Trolls and Tribulations

by Kevin Partner

  “Roberts,” said Gramma.

  “You sent them roberts to dig for your jewels so you could stay nice and cosy in this world. Right,” she said. Brianna could see, from her mother’s expression, that the light of realisation was rising over the cesspit of truth. She stepped a bit further back, ignoring sundry crashes as lab equipment fell off the tables.

  Mother Hemlock pointed at Marcello. “Something’s gone wrong ‘asn’t it? And you see the staff’s coming to light as a way to help put things right. For you, that is.”

  Marcello’s face hardened, and he nodded. “Some time ago, the flow of jewels stopped. I went into the Darkworld to investigate, but could find no trace of them.”

  “How could you get into the Darkworld? I thought you said it’s poison.”

  “So it is,” continued the wizard irritatedly, “but I have one or two machines specially adapted to take humans in corporeal form. They give some protection and allow me to explore the Darkworld for a couple of days at a time before its effects are felt.”

  “Sounds as though you have a robert rebellion on yer ‘ands,” Gramma said.

  Marcello scowled at the old woman. He opened his mouth to respond, but Mother Hemlock got there first. “Where did they go then, these roberts?”

  This brought the edifice of Marcello’s pride crashing down, but it was Aligvok’s girly voice that spoke next. “Oh, by the hells,” he said, all arrogance and anger replaced by grim realisation.“He thinks they’ve gone into the Beyond. And if that’s true, we are lost.”

  This atmosphere of doom was wasted on Gramma, whose patience, after a marathon effort, had finally expired. “Back to bloody square one!” she yelled. “What the bloody hell is this bloody Beyond?”

  Marcello jerked a thumb at the figure lying, forgotten, at the foot of the wall. “It’s where she comes from, and a whole lot worse.”

  Chapter 26

  Humunculus had watched this exchange with a rising dread mingled with a level of frustration he’d never experienced before, not even when stuck in the staff. He had a nasty feeling that if that idiot boy with his burning hands was the key then he, the Faerie King, was the lock.

  And that triggered his anger. Deep within each faerie51 lurks a barely contained rage waiting for the right circumstances to escape from the shackles of free will and burst forth upon an unsuspecting world. He was that faerie, and these were the circumstances. But wait. Be careful my love. We mustn’t let him catch on, we must be ever so good. Good master, nice Smea…

  Shaking his head, Humunculus drew himself out of the deep well of ancestral and folk memory that his mind had almost become trapped in. But that thought was still there, and it was right. For the first time in his existence, Humunculus found himself relishing the idea of deferring his pleasure. Until he had unfortunately accidentally been outwitted by that imbecile, he’d been used to his wishes being obeyed immediately, or, for preference, even quicker. Now, though, trapped within a body of metal and wood, shackled to the wall like a lowly prisoner, only able to watch as his chief persecutors babbled on as if he wasn’t even there, now he slowly, but surely, drew his plans against them. Revenge would indeed be a dish best served out of the fridge. He would play along. And then he would make them pay. Oh yes, my precious.

  Bill darted along the corridor, Ambler alongside him. He could hear the heavy thumps of Negstimeaboi’s boots and the delicate shoes of Velicity tapping in time with Chortley’s. They’d raided the armoury and Ambler had found a sword that suited him well. The runes on its glowing metal blade had proclaimed its name to be Anduracel and, beneath in a trailing script, were the words “keeps cutting when other blades go blunt.” Along with an engraved image of a rabbit with a drum.

  Chortley put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Not far now,” he said. “I think I can hear them up ahead.”

  Yes, there was a booming sound like huge drums being beaten by even huger hands. The ground shook with each thump and, beneath and between the beats, were the cries of a multitude intent on blood.

  When he reached the door, Bill could see that it wouldn’t survive much more punishment. Its great iron hinges were buckling and plumes of dust erupted with each impact.

  “So, who are they?” Bill asked.

  Chortley shrugged. “Goblins, like those we fought last year. There are tunnels beneath this level and one leads into the Darkworld. They were waiting for the elf I imagine.”

  “The what?”

  “That thing I carried up here,” Chortley responded, gesturing towards the laboratory. “We found it trapped in the tunnel. I guess those goblins were waiting for it to come out though they must have been there a long time judging by the state she was in.”

  “She?”

  Chortley nodded. “According to Mother Hemlock, the fount of all wisdom. Mind you, I couldn’t tell. Fairytale creatures all look alike to me.”

  BOOM.

  “And what are we doing here, exactly?”

  “This is hardly the time for existential questions, brother,” Chortley said, with a grim smile, “but we have to try to stop them breaking into these upper levels, or we’ll be trapped.”

  BOOM.

  “And the Crapplecreekers?”

  Chortley sighed. “Yes, I’ll have to think of a way to get them out, but that requires that I stay alive and, if the enemy takes over this level, we have no way out, and we’ll be as trapped as the Crappers.”

  BOOM.

  “Hold on,” Bill said, aware both that there were gaps in his knowledge of the facts that would shame a priest and, simultaneously, that there wasn’t time to fill those gaps, “how are the Crapplecreekers trapped?”

  Chortley nodded at Velicity who was pretending to be summoning her powers and not listening to the conversation. “Velicity and old mother stoneface got us past the trolls that guard this labyrinth, but didn’t tell us that it was a one way ticket until we were already trapped.”

  BOOM.

  Velicity’s face reddened. “There’s no point crying over spilled acid,” she said, her face tight with concentration, “and I need to summon my gas before that door breaks, so if you don’t mind…”

  “All shut up. They come through!”

  Negstimeaboi pointed at the oak door as the iron point of a spear emerged through the middle. She’d found some bronze armour to her liking and now glowered in the half light like some kind of terracotta warrior. Her axe was of brass and it fizzed as she brought it round in a practice sweep that almost decapitated Chortley.

  Bill gripped the staff which, thankfully, had stopped talking to him, and began summoning heat. “We have to try to keep them in the tunnel,” he said to Velicity, “if they break into this level, we’re lost.”

  Velicity nodded and began chanting words under her breath before clasping her hands together and releasing them. A chill wind blew through the tunnel and her white dress seemed to come alive, lit from within by a glow that made her seem like some goddess from the dawn of time.

  Chortley gripped his sword.

  CRASH

  The door fell apart and, before Bill could react, black armoured goblins had spilled into the main tunnel. Ambler, Negstimeaboi and Chortley ran at them, weapons swinging in the gloom and such was the ferocity of their attack that the enemy, expecting to find little resistance on the other side of the door, fell back in dismay. All except one.

  “They have a cave troll,” Chortley said, as the huge, green skinned monster thudded into the tunnel. Chortley had dined on turtle soup once or twice and what was coming towards him looked like the final revenge of all those Chelonioideans who’d stared lifelessly up at him from his father’s table. Its reptilian eyes scanned left and right and in one of its hands it held a massive scimitar which, with ponderous but irresistible force it swung towards Negstimeaboi. Ambler flung Anduracel to meet it and the clang of metal on metal was like the birth of dragons in the dark places when the world was young.52 Taking advantage of the gap in the troll’s defence, Negstimaboi
brought her golden axe in a chopping motion against its other arm and it screamed in pain, dropping the black metal buckler to the floor with a reverberating crash.

  Chortley leapt forward, sword singing, and sliced into the cave troll’s shoulder, just as Ambler, his sword arm deadened by the impact of the troll’s thrust, jabbed at the creature’s head, dropping low in its agony. It fell back, writhing on the floor, as the sounds of war cries came dopplering from the tunnel behind the broken door.

  Stepping beyond the troll, Bill leaned the staff against the wall as the enemy approached, torches swaying. With an effort, he conjured heat, drawing it from his body, from the air in the tunnel and even from his comrades, each of whom felt as though their blood were turning to ice. He put every ounce of his strength into it and felt, rather than saw, the ball of fire emerge from his hands to be cupped between his palms.

  “Hurry,” Chortley rasped.

  Bill tossed the ball into the air and, picking the staff up, he thrust it back over his shoulder before flicking it back and connecting with the flame which shot along the tunnel. He sensed power beside him and turned to see Velicity standing there, her arms outstretched. She cried, throwing her arms in a complicated pattern as the air in the chamber began to be sucked into the tunnel. In an instant, it had been whipped up into a vortex and, catching up with the firebolt, it turned what had been a single, albeit deadly, missile into a firestorm that filled the tunnel with heat and orange light. And the screams of the enemy.

  There followed a deadly silence as they each caught their breath. Bill had put every last ounce of energy into the ball of fire and, judging by the way she leant against the wall, so had Velicity. Chortley was examining Ambler’s arm as Negstimaboi frisked the dead troll.

  “Did we kill all of them?” Bill asked.

  BOOM.

  #

  Sergeant Sandy McGuff stood at the foot of the narrow bridge, staring out across the darkness as the sounds of battle filled the labyrinth. Alongside him, at elbow level, Minissun fingered her axe blade nervously and with cliche aforethought. Behind waited the Crapplecreekers, silent but for the rasp and chink of nervously held weapons. The prisoners were under guard near the entrance to the cavern.

  From out of the darkness across the chasm came a sound like beating drums. It was getting closer, travelling at speed. McGuff peered into the gloom and gripped his sword. He would hold the narrow way while there was life in him.

  Suddenly, a huge shape erupted from the gateway to the labyrinth and McGuff realised that the sound he’d heard was the thudding of heavy steps. The figure was running, the feeble light from the few remaining embrasures catching on the massive sword it swung as it charged towards him.

  “Be ready, Crapplecreekers!” McGuff bellowed with more confidence than he felt. “Archers, draw!”

  McGuff could hear the creaking of bows behind him as the Crapplecreek company of archers prepared to let lose.

  “Shoot!”

  Sergeant McGuff watched as both arrows looped overhead and dropped in the chasm. He turned to catch the eye of Habeus Corpuscle, one half of the Crapplecreek Bowpersons. Corpuscle shrugged and made a diving motion with his hand, in case his commanding officer hadn’t noticed.

  The running figure had reached the other end of the narrow bridge. What could only be described as a horde53 was erupting from the gate into the labyrinth and filling the cavern behind.

  “Hold on a mo!” Minissun said, pointing her axe at the figure who had stopped at the other end of the bridge. “It’s Thun!”

  McGuff squinted. “By all the gods, it is!” He waved his arms furiously. “Thun, come over bridge! Quick!”

  “He’s frightened of depths, sir, we had a hell of a job to get him over the bridge going the other way.”

  McGuff stepped out onto the threshold of the bridge, but felt Minissun brush past him. “I’ll go. Lower centre of gravity and, anyway, this bridge is clearly of dwarven design.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Minissun was already a third of the way across. He could only just hear her against the echoing cries of the enemy as she called back. “Well, you see how it’s very narrow and has a fathomless drop on either side. Classic Barock architecture that is.”

  The horde was within a hundred yards of Thun when Minissun arrived at the other end of the bridge. McGuff could see her raise her hand and, after a moment, Thun took it, almost lifting the dwarf off her feet.

  Minissun turned to face back along the bridge and led Thun, step by nervous step, along the narrow way. The nearer to the centre he got, the more wobbly the barbarian appeared to be, but Minissun steadied him and, once he was within a few yards of McGuff, he broke into a trot.

  “Thun held door,” he said, his hands on his knees, “till door was gone.” The Crapplecreeker’s torchlight reflected off the blood leaking from his back and the curious burns on the unbroken skin of his chest.

  McGuff put his hands on an iron shoulder. “You did well, lad. I’m glad you made it. So far.” Then he looked up and saw the first goblin soldier set foot on the bridge.

  “Right lads, form up!”

  And the horde began to cross.

  #

  Mother Hemlock half sat, half leaned against the orb as she thought. She could feel it pulsing against her back. The sounds of battle echoed down the corridor outside and she’d sensed the eruption of Velicity’s wind. It wouldn’t be enough, and soon more goblins would be swarming through the labyrinth. And if they took the laboratory they’d find, in the end, the doorway on the mountainside and the Brightworld would be open to them.

  There wasn’t time to think this through. She understood Marcello’s plan now. He’d lost control of the flow of gems from the Darkworld and, despite the size of his treasury down below, he wanted it back. She suspected pride as much as greed was at play. So, when he’d heard that the staff he’d created had been found again and that its last act had been to destroy a Faerie King, he saw his opportunity. By sending the king’s soul into a machine and only promising to transfer it into a suitable, faerie, body once his will was done, he had a slave he could use to bring the Darkworld under his control again.

  But it had all gone wrong when Chortley had opened the door to the other side. And they now had to contend with the Beyond. It seemed that all she’d believed about the twin world was wrong. The twin of the Brightworld wasn’t the Darkworld, but another place entirely. Inhabited, if Marcello was to be believed, by creatures like the elf - and a colony of renegade roberts.

  All that had to wait, though. For now, the only thing on her mind was survival. And she could see no hope of that.

  She was awoken from her thoughts by the sounds of argument between Marcello and Aligvok ceasing. They’d been at each other’s throats since the others had left, but Aligvok had now withdrawn and was watching Marcello with suspicious eyes.

  “Faerie King?”

  The heavy head of the monster on the wall revolved and its green eyes regarded Marcello. The face had no means of expression, but somehow managed to communicate deep loathing.

  The wizard stepped back, unnerved, but steadied himself. He, too, knew there was little time. “You know that I have the power to restore your soul to a faerie body. You know that only I have this power, do you not?”

  Marcello took the silence that greeted him as assent. “You also know that this complex is swarming with goblins?”

  The machine nodded, and Mother Hemlock had the distinct impression that it was laughing behind its mask.

  “If the goblins kill me,” the wizard resumed, “I mean, us, then there will be no-one with the skill to unite your soul with a faerie body and you will be trapped in that machine for ever.”

  Humunculus shivered. Good, thought the wizard, I’ve finally got through to him.

  “Your task is a simple one. When the goblins have retreated beyond the door to the Darkworld, you may select a faerie and bring him to me.”

  Bently, who’d been sitting at h
is master’s feet, turned in astonishment. “Are you insane? My master cannot face the entire might of a goblin horde!”

  “You underestimate the power of the ARSE,” Marcello said.

  Mother Hemlock pulled on the wizard so that he faced her. “And you overestimate it. I don’t care how powerful you think it is, it is still a thing of wood and metal - the first burns and the second can be beaten. He cannot do it alone.”

  “He must!” the wizard bellowed desperately.

  “Wait a minute.” Brianna, who’d been standing by the doorway, looking down the corridor, was pointing at the machine. “You said you’d created suits that people could get into.”

  Marcello’s face brightened. “Yes, you’re quite right. I’d forgotten! Clever girl.”

  Brianna glared back at the wizard with an expression that would have damaged the self-confidence of a cocksure cobra.

  “That’s it, yes indeed,” Marcello continued, somehow not noticing, “I have two suits in the chamber below - if we could make our way there, I could pilot one and you another.”

  Brianna shook her head. “If these suits are as powerful as you claim, there’s no way I’d trust you inside one. Besides, it makes sense for those who have some combat experience to wear them.”

  “And who, exactly, do you propose?” Marcello glowered, “One of the lovestruck warriors and the Fitzmichael boy?”

  Brianna burst out laughing, momentarily overpowering the sounds of ever-closer battle. “Are you insane? I wouldn’t trust Chortley to pilot a river boat and I certainly wouldn’t allow him near a killing machine like those!”

  “Well I ain’t getting in one of those roberts,” Gramma piped up. “I’m just a lickle old lady, I am, and lickle old ladies don’t climb inside arses.”

  For a moment, Brianna’s mind was overcome with a vision of a Gramma-controlled killer robert. She shook her head. “No, Gramma. I wasn’t thinking of you.”