "I'll do it for you both—and for mother."

Sheathing his sword, he began jogging across the savannah. As he went, regrets began to weigh heavily on his mind.

If only we'd kept going instead of fighting that first bugbear! If only we hadn't used up our fire powder before the elementals! If only. . . !

But it was no use. Their fates had been sealed the moment they came to this accursed isle—sealed because of their mother's condition, because only someone like the great Wizard-Prince could supply the cure she needed. But would she have wanted it this way? Would she have wanted Geilo and Heilo to sacrifice their lives?

A soft growl to his left snapped Neilo out of his reverie. Something was padding through the tall grass, stalking him.

Neilo drew his sword and lunged into the brush; today's events had put him in a killing mood. The creature leaped out of his way, its sleek black and white coat glistening in the morning sunshine.

"White leopard?" Neilo wondered aloud. It seemed very out of place in this tropical setting.

The creature landed three yards a way, turned, and opened its mouth as if to roar, but no sound came out. Instead, a billowing cloud of cold and snow crystals shot toward the startled elf.

Neilo darted aside at the last instant, but the icy blast hit the tail end of his scabbard. The scabbard slapped against his thigh and snapped in half; the cold of its touched burned Neilo's skin, even through his pants leg. He ran, remembering tales he'd heard of a mythical creature which dwelled in lonely, high mountains: the Frost Leopard. Worse, he remembered something more—frost leopards always hunted in packs.

The leopard behind him prowled back and fourth, waiting until its two companions joined it. Then all three lit out after the elf.

Neilo ran for his life, ran for all he was worth.

Again, a multitude of regrets cascaded through his mind:

If only they hadn't come to this island!

If only they hadn't wasted their fire magic!

If only his brothers hadn't died!

If only he could make it to those trees. . . !

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT UP: Piro, Tarkon, Crimson . . . More second stage contestants, more deaths!

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TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

TOD - Chapter 7

2008-08-16T02:37:00.001-07:00

TOD MAIN -- F.A.Q. -- BANZUKE -- CHARACTERS -- WORLD -- STORY

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CHAPTER 7 – STAGE ONE: FINAL FINISHERS

ERISA & ULDRED – Midknights

Uldred stood atop the reviewing stand, nearly motionless. Other finalists, those who had survived the first stage of the Tournament Maximus, surrounded him, chatting with each other and enjoying their victories. They were a strange crew that included a green-clad teenage girl, a titanic Vortex gladiator, a surly red-haired woman, an armored priest, and a man who looked like he belonged in a circus. It was an honor just to be here, a hard-won honor for the midknight.

Though the tournament's healers had worked on Uldred, he still sported numerous cuts, bruises, and burns—souvenirs of his run through the course. But none of his injuries were of any importance to Uldred; only one thing mattered now.

He kept his eyes fixed on the brazier between the finisher's platform and the grandstand. The magical fire blazing high, showing the tournament audience images of the course and the contestants still running through it. It was those images that mattered to Uldred, and one particular contestant.

Erisa was struggling. She'd completed the sliding line, but taken a crossbow bolt in the thigh during her descent. At the bottom of the sword stairs, she'd cut off the arrow's tail and pushed the shaft clean through, but she was limping, the wound slowing her ascent.

"Come on, baby!" Uldred whispered quietly. He knew that she couldn't hear him through the magical fire—the connection only went one way—but whispering encouragement made him feel better that just sitting and watching with the others.

Uldred didn't care how many finishers there were; he didn't care how many warriors had to face in the next stage. He only wanted Erisa standing on the podium next to him. If she made it this far, they could sort out the rest later. And if the final contest came down to them fighting each other for the prize . . . well, maybe they could hold that match in their bedroom.

On the stairway, Erisa parried another mechanical sword and stepped past it. Almost immediately, another blade sprang from the cliff wall. That one she fended off with the metal bracer covering her left wrist. Only two dozen steps remained between her and the top of the cliff, but Uldred knew those steps were the most dangerous—containing nearly as many blades as treads.

Erisa looked very vulnerable in her brief armor. Blood from the arrow wound and numerous small cuts covered her bare arms and legs. For once, Uldred wished that the two of them had chosen to wear heavier protection. Instead, they'd opted for quickness, flexibility, and fashionable amount of skin. Somehow, style didn't seem so important with his lover's life hanging in the balance.

He held his breath as Erisa took the next dozen steps, and cringed as one of the blades caught her wounded leg, leaving a long cut as a gory counterpoint to her arrow wound.

"C'mon, baby!" More a breath than spoken words.

A half dozen more steps, Erisa's body shuddering with every parried blow, her breath coming in short gasps, her skin slick with sweat.

"C'mon. . . !"

Her feet pushed back nearly to the edge, over the open air, slipping, skidding.

Erisa had no magical protections; she and Uldred couldn't afford them. If she fell off the side of the cliff, the flying monkeys wouldn't have time to catch her. And a fall from that height would surely be fatal.

Uldred tried one last, futile cheer, but no noise came from his parched throat.

And then she bulled past the last of the swords from the cliff face. Only two treads remained, and hidden on the top one, the deadly left-hand blade. Uldred hadn't spotted it, and only the lucky positioning of his left arm guard had saved his life. His bracer still bore a thick gouge from the impact; better it than him.

Erisa stepped forward, oblivious.

Uldred sprang to the front of the podium and leaned over the rail, shouting at the flickering image of his lover. "Look out!"

Suddenly she stopped and smiled. Then she used the tip of her sword to activate the final trap while standing well out of range of the blade. As the trap reset, she stepped through, unscathed.

She'd won!

The other first-stage victors assembled in the stands chuckled at Uldred's outburst.

He didn't care. As Erisa limped from the final obstacle toward the finish line, Uldred leapt from the platform and raced to meet her.

BOTAX THE MIGHTY – Dwarf Warrior

"If my ax isn't where you promised it will be, I'll take you both over my knee and spank you!" Botax warned as he handed over his weapon.

Rogina, standing near the starting line, fought down a smile; next to her, Violet the gnome looked amused. It was not that Botax didn't have an imposing physique and splendid armor, it was just that he wasn't very tall—even for a dwarf. He was shorter than Violet, in fact, and dwarves generally tower above gnomes.

"I assure you," Rogina said, somehow keeping a straight face, "your weapon will be at the start of the final stairway—assuming you get that far."

"Of course I'll get that far!" Botax roared. "Haven't you ever heard of Botax the Mighty—tamer of the fire-breathing puma, slayer of the crab-men of Icthon, rescuer of the Princess Anthracite?"

As a matter of fact, Rogina had not heard of Botax before he showed up on Shumakai demanding to participate in the tournament. Additionally, she'd never heard of any of the other people, places, or things the dwarf mentioned as bona fides either. Not that it was impossible those things existed. In the Blue Kingdoms, islands, and even whole empires, drifted in and out of existence—witness Shumakai itself.

"I have no doubt you'll finish this stage," Rogina said seriously—though she noticed Violet covering a giggle. "And Violet will have your ax ready when you require it."

"She'd better," Botax said. "It's been a long time since I've paddled gnomish rump—or human rump, either, for that matter."

Again, it took all Rogina's self control to avoid laughing. "You may start whenever you want, Sir Botax."

"Botax the Mighty," he corrected.

"Sir Botax the Mighty."

"Humans!" Botax mumbled to himself as he trudged into the jungle toward the first test. They were such trouble! Or maybe it was just women. Women of other races never seemed to take him seriously; though back home he had more women attending him than he knew what to do with. Ah, home. . . !

"No time for that now," Botax said, not caring that no one heard. "There's a tournament to be won."

As he reached the summit of the hill, a pair of flying monkeys were re-hitching the swinging rope to its starting post.

"Get away from there, you!" Botax said, running forward and waving his hands. The monkeys howled at him and took to the air, retreating thirty yards and then hovering; they left the swinging rope tangled near the top of the pole.

"Trying to sabotage my run, are you!" Botax snarled. He reached for the rope, but it remained several feet above his hand.

"Foul creatures!" he cried. "Saboteurs!"

He jumped for the end of the rope, twice, but couldn't snag it. He shook the pole, but the line didn't come loose. Spotting some nearby scrub, he decided to cut a sapling and knock the rope down. For a moment, he felt proud of his clever solution; then his spirits sank.

"This is why those humans and gnomes took my ax!" he rumbled. Clearly there would be no cutting of saplings on this part of the course.

Summoning all his strength, he wrapped his hands around a good-sized sapling and pulled.

The shrub didn't budge.

So he picked a smaller one and tried that. And then the next smaller one.

Finally, after seven fruitless attempts, he found a bit of scrub with shallow roots and a long stem that yielded to his efforts. Sweating from head to toe, Botax thrashed the rope with the uprooted sapling until the rope fell.

"Finally!" he gasped.

The dwarf hero seized the line and swung out over the river, aiming for the other side. But his perspiration-slick hands betrayed him, and five yards from the bank, he fell, butt first, into the water.

The piranha swarmed in. Only then did Botax remember how little armor covered his backside; being a noble warrior, he never turned his back on an enemy, so rear armor seemed a secondary consideration; bottomless armor was much more flexible.

Yelping with pain, he dashed out of the river and brushed off the piranha clinging to his buttocks. "Gods-cursed fish!" he cried.

Still grumbling, he stomped up the hill, following the magical silver stripe to the next obstacle.

He wasn't expecting rolling boulders. The first one to appear over the ridge nearly flattened him, but he dodged aside at the last instant. He avoided the next one as well, but had to throw himself to the ground to escape the third.

Before he could stand, the fourth boulder hit him square on his shoulder guard and sent him tumbling down slope. He finally stopped rolling at the bottom of the hill, landing squarely in the piranha-infested shallows. After fighting off the fish again, Botax mounted the hill once more.

Luck was with him this time, as the flying monkeys were busy reloading the mechanism that rolled the boulders downhill. No more falling stones came to vex the mighty warrior.

"Conspiracy," Botax muttered as he followed the silver pathway to the next obstacle, which turned out to be a wide gorge.

"Am I supposed to jump that?" he asked. He looked around, but found neither rope for climbing nor bridge for crossing. Peering down into the crevasse, he saw flying monkeys cleaning up the bottom of the chasm. Clearly, some contestants had not completed the jump.

Botax swallowed hard. While he feared neither man nor beast, he had never been the best jumper. He had only two options: either jump—and possibly die—or turn around, admit defeat, and be forever labeled a "quitter."

Clearly the second wasn't really an option.

He backed up a dozen yards, and then, with an incoherent war cry, he hurled himself across the gorge.

He almost made it, missing the upper lip of the chasm by a scant handspan. His armored body slammed hard into the side of the gorge and began to slide downward.

"No, by Torgard!" he cried, digging his fingers into the crumbling side of the ravine. Botax's people were Irdro dwarves, masters of earth, and his native skill served him well now. His steely fingers clamped down and the soil yielded to his will—refusing to give way. Inch by painful inch, Botax pulled himself back to the top of the defile.

Standing on the edge he thrust his dirty hands into the air, cried, "Triumphant!" and nearly fell back down the gorge. A squad of flying monkeys hovered nearby, looking hopeful.

"Vultures!" Botax said, shaking his fist at them once he'd regained solid ground. "You'll never take me!"

Panting and puffing, he trotted off to the next challenge.

Beneath the trees, he spotted the first of the swinging spiked balls and deftly avoided it—but not the second. That one clouted him solidly in the chest, and only his armored breastplate saved him from fatal injury.

He landed hard on his back, and yelped as his piranha wounds flared up once more.

"Seven devils!" he cried. "Can't a dwarf buy a break in this accursed place?" The flying monkeys keeping pace with him did not answer.

Botax regained his feet and managed to make it through the rest of the spike swingers nearly unscathed. Unfortunately, a spike on the last of them caught his rump as he hurried onward, causing the dwarf to cry out in a most undignified manner.

Next came another pair of jumps, wider than the first, over two bowl-shaped depressions. Once, the craters must have been filled with lush grass, but now only scorched strands and twigs remained.

Botax thought that must mean something, but he couldn't figure out what.

Though the twin bowls were wide, they were not very deep, certainly not the same class of hazard as the gorge. Even though there were two of them in a row, they didn't seem as dangerous to Botax as either the ravine or the spike swingers.

Feeling confident, the dwarf champion ran and leaped. He landed on the far side of the bowl, about two thirds of the way up. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he lay on the side of the hazard for a moment, catching his breath. Then he smelled something burning.

Looking back, he saw the first bowl rapidly filling with fire, burning in a circular pattern from the center outward.

Cursing like a Barbarossan pirate, Botax scrambled up the side of the bowl, the flames licking at his heels. The heat singed his backside as he rolled over the top of the rise. In the clear, he lay on the damp green grass between the bowls to finish catching his breath.

Then a horrible thought occurred to him. What if the second bowl were, even now, filling with fire, too?

He sprang to his feet and, sure enough, a small orange flame had already sprung up in the center of the bowl ahead of him. Summoning his courage and all his remaining strength, Botax hurled himself toward the far side of the second obstacle.

He landed hard, again, but this time he landed only about half way up the slope of the bowl. Already, he could feel—and hear—the flames building behind him. Knowing he couldn't afford to catch his breath, Botax clambered as fast as he could for the top of the bowl.

The fire quickly caught him, heating his armor to scalding temperatures and crisping his unprotected backside.

Howling with pain, Botax streaked through the jungle, trailing smoke and flames, but still following the silver path. Heedless of the danger, he hurtled off the hilltop and into the rushing waterfall beyond.

The water seized him in its raging grip, tumbling Botax head over heels, spinning him around, and sinking the heavily armored dwarf deep into the pool at the bottom of the falls.

Eventually, the winged monkeys found Botax, burnt and half-drowned, lying by the edge of the waterfall. Cackling gleefully, Ilsa Gorvald's flying simians returned the insensate dwarf to the tournament's medical tent.

Maximus' healers patched him up as best they could, though some parts of the hero were so tenderized as to never be completely whole again.

And so, for ever after, all across the wide World-Sea, the once-mighty dwarf competitor was known as "Botax the Bottomless."

But no one ever called him, "quitter."

BRION WILDE – Baronette, Elf, Bard

The top of the final stairs seemed miles away and Brion Wilde felt more tired than he'd been in ages. The obstacles wouldn't have been too terrible had he been at his peak, but living the cushy life of a Baronette in Seatopia had definitely dulled his edge.

Nothing worked the way he wanted. His timing was off, his jumps fell just short, and his entire body ached from the exertion. He'd also received more than his expected share of cuts and bruises. And now, to top it al off, an endless stair of swords.

Fortunately, Brion had kept up his on fencing. Being rakish, one never knew when skill in dueling might come in handy. But the fiendish engineer who'd designed this final test had made sure the obstacle would wear down all but the fittest swordsman.

I wonder what the next stage will be? Brion thought, and immediately regretted it as a sword flashed past his guard and traced a painful scratch down his calf.

"Those were my best pants!" he quipped. Not true, of course, but they were the best pants he had brought on this trip.

Somehow, the destruction of a pair of fairly ordinary pants pushed the century-old elf's temper over the edge. It was just one last bad thing in a day of bad things. Brion knew that many competitors had been badly injured or lost their lives today—all for the amusement of a wizard-prince, a ruthless promoter, and a bloodthirsty mob who called themselves a sporting audience.

Well, Brion was no longer amused, and he thought it high time end this farce.

Summoning the ancient formulae and tracing the sigils in his mind, he focused magical energy into his sword. Immediately, the runes along the thin blade began to glow, and the edge of the steel crackled with blue-white energy. Brion had used gentler versions of this spell on numerous playful occasions, but at the moment he felt neither gentle nor playful. When the lightning came to his call, he loosed its full fury.

As the next ambush blade sprang from the cliff face, Brion met it with his sword. Arcane electricity leaped from his weapon into the trap and cascaded up the cliff wall. Lightning coursed through the timing mechanisms, and into all the remaining blades on the stairway.

The machinery driving the swords exploded, blowing holes in the cliff face and spraying rubble across the stairs. This left a huge mess for Maximus and his people to clear up, but Brion didn't care.

Wary lest he had overlooked any final traps, he walked to the top of the stairs and then to the finish line.

As he went, two thoughts lingered in his mind. I'm getting too old for this, and, What next?

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT UP: Stage Two.

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STILL TIME TO INFLUENCE TOD STORY & CHARACTERS!

2008-08-15T09:38:00.001-07:00

Though the Tournament of Death is now entering its second week, there's still plenty of time for readers to influence the character mix and the story line.

One way is by voting for your favorite characters in the Tournament of Death Blog polls in the blog's right hand column. (If you're reading that blog now, as opposed to the Stephen D. Sullivan blog or one of my other posting venues, you should see that poll to your right!)

Another way is to leave a comment on this message in the blog, telling me what you like (or don't like) and what you'd like to see more of (or less of).

And you can always email me and let me know what you think directly.

I'm having a great time with this, and I hope you are, too. Look for more TOD info and press releases to come! With more than a week to go, there's still plenty of time for carnage and other fun!

TOD - Chapter 6

2008-08-14T23:56:00.001-07:00

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CHAPTER 6 – STAGE ONE: MIGHTY EFFORTS

YAN ZHIGONG –Wudan Initiate, Human

Master's shaven head

Through cherry blossom curtain

Egg in a white nest

"Yan Zhigong, get down out of that tree!"

Reverend Master Pau's face remained calm as ever, but the spark in his eye told Yan she'd tested his legendary patience almost to the limit.

"But master," Yan said, "I can see the sky so much more clearly from up here."

Master Pau sighed and ran one hand over his bald pate. "Perhaps, Student Yan," he said, "but that tree is sacred, and intended as a home for birds, not for nesting pupils."

"Yes, Master," Yan replied. She flipped into the air and danced down the tips of the delicate branches until she reached the temple courtyard once more. Mist-filled mountains and tall forests surrounded the monastery. Yan felt their pull even now, but she forced herself to focus on her teacher.

Master Pau regarded her with his deep, liquid eyes; Yan, half a head shorter, smiled up at him. "Student Yan, you are one of our most promising students, but are you happy here at Wudan?" he asked.

"Of course, Master. I love the mountains, and the clouds, and the sky—when the cherry blossoms don't block my view."

"But the mountains, and clouds, and sky are not in the temple," Master Pau pointed out.

Yan scratched her shaven head. "I see what you mean."

"I think, Student Yan, that you are more at home among those things than you are within the stone walls of Wudan," Master Pau said. "Perhaps, it is time for you to see more of the World-Sea, to discover where your heart truly lies."

Yan bowed low. As always, the master was hard to argue with.

"I vow to practice my kung fu diligently until I return," she said.

Master Pau didn't smile, but his eyes glittered brightly as he said, "I'm sure you will."

The waterfall leap was Yan's favorite part of the tournament—at least so far. The sensation of falling, the cool mist of the water, then the sudden rush of hitting the pool at the bottom. She almost wanted to climb back up and try it again.

The stepping stones were a fun obstacle, too. She even enjoyed the fake stone that suddenly sank out from under her. Running across the surface of the water until she reached the far shore was thrilling, and well worth getting her sandals damp.

Yan's heart almost skipped a beat when she saw the sliding line above the cloud forest. Zipping over the trees would almost be like flying. Not just the cloud running that all Wudan students learned during their training, but real flight, like a siren warrior or the Master of Winds.

Tingling with anticipation, she gripped the slide's handle bars and pushed off over the tree tops.

Her joy increased when the first ambush arrow streaked toward her. She batted it out of the air using her left foot, then alternated hands and feet on the rest, sometimes clinging to the slider with her toes—though she had to remove her sandals in mid-slide to do that—until she reached the bottom.

Feeling exhilarated, she put her sandals back on and rushed up the final stairway. With the cliff on the right and a sheer drop on the left, the view from the stairs was amazing.

The first sword nearly hit her when it flashed out of the wall, but she turned quickly and caught it between the flats of her palms and forced it back into its well-concealed slit in the cliff face.

Yan stepped back from the crevice, observing as her masters had taught. Soon, the camouflage of the traps became clear to her trained eyes. From there, the obstacle became a game.

She dodged the second blade and chopped the third in half as it came out of hiding. The fourth she dived over, then snapped the sixth with a kick, and ducked under the seventh—which barely missed her green robes.

After breaking the eight and ninth and dodging the next two, she grew bored with the game and decided to run the rest of the way. When the next blade flashed out, she used it as a springboard and leapt onto the cliff wall.

Feelling the wind under her sandaled feet, as she had been taught, she sprinted horizontally along the cliff face, making sure to stay above the camouflaged slits that concealed the razor-sharp blades.

Running across the cliff face like a two-legged spider was almost as much fun as the rope slide. So much fun, in fact, that she nearly didn't see the final blade, cleverly hidden on the opposite side of the top step.

The sword flashed upward as she set foot on the tread. Its blade measured nearly as wide as Yan's body and was taller than she: two yards of deadly steel.

Yan sprang into the air, the blade brushed against the front of her robe, just at the breast. Then she twisted, tumbled, and landed past it, on the hill atop the cliff, unscathed.

The crowd in the grandstand roared as she sprinted toward the finish line, wondering what all the fuss was about.

REX REGUS – Al Kabar Warrior

Don't go out before the Al Qiist. Don't go out before the Al Qiist.

That was the single thought that flashed through Rex Regus' mind as he crawled away from the burning bowls obstacle, flames licking at his tail.

The Al Kabar panted, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth and dripping hot saliva. Right then, he would have given almost anything for a drink. A moment later, he regretted the wish, when the magical silver trail ended at the top of a titanic waterfall.

What do they expect me to do now? he wondered. Fly?

Then he saw that the course stripe snaked down through the waterfall itself, emerging from a pool at the bottom before tracing into the jungle again.

I'm no Al Qiist, afraid of the water, Rex thought, but—bountiful bosom of Kabree!—that's a long way down!

Yet, he knew from whispers among the other contestants—who were all too far removed from the viewing brazier to see themselves—that his cat-like rival, Felice Delnegro, had made it at least this far. And if a cat could do it, the Al Kabar dog people certainly could pass this obstacle as well.

"Al Kabar!" he cried as he leaped off of the hilltop into the waterfall.

Then the whole world was falling, roaring, splashing, being thrust underwater, fighting for the surface, gasping for breath.

He'd made it! He crawled wearily from the pool at the bottom of the falls, his mantra running through his mind:

Don't go out before the Al Qiist. Don't go out before the Al Qiist.

He dashed through the jungle, wary of the next obstacle, but glad that the brief dip had cooled him down.

Reaching the riverside again, he paused a moment and assessed the new peril. The river moved quickly here, crashing over rocks—both visible and hidden—and roaring downstream. The path lay straight across the rapids.

Fortunately, a line of stepping stones formed a direct route between Rex and the far bank. Some of the stones were spaced far apart, but the Al Kabar felt sure he could dash across them.

With a growl of excitement, he hurled himself onto the first rock, then bounded to the next, and the next after that. The rapids roared all around him, and spray made the stones slippery, but he concentrated on his footing and clearing the gaps.

Six stones . . . seven. In the middle of the river now. Eight . . .

And suddenly the current stone gave way under him. It was a trap! Not really solid, but floating on the river surface.

He plunged into the roiling water, reached for a handhold, but found none. The rush of the river propelled him downstream, away from the course. He padded hard, trying to reach the far shore, but it was no use.

As the flying monkeys swooped in to gloat at his misfortune, one thought ran through Rex's mind:

Don't go out before the Al Qiist! Don't go out before the Al Qiist!

TARKON - Vortex Gladiator, Human

Every obstacle of the course convinced Tarkon that he had made the right decision in keeping his armor and weapons. The officials, fearing his prowess, had tried to take them from him, but he refused. A Vortex warrior never gave up any advantage.

The rope of the first obstacle had snapped under his weight, but he didn't even feel the ravenous piranha through his lobster-like metal plating.

Bulling aside the boulders of the second test proved simple for his undersea-trained muscles. Used to the pressures of the deep, he felt weightless on the surface world—even in full armor.

He sprang across the jumping gorge easily, and then let the swinging spiked balls dash themselves to pieces against his artificial carapace. The strange, scorched bowls, each ten yards wide, proved simple to leap as well.

Plunging down the waterfall, he sank to the bottom and his left foot became wedged between two rocks. It took Tarkon several minutes to extricate himself—not even long enough to use his armor's built-in air supply.

The techno-magical rebreather did kick in as he walked across the river bottom on the next obstacle. Why debase himself by leaping from stone to stone—especially since some of the stones were obviously rigged to sink under his weight?

Gaining purchase on the rope slider proved difficult. His gauntlets were designed for gripping weapons, not such flimsy things as ropes and handlebars. The line dipped perilously under his weight, but the treacherous crossbow bolts, which sprang from cowardly ambush, bounced harmlessly off his armor.

"Is this all there is?" he cried as he reached the bottom of the final stairway.

Drawing his huge, cleaver-like sword, he stomped up the stair, unconcerned about the sheer drop on his left.

The first sword sprang from the cliff wall on his right and shattered against his armor. Behind his mask, Tarkon smiled. Finally, a challenge! He drew his sword and marched upward, smashing the attacking blades as he went.

As he reached the final step, an unexpected sword, as wide as Tarkon's armored forearm, sprang up from the left. It flashed into the pit of his arm, between the joints of the armor, and stuck. The blade penetrated to the flesh—but not deeply.

Snarling with rage, Tarkon, wrapped his arms around the enemy sword and twisted. With a sharp "Snap!" the weapon broke into flinders.

Tarkon dusted off his armor and walked toward the grandstand, which burst into an appreciative roar. His wound was not even worth tending.

"Am I the first?" he asked the gnome who gave him a victory flower as he crossed the finish line. She looked similar to the gnome he'd talked to in the starting area. Perhaps she was the same one, but he never could tell such creatures apart.

The question was, of course, a formality. He'd seen no one among the other contestants whom he deemed either capable of worthy of finishing.

"Second!" the gnome blurted, pointing toward an area atop the officials' platform.

On the platform stood a small, green-garbed slip of a girl. At least, Tarkon assumed it was a girl. The baggy clothing and shaved head made it difficult to tell—and Tarkon knew that surface men were often very feminine.

Spotting him, the girl waved.

Behind his techno-magical helmet, Tarkon frowned. Reflexively, his armored fist crushed his victory flower.

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT UP: Botax the Mighty, Baronette Brion Wilde, and more!

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