Chapter 16

  The Troll King

  Once we’d made sure that Kaelis wasn’t going to die from internal bleeding, Rel and I decided to do a little exploring of our own. We let our ‘disciple’ know that he had all the knowledge he needed to achieve greatness and that we’d be back by the end of the day to check on his progress.

  We headed straight for the entrance to Floor Two, quickly disposing of any creatures unfortunate enough to cross our paths.

  Rel was very pleased when we encountered the firedile at the end of Floor One. He made me stand there and eat one of the creature’s fireballs. I actually didn’t mind though; it burnt away all the bear saliva that had congealed in my hair.

  Once the creature realised that its spell had no effect whatsoever, Rel swaggered forward, a fireball of his own roaring to life at the tip of his tail.

  “You call that a fireball?” he said, snorting derisively. He grinned evilly as the creature slowly backed away. “No, that wasn’t a fireball. This is a fireball!”

  He spun around, his tail swishing through the air, and the fireball raced forth like a meteor.

  The creature was reduced to a smoking crater.

  Rel shook his head with theatrical disappointment.

  “Amateur.”

  * * *

  Our second visit to Floor Two began in a very similar fashion to the first - with an attempted ambush. Apparently, the trolls had very few tricks up their sleeves and another one of them tried the ‘blend in with the wall for a surprise attack’ approach.

  Rel and I had been paying very little attention to our surroundings. Instead, we were deeply engrossed in a conversation about art.

  Yes, you heard that right. Art.

  I’m not an entirely uncultured swine.

  Just mostly.

  “I know people say taste in art is very subjective, but surely we can agree that some art is just objectively shit. Sure, some people might say an awful painting ‘speaks to them’ because they’re pretentious douches, but if they were really being honest, they’d admit it’s crap,” I said to Rel, who had found a stick that looked a little like a staff on Floor One and now used it as a walking stick.

  He looked rather wise. It’s just a shame that the illusion was shattered the moment he opened his mouth.

  “Yes,” he said, raising a paw to stroke the fur on his chin. “I think that’s true. And just as art can be objectively shit, it can also objectively be a masterpiece. Take my new hat for example…”

  His train of thought was interrupted by a deafening battle cry as a troll leapt at us from where it had blended in with the wall.

  The back of my hand shot out to meet it. The entire top half of its body was vaporised by the force of the blow, painting the wall in an explosion of blood.

  I stopped and examined the blood spatter.

  “See, take this for example,” I said, gesturing for Rel to take a look. “On Earth, some people would call this art. They’d say the blood spatter represents something deep and profound. Perhaps it symbolises the futility of struggle – the idea that no matter how hard you work, or the heights you reach, it all still eventually ends in death.”

  “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” said Rel, eyeing the blood spatter scornfully before turning back to me. “Anyway, we were discussing the aesthetic merits of my new hat…”

  * * *

  Word of our impending arrival had clearly spread, and when we reached the troll king’s lair, they had prepared quite the welcome party for us.

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  Hundreds of trolls lay in wait.

  The cavern was enormous and appeared to be their version of a town. Honestly, I was rather impressed by the place. If it weren’t for the fact they’d tried to kill me and my friends several times, I’d have clapped them on the back and given them a ‘good job, buddy!’

  Considering their home was a bunch of tunnels, I couldn’t imagine they had access to much in the way of building materials. Sure, there was plenty of stone, but what use was that without something to hold it together? To get around the issue, their ‘buildings’ had been dug into the walls themselves, like caves within a cave.

  The cavern itself seemed to act as a sort of communal area. Long tables and benches carved from stone were arranged in the centre, and an enormous cooking pot bubbled away over a roaring fire.

  It was around these that the waiting trolls had gathered.

  “Well,” I said, nodding towards the cauldron. “Either we’ve disturbed their dinner, or they’re intending for us to be their dinner.”

  They were going to be very disappointed.

  The crowd of trolls parted, and a towering figure ambled forward. The troll king. The others were big, but this guy was in a whole other league. He was jacked out of his goddamn mind. I swear, he had muscles in places where muscles were not supposed to exist; either it was a difference in troll physiology, or this guy had access to some absurdly potent steroids.

  I could imagine how the conversation with the pharmacist had gone.

  “Me want steroids.”

  “Absolutely, sir. What dosage would you like?”

  The troll king scratches his head, his brain no doubt running through a sequence of incredibly complex calculations to determine the optimal dosage.

  “All of it.”

  “That’s not a number, sir.”

  “ALL OF IT!”

  He wore chainmail, the metal a dark silver that glistened menacingly in the torchlight. It was only a vest, of course; it would be irresponsible to add sleeves that might hide his gains. Resting on his shoulder was a warhammer. A very big warhammer. I thought Kaelis’s axe had been silly, but this was on a different level.

  Enormous muscles? Enormous weapon? Perhaps trolls suffer from low self-esteem, too.

  His eyes brimmed with not-at-all restrained fury, and he turned to his underlings, gesturing angrily in our direction. I couldn’t make out the words, but I have no doubt he was eloquently explaining why our presence in their kingdom could not be tolerated. The other trolls seemed to agree because they all started stomping and shouting, working themselves into a frenzy.

  The troll king spun on the spot and lifted his warhammer high into the air, before sweeping it down to point directly at us. This was apparently the order to charge, because the horde streamed forward, bloodlust burning in their eyes.

  Rel laughed maniacally as a fireball burst to life at the tip of his tail.

  The charge came to a stumbling halt.

  Now, was it because of the fireball? Maybe.

  Was it because of the utterly demented look on Rel’s face? Most likely.

  Rel let out a disappointed humph when he saw they’d come to a stop. He turned to look at me, a mischievous smile curving his lips.

  “Check this out,” he whispered, before turning to face the troll king and raising his voice to a squeaky roar. “I think I’ve figured out how the trolls choose their king. They pick the biggest, ugliest bastard they can find and then pop a crown on his head!”

  I swear I saw a new vein pop into existence across the troll king’s forehead. I dreaded to think what his blood pressure must be like. He roared angrily at the cowardly trolls, shoving and swearing profusely, trying to get them moving.

  Eventually, it worked, and the trolls resumed their charge. Although based on the speed they were now moving, perhaps ‘charge’ was not the right word. It’s what I imagine a 100m sprint would look like if someone hosted it at a retirement home.

  Really, I can’t say I blamed them. I’m not sure I’d be willing to throw my life away because someone offended my boss’s incredibly fragile ego.

  Rel launched the fireball into the horde.

  The first troll it struck was probably the luckiest of them, instantly being reduced to a cloud of ash. The others in the immediate vicinity were not so lucky, a blast wave of fiery destruction radiating outwards. A familiar scent reached my nose, and I was slightly disturbed that I could now identify the smell of barbecued troll.

  Another fireball flared at the end of Rel’s tail, but he needn’t have bothered. The remaining trolls turned and fled, scattering like cockroaches as they streamed into the passages they’d carved into the walls.

  All that remained was the troll king.

  I felt a little bad for the guy as his facial expressions broadcast the debate currently taking place in his brain.

  Little furry creature call me ugly.

  Me not like being called ugly.

  Me want to crush little furry creature.

  But little furry creature make big fire.

  Big fire scary.

  What do?

  Rel and I stood and watched as the troll king worked the problem over in what passed for his mind.

  A minute passed.

  Then two.

  “Erm…” I said finally. “How long should we give him?”

  “I don’t know,” Rel replied, shrugging. “This might be more thinking than his brain’s done in years. Perhaps if we wait a little longer, it’ll explode.”

  It didn’t.

  A minute or so later, a furious bellow tore free from the troll king’s throat. Apparently, he’d decided that getting revenge for Rel’s insult mattered more than survival. As he barrelled towards us, I stepped forward to meet him.

  The troll king closed the distance in a few thunderous steps, stone cracking beneath his feet. He raised his warhammer overhead, his muscles somehow inflating even further, and he brought it down in a blow that would have flattened a house.

  I caught it.

  To be fair to the guy, those muscles weren’t just for show. The impact actually drove my feet a few inches into the stone.

  The troll king froze.

  Slowly, his gaze drifted upwards, noting the head of his hammer resting snugly in my hands. I watched as he processed the information, his narrowed eyes widening slowly.

  I stepped forward and, pleasantly surprised by my own flexibility, delivered a front kick to his stomach.

  Their king was no more, but the trolls now had several new pieces of art to interpret.