[Blood Bowl 01] - Blood Bowl

by Matt Forbeck - (ebook by Undead)

Lästiges had assembled a cadre of “anonymous sources” who swore to Nuffle that Dunk had been behind a large number of the off-field casualties surrounding the tournaments over the past year. This included the murders of the prospects in the Hackers’ training camp before the Spike! Magazine Tournament, the killing of the Broussard brothers, the collapse of the dungeon in the Reavers-Champions of Death game, and the dissolution of Ramen-Tut, capped off by the slaying of Schlitz “Malty” Likker in the Chaos Cup semi-finals.

  Dunk had to admit that a disturbing number of people had died around him this year, and Lästiges had done a solid job of either lining up liars or fabricating accusations about him. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he was guilty too. She even tied him to some other killings he hadn’t even known had happened. He wondered for a moment if someone was wandering around disguised as him and killing people.

  As Dunk kept reading, he became more and more angry. True, he had killed Schlitz, but it was more like the poor, possessed minotaur had killed himself while trying to turn Dunk into paste. He had done nothing to be ashamed of, at least as far as these killings went.

  “This is awful,” Dunk said. “Lästiges is on a crusade for my head here, and if the Game Wizards believe this stuff, she might actually get it.”

  “Will they?” M’Grash asked, his boulder of a face filled with concern.

  Slick shrugged as Dunk handed him the magazine to read. “It’s possible. First, they’ve been following you and her around for much of the time she’s been ‘investigating’ you. Second, Spike! Magazine is the most important magazine in the sport. If the GWs don’t make an example out of Dunk, lots of other players might figure they can get away with this kind of stuff. The whole sport could dissolve in a rash of off-field murders.”

  Dunk shrugged nonchalantly. “What can they do to me? Suspend me for a few games? Kick me off the team?”

  “Publicly execute you?” said Slick. It wasn’t really a question. “You need to go back and read your contract more thoroughly.”

  Dunk sat up straight. “You said it was a ‘standard contract’!” Dunk protested.

  “That sort of stuff is standard!” Slick said.

  “Gah!” Dunk slouched back in his chair and put his hands over his face. “How did I get wound up in all this?”

  While Dunk sulked, Slick read the article, and M’Grash drank his bucket of beer. When the ogre set it down, his hands shook so badly that he nearly knocked it off the table.

  “You okay?” Dunk asked. “This article has really thrown you.” He leaned forward and put his hand on the ogre’s massive arm. “Don’t you worry about it, M’Grash.”

  “And why should he, Mr. Hoffnung?” Pegleg said as he walked into the hotel’s common room. “You can’t buy this kind of publicity!” He grinned from ear to ear.

  Dunk goggled at his coach for a moment. “What?”

  “This is the best thing that’s happened to us since we founded the team,” Pegleg said as he pulled up a chair and sat down. Dunk had never seen him so excited. “We’re going to have teams lining up to play us after this, and the venues will have to offer us a better cut of the gate to make it worth our while.”

  “So, this is good?”

  Pegleg put his hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “No, Mr. Hoffnung, it’s phenomenal.” Then he leaned in conspiratorially and said, “So, when do you think you might kill again?”

  Dunk froze. He couldn’t believe the coach’s words.

  “You see, the trick is to not do it too often. You need to leave the public wanting more.” Pegleg waved the magazine at Dunk. “You have to avoid over saturation while still keeping yourself and the team in the public eye. It’s a fine line to walk.”

  “Coach.”

  “Also, if you are open to suggestions, there are some people in the game that might be better dead than others, if you know what I mean. I can provide you with a list and reasons for each if you like.”

  “Coach.”

  “Or just let your murderous appetites lead you where they may. They’ve done well by you so far. Perhaps it’s best to not mess with a savant’s instincts, eh?”

  “Coach!” Dunk glared at the startled Pegleg until he was sure the man would be silent. “I didn’t do it. None of it!”

  “Come now, Mr. Hoffnung. I saw you kill Schlitz myself, as did thousands of others. Masterfully done, by the way.”

  “That was self-defence! I didn’t touch any of the others.”

  A light went on under Pegleg’s yellow tricorn, and he favoured Dunk with a knowing smile. “I see. If that’s the way you like it, Mr. Hoffnung, then so be it. I’m just as pleased either way.”

  With that, Pegleg stood and left with a tip of his hat and a sly wink at Dunk.

  “Dunkel,” M’Grash said. The rookie looked up at the ogre, who seemed to be near to tears.

  “Yes?” Dunk said, putting his hand on M’Grash’s monstrous mitt.

  “We talk?” The ogre looked as if he might burst if he didn’t get to say his piece soon.

  “Go ahead,” Dunk said. “You can tell us anything.”

  M’Grash looked sidelong at Slick. “Talk alone?”

  Slick gave the ogre a good-natured smile. “I can tell when I’m not wanted, big guy. I’ll leave the two of you to your chat.”

  As Slick rose from the table, he walked behind the ogre and mouthed at Dunk, “Tell me later.”

  Dunk stifled a laugh and waved the halfling off. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?” he asked M’Grash.

  The ogre nodded, so Dunk led him from the common room and up into his own quarters. M’Grash had to bend down to get through the door, but once inside he was comfortable enough.

  “So,” Dunk asked, a little amused by the sight of the ogre sitting on the floor of his parlour, as none of the chairs were close to large enough. Even the couch would have been crushed under M’Grash’s bulk. “What do you have to say?”

  The ogre’s faced reddened and screwed up horribly. Dunk braced for an ear-splitting wail, but it never came. Instead, M’Grash whimpered and pointed a trembling finger at the copy of Spike! Magazine still in Dunk’s hand.

  “Me,” the ogre rasped. “My fault.”

  Dunk shook his head. “Don’t be silly, M’Grash,” he said. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Lästiges for writing such lies.”

  “No,” M’Grash said, his voice louder now. He pointed at his chest sombrely. “Killed them. Me.”

  Dunk cocked his head at his monstrous friend as what M’Grash was trying to tell him finally dawned on him. “You,” he said, collapsing on the couch as he tried to absorb this.

  “You killed the other prospects in the camp?”

  M’Grash shook his head slowly as he wiped his wet eyes dry. “Broussards.”

  “Luc and Jacques killed all those people?”

  M’Grash nodded.

  “And then they planted that knife in my tent to make it look like I did it.”

  “Uh-huh. Wanted you off team.”

  Dunk blew out a long sigh. “It worked. If they hadn’t been killed, I never…” He shot M’Grash a hard look. “You killed them, didn’t you?”

  The ogre nodded. “Wanted Dunk with Hackers.”

  Dunk reached out and clapped M’Grash on his massive shoulder. “You got that, all right.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about M’Grash killing the Broussards, but he was sure they’d have been happy to do the same or worse to him. “Thanks, big guy.”

  “Ceiling?” M’Grash said. “Me.”

  Dunk’s eyes went wide as he thought of Dirk and Spinne nearly being killed. “No one actually died there,” he said slowly. “The Champions of Death got the worst of it, and they just needed to be unburied.” Several of the Reavers had been crushed to death of course, but Dunk was far from certain how capable the big ogre was of comprehending his actions; best not to burden him with distractions like the truth.

  Dunk narrowed his eyes at M’Grash. “You didn’t have anyth
ing to do with Ramen-Tut, did you?”

  “No. Was Kur. Magic knife.” The ogre pointed at his waist.

  “Ah. The belt-buckle blade.” Inside, Dunk breathed a sigh of relief. Kur had almost slain him with that same knife.

  “Why did you bring down the ceiling?” Dunk asked.

  “Coach wanted Dungeonbowl game.”

  “So you eliminated the team playing in the one spot that could be open to us.” Dunk marvelled at the ogre for a minute. “You’re not so dumb as people think.”

  M’Grash grinned widely, showing all his teeth. “Thanks!”

  “What about Schlitz?”

  M’Grash shook his head. “Saw wizard talk to Gobbo before game.”

  “So Gunther was behind it?” Dunk thought about this for a moment. “He must have wanted our team to lose. If he’s working with Zauberer, he probably knew I’d chase out there after the wizard and either get myself killed or kicked out of the game.”

  M’Grash nodded along, although Dunk suspected the ogre didn’t really understand. Still, he’d underestimated the ogre before, and he was wary of doing so again.

  “Anything else?” Dunk asked.

  M’Grash nodded. “Before you came. Killed Hackers.”

  Dunk forced himself to breathe slowly. “That’s why the Hackers were looking for so many new players. Why did you kill them, M’Grash?”

  The ogre frowned. “Mean people. Kill mean people.”

  Dunk smiled faintly. “Remind me to never be mean to you.”

  M’Grash gathered Dunk in a hug so tight and long that for a moment he feared he was to be the ogre’s next victim.

  “Dunkel friend!” M’Grash said as he set the gasping rookie down.

  “Yes,” Dunk wheezed as he looked up at the gentle killer. “The question now, though, is what do we do about all this?”

  29

  Before M’Grash could respond, there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” Dunk called.

  “Blaque and Whyte,” the dwarf Game Wizard’s gruff voice said. “We’d like to have a few words with you.”

  Dunk slipped around M’Grash and opened the door a few inches. He kept the side of his foot braced against the inside of it. The odd-sized elf and dwarf stood there in the hallway in their black robes, the words “Wolf Sports” embroidered across their chests.

  “What’s this about?” Dunk asked.

  “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Blaque said.

  “I just got back from the Chaos Cup,” Dunk said. “The place is a mess.”

  “Have you read the latest issue of Spike! Magazine yet?”

  Dunk grimaced. “I’m just getting to it now.”

  “I like that cover. It’s a good image of you. Don’t you like that cover, Whyte?”

  “Fantastic,” the elf said. “Almost like being there.”

  Dunk closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, the two GWs were still there. “I’m beat,” he told them. “I appreciate you checking in on me, but I’m going to bed.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t let you do that quite yet,” Blaque said.

  Dunk looked down and saw that the dwarf had wedged his foot in the gap in the door.

  “Hold on for a moment,” Dunk said as he held up a finger toward the GWs.

  Dunk turned toward M’Grash, who’d been watching him with a confused look on his face. He beckoned the ogre over, then pointed at the door and whispered in M’Grash’s ear, “Don’t kill them. Just slow them down.”

  The ogre grinned down at Dunk as he put his hand against the door.

  “My apologies,” Dunk said, poking his nose back through the gap in the door, “but I have to go.”

  “Look here,” Blaque began. Dunk noticed the two wizards now had wands in their hands.

  “Wish I could help,” Dunk said. “While I’m gone, my friend here will take care of you.”

  With that, Dunk turned and headed for the window.

  As Dunk urged Pferd to gallop faster on the road that headed south, toward Marienburg, he heard an explosion from the direction of the Hackers Hotel. He looked back toward his still-open window and saw a shower of sparks erupt from it, followed quickly by a medium-sized form in a black robe that went sailing into the bay.

  Dunk hoped M’Grash would get through the incident without being turned into a toad. Before the wizard in the water could spot him, he dug in his heels, urging Pferd to move faster than ever.

  Once Dunk had left Bad Bay far behind, he began to think what he might do next. Going back to the Hackers was out of the question for now. There were a couple months left until the next of the Majors: the legendary Blood Bowl itself. The team would be all right without him until he figured out what to do about the GWs and his growing reputation as a player-killer.

  As he headed south through the Wasteland, alongside the River Reik, his thoughts returned to his childhood and to the one person he always knew he could trust.

  The city of Altdorf lay somewhere down the road ahead of him. Lehrer lived in Altdorf. So Altdorf it was.

  The family keep still stood there in the heart of Altdorf’s wealthiest district. It was part of a collection of such places piled up on top of each other, each of them built to be more impressive than the last. As the birds darted in and out of the ivy-covered walls, Dunk’s thoughts turned to better days.

  Dunk had spent his entire childhood in the keep, never venturing any further than the limits of Altdorf itself, with the occasional jaunt a few leagues up or down the Reik. At the time, he’d never known he could ever want anything more. In many ways, Altdorf was the centre of civilisation, and the rest of the world just seemed like the wolves scratching at the door.

  Dunk waited outside the keep until dark, which came late in these last days of spring. He saw his target slip out of the place at dusk, dressed in the same grey cloak Dunk still remembered.

  Lehrer moved like a panther prowling through the city’s undergrowth, constantly on the lookout for other predators. He sauntered past Dunk, keeping to the shadows, and moved silently down the street. Dunk waited for him to pass, then followed him as he ducked into a dark alley.

  When Dunk entered the alley, he found it bare but for a few scraps of litter blowing in the breeze shunted down the narrow passage. He drew his sword as he stepped into the darkness and said quietly, “I only want to talk.”

  Dunk parried the blade that cut at him from the darkest part of the shadows. He knew Lehrer would be there, just as he knew he’d be dead if he hadn’t been prepared for the blow. His old teacher didn’t care to ask questions of people outside of the keep’s walls.

  “It’s been a long time, kid,” Lehrer said as he moved into the half-light of a nearby streetlamp pouring into one corner of the alley. “I hear you been keeping busy.”

  The shorter Lehrer drew back his hood and glared at Dunk, who recognised that look from his long hours in the man’s training; slightly impressed, but never enough to really show it. The slight man’s silver hair matched the grey of his eyes now and blended in well with his cloak and the drab colours of Altdorf by night.

  “Not as busy as some might say,” Dunk answered, sheathing his blade.

  “Warmed my heart to see you and your brother in the same line of work,” Lehrer said. He kept his sword out, although he lowered its tip to the ground.

  “I doubt my parents would have said the same.”

  “Greta would appreciate the gold you’re making,” Lehrer said with an ironic smile. “Lugner would care more about the kills.”

  Dunk snorted softly. “Have you heard from them?” he asked, struggling to keep any taint of hope from his voice.

  “Not a peep,” Lehrer said. “The Guterfeinds are still looking for them, but they’ve not had a lick of luck yet.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing on. “They’re looking for you too.”

  Dunk nodded. “I,” he started, “I thought I could make a name for myself as a hero. You know, slaying dragons and all that.”

&n
bsp; “Gold and glory.”

  “Right.”

  “You’ve been listening to too many stories,” Lehrer said.

  Dunk shook his head. “So it seems. I just wanted to be able to come back here and save everyone, to make things right.”

  “It’s going to take more than fame and fortune to do that kid.” When Dunk’s face fell, the old teacher added. “At least it would give you more choices about how to do it.”

  “Maybe.” Dunk began to wonder if this was all a mistake.

  “Dirk had the right idea,” Lehrer said. “Leave here and get himself set up in a whole new life. He never looked back.”

  “Ironic he got traded to the Reavers then and ended up back here.”

  Lehrer laughed. It was a low sound bereft of humour. “That’s fate for you.”

  Dunk waited for Lehrer to say something more. When that didn’t happen, he realised his old teacher was waiting for him.

  “I’m in some serious trouble,” Dunk said.

  “So I read.”

  “What can I do about it?”

  Lehrer stuck out his chin. “I take it fighting’s not an option.”

  Dunk shook his head. “It involves wizards. There’s only two of them right now, but there could be more at any moment.”

  “Did you do it?”

  Dunk’s breath caught in his throat. “What’s that?”

  “Did you kill all those people?”

  Dunk frowned. “Does it matter?”

  “Not to me,” the old man said, shifting his weight.

  “I need to make this go away,” Dunk said. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to settle in a major city for the rest of my life.”

  “If the Game Wizards put a bounty on your head, you can expect more hassles than that.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Well,” Lehrer said, “if there’s anything my time with the Guterfeinds has taught me, it’s that no job is complete until you pin the blame on someone else.”

  Dunk grunted. “After so many years with our family, how can you work for those people?”

  Lehrer eyed Dunk carefully. “They’re not all bad. Your family wasn’t all good either.”