Tournament of Death 2: The Deluvian Temple

By Stephen D. Sullivan

“Don’t wait for me!” the sea elf named Rhiannon cried as the first of the human-faced dogs bore her to the ground. “Keep going! I’ll try to catch up!”

You may have lived through the first tournament, but this one will kill you....

The lost island of Shumakai returns, bringing fabulous treasure, unknown challenges, and almost certain death. Only one person survived the original Tournament Maximus, and now she and her lover find themselves drawn to the isle once more. Joining them are champions from across the World-Sea: humans, elves, dwarves, cat-people, dog-people, mermen, winged folk, and more. From the kung fu temple of Wudan to the wizardly Isle of Prophecy, all have come to face the ultimate challenge. But even the most talented and powerful will surely perish within the Deluvian Temple during Tournament of Death 2.

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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen D. Sullivan
• Release date: Jan 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301064045

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!

Book preview

Death on Four Legs…

Don’t wait for me! Rhiannon the sea elf cried as the first of the human-faced dogs bore her to the ground. Keep going! I’ll try to catch up!

Kizer the Wizard, twenty paces ahead, gazed back at her, a mixture of fear and sadness in his eyes. The remainder of the Quest Alliance—the healer, the dwarf, the warrior, and even the other elf—had already fled into the jungle, the rest of the hideous canine pack on their heels. Kizer clearly didn’t want to leave Rhi behind—especially not to face a pair of dog-things alone—but two of the monsters were racing toward him as well.

Missile! Kizer cried, and a burst of bluish light blasted from his fingertips into one of the beasts rushing him.

The thing yelped, and its mastiff-sized body staggered as if a beer barrel had been slammed into it. It got up, though, and quickly resumed the chase.

Try to get into the trees! Kizer called to Rhiannon from the edge of the jungle. I don’t think they can climb!

Go! she cried, lying on her back, slashing at the dog with her sword, trying to keep its jaws away from her exposed midsection.

The Alliance Is Broken, but the Tournament of Death Continues…!

* * *

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 2

The Deluvian Temple

Stephen D. Sullivan

• Walkabout Publishing •

Smashwords edition.

© 2013 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 my beloved wife), 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 2

Prologues

Chapter 1 – Unfinished Business

Chapter 2 – The Call

Chapter 3 – Opening Moves

Chapter 4 – Stage One: First Blood

Chapter 5 – Stage One: Honor & Death

Chapter 6 – Stage One: Revelations

Chapter 7 – Stage One: Finished

Chapter 8 – Stage Two

Chapter 9 – Stage Two: Beauty of the Beasts

Chapter 10 – Stage Two: Fight to the Finish

Chapter 11 – Stage Two: Fishing Touches

Chapter 12 – Stage Three: Beginnings & Endings

Chapter 13 – Stage Three: Blood in the Water

Chapter 14 – Stage Three: Traitors

Chapter 15 – Stage Three: Vendettas

Chapter 16 – Final Rewards

Epilogues

Afterword

Samples of Other Stories

Tournament of Death

Time War: Second Front

Yule Party

Author’s Notes

About the Story

About the Author

Character Checklist

TOD#2 Character Crossovers

INTRODUCTION

This edition of Tournament of Death 2 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 TOD2 in print and e-book form. The original, unrevised book is still available online to my TOD Kickstarter backers.

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, 2013

* * *

TOURNAMENT OF DEATH 2

Stephen D. Sullivan

* * *

PROLOGUES

Tet-Zhozer

AMONTET – The Wizard-Prince

A chill crept into the royal bedchamber in the palace at Tet-Zhozer, rousing Amontet from a troubled sleep. The Wizard-Prince sat upright in his silken bed, wary, but not tense. No gasp of surprise passed his lips, no fear filled his breast. His mind remained clear. He was one of the most powerful people in the World-Sea, and this was the heart of his domain. In this place, none could challenge him. Amontet’s gaze cut razor-like through the shroud of night. He saw nothing unusual in his chambers. Every piece of his life remained under meticulous control.

Each of the room’s carefully chosen possessions stood in its appointed place, every precious idol, bejeweled weapon, and piece of ornate regalia a symbol of power … a reminder of conquest … a victory. No sound broke the stillness of the night; the air smelled of cultivated jasmine and fragrant palm fronds. All appeared as it should be.

Yet, something was amiss. The feeling wheedled at the prince, gnawing right down to the marrow of his bones.

Amontet rose, placing his delicately painted toes onto the cool, polished marble floor. This disquiet was a new sensation, a new challenge! Every inch of him felt alive, electric. His magically keen senses probed the far corners of his apartments and discovered the source of the chill that had awoken him.

Something normal sight could not see hovered above the center of the floor in his trophy room. The presence, whatever it was, loitered over the arcane sigil that both celebrated and guarded the prince’s most important triumph.

With a word, Amontet could have ripped away the enveloping darkness; with a thought he could have blasted whatever lingered in his chambers into nothingness. But, the prince remained silent and calm. Some things could be neither provoked nor banished so easily, even by the mighty, and the wizard in him sensed that this was one of them.

So he waited, not casting, not summoning, merely peering into the darkness like any other mortal.

Gradually, a humanlike form took shape above the spell-scribed flagstone capping the resting place of the Empyrean Diamond. Hidden below the floor, the gem also waited … waited patiently to fulfill its purpose … as the prince now waited for the materializing shade.

Clouds shrouded the moon, and now the specter appeared before him, standing at attention, its translucent body clothed in silken robes. It had no head.

A whispered word escaped Amontet’s lips, breaking the stillness of the night:

Seth!

The prince’s former bodyguard said nothing. How could he? Seth’s skull had fallen forfeit to his own ambition … and Amontet’s as well. The retainer’s death was—perhaps—the one thing Amontet regretted about his Great Victory at Shumakai.

Regret, an uncommon feeling for the Wizard-Prince.

The half-elf’s death had not been his fault.

He had not asked his bodyguard to brave the Empyrean Keep. Nor had he commanded Seth to perish in the attempt. Nevertheless, his retainer had died, his head shorn off by the Keep’s final guardian.

How dare he die without permission?!

Despite this flouting of princely will, Amontet still honored the man.

Even now, Seth’s decapitated body lay in repose upon a stone bier deep in the palace catacombs, buried as though he—a mere servant—had been royalty.

Why have you come? Amontet asked the specter. He peered hard at it, looking for some clue as to the purpose of this visitation.

The shade did not reply.

It did not move.

It merely stood, a silent omen.

And in that moment, Amontet knew:

"The island! The island has returned!"

Silence. Not even the cicadas in the courtyard spoke.

Shumakai has risen once more!

Yesss… a voice answered from behind the prince.

Amontet whirled, a spell on his lips, sigils of power assembling in his mind, his fingertips glowing with enough energy to level mountains.

A hunched figure dressed in a tattered monk’s robe emerged from an alcove near the prince’s silken bed.

The fire died from Amontet’s fingers. He should have known. Sage, he stated flatly. Where have you been keeping yourself?

Never kept; always seeking.

Is it true? Has Shumakai returned from the void?

It rises, many will fall.

And does it hold the prize I seek?

Time and fortune will surely tell.

Amontet’s smooth brow knitted ever-so-slightly. Sometimes, he wished the Sage did not speak in riddles. Yet, if the man spoke plainly, would he be a sage? Tell me what you see.

The claws of fate, the tendrils of destiny, dreams fulfilled … others shattered.

And the broken bodies of the slain, Amontet said. Yes … As last time.

The Sage inclined his hooded head. The darkness beneath his cowl remained impenetrable. Exxxxactly.

Amontet straightened, and a slight smile tugged up the corners of his thin lips. Every victory has a price in blood.

Blood … and darkness.

Then it is time for the next tournament.

*

The Principality of The EGG

ULDRED – Midknight Warrior

In the darkness of their room above the dojo, Uldred gazed at his sleeping lover. Starlight filtering in through the open window caressed Erisa’s pale form and shimmered in her blue-black hair. She looked so lovely.

Uldred reclined next to her on their bed, leaning on his elbow. His dark eyes drank in every piece of her, each lean, muscular, smooth-skinned inch. He ran his left hand over her from head to belly, his fingertips hovering just above her skin, not touching lest he wake her. She needed her sleep… still needed it, even after all these years. He didn’t blame her. How could he? She’d been through so much.

His hand lingered over her belly, feeling her heat, as his eyes studied the scars on her stomach. Four pale, parallel lines, each nearly as thick as his small finger, traced across her muscular abdomen. A flying white lion had given her that … in the Tower.

He should have been there. He should have protected her.

But, it was his fault that she’d gone in the first place.

He’d been the one who had fallen from the cliff. He’d been the one broken like a rag doll, hovering on the point of death. She had done it for him. She had risked everything, bested the greatest of heroes and faced the most terrible hazards, to make him whole again. That victory had come at a cost.

His hand moved down her body, past the downy hair of her groin, and paused at her left thigh. The scar from the arrow wound was barely visible there; she’d taken that in the first round of the tournament. She was so brave, and the Wizard-Prince’s healers had done their job well. If he had not known her intimately, he might never have noticed the mark. But the small, pale circles—one entry, one exit—remained, a brief way-stop on the map of their relationship.

He moved on, his fingers examining but not touching, until he stopped at her right calf. The scarred gouge there was harder to ignore, but again, it marked her devotion to him. She could have had it mended, could have made it whole at the tournament’s end—should have, in his eyes. Instead, she had given the gift of restored health to him.

How can anyone love me that much?

Her calf had never healed properly. The tournament organizers had not been so generous with their ministrations after the games ended. Or perhaps it was just the power of the Keep; perhaps some wounds, once received, were not so easily mended.

Yet, she seldom complained. He knew that stoicism was because of him as well—because she didn’t want him to know how much pain she suffered, and because she never looked back at her choice. She was completely satisfied with the price she’d paid.

Uldred was not.

Erisa stirred in her sleep, her brow furrowing, a worried murmur forming on her lips.

He moved his hand away, pulled back, sat up. Had she sensed the ghost of his touch?

She sprang suddenly erect, sitting up in their bed, her eyes wide but unseeing, her mouth open, gasping for breath. She screamed.

It’s all right, Uldred said, encircling her with his strong arms.

She clawed at him for a moment, frantic, leaving red welts on his dark skin. Then her eyes focused, and she fell into him, her body suddenly covered with cold sweat.

It’s all right, he assured her. I’m here. Nothing can hurt you.

She buried her head in his shoulder, her hair damp with perspiration. He hugged her close.

I dreamed there was a storm, she said, almost sobbing. We were caught in it … in a boat, on the ocean, fighting it, but … there were sharks on all sides, trying to devour us … and then tentacles came over the side of the ship. They caught you … dragged you under … and the sharks… they…! She gazed up at him, her eyes brimming with moisture. I couldn’t stop them!

The tentacles again. She’d dreamed of them often since the Tower. That awful keep plagued her. It had left scars on more than just her body.

I’m here, he repeated. "I’m safe. We’re safe. There are no sharks or tentacles. No Tower. That was a long time ago, thank the gods."

No, I… she began, her tears running down his chest. "This was different. This was … now."

Despite the heat of the summer night, a chill ran through him.

It doesn’t matter, he said, willing himself to mean it. We’re a long way from Shumakai. And it’s gone, remember? It vanished into the sea.

She turned her face up to his, fear in her tear-stained eyes. I… she gasped. Then she blinked and shook her head. Yes. Yes, of course. You’re right. It was just a dream.

Just a dream. He hugged her close, and she hugged back, pressing her soft, warm flesh into his.

She kissed him, her mouth questing, seeking solace and finding it. She tasted salty and sweet. He loved her. Gods, how he loved her!

You should try to sleep, he whispered. We have a full day of work tomorrow.

Yes, she agreed.

But they lay awake in each other’s arms until nearly dawn.

*

Colossa

BRUTUS MAXIMUS – Tournament Editor

Brutus Maximus shook his head, but the sour aftertaste of Seatopian wine refused to leave his mouth. His skull throbbed, and sparks of light danced behind his eyelids. A distant thunder rattled his eardrums.

It was annoying.

How much did he have to drink to get the world to leave him alone for a while?

The thunder recurred, closer this time, coming in familiar rumbling pulses.

He groaned and tried to turn away, groping for his pillow to shut out the sound.

More thunder, shaking his body now. Somehow, the storm seemed familiar—the pulses almost like … conversation.

Was someone talking to him?

With great effort, he cracked open his eyes.

Breasts.

Very large breasts with big brown nipples, right in front of his face.

He opened his mouth, leaned forward to kiss them, but they bobbed away, backing just out of reach.

Maximus groaned and gave up, letting his head sink back into the pillow. Rogi…? he asked the breasts blearily.

"No, stupid. It’s me. You remember who you’ve been sleeping with for the past two years, don’t you, Max?"

He blinked, trying to focus. Of course he did.

Of course I do! he growled, trying to buy time to remember: big tits, athlete’s body, blond hair… How could I ever forget you … Ilsa.

Ilsa Gorvald leaned away from him, her right hand still resting on his left shoulder. Nice try. She took the hand off of his shoulder and slapped his cheek gently.

I mean it, he protested. I must have … must have been dreaming.

Of old girlfriends? Dreaming drunk, is more like it.

Max scowled. I was just trying to get some rest. I deserve rest, don’t I? It had been a hell of a year. A couple of hellish years, in fact.

She tousled his graying hair. Of course you do, Max. You’ve worked very hard. I’ve worked hard, too. She rose, walking across the bedroom toward the balcony. Max watched her muscular backside as she stepped gracefully around the clothes, bed linens, and other cast-off accoutrements transforming the terrazzo floor of the room into a makeshift obstacle course. The place was a mess … had been ever since he’d let the maid go. How long ago was that? He wished for a moment that circumstances hadn’t forced him to do it.

Ilsa paused at the balcony’s threshold, leaning against the door frame, the early dawn light silhouetting her perfect form. "Of course, it wasn’t my fault that the last gladiatorial match failed, she said, or the one before that, or…! I supplied all the beasts to order. I did my part."

And I did mine as well! he insisted. "Is it my fault that the economy is in a slump? People want their games, they just don’t want to pay for them—not what we need to charge, anyway. People don’t appreciate a quality product anymore"

It had all been downhill since the Tournament Maximus. He should have retired after that, gone out on top. He probably could have spent the rest of his life getting free food, drinks, and lodging just to give lectures about it.

Not now, though. Not after his recent failures. Did you wake me up just to bust my balls? He managed a leering smile. I was hoping you had something more enjoyable in mind.

"Time enough for that later … if you’re up to it. Business now."

Business? he scoffed. What kind of business could we have at this time of the morning? Gods of Mercy, it’s before dawn!

The best kind of business. The paying kind.

Oh?

We have an early morning visitor. It seems the Wizard-Prince has found his lost island again. I left his representative waiting in the anteroom.

Max’s eyes narrowed. Seriously?

Seriously.

He looked her naked body up and down. "You’re telling me there’s an envoy from Tet-Zhozer in our house, and you let him in dressed like that?"

"Would it matter if I had? Maybe doing business in the nude would help sell our services. But no, since you ask, I threw on a robe, which you’ll find there, on the floor, next to your own. At present, this view is reserved for your eyes only. Though if this job doesn’t pan out…! I’ve heard that nude hippogriff riders are all the rage in the western isles."

Only if you want to be paid in beads, Max replied. His head felt much better now; work always made him feel good. Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s talk to the man.

He sprang from the rumpled bed and headed for the door to the outer chamber.

Sure thing. But, Max…

Yes?

Maybe first, you should put on your robe.

CHAPTER 1 – UNFINISHED BUSINESS

The Principality of the EGG

ERISA – Midknight, Tournament Champion

Student warriors crowded the exercise hall in the Academy of Champions dojo, their exertions filling the warm summer air with the salty tang of sweat. Only a few rubberneckers occupied the side galleries this morning, not just because of the heat, but also because the novelty of gawking at the Tournament Champion finally seemed to be wearing thin. Erisa didn’t mind. In fact, she relished the day when she would no longer be a sideshow attraction; it couldn’t come soon enough.

Still, while she didn’t much enjoy the attention—or notoriety—she did enjoy the lifestyle afforded her by being the Sole Survivor of the Tournament of Death, as the competition had come to be known. Of course, a few others had actually survived—at least until the unexpected bloodbath at the very end. She’d thankfully missed out on that, having already limped off to collect her well-deserved reward.

Four years later, Erisa was still limping. Famous World-Sea-wide for her prowess as a warrior, for beating unbeatable foes and besting incredible odds, and