by Graeme Lyon
Borgut watched him go, then started shouting incoherent curses at the universe in general and unlicensed wizards in particular.
This was Juliana’s chance. She was on the field, the ball was nearby and she could finally prove what she could do. Okay, it wasn’t exactly her, but that was a small thing. She scanned her surroundings for the ball as Crabbe, now aided by Pearce, put the boot into the orc who had tried to tackle her, and the dwarf referee moved in to break them up.
A short distance away, she saw a goblin struggling to balance the ball in both hands while running forward, tripping, falling, picking itself back up and grabbing the ball again. Oddly, it was running away from the end zone and towards her. She shrugged and sprinted towards it.
Goblin was having so much fun. He’d beaten up more orcs than he could count (more than one). None of them could stand up to his massive strength. He saw two of them moving towards him at once, one from each side. Laughing maniacally, he jumped and dropkicked one while swinging his massive ogre fists at the other. They both went down, and he landed bodily on top of them, relishing the crack of bones breaking and the gurgles of pain.
Goblin pulled himself back to his feet, stopped to wipe blood from his hands and then he saw… himself. Halfway across the pitch, the body he knew and hated was running unsteadily, ball in hand, towards a human, who was sprinting towards the goblin.
‘No!’ Goblin shouted at the top of his, now considerable, voice. ‘You no hurt Goblin!’ and charged towards them.
Kurt was pushing his way through the stands, moving down towards the field. He needed to find Vanderwald. ‘Get out of my way,’ he shouted at a group of dwarfs who seemed to be having a drinking competition, judging by the empty ale barrels around them. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ he screamed as he tried to push one of them aside.
‘No!’ the dwarf said, standing up to his full height, such as it was, and cracking his knuckles menacingly. ‘But I do like to know a fella’s name before I beat him to death with his own leg, so who are ye, laddie?’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ Kurt muttered. He took a few steps back and sprinted, then leapt over the dwarf. At least, he tried to. Had he been in his own body, he’d have succeeded. In the clumsy, unfit body of an obsessed fan, he instead tripped over a trailing shoelace and fell head-first into the dwarf, who reeled back, blood welling from his newly-broken nose.
‘What in Nuffle’s name do ye think yer doing, ye human bampot?’ the dwarf yelled, his beard rapidly turning red. ‘Think ye can treat me like that just ’cos I’m a dwarf, do ye? Well I’ll show ye what we do to folks with that attitude up in the mountains, laddie.’
The dwarf made a fist and lashed out at Kurt, who reeled backwards to avoid it. He overbalanced and tumbled over the seats on the next level down, colliding with a group of smelly Bretonnian peasants, who tumbled away. The dwarf followed, vaulting over the seats on the third attempt. Hob-nailed boots landed inches from Kurt’s borrowed head.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he growled, grabbing the dwarf’s legs and yanking hard. The bearded, bleeding dwarf fell on his back. Kurt pulled himself up, stomped on the dwarf’s face, enjoying the sound of bone cracking, and sprinted away as fast as he could in his new body.
As he ran on, Kurt heard the dwarf saying, awe in his voice, ‘I dinnae ken who that is, but he’s a violent wee lad. He should be a player.’
He saw Vanderwald on the touchline, yelling abuse at the referee, who seemed to be trying to drag two of the Titans off an orc. Further along, he saw the Black Water Boyz’ coach on his knees, having some sort of fit. Pushing his way to ground level, he went to leap over the barriers separating the crowd and the players, but his borrowed body wouldn’t make it over. Sighing in exasperation, he raised his voice and shouted to the head coach.
‘Vanderwald! VANDERWALD!’
The coach’s head turned, and Kurt waved. ‘Over here! I need to talk to you!’ Vanderwald snorted and turned away, and Kurt shouted again. ‘NOW! Get over here.’
The coach hesitated, then trotted over to the barriers.
‘Look, son, I’m busy just now, but if you want an autograph, hang around after the game.’
‘Oh, shut up, coach. No one wants your autograph, they want mine,’ snapped Kurt.
‘Why would anyone–’
‘It’s me, you stupid old man. Kurt. Kurt Grafstein.’
‘Are you mental, boy? Kurt’s out there.’ Vanderwald gestured to the field, then looked at where he was pointing.
Kurt focused on the same point, and saw himself running away from an orc, screaming. ‘What the hell is he doing?’ Vanderwald asked.
‘He is not me,’ Kurt yelled. ‘I mean, he, the me out there, is this person, who I am right now. I mean, I am Kurt, in this body, and this body’s owner is, presumably, out there running away from a very large orc.’ Kurt looked back out at the field, and felt a surge of fear. ‘Running very slowly, actually. Oh god, he’s going to–’ He winced as, out on the field, the orc caught up with ‘Kurt’ and, almost casually, knocked him to the ground.
Gerhardt felt something hit him from behind and he fell face-first to the ground. He tasted blood and mud, and then he was in the air. He looked frantically around to see himself being lifted by the orc he’d punched.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I really am, I didn’t mean– oh nooooooo!’ he squealed as the orc started turning around slowly, gripping Gerhardt’s leg in both hands and spinning him like a goblin fanatic with his ball and chain. The orc sped up and Gerhardt tried to scream, but couldn’t as the motion made him queasy, then violently ill. He heard the orc laughing madly, then it spoke.
‘I thought you were supposed to be some kinda star,’ it sneered. ‘Let’s see how the crowd likes you, eh?’
Then Gerhardt was flying through the air, still spinning, and below him he could see the press of the crowd and hear baying voices and then he was landing and hands were tearing at him and then everything went mercifully dark.
Johann felt utterly exposed. He’d never told anyone, but he had a recurring nightmare that he turned up to team practice naked. It was the worst thing he had ever imagined. What was happening now was worse.
It wasn’t the skimpy uniform he was wearing. He didn’t mind that too much, actually. The skirt was pretty comfortable, and feeling the breeze on his skin was quite nice.
It wasn’t the dancing either. As a catcher, he was used to being athletic, and he’d spent enough time watching the cheerleaders to have some idea of their moves. He was quite sure he wasn’t doing as well as Juliana usually did, but he wasn’t entirely embarrassing himself. Well, her.
No, the part that was making him feel horrendous was the shouts coming from the crowd. On a drunken night out with the team, he’d once ended up in an ‘exotic dancing’ bar in Bretonnia, and even there, the customers had been more polite to the dancers than what he was hearing now.
Then the world went wobbly again. He blinked, hoping that he would suddenly be back in his own body. Instead, there was a blinding flash and someone fell on him. It was a short man with a stubbly beard, terrible skin and what looked like a homemade attempt to replicate the kind of robes worn by College wizards. It seemed to have been patched together from stained old blankets and what looked like feedbags used by Bretonnian warhorses. Crude mystical-looking symbols had been stitched onto it in haphazard fashion.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ the man muttered. ‘I should have appeared where there wasn’t anyone. My, aren’t you lovely, in your, ah, is that a cheerleader’s costume, my dear?’ The man looked worried. ‘In white and red. Oh dear, those are Titans’ colours, aren’t they? Oh no. Oh, nonononononono. I’m still here. I should be miles away. That stupid spellbook!’
The man looked around frantically, then jumped to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, but I really have to–’
His words were cut off as Johann leap
t to his – her, whatever – feet and punched him in the stomach with a pom-pom-wielding fist.
‘That’s for calling me “my dear”,’ he growled in Juliana’s voice. ‘Now, who in Nuffle’s name are you?’
The man opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a large bag popped into existence in the air. It hung there for a moment, with everyone around gaping at it. Then gravity seemed to catch up with whatever magic had created the bag, and it fell, landing on him with a loud thud and knocking him out cold.
‘Well, that was unexpected,’ Johann said, gaping at the unconscious wizard.
Wizard! That was it. This wizard must have had something to do with what happened. Johann threw down his pom-poms and opened the bag as the wizard moaned gently. It was full of gold marked with orcish symbols. Johann looked down at the wizard, then to where a burly orc was weeping on the sidelines.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I think I have an idea what’s going on here. Where’s Vanderwald?’
Juliana sprinted towards the goblin, utterly focused on it and the ball it half-carried, half-dragged. She was so focused that she almost missed the ogre barrelling towards her at high speed, shouting something about goblins in his guttural voice.
She skidded to a halt at the last moment and threw herself backwards as the ogre thudded past, towards the goblin.
‘What are you doing, Ghurk?’ she shouted to him, but the ogre ignored her. He reached the goblin and, to Juliana’s utter astonishment, scooped it up and sat it on his shoulder. The goblin was clearly equally astounded at this turn of events, as it dropped the ball and waved frantically at her instead, squealing, if she heard it correctly, ‘Johann! Johann, it’s me! Johann!’
The ogre turned towards her, looked at her for a moment, then looked over at where the referee was still trying to disentangle Crabbe, Pearce and an orc. A grin split the ogre’s face, and it shouted ‘Goblin will help!’ then thundered towards the scrum.
Juliana blinked, then caught herself. The ball was just feet away. She scooped it up, and turned. She was close to the orc end zone. She needed to be at the other end of the field to score, but there were bound to be loads of opponents between here and…
‘Ah,’ she said to herself as her gaze took in the tableau of the match. There were barely any orcs standing. It looked like a dwarf deathroller had cut a swathe of destruction through them. Small clumps of Titans players were taking the opportunity to pick on the few orcs still upright while the referee was busy. Near the stands, one greenskin was spinning a human player around his head. He let go and the human sailed up and towards the crowd, screaming. It looked like Kurt.
Juliana knew she should feel sympathetic, given what he would face when those animals in the stands got hold of him, but in truth she didn’t care, especially given the way he pawed at her given any opportunity.
The orc turned and saw her, and spotted the ball in her hands. It roared and started towards her. Grinning fiercely, Juliana ran.
‘What did you do?’ screamed Vanderwald into the shabby wizard’s face.
‘N-nothing,’ the wizard said, weeping. ‘Honestly, I–’
‘I think it was the orcs, coach,’ Jul–Johann said. ‘He had this bag of orc-stamped coins.’
‘They’re not mine. They’re hers. She’s blaming me,’ the wizard muttered.
‘Shut up, you,’ Vanderwald said. ‘What do you suggest, Julia– I mean Johann. I think.’
The coach was still trying to wrap his head around what was going on, but the cheerleader and the strange stalker-boy were adamant that they were actually Johann and Kurt, and it made as much sense as anything else that was happening today.
‘I think it might be a good idea to see why the orc coach is crying,’ the cheerleader said, pointing to a crumpled and broken-looking greenskin a few yards away.
Vanderwald prodded the orc coach with his foot. Hard.
‘Oi, Borgut!’ he yelled. ‘Have you been trying to cheat again?’
The orc looked up through bleary eyes, saw Mazlocke and blinked once, then again. Then he launched himself at the wizard.
‘Where’s my gold, you no-good, thieving, useless excuse for a shaman?’ he shouted.
Kurt and Johann stepped forward and pulled the orc back.
‘What exactly did you do, Borgut?’ Vanderwald asked through gritted teeth.
The orc sighed. ‘I hired this charlatan to cast a spell that would substitute my players for… better ones.’
‘Mazlocke’s Cantrip of Superior Substitution,’ the wizard piped up. ‘Guaranteed to… Eh, never mind,’ he said as four pairs of eyes glared at him. ‘I’ll shut up now.’
‘What went wrong?’ Johann asked.
‘Well, I got the spell from an old book, and it was in an obscure language, and I might have mistranslated it a bit. I’m not exactly College-trained. The same thing happened with the teleport spell,’ he said, looking abashed. ‘Otherwise I’d be miles away by now.’
‘Can it be reversed?’ Vanderwald asked.
‘Um… I really don’t know,’ Mazlocke admitted, red-faced. ‘I have the book here.’ He reached into his dingy robes and pulled out an ancient tome with arcane runes on the cover.
Vanderwald sighed and turned to Johann.
‘We need a real wizard. Go and find one of the ones running the camras. It’s time to reverse this idiot’s spell and put you all back where you belong.’
Juliana was yards from the end zone. A touchdown was in sight. Unfortunately, so was the orc. It bore down on her, grunting belligerently. She wasn’t going to make it. This called for a risky play. She stopped on the spot, threw the ball straight upwards and then, with a deep breath, leapt after it. The orc charged and grabbed her by the legs, pulling her to the field. She tasted mud and rolled from the greenskin’s grip onto her back. She looked up as a shadow passed over the sun.
It was Ghurg.
The ogre slammed into the orc, bellowing incoherently. On its shoulder, the goblin still held on for dear life. The ogre kept moving, taking the orc with it, and the ball landed just feet in front of Juliana. She silently thanked Nuffle – and Ghurg – grabbed the ball and threw herself over the touchline.
The crowd went wild, and the world went weird. Again.
The College-approved wizard finished chanting and Vanderwald looked at him.
‘Is that it? Have you reversed it?’
The crimson-robed figure shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s never easy with–,’ he turned his gaze on Mazlocke, who was shifting uncomfortably in the grip of two surprisingly burly security mages, and his voice hardened, ‘–unlicensed wizards.’
Vanderwald was struck by the contrast between the two. The College wizard was resplendent in embroidered robes, and power crackled from his eyes. Mazlocke, by contrast, was simply shabby.
‘How did that idiotic orc think this fool was a real wizard?’ he asked.
The College wizard raised his staff and uttered more arcane syllables. He turned back to the coach. ‘Actually, this sort of thing happens surprisingly often. Enthusiastic amateurs who think a College education is optional, not realising that the only thing standing between turning a player into a frog and sucking the stadium into the Realm of Chaos can be the knowledge we provide.’
Vanderwald paled. ‘That could have happened?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the wizard cheerfully, making shapes in the air with his staff that glowed with power. ‘Remember that incident with the Schonburg Sentinels? The entire town’s just a crater now. That was one like him.’ He gestured back to Mazlocke. ‘Right, that should be it now.’
Vanderwald glanced at the bodies of the fan and the cheerleader, whoever they contained right now. ‘Do you two feel any different?’
They just gazed blankly at him. He thought there might be a bit of drool around their mouths.
‘Well,’
he said. ‘I suppose something’s happening.’
Juliana blinked. Her vision cleared and she was standing by the side of the pitch, with Coach Vanderwald waving his hand in her face.
‘Coach?’ she said. ‘Did you see? Did you see what I did? I scored.’
‘I don’t think it matters, really,’ Vanderwald said dismissively. ‘We’ll have to replay the match after what this idiot did.’ He slapped the orc coach on the head with the back of his hand.
‘But… I scored. I won us the match. I was a player.’
‘Oh, don’t be stupid, girl. You’re, well, a girl. You can’t play Blood Bowl.’
‘Is that so?’ said a voice from behind him. He turned and gaped up at a very tall, very well muscled and very angry looking woman wearing what looked like a dress made of brightly coloured feathers.
‘And just who are you, madam?’ he asked in the moments before she punched him in the face.
‘Patronising patriarchal prat.’ She turned to face Juliana. ‘You were in the body of the player out there? The one who scored?’
Juliana nodded.
‘You were very good. I could use a player like you.’ She produced a small card from somewhere in her feathers. ‘I’m the head coach of the New World Warriors, a team from the Lustrian League. How do you fancy becoming an Amazon?’
Juliana smiled.
Johann was sitting by the touchline, the ball in his hand. He pulled himself to his feet, readjusting to his own body and wondered if there was any place in the world for a male cheerleader.
One minute Ghurk was sitting on top of his own shoulders enjoying the ride, the next he was back in control of his own heavily muscled body, jumping up and down on the mangled remains of an orc. He stopped and looked around. He felt something on his shoulder and reached up, grabbing it. He hung the goblin in front of his face for a second, then casually tossed it away with the force of a crossbow firing a quarrel.
Goblin flew. He was happier than he’d ever been. He’d been an ogre, taking out all his years of frustrations on the orcs who’d been mean to him. And now he was flying. It was the best day ever. He put his head down and spread his arms, and shouted, ‘Wheeeeeeeeee!’
