Trolls and Tribulations

by Kevin Partner

  “Who then?” Mother Hemlock asked.

  Brianna exploded. “Me! Obviously! I have combat experience and I can be trusted not to go killing anyone I don’t like,” she said, looking first at Marcello and then Aligvok, “more or less.”

  Mother Hemlock opened her mouth to protest, caught the look in her daughter’s eye, and shut it again.

  “So, oo’d be daft enough to get into the other robert?” Gramma asked, “Oo do you trust enough, lass?”

  Brianna smiled. “The boy with the exploding hands,” she said.

  Chapter 27

  They’d won every battle, but were losing the war. Bill let loose another firebolt, pulling heat from the walls of the tunnel, leaving them covered in crystals of frost that glittered in the torchlight. Velicity sent her wind following the fire along the corridor. Each time they pushed the enemy back, but each time the goblins returned a little closer, like a hideous, inexorable, black tide. Soon they would be overwhelmed.

  THUMP.

  This time, the noise came from behind them and a panicking Bill turned to see the massive form of the robert tottering out of the darkness. Brianna darted in front of it as it swayed from side to side like a toddler taking its first steps. A particularly large, ugly toddler with metal fists clenched against an impending tantrum of epic proportions.

  Then Bill, amidst all the clamour, caught the expression on Brianna’s face. “Bugger,” he muttered.

  She ran up to him, wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed him. Double bugger. He could only imagine she’d be so affectionate when they were faced with an impossible task against insurmountable odds and staring Death in her bony face.

  “We need to get past them and down the tunnel they came from,” Brianna announced.

  Bill nodded wearily. “Of course we do. The problem is, I’m absolutely knackered, I don’t know how many more fireballs I’ve got in me. Velicity is having to push the wind out - we almost suffocated in here when she let the last one go.”

  “Oh, stop your matherin’,” Gramma said, her wrinkled face looking like a bird's-eye view of a river delta in the orange glow of the torches. “I ‘aven’t slept in a bed for weeks and my lumbago is playin’ me up somethin’ rotten. Now we need to get down that tunnel yonder and no pesky goblin’s goin’ to get in my way!”

  Chortley pointed down the corridor where, in the gloom, battle cries echoed. “Maybe not, but a thousand pesky goblins are a different matter. Why do we have to get down there of all places?”

  “Because the only way we get out of this alive is to close the door onto the Darkworld, and there’s a room down there that might just give us a chance of doing that.”

  “And he’s going to help, is he?” Bill said, looking up into the green, malevolent, eyes of the machine.

  Brianna nodded. “If he knows what’s good for him. And besides, he has the best possible motivation - himself.”

  “Well, let’s be gettin’ on with it,” Mother Hemlock said, rolling up her sleeves and peering into the gloom.

  “No, Mother,” Brianna said, looking from Mother Hemlock to Gramma, “you two can’t help much.”

  Ancient legends speak of great volcanic eruptions that buried entire civilisations beneath deep layers of pumice. These were as nothing to the nuclear winter promised by the expressions on the faces of the two senior witches. Brianna spoke before they could. “Look, there’s next to no water down here, nor is there anything you can command, Gramma. We need you to find the entrance Bill and I came through and guard it - if the goblins go that way and you can’t keep them off, you must bury it deep.”

  “What, and trap you? Not likely,” Mother Hemlock said.

  Brianna smiled grimly. “We’ll be okay. I’ll have Bill with me, what could possibly go wrong? And, anyway, we have to think about the greater good. Hold them off for as long as you can, but if the goblins threaten to overwhelm you, destroy the door. Will you do it?”

  “I sometimes thinks you’ll be a better carrier of my burden than me,” Mother Hemlock said, shaking her head sadly.

  Gramma snorted. “And then you wake up. Right lass, we’re off. Shall we take the smarmy wizard and the girl with the pretty ringlets and a face like a cat’s arse with us?”

  “Yes. You never know, they might be able to do something useful. All of this trouble comes down to them after all. The big brown one can carry the lickle elf while he’s about it.”

  Marcello went to protest, but there was something in Brianna’s expression that brooked no argument and he relented.

  Mother Hemlock reached up to plant a kiss on Brianna’s cheek. Gramma gave a cheery wave. “Tarra cock!” she said.

  “This way,” Marcello said, before striding back in the direction of the laboratory.

  “They’re coming!” Chortley shouted.

  Bill turned away from the receding backs of the wizards and witches, to gaze into the dim darkness of the tunnel ahead. Yes, he could hear them. And all he really wanted to do was rest - though preferably not permanently.

  He looked up at the inert metal and wood figure lurching beside him. “Can you control your body enough to help us?”

  Somehow, Humunculus managed to shrug in his inflexible prison.

  “And you?”

  Bently stood in front of his master, claws bared. “I will defend my master, but I will not kill goblins who do not threaten me. They are my people.”

  The noise from the tunnel ahead was getting louder. It was being funnelled through the side corridor that led from the treasure chamber and then bounced off the facing wall of the main tunnel. The first of the enemy emerged.

  Negstimeaboi, Ambler and Chortley formed up in front, their combined girth almost stretching from wall to wall. Blood leaked from a wound on Negstimeaboi’s temple and Ambler’s sword arm was still inflexible and painful after deflecting the troll’s blow, but Chortley was unharmed save for a bruise under his armpit.

  Bill stood behind Ambler, Brianna next to him, while Velicity hovered breezily over Chortley’s shoulder.

  “Okay, each time we push them back, we need to move forward and hold that position,” Bill said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to inch our way forward like that.”

  There was no response. It was, after all, the most obvious plan since Woger the Wolf had tried on that old woman disguise and jumped into bed.

  Bill closed his eyes and concentrated on focusing the heat. He could feel the air chilling even as his body filled with warmth. Brianna’s teeth began to chatter. He pushed the fire into his hands and the fireball appeared again, this time bringing a gasp from Brianna. He raised it one handed, nodded to Velicity who, with grim determination, had been trapping air, and threw the fireball down the tunnel. Velicity let her wind go, her hands outstretched, twisting it as it went, forming a tunnel-filling flame vortex.

  “Forward!” Bill shouted as the screams died away. They moved forward as quickly as they could, stepping over the charred bodies. Chortley thrust his sword down to put out of its misery any that still writhed on the floor. They were followed by the mechanical thump of Humunculus as they went forward.

  They’d gone, perhaps, twenty yards, when more shouts emerged from the tunnel. “Quick!” Chortley said. They were within sight of the side corridor and holding the enemy there would be easier than in the wider tunnel.

  Negstimeaboi lengthened her stride and reached the shattered door just as a large, iron-clad goblin emerged, roaring. She swung her axe and, in its surprise, it was too slow in raising its small shield which shattered, along with its arm. Negsitmaboi swung again, burying the axe head in its neck. She looked up to see the tunnel swarming with enemies. “Oh bullocks.”

  Brianna glanced at Humunculus who so far had done nothing more than stomp along behind them. “Right, block-head, it’s time to help. The only way you get your soul reunited with a faerie body is to help us. Now would be a good time.”

  The machine’s head swivelled to regard her as Bently cowered at its feet, watching hi
s master’s mechanical manifestation as it made its mind up. A leg rose, throwing Bently to one side, and he was forced to scurry along behind it as it passed into the tunnel entrance. The walls of the tunnel glowed with a green light that emanated from lamps on the chest of the machines, the emerald hue bouncing from wall to wall as it proceeded, still moving somewhat uncertainly. Bently followed, the scimitar he’d taken from the treasury held high.

  “Come on,” Bill said, and they followed it into the tunnel towards the treasure room and where the suits lay.

  #

  McGuff gave a tired swing and the goblin chieftain fell backwards into the abyss. That had been close. It had managed to gain a foothold on this side of the narrow bridge and other goblins were pouring across to reinforce it. Thun’s great sword had swept their heads off and McGuff had dealt with the leader.

  He stepped back, waving to the man behind him to come forward and take his place. “Give me a breather,” he said, “and, whatever you do, keep ‘em back, lad.” The soldier nodded and McGuff, looking again, said “lass.”

  McGuff moved away, keeping his eyes on the bridge which, in the dim light looked as though it was alive with giant ants, pushing and shoving in their impatience to get across.

  Every now and again, a figure would fall to its doom, hands and legs waving desperately as it was dislodged. McGuff found Epocrypha standing off to one side. The filthy oik hefted a rock around the size of his head (and therefore considerably larger than his brain), before licking his finger and holding it out in front of him as if correcting for wind speed. He gave a quick wink to McGuff, who was leaning on his sword, breathing heavily, drew his arm back and threw it into the black air. McGuff watched as, after a few seconds, there was a brief squeal and another figure fell into the abyss. “Well done Enoch,” he said, patting the private’s arm and instantly regretting it as a cloud of dust erupted.

  “Oh, ‘tis nothin’, sarge,” Epocrypha smiled, “‘tis like shooting rats in a barrel. And almost as satisfying.”

  McGuff shivered. He’d seen plenty of things today that would keep him awake for years to come, but contemplating what the private would do with the rats he caught trumped the lot. “We’re not going to be able to hold forever,” he said, changing the subject to one even darker.

  Epocrypha shrugged. “Ah, don’t worry yourself, sarge. Somethin’ will turn up. It always does. Have you never heard of the luck of the Fannifoil?”

  “Of course, though I’ve never put much stock in it,” McGuff said. “Your land’s been invaded and occupied by more empires, states and, rumour has it, particularly aggressive villages, than I could shake my hat at. Doesn’t strike me as particularly fortunate.”

  “Well, it depends on your point of view,” Epocrypha said as he launched another rock into the darkness and awaited its impact, “some folk say you should see the world; we reckon, why bother when the world wants to come and see us. They all give in and go, eventually.”

  McGuff couldn’t resist. “Why’s that? The bogs, rain and poverty?”

  “Oh no. To be sure, them’s all true enough, but I reckon us Fannies are just too cheerful for ‘em in the end. It’s not much fun subjugating folk what just smile and wave.”

  Another squeak emerged above the battle cries as an unfortunate goblin plunged to its doom. McGuff left Epocrypha to his game and wandered off to inspect the remaining garrison. The prisoners were tied together against the far wall of the cavern. As he passed them, a set of green, malevolent, eyes gazed up. “Your doom is at hand, ape.”

  “Maybe,” McGuff responded, with an air of nonchalance that almost convinced himself, “but yours will arrive first if your mates break through us. Me ‘n Nipper will have one final duty to perform and I reckon I can outsprint any bandy-legged goblin.” He held his knife to the eyes of the faerie so that its razor sharp blade glinted in the torchlight.

  Satisfied with putting the frighteners on the faerie, McGuff stalked off to give the rest of the Crapplecreekers the benefit of his motivational skills. He’d modelled these on his captain, so they amounted to making his soldiers more frightened of him than they were of the enemy. He wasn’t as good as Captain Fitzmichael, but the sheer desperation of their situation gave his manner and appearance an extra serving of crazy that had the desired effect.

  By this point, McGuff had wandered over to the left-hand side of the bridge, the side being defended by Minissun and Thun, neither of whom seemed to tire. Dwarfs were, by nature, a bunch of lazy wasters, but give them a row of orc necks and room enough to swing and they have all the enthusiasm of a vampire in an abattoir.

  He glanced across the chasm to the horde assembling on the other side. It was too dark to make out details, but he could judge the extent of the enemy numbers by counting the torches, swaying in arms of various lengths. It was hopeless, and yet McGuff remained hopeful. If blind optimism was good enough for Enoch Epocrypha, it’d do for McGuff.

  #

  Bill pulled on the door of the suit room. Echoes played along the tunnel in both directions, but there was no enemy in sight. Chortley, Ambler and Negstimeaboi had remained at the entrance to the side tunnel, to defend the upper levels as Bill and Brianna sought the suits. The plan was simple enough - use the super-powers of the machines to seal the doorway from the Darkworld and then, once the supply of reinforcements had been cut off, to clear the tunnels of the enemy. A simple plan, but also idiotically naïve.

  The machine Humunculus had acted like a soap bubble in a sewer - goblins would run forward to attack, reach a certain distance from him and then fall back as if they’d bounced off some sort of invisible barrier. The Faerie King’s ego, perhaps, projected from the machine and had a subconscious effect on the goblins like a form of unnatural selection. Being close to a faerie king, after all, being generally rather life shortening.

  Humunculus stood, or rather loomed, behind Bill, perfectly motionlessly as he strained to push the door open. After a few moments, it put out its arm and, with apparently no effort, forced the ancient ironwood portal back. Bill looked up and nodded - catching, as he did so, an expression that might have been smugness masking a threat.

  Inside were the bodies of goblins who, having gained entry, had discovered that the room protected itself from unfriendly visitors. Bill stepped over the grim corpse of a small goblin who, it seemed, had been trying to get the door open as the trap was sprung. He looked nervously back at Brianna. “Stay outside for now. No sense us both being trapped in here.”

  He turned to look into the room, scanning the benches and the large cupboard on the far wall. “You are an arse,” Brianna said, appearing beside him, “we’re in this together, for better, for worse.”

  “In sickness and in health?” Bill ventured, without thinking. His reward was a dig in the ribs that, now he’d come to know Brianna better, he liked to think was delivered in a loving, if brutal, fashion.

  He straightened back up to find the girl of his dreams (and the occasional nightmare) pulling the doors of the cupboard apart to reveal the two wood and metal suits that had stood either side of the one destined to host Humunculus’s spirit.

  “Well, I hope this is bloody obvious,” Bill said, peering up at the suit on the left. They were very similar to the robert except that their torsos were a little wider to make room for their human occupants. The other major difference was in the heads. They were the same cuboid shape but, where the green glowing eyes of the ARSE were, sat hemispheres of glass, giving a clear view to the front and side.

  “Marcello said you push that big knob on the front and it’ll open up,” Brianna replied before pressing the red shiny button standing at hip level. Bill winced a little then caught his breath as, with a cacophony of shrieks, groans and squeals, the front of the suit’s torso opened up, its ribs spread wide like the most uninviting hog roast you’ve ever seen.

  The wheezing subsided, leaving only the faint echoes of goblin battle-cries from the corridor outside and the taste of lubricating oil in the
air. After another moment, a two-step wooden ladder popped out of the torso and a faint glow illuminated an interior that seemed to be made up entirely of brass dials, switches and knobs.

  Brianna made to step forward, but Bill pulled on her arm. “No, let me do this.”

  “Your machismo is going to get you into hot water one of these days,” she said, relenting.

  Bill smiled as he stepped onto the ladder. “I sincerely hope so,” he said, before looking up at the cramped space above. How Marcello had ever fitted in here he couldn’t imagine. Twisting himself around, he climbed up the ladder backwards, scraping his nose on a particularly vicious looking sprocket at chest level. As he reached the top step, his head emerged into the suit helmet and he could see Brianna watching from below. His feet found a pair of stirrups and, as he put his weight on them, a small padded seat appeared at arse level. Settling down, he found that he was surprisingly comfortable, although the whole experience felt a bit like being at the front of the queue when the buffet opened at the Starvation Diet graduation party.

  Until he’d first started exploring the laboratory of Minus, Bill hadn’t been aware that he suffered from claustrophobia54, but since his initial struggles, the sensory overload and permanent panic stations he’d endured over the past couple of hours had put that particular anxiety in its rightful place. He knew he had nothing to fear from enclosed spaces. It was the things in the enclosed spaces he needed to worry about. And the places where the enclosed spaces became the exact opposite. It didn’t help that he couldn’t see his feet in this suit.

  Where his hands rested on the inside of the suit’s chest, he felt a row of buttons above a smooth rail he could run his fingers along. His hands found what felt like a large switch on the right-hand end of the rail and, the situation not being one to call for caution, he held his breath and flicked it.

  Gears turned, the front of the suit began to close up with a sound like a rattlesnake shedding its skin in reverse, Bill felt an instant panic in the confined, dim space. Then, after a moment, lights crackled into life, first flickering fitfully, then, as whatever powered the suit began to get its second wind, they became steady and the instrument panel was revealed in all its unintelligible glory.