[Blood Bowl 01] - Blood Bowl

by Matt Forbeck - (ebook by Undead)

  “I knew it would happen eventually,” Pegleg said. “I just didn’t know when. I’d hoped…” He fell silent for a moment and Dunk wondered if he was about to cry.

  “I’d hoped it would be next season, sometime, anytime, after this game.” Pegleg crumpled up the hat and wig in his hands. “Just once,” he said, staring dully into Dunk’s eyes. “Just once, I wanted to be a champion.”

  Dunk reached out and put his hand on Pegleg’s knee. “Coach,” he said, “I think there’s still a chance that could happen.”

  35

  As Dunk charged back out through the tunnel after the rest of the team for the game’s second half, Slick reached up and caught his arm. “Hold on a moment, son,” he said. “I have someone who wants to have a chat with you.”

  Fearing it was the Gobbo, Dunk tried to pull away. “Not now, Slick,” he said, “I have a game to play.”

  Slick grabbed on with both hands, though, and insisted. “Trust me, son,” he said. “I set up a quick interview with you on live Cabalvision. Think what it’ll do for your career!”

  “Look,” Dunk stopped and said, “you should get out of here, distance yourself from me.”

  Slick narrowed his eyes at Dunk. “Now why would I do something like that, son?”

  Dunk grimaced and checked to make sure no one else was listening. The tunnel was empty again. “I’m going to double-cross the Gobbo. From here on out, I’m playing to win.”

  Slick grinned. “You don’t know how pleased I am to hear that.” Then he grew concerned again. “But what about the GWs? The only reason I turned you in there was I figured you’d go free at the end of the game. If that was so, then why let all that lovely reward money go to waste.”

  Slick reached down and tousled the halfling’s curly hair. “I figured,” he said. Then he sighed. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do about them. Right now, I’m just going to play the best game I can and let the dragon’s scales fall where they may.”

  Slick grinned. “In that case, you really should do this interview.”

  Dunk let out a good-natured groan and let his agent lead him by the hand out of the tunnel. When he emerged into the sunlight the crowd roared its approval. Before he could turn to acknowledge it he found Lästiges stepping right into his face.

  “Thanks, Jim!” the reporter said to someone Dunk couldn’t see as she turned to him. He noticed a small golden ball hovering next to them, a small, eye-sized hole pointing first and her and then him, flickering back and forth between the two.

  “I’m down here on the field with Dunk Hoffnung, the rookie sensation slash mass murderer, whose story seems to have taken Blood Bowl fans everywhere by storm.” Dunk heard Lästiges voice booming above him like that of some sharp-tongued goddess. The crowd cheered in response to her words.

  “Tell me, Dunk,” Lästiges said as the eye in the golden ball pointed toward the thrower, “how does it feel to be playing in what we’re told will be your last game with the Hackers?”

  Dunk grinned. “Don’t tell me they’re talking about trading me already.” His voice boomed alongside Lästiges’s — or so it seemed. He was sure he couldn’t really sound so confident as that voice did.

  Lästiges smiled like a crocodile at Dunk’s response. “I’m referring to the bounty placed on your head, which the Game Wizards tell me was claimed by your former agent. Tell me how it must have felt to be betrayed like that.”

  Dunk just smiled again. “My current agent, you mean,” he said, gesturing down to Slick standing beside him. The floating camra pointed down at the naming, who watched himself waving at the crowd, his face almost fifty feet high. “Anyone who can get that kind of money out of Wolf Sports is a keeper! My only question is whether I get the standard ten percent!”

  Lästiges smiled wider, and this time it almost seemed real. “Rumour has it you tricked Da Deff Skwadd into nearly beating to death Kur Ritternacht last night, opening the way to your start in today’s game. Can you comment on that?”

  Dunk opened his mouth but then slammed it shut again when he saw someone hobbling up behind Lästiges on a new set of crutches. “Here comes Kur right now,” he said, pointing at the veteran thrower who was stamping his way along the sidelines toward Dunk. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? I’ve got a championship to win!”

  With that Dunk trotted on to the field, leaving Lästiges and Kur behind. As he went he heard Slick say, “That’s an amazing rig you have there, miss. Do you mind if I have a look at it?”

  The second half of the game was much different than the first. Before the two teams lined up for the kick-off, Dunk met Dirk and Spinne in the centre of the field again.

  “New game plan,” Dunk announced with a grin. “We’re going to whoop your ass.”

  Spinne was stunned. “You’re not worried about the Game Wizards?”

  “It’s a trick,” Dirk said, measuring his brother’s reaction.

  Dunk shook his head. “I’m not worried about any of that anymore. Just look around you. See where we are.” He flung his arms wide as if he could throw then around the entire stadium. This is the Blood Bowl. The Blood Bowl. We may never have a chance to play in a game like this again. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to waste it on someone like Skragger or Gunther the Gobbo.”

  Dirk frowned. “Nothing’s changed. You just want us to try to beat you.”

  “No,” Spinne said, intrigued. “I think he’s serious.”

  “You can try to beat us,” Dunk said, “but you’re going to have to play your best to do it.”

  “If you want to win so badly, why tell us?” Spinne asked.

  Dunk smiled at her and then chucked his brother on the side of his helmet. “I’d love to win, but I came here to play!”

  The whistle blew, and Dunk trotted into his position at the far end of the field, so excited to finally play for real that he practically bounced along the Astrogranite. When the ball came sailing through the air, he made a running dive and came up with it. Directing Kai, Henrik, Lars, and Karsten to form a line for him, he made some good yardage forward while Cavre and Simon blasted downfield to get open for a pass.

  Meanwhile, Dunk motioned for M’Grash to get in front of him and charge forward. Dunk pumped his arm downfield, faking a pass to Carve, then blasted right through the hole the ogre had opened for him. He was halfway to the end zone before any of the Reavers came close to touching him, and he raced straight past them.

  Only Dirk stood between Dunk and the goal line now. As Dunk sprinted closer to where his brother waited for him, he could see that the younger Hoffnung still hadn’t made up his mind about whether or not Dunk was really here to play, and he smiled to himself.

  Dirk had the angle on Dunk and came at him just shy of the end zone. Rather than trying to juke around his brother, Dunk lowered his shoulder and drove into him as hard as he could, his legs pumping like a stallion at full gallop.

  Dunk smashed into Dirk’s chest and knocked his brother back into the end zone. He followed after him, holding the ball into the air as he crossed the goal line, soaking up the crowd’s rabid cheers.

  As he passed by Dirk, Dunk spiked the ball right into his brother’s helmet. It bounced high off Dirk’s head and landed in the stands. The fans there went wild, screaming, “Dunk! Dunk! Dunk!”

  Dirk stood up and beckoned for his older brother to come over to him. When Dunk complied, the two butted their helmets against each other like rutting rams.

  “All right,” Dirk said. “You wanna play? Let’s go!”

  With the score now tied, it was a real game once again. The Hackers and Reavers faced off against each other like two punch-drunk boxers, throwing everything they had into every punch, hoping for a knockout blow.

  The Reavers scored next. Dirk connected with Spinne for a long bomb that put her in the end zone. Dunk raced up behind Spinne, hoping to intercept the ball, but it was just out of his reach. He then tried to tackle her, but she put on a burst of speed and left him i
n her dust.

  As Spinne danced around the end zone, celebrating her victory, Dunk had the chance to take a cheap shot at her and knock her into the stands. Instead, he crept up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and said, “Boo!”

  Spinne nearly jumped out of her armour, and Dunk dashed away before she could take her revenge. The crowd exploded into laughter and shouted for more.

  When the next kick-off came to the Hackers, M’Grash somehow ended up with the ball and managed not to drop it. Confused, the ogre glanced around for some sort of direction. He was used to hitting people carrying the ball, not handling it himself.

  “Go, go, go!” Dunk shouted. “I’m right behind you!”

  With a wild, ear-shattering howl, M’Grash launched himself straight down the field like a mad bull, only much more dangerous and bigger. Reaver after Reaver stepped up to take him on, only to find themselves face down in the Astrogranite. Eventually they brought him down, only yards from the end zone, but it took six of them to do it, one on each limb another on his head, and the last, Dirk, stripping the ball.

  Dirk landed hard and rolled away from M’Grash before the ogre toppled over onto him but held on to the ball and scrambled to his feet. Looking downfield, he didn’t have anyone open. Most of his team was still prying themselves loose from M’Grash. So he tucked the ball under his arm and sprinted ahead.

  Dunk knew that he had to stop his brother or it would be another Reaver touchdown for sure. He looked up at the clock and saw that time was running out. If the Reavers scored again here, the game would be over. There would be no catching them.

  Dunk charged straight at Dirk, who corrected his course to avoid his brother’s path, angling toward the far sideline. Dunk changed his route as well, putting the two of them on a collision course well shy of the end zone.

  When the two brothers reached each other, Dirk juked left, then right, in a vain attempt to throw off Dunk’s tackle. Dunk, though, remembered his training. He kept his eyes on Dirk’s waist, not his shoulders or feet, and he threw his arms wide to wrap them around his brother and bring him down.

  Dunk hit Dirk hard enough to dent both armours. Dirk grunted and started to topple, but as he did he managed to get rid of the ball.

  Dunk crushed Dirk to the ground. He smiled as he heard the air whoosh from his brother’s lungs. He’d done his job well. He was a good Blood Bowl player, maybe even a great one, and he knew it.

  The crowd erupted into a mind-numbing cheer, and Dunk wondered what had happened. He rolled off of Dirk and looked back toward the end zone to see Spinne standing there alone, holding the ball triumphantly over her head.

  Dunk looked up at the Cabalvision images playing on the wall high over the end zone. On the replay, he saw Dirk’s pass wobble along like a wounded duck until Spinne plucked it from the air and carried it the last few steps into the end zone.

  The Reavers now had a two-touchdown lead. The game was over. The Hackers had lost.

  “Sorry, Dunk,” Dirk said as he stood up and offered his brother a hand. “The best team won.”

  “Hey,” Dunk said wistfully, “it’s not all bad. We actually got to play. And at least now I can get the Gobbo to hand over Zauberer to take the blame for those killings.”

  Spinne charged over and grabbed Dirk in a victorious embrace. “We did it!” she screamed. “Reavers win!” The crowd echoed her over and over as the rest of the Reavers rushed over to them and grabbed them up as they exulted over their triumph.

  A large hand fell on Dunk’s shoulder as he took off his helmet. “Tried Dunk,” the ogre said as Dunk turned toward him. A tear as large as an apple fell from the creature’s eye.

  “It’s all right big guy,” Dunk said, patting M’Grash’s arm. “We did the best we could.” He blew out a big sigh. “I guess there’s always next year.”

  As Dunk spoke, he looked over to the sidelines to see Blaque and Whyte waiting for him there. He flipped them a quick salute. “Or, maybe not.”

  Dunk started to make the long walk back to the Hackers dugout when someone grabbed his arm and whipped him around. It was Spinne. She wrapped her arms around him and planted the most incredible kiss Dunk had ever experienced square on his lips.

  After a stunned moment. Dunk brought his arms up around Spinne and returned the kiss, his passion matching her own. The crowd bellowed its approval.

  “Hi,” Dunk said as they broke their embrace. “I think they like it.”

  “Nothing like a little sex to spice up the violence,” Spinne said. Then, with a wink, she was gone, back to celebrate the Reavers’ victory with her team.

  “Wait!” Dunk said. “Sex?” But she was too far away already to hear.

  While Dunk stared after Spinne, Dirk came up and chucked him on the shoulder. “Good game,” Dirk said. He stuck out his hand, and Dunk took it and pulled his brother into a back-thumping hug.

  “By my count,” Dunk said, “that last pass of yours broke Skragger’s record.”

  Dirk smirked. “You know,” he said, slinging an arm around Dunk, “I think you’re right.”

  “So,” Dunk said, “what are we going to do about him?”

  “Skragger?” Dirk said with a swagger. “Against the Brothers Hoffnung? He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  36

  Dunk stood on the sidelines and looked up at the stage a horde of halflings had hauled into the centre of the field for the presentation of the Blood Bowl cup to the Reavers. The cup itself, a travelling trophy that stayed with the winning team for only a year at a time, was a mithril and gold cup covered with skulls and spikes. Dunk could have sworn that he saw the eye sockets of one of the skulls glowing with red malevolence, but he was too far away to be sure.

  “Good work, kid,” a voice behind Dunk said. He turned to see Gunther the Gobbo standing there, a greasy, gap-toothed grin on his face, a furry bit of rat-on-a-stick still caught between his incisors. “You just made me a fortune.”

  “I’m sure,” Dunk said with a frown. He’d gotten what he thought he’d wanted, but it left him feeling hollow inside.

  “No, kid, really,” the Gobbo said in a low voice. “Didn’t you ever wonder why the Reavers were trying to lose so hard?” His eyes gleamed with daemonic delight.

  “Skragger threatened my brother,” Dunk said.

  “Sure, sure,” the Gobbo said, grinning. “Skragger’s been a Black Jersey from way back.”

  Dunk blinked at that. “You mean you wanted the Reavers to lose?”

  The Gobbo’s grin grew so wide that Dunk expected the top of his head to flip backward.

  “You played both sides here, didn’t you?” Dunk said gaping at the grimy, flabby creature. “You betrayed the Black Jerseys to line your own pockets.”

  “Think whatever you want to, kid,” the Gobbo said. “I’ll just say one thing: nothing pays like treachery.” He patted Dunk on the arm and turned to leave. Before he did, he said one last thing.

  “By the way, as far as the GWs go, you’re on your own. Pleasure doing business with you, kid.”

  Dunk’s heart sank as he watched the bookie stroll down the field to chat with Skragger, who stood fuming in one of the end zones.

  In the centre of the field, the Reavers accepted the Blood Bowl cup. Dirk raised it high above his head, and the crowd erupted with nearly insane applause.

  To Dunk, it seemed like a Cabalvision broadcast from someplace far, far away. He felt a tiny hand reach up and grab one of his. He looked down and saw Slick smiling up at him. The halfling’s happiness tore at Dunk’s misery, and he felt the corners of his own mouth tugging upward.

  “Give me some good news, Slick,” Dunk said. “I could use some right now.”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely, son, I’d be happy to.” The halfling rubbed his chin as he spoke, a sure sign he’d been up to something. “While you were playing your heart out, I had a long conversation with Lästiges.”

  “Selling the rights to my execution?”

  “Of co
urse not,” Slick said in mock horror. “For those, I’d hold an auction with the Cabalvision networks. Something like that’s too big for a sidelines deal.

  “However, I did strike a deal with her. She gets the exclusive rights to your story, for this past season, that is. In exchange, she does me a small but vital favour that will help us all.”

  Dunk squinted at the halfling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Slick, but I’m glad you’re on my side.” He smiled as Slick trotted off to talk with Blaque and Whyte, who were standing at the entrance to the tunnel that led to the Hackers’ locker room.

  It was then that Dunk felt the tip of a knife prick his side. “You little bastard,” a voice said in Dunk’s ear. “You ruined everything.”

  Dunk’s breath caught in his throat, and he said softly, “Hi, Kur.”

  The Hackers’ injured thrower pulled the tip of his knife slowly from Dunk’s kidney toward his spine. The rookie felt his blood well up under the blade’s razor-sharp caress.

  “Make a move, and I’ll kill you where you stand,” Kur said.

  “Had a rough day?” Dunk said with false concern.

  “I’m with a group called the Black Jerseys,” Kur said. “We run things around here. No one wins a Blood Bowl without our say so. And you’ve messed that up.”

  “My deepest apologies,” Dunk said. As he finished, he felt the knife jab into his skin, just a little, enough to make him want to jump. Instead he gritted his teeth.

  “Don’t you dare mock me,” Kur said. “You think you’re so damned clever. Well, this is the end of the road, smart guy. The Hackers were supposed to win today. I was supposed to lead us to victory. And you bollocksed it all up.”

  “So now you’ll kill me with that little knife of yours, just like Ramen-Tut?”

  “Just like I’ve killed dozens of players. Scores, maybe, you high-bred moron. You’re just another notch on the crest of my helmet. I don’t spend my nights out drinking with ‘friends’ like that post of an ogre of yours. I’m out there carving out my future, my legacy, in blood.”