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    Tournament of Death
    Tournament of Death
    Tournament of Death
    Ebook238 pages4 hours

    Tournament of Death

    By Stephen D. Sullivan

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    About this ebook

    If you make it through this challenge, you won’t live through the next...

    Monsters! Magic! Swordplay! Romance! Intrigue! Sudden Death! The world’s greatest champions face impossible odds in this action-packed, slyly humorous fantasy novel. You want knights and wizards? Elves and dwarves? Cat-women and lizard-men? Kung Fu girls? Your favorites are all here--though only the smartest and strongest will survive the Tournament of Death!

    Renowned for his fast-paced imaginative tales, Stephen D. Sullivan is the award-winning author of dozens of books and stories, including trilogies for Legend of the Five Rings, Spider Riders, and Dragonlance.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStephen D. Sullivan
    Release dateDec 12, 2012
    ISBN9781301304493
    Tournament of Death
    Author

    Stephen D. Sullivan

    Stephen D. Sullivan has written more than 50 books across many genres: fantasy, SF, horror, detective, movie adaptations, and more. Readers the world over enjoy his fast-moving prose style and hard-hitting action sequences. He has won numerous awards for his work, including the 2016 Scribe Award for his horror-comedy novel, Manos: The Hands of Fate.Not sure where to start? Try these:NEW! Manos: Talons of FateBEST SELLER: Manos: The Hands of Fate (2016 Scribe Award Winner)HORROR & MONSTERS: Daikaiju AttackFANTASY: Tournament of Death novelsSCIENCE FICTION: Heart of Steam & RustADULT: Elf Erotica (Elf Princess on Mars)OVERVIEW: Martian Knights & Other TalesThere are plenty of others to choose from, too. (Including some books from other authors published by Steve's Company, Walkabout Publishing.)Browse! Buy! Enjoy!

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    • 3/5
      It was good fun read! A little light weight but enjoyable.

    Book preview

    Tournament of Death - Stephen D. Sullivan

    Stephen D. Sullivan

    Novels & Collections

    The Crimson Collection

    Martian Knights & Other Tales

    Luck o’ the Irish

    Zombies, Werewolves, & Unicorns

    Tournament of Death: The Empyrean Keep

    Tournament of Death 2: The Deluvian Temple

    Dragonlance

    The Dragon Isles

    The Dying Kingdom

    Warrior’s Heart (Catriona trilogy)

    Warrior’s Blood (Catriona trilogy)

    Warrior’s Bones (Catriona trilogy)

    Legend of the Five Rings

    The Scorpion

    The Phoenix

    The Lion

    Spider Riders

    The Shards of the Oracle

    Quest of the Earthen

    Reign of the Soul Eater

    And more…

    E-Books & Stories

    Elf Princess on Mars (regular or illustrated Elf Erotica editions)

    Heart of Steam & Rust (steampunk)

    Ghosts of 9/11

    Monster Shark

    The Candle Goes Dark, But the Light Remains (Crimson)

    Crimson & Dragons (Crimson)

    Crash of the Titans (Crimson)

    Thor Loser (Crimson)

    Snowraven

    Kidnapped by Saurians (Dungeons & Dinosaurs)

    And more…

    Anthologies

    Blue Kingdoms: Mages & Magic

    Uncanny Encounters: Roswell

    Hot & Steamy (steampunk)

    Steampunk’d

    Sol’s Children (sci-fi)

    Lilith Unbound

    And more…

    TOURNAMENT OF DEATH

    Stephen D. Sullivan

    • Walkabout Publishing •

    Smashwords Edition

    © 2012 Stephen D. Sullivan

    I worked hard on this book, and I hope you enjoy it! I’m a real person trying to make a living, not some faceless mega-corporation. Your purchase of this book makes it easier for me to write more stories for you to enjoy. So…

    This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    *

    Walkabout Publishing

    S.D.Studios

    P.O.Box 151

    Kansasville, WI 53139

    www.walkaboutpublishing.com

    All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning, or any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author.

    Special thanks to my first readers, especially Kifflie H. Scott, as always.

    Cover art & design © 2012 Stephen D. Sullivan.

    Get a free wallpaper of this and other stories at www.stephendsullivan.com –where you can find out more about me, as well. Thanks!

    * * *

    TOURNAMENT OF DEATH BANZUKE

    (List of Heroes)

    TOURNAMENT CONTESTANT

    Ross Bishop

    GOLD LEVEL ATTENDEES

    David Lars Chamberlain

    Ben Seeley

    Wayne Zbytovsky

    SILVER LEVEL ATTENDEES

    S. Rouse • Marty Sirkin

    BRONZE LEVEL ATTENDEES

    Attila Dezmondel • James H. Lewis

    John Kovalic • Paul Minturn

    Kifflie Scott

    GENERAL ADMISSION ATTENDEES

    David Annandale • Tim Ollie Cahoon • Karen S. Conlin

    Shawn Wulfric Conlin • Matt Forbeck • Ellen Forsyth

    Dave Gross • Derek M. Koch • Justin Lance

    Tracy Lundin • Scott James Magner • Miles Matton

    Moose Bog • Jerry A. Novick • Sensei of Smooth Donski

    Jean Rabe • Lester Smith • Vicki Steger

    Bob Vardeman • Christine Verstraete • Keith West

    My deep and abiding thanks to all the people above as well as to the many others who backed the Tournament of Death 1 & 2 Kickstarter—whether by contributing money, by posting online and spreading the word about the project, by offering physical and moral support, by sharing suggestions (and corrections), and/or by reading the story online as I posted it each day…

    I literally could not have done it without each and every one of you.

    You are all the heroes of this story.

    * * *

    CONTENTS

    Banzuke (List of Supporters)

    Introduction

    TOURNAMENT OF DEATH

    Prologue

    Chapter 1 – Maximus

    Chapter 2 – The Call

    Chapter 3 – Opening Ceremony

    Chapter 4 – Stage One: The Games Begin

    Chapter 5 – Stage One: First Blooded

    Chapter 6 – Stage One: Mighty Efforts

    Chapter 7 – Stage One: Final Finishers

    Chapter 8 – Stage Two

    Chapter 9 – Stage Two: Team Play

    Chapter 10 – Stage Two: Strength & Speed

    Chapter 11 – Stage Two: Strays

    Chapter 12 – Stage Three

    Chapter 13 – Stage Three: Heart of Ice

    Chapter 14 – Stage Three: Battle in the Clouds

    Chapter 15 – Stage Three: Stairway to Heaven

    Chapter 16 – Rewards

    Epilogue

    Sample of Tournament of Death 2

    Afterword

    About the Story

    About the Author

    Character Checklist

    TOD Character Crossovers

    Walkabout Publishing

    INTRODUCTION

    This edition of Tournament of Death has been revised and rewritten from the version originally published online. Normally, I don’t rewrite my own work after publication, but since this book was posted live online every day as I wrote, it was essentially a first draft. Because of that, I felt I owed it to both my audience and myself to do a full revision and edit before publishing TOD in print and e-book form. If you’re interested in the original draft, you can still read it online at tournamentofdeath.com.

    That version is a very good book—but this one is better.

    Enjoy.

    Preface About the Language

    This story is written for a modern audience in contemporary language. While I have tried to avoid outright anachronisms (firing bows, etc.), I have endeavored to use the words that best convey the feelings and personalities of my characters. This means that sometimes they may use slang or other modes of speaking to which many fantasy readers are unaccustomed.

    If this seems strange to you, please remember that Shakespeare and Tolkien were not writing in archaic forms of English when they penned their masterpieces—they were merely using their own contemporary language to communicate with their modern audiences.

    That’s what I’m doing, too.

    If, however, you still find my use of language odd for a fantasy tale, I present you with this author’s preface:

    In presenting this tale to you, I have attempted to accurately translate the story from the original languages of the Blue Kingdoms into our modern idiom.

    (Because who really wants to read thee and thou all the time, anyway?)

    —Steve Sullivan, 2012

    * * *

    TOURNAMENT OF DEATH

    The Empyrean Keep

    Stephen D. Sullivan

    * * *

    PROLOGUE

    SOL REIFWORM – Sea Mage of the Dunfalcon

    The tempest raged, blowing from every direction at once. The wind whipped across the sinuous carvings on the tower, raising a keening cry audible even above the howl of the storm.

    Sol Reifworm squinted upward, but couldn’t see the keep’s pinnacle through the driving rain. Despite the warmth of the summer evening, the sea mage pulled his slicker tight around his spindly frame. Something about this long-forgotten place chilled him to the bone.

    What do you see? Captain Hammack, standing beside Reifworm, asked.

    Nothing. You?

    Hammack shook his head, and droplets of rainwater cascaded from his thick, black beard. Nothing, he said. Nor can I hear anything through this accursed storm.

    Perhaps we should return to the ship, Reifworm suggested.

    No. We’ll wait until they come out. The tower isn’t that big; how long can exploring it take?

    How long, indeed? They’d been standing in the rain for an hour-and-a-half now, as near as Reifworm could make it. Yet they’d neither seen nor heard anything from the party of sailors they’d sent inside the keep. The tower was big, but it wasn’t that big—not unless there was more to this lonely, crag-top spire than there seemed.

    A sole door, made of carved white stone, led into the tower. Neither windows nor balconies marred the keep’s carved surface. So, near as Reifworm and his captain could tell, there was no other way into the edifice—or out. Nor was there any way to tell what kind of progress the expedition inside might be making. The door, which had taken their battle mage, Bronwyn, half an hour to magically open, had swung shut—seemingly on its own—just after the last of the explorers entered. It had closed despite the heavy rock Captain Hammack had wedged against it to hold the portal open.

    Magic!

    Reifworm could smell it all around. It wasn’t just the rain and the tower’s strange carvings that made goose bumps stand up on his sallow skin. They should have returned by now. Or at least sent word.

    Hammack, tall, burly, and ever confident, nodded. His steel breastplate glistened with each crash of lightning, and his scarlet tunic, long soaked through, clung to his muscular limbs. Aye. Tavereau’s a good first mate. It’s unlike him to go for so long without reporting. Still, the captain made no move to investigate further; he merely stood stoically in the downpour.

    Reifworm shivered. What do you intend to do about it?

    What would you suggest?

    We could send to the ship for more men, the sea mage offered. He looked back across the isle’s rocky shore toward the bay where the Dunfalcon lay anchored. Because of the storm, Reifworm could barely make out the lanterns on the ship’s forecastle.

    Nearer at hand, hulking shadows slogged through the downpour—Hammack’s guards patrolling the blasted hillside, keeping their captain safe. Reifworm worried though: Would even these hand-picked, barrel-chested sailors be enough to prevail against whatever dangers haunted this weird place?

    Hammack sucked in a deep breath, though his face remained impassive. If you’re so concerned, perhaps you should go in and look for Tavereau yourself.

    Reifworm squirmed.

    Hammack laughed, a deep mocking bluster. You’re a mage, aren’t you? What are you so afraid of?

    "I’m a sea mage, Reifworm replied. Oh, I can find a course through uncharted waters easy enough, but you know I’ve no power within stone walls. Nor do I have the skill to open that sealed door the way Bronwyn did earlier. And with her now on the other side...."

    Thunder crashed, and Reifworm jumped; Hammack laughed again.

    We should never have sent them into this accursed bastion, Reifworm concluded.

    What would you have me do, Worm? Sail away without exploring this place—an island marked by neither chart nor written record? How do you think the prince would react to that?

    Reifworm swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. No, they could not have sailed past without exploring. The prince would never have stood for it. And there was no use trying to falsify the ship’s log after they’d spotted the island—even though it had been only a craggy black shape half-glimpsed through the storm. The prince would have known of any deception immediately. Somehow, he always knew.

    You’re right, Reifworm said miserably. There was nothing else we could do.

    Of course I’m right, Hammack replied with absolute confidence. Now stop whining. Between you and the damned wind, I can hardly hear myself think.

    Not much to hear, Reifworm thought. He tugged his slicker so tight that his bones ached, but it still didn’t ward off the chill.

    Is this how my brother perished? he wondered. Wandering about on some fool mission for his egomaniacal lord? It had been over a year since Reifworm had heard from his brother, Tel. The sea mage felt fairly certain now that he would neither see nor hear from his only sibling again.

    If it had been within his power, Reifworm would have left the island right then, that instant. He would have magicked himself away and never looked back. Unfortunately, the wizard-navigator’s limitations prevented either of those options; he was only a sea mage, after all. He could find a lost island, skirt a hidden reef, or chant wind into a sail, but he couldn’t conjure up his own boat, or fly, or teleport himself off this accursed rock. Nor was there any chance he could convince Hammack to weigh anchor and sail away. Hammack needed Reifworm, but he did not respect either the mage or his advice.

    A figure loomed out of the rain next to them: Morton, one of Hammack’s guards. He nodded a deferential bow—to Hammack, not Reifworm—and stood beside his captain.

    Anything? Hammack asked.

    Nothing, Captain, Morton replied. Not even a fish in the local streams or so much as a squirrel in the jungle over that ridge. He pointed to a hill, almost obscured by the deluge. Though he tried to seem confident, Morton’s eyes darted nervously through the darkness. It ain’t natural.

    I’ll decide what’s natural and what isn’t, Hammack replied.

    Yessir.

    Reifworm heard something—a noise, rising above even the wind and the uncanny wailing of the carved tower. He cocked his head, trying to gather in the sound. Do you hear something?

    Hammack frowned. Only this accursed wind and you yammering.

    The noise came again—distant, almost drowned out by the keening wind: a cry, or perhaps a scream.

    I-I think I hear it, too, Morton said. He clutched his cutlass so tightly that his hand, lit by the near-continual flashes of lightning, looked skeletal.

    You’re both being old washerwomen, Hammack countered. Frightened of a little rain and thunder! Yes, this tower is odd looking, but we’ve seen just as strange on our trade runs to Kesh and Alarion’s Ring. Stranger, in fact. Remember that spire built out of human skulls in Grizilund? Cannibals or no, we still struck a trade agreement with them.

    "It’s not the tower, it’s a scream," Reifworm insisted. It sounded louder now, as if more screams were joining the distant chorus.

    "There’s a screaming tower in Xiangdau, too. It’s only the wind there, and it’s only the wind against the carvings here, too. It’s nothing to get—"

    Look out! Reifworm cried, pushing Hammack out of the way as something hurtled down from above.

    The thing plummeted out of the storm-washed sky and crashed hard onto the drenched stone at the tower’s base—barely missing the captain, the sea mage, and the guard. At first, all three of them backed away. Then, when the thing didn’t move, all three edged closer, trying to discern the identity of the lumpy, wet object.

    Hammack paled when the realization hit. Morton ran screaming, heading for the Dunfalcon’s dory, beached on the shore of the rocky bay. Reifworm shoved the knuckles of his fist into his mouth, fighting hard to keep from retching.

    The wet maroon and purple robes that draped the thing’s crumpled body left no doubt about its identity: It was Bronwyn, their battle mage. If not for her distinctive clothes, identifying her corpse would have been difficult.

    "Wh-what happened to her ... head?" Reifworm gasped, choking back vomit.

    A long stream of crimson leaked from Brownwyn’s severed neck onto the rain-slick stones at the tower’s base; there was no sign of her head amid her crumpled clothing, or anywhere else.

    The color returned to Hammack’s cheeks, and he peered into the storm warily. Well ... It can’t have been Bronwyn you heard screaming—not in her condition. He looked up into the black clouds, as if expecting Bronwyn’s head to plummet down at any moment. She must have fallen from the top of the tower.

    H-how can that be? Reifworm protested, still nauseous. The tower has no windows! It has no doors other than this one! The loss of his shipmate clawed at his guts. Bronwyn had been a good crew member and a fine mage as well. To never hear the young woman’s pleasant voice again, or see her smiling face...!

    Reifworm lost the battle with his roiling stomach, fell to his knees, and retched onto the rain-wet stones.

    Hammack took a step back. The door’s opening!

    His words sent a lance of cold down Reifworm’s spine. The sea mage scrambled to his feet; Hammack drew his cutlass.

    The tower door swung silently inward, revealing only blackness beyond.

    Reifworm held his breath, his fingers groping for his dagger, his mind racing for some spell that might save him from the ogre-sized terror he felt certain lurked beyond the portal. Something inside had torn Bronwyn’s head off—killed a battle-tested mage! What would such a creature do to him?

    A figure staggered out of the darkness. Hammack clenched his sword tight, preparing to strike. Reifworm lost hold of his dagger; it fumbled through his fingers and clattered on the slippery rock at his feet.

    Tavereau! Hammack blurted, relieved.

    As the Dunfalcon’s first

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