The Himmeldorf Job (Excerpt)

By Rory Hatchel

***

“Plan?” he gasped into the earring. “He’s huge and has thick skin and -” Bolgor turned back around. The troll was through the growth and had picked his tree back up. “Pissed off with a tree.”

“The bridge,” said Finn. “We need to maintain distance.”

“Big fan of distance,” said Avana, she was annoyingly not out of breath as she ran through the hills and pasturelands to the bridge on the outskirts of town.

“I’m heading there now,” said Finn. “Range on bridge, and -”

“Tank below,” grumbled Bolgor. “Got it.”

Beth let go of Bolgor’s hand and laid her hands on his neck while they ran. It was strangely intimate, but Bolgor was used to it from Beth. He sighed with relief as a cooling sensation washed over his chest, relieving the pain of the first few attacks.

“Thanks” he said, letting his hand fall away from the earring.

“No problem,” said Beth. “Is Mrs. Anders … um …”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it looks good.”

“We need to go right back there when we’re done with the troll.”

“If it doesn’t kill us first.”

Beth turned and smiled at Bolgor. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

Bolgor smiled, turned, and spat as he ran. He didn’t share Beth’s optimism. He looked down at his cracked armor and inspected his shield. On it was the image of the Father bringing down his warhammer against his enemies as they were bound to an anvil of fire. It was cracked and scratched from the troll.

Behind them, they all heard the thudding of the troll’s footsteps. It was closing the gap, and if it was smart, it’d throw its tree again and cut them off. Instead, Avana turned around every sixty feet or so and fired another shot at the troll. It would pause and swat the arrow away or take another arrow in the leg. Either way, Avana bought them time. She ran at an angle, aiming for the bridge, but Bolgor ran straight ahead.

The Old Bridge marked the entrance to Himmeldorf and was only a few hundred feet in front of them. It used to be a bridge over a river, but the river had since dried and now it was an old stone bridge connecting two hills over an almost ravine. Well, ditch was the more accurate term. It made a good space for a fight if the troll was below and everyone else was able to stay twenty or so feet above it.

To his left, Bolgor saw a crowd gathering. Apparently, the troll smashing through their town hadn’t been lost on them. “You have any men willing to fight?” shouted Bolgor to the people. He could see some of them look away or shuffle their feet in discomfort.

“Already tried that,” said Finn. He was standing on the bridge already, preparing some type of clever spell. Hopefully. He was easy to spot with his round belly and bright yellow robes. Finn never had much of a fashion sense, but you never lost him in a crowd.

“Don’t send farmers to do Zoldak work,” said Avana.

“Get in position,” said Bolgor. “If you can’t kill him quickly, he’ll crush me.”

“But it will be for the good of the people,” said Finn.

“And the sheep,” added Avana. “Don’t forget the sheep.”

“Fuck both of you,” sighed Bolgor. He pushed Beth on the small of her back, forcing her to go ahead of him. “Don’t slow down on account of me,” he said to her. “Go get in position.”

She looked back at him and smiled sadly, but then nodded and picked up her pace.

Bolgor reached the bottom of the bridge and took out his axe. “Troll under a bridge,” he said to himself as he turned. “I hate stereotypes.”

The troll was charging towards him. He had two arrows in his shoulders, three in his thighs, and one in his gut. He had gone from looking upset and mildly hangry, to feral. Bolgor braced himself as several hundred pounds of muscle and stupidity lunged at him. He muttered a small prayer to the Father and dashed to the side as the tree crashed to his left.

The troll was fast to pick it up, but Bolgor moved to close the gap. The troll raised his tree again, but several arcane missiles and arrows rained down on him from the bridge. He looked up at Bolgor’s party, and the Dwarf took the chance to hack away at his shins with the war axe. When the troll stood still, it was remarkably easy to break the hide, but Bolgor noted how thick it was. It felt like hacking at a tree more than a person, and Bolgor mentally reminded himself never to take another job with a troll involved.

The troll reached up and swung its tree at the party above. Bolgor heard some shouting and cursing as the tree thudded against the bridge. Bolgor cursed to himself. He had one job, take the hits. If the troll kept this up, Avana would have yet another thing to complain about.

Bolgor moved between the trolls legs and smiled to himself. “Sorry bud,” he said, and threw his war axe will all his might against the skimpy loincloth of the troll. Bolgor prayed in that moment that the troll was a boy troll, or else he’d have no axe and no good means for a distraction.

Bolgor’s aim was true and cruel as the war axe hit the troll between the legs. The troll made a sound which all men are familiar with, regardless of race: the sound of dignity fleeing the body, of pain becoming thy cruel and only master. The troll’s knees shot together, and it crumbled down in pain.

Bolgor didn’t hesitate. He charged the troll and rammed him in the thigh with his shield as hard as he could. It wobbled backwards, and fell on its ass.

“Drop this bitch,” he hissed into his earring.

Without fail, several more arrows thudded into the troll’s chest. A floating white mace made of golden light, hovered in front of the troll and slapped it in the face.

“Take cover,” said Finn, and Bolgor scrambled backwards on his hands crab-style, abandoning his shield, as a giant bolt of lightning slammed into the troll. Bolgor felt his beard and hair rise into the air and towards the troll as it spasmed on the ground.

Bolgor seized the moment, getting onto his feet and grabbing the handaxes from his belt. He ran and jumped onto the troll’s body, scrambling up to the troll’s torso, using the arrows all over his body as hand grips. He stood on the troll’s chest. The beast was dazed and almost passed out, its eyes unfocused. Bolgor turned and looked at his companions. They all watched, Avana with an arrow nocked and ready, Beth with glowing hands of white light, and Finn with cackling blue energy dancing over his fingertips.

Bolgor smiled widely, raised one of his handaxes, and shouted, “For the Father!” He turned and began to slash into the troll’s chest, his axes glowing a pale yellow as divine energy poured from him, from the Father, and carved a crater out of the troll’s chest. So thorough was his zeal, that he never saw the arrow wounds on the troll’s body close up. All he saw was the pats on the shoulder when they returned to Elfzagerek as all the other Zoldak heard that Bolgor killed a troll. He could hear Finn retelling it now, Bolgor running through the streets avoiding trees being thrown at him, and the final scene with Bolgor on the troll’s chest, hands and beard covered in blood, while he hacked away at the unconscious troll like a roasted pig at a Hill Dwarf barbecue.

Bolgor’s arms grew tired and the troll remained still. Bolgor smiled and tossed his axes to the side, never missing an opportunity to be dramatic. He hopped off the troll’s chest and turned towards the town. Rows of people were lined up, keeping a safe distance, but watching the battle.

Bolgor spread his arms wide and shouted, “Is there no one else?” There was a silence as bits of troll gore dripped off Bolgor’s beard. “Are you not entertained?” shouted the Dwarf. His smile was manic, and his eyes were wide. Adrenaline had pushed all reason from his mind.

“You’re scaring them,” whispered Beth in the earring. “Calm down.”

“You have nothing to fear,” shouted Bolgor, still using his stage voice. “We have slain your troll. The sheep will be safe. All will be well in Himmeldorf once more.”

“Somebody kill me now,” muttered Avana.

“Bro, calm down,” said Finn.

Bolgor turned around and saw the heavyset wizard right behind him. Finn put his arm behind Bolgor’s shoulder and guided him up on top of the bridge with the rest of the party.

“We should loot the body,” said Bolgor was they walked together.

“What, you think he’s got gold in that loincloth?”

“Well … no.”

“Not any gold we want to touch,” said Finn.

“Fair point.”

“What else do you want? A plus one tree?”

Bolgor smiled. “Not that either.”

“Then let’s get paid in gold, thanks, and hopefully a free night in a tavern. You could … uh … use a bath.” Finn pulled a stray strand of troll intestines out of Bolgor’s beard.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Hot,” said Finn.

“Well,” sighed Bolgor. “We did it.”

“A troll did it,” said Avana.

“Apparently.”

“How did you figure it out?” asked Finn.

“It was elementary, my dear Watson,” said Bolgor as he mimed taking a pipe out of his mouth.

“You know Sherlock Holmes never uttered those words?” said Beth. Avana hissed. “Sorry,” muttered Beth.

“Really?” asked Finn. “It’s like his catchphrase.”

“Yeah, I call BS.”

“Google it,” said Beth. “Never says it.”

“Odd,” said Bolgor. “Anyways, it was mostly an accident.”

“How so?”

“Well, Mrs. Anders had seen something huge carrying off the sheep. I went to talk to her, and it just attacked us. I figured that was the huge thing.”

“And it what, was silencing the witnesses?” asked Avana.

“That sounds like several IQ points above a troll’s allotted amount.”

“Studies show that you can grow your IQ,” said Beth. “It’s not fixed.”

“Uh … thanks,” muttered Finn. “Anyways, that’s like, a little bit susp -”

Behind them, the right side of the bridge crumpled down as two huge, bloody, and meaty troll hands began to claw at it. All of them looked to see the troll, back on its feet, the crater in its chest closed and scarred over, as it tried to climb up the bridge or bring it down.

“Uh … shit?” said Bolgor. He reached for his war axe but found nothing. He was completely unarmed. In the same moment, Avana rolled away, shouting as her wound opened back up. Beth scrambled back, giving a shriek.

“Fire,” said Finn. “We need fire.”

“How do you know that?” asked Avana. She stood, slipped a dagger from her thigh, and threw it add the troll. It hit pommel side up on the troll’s face. “Shit,” muttered the elf as she unslung her bow.

“Fought one in my last campaign,” said the wizard. “Fire and acid.”

“Dude, that’s metagaming,” said Bolgor. He turned and looked at Finn. “Not cool.”

“What?” shrugged Finn. “Would you rather die? Look, let’s just say I figured it out when I hit him with fire in the face. He clearly doesn’t like fire.”

“No, dude, you’ve put us in a shitty spot.”

Behind them, the troll was back, ripping the bridge apart stone by stone. Avana released arrow after arrow into its face, shoulders, and hands, but it kept coming.

“Guys,” said Beth, releasing blasts of radiant energy from her hands at the troll, causing it to glow.

“What do you mean? What shitty spot? I know its weakness. I believe the answer you’re looking for is ‘thank you.’”

“Nah, dude, because now if we use fire to kill it, we can’t justify that. It’ll be metagaming. So now I have to bumble around attacking a troll without fire pretending I don’t know its weakness just to keep up appearances?”

“What appearances? Just hit it, man.”

“I’m not using acid or fire,” said Bolgor, putting his hands on his hips.

“You don’t have acid or fire,” sighed Finn.

“If I did, I wouldn’t use it.”

“Guys,” said Beth again. She and Avana were stepping backwards, trying to keep their distance from the troll as the bridge crumbled around them. Avana kept firing arrows, but eventually they would fall out, the wounds closing.

“Okay, but I’m going to use fire on it,” said Finn.

“You better not,” said Bolgor.

“Why not?”

“That’s metagaming.”

“So I should pretend to be ignorant because I know the answer.”

“You know the answer. Finn doesn’t.”

“How the hell is Finn supposed to figure it out?”

“Now we’ll never know,” sighed Bolgor. “How do you like that?”

“Shit,” said Finn. He threw Bolgor to the side as a tree smacked the wizard in the side, sending him twenty feet backwards and off the other side of the bridge.

“Finn!” shrieked Beth.

Bolgor and Beth ran to the edge of the non-troll side of the bridge and saw Finn harmlessly floating down to the ground below.

“Can I shoot it with fire now?” shouted Finn, his face matted with blood from his forehead.

“Fine!” shouted Bolgor.

He turned around and glared down the troll. Already, more than half of the bridge was gone. Avana was out of arrows and daggers. She pulled a thin short sword out of her black leather boot and was prepared to charge or hack off fingers, whichever came first.

“What do we do?”

“Nobody hits my wizard with a tree,” said Bolgor. “Nobody.”

***