TOD - Chapter 13

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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 . . .

Falling.

THE TOURNAMENT CONTINUES . . .

NEXT: The Long Climb

*

*

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

TOD - Chapter 12

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

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.

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TOD - Chapter 11

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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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