Death on the Pitch: Extra Time by Various Authors

Author:Various Authors
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2020-10-22T17:33:06+00:00

JOSH REYNOLDS

‘This is a mistake,’ Doc Morgrim growled. The thickset dwarf stood braced against the rail of the gondola, staring out of the window, listening to the omnipresent cacophony of creaks and groans. The Makaisson and Sons airship echoed constantly with the stress of travel through northern skies, and its crew were ever in motion, repairing this, tightening that, and muttering prayers to Grungni, Valaya, and whoever else might be listening.

Morgrim flinched with every squeak and squeal. He was of the opinion that if the venerable ancestors had wanted dwarfs to fly, they’d have given them golden wings and instruction manuals. Others didn’t agree, as the airship proved. Makaisson and Sons ran three flights a week from Praag to Sjoktraken, and once a month to the Dragon’s Hold. Airships were the latest thing and said to be safer than sea travel. Fewer dragons, at any rate.

‘No, this is an opportunity,’ replied Morgrim’s companion. Tyros Bundt was big for a human, mostly width-wise. The coach of the number-four-ranked Middenplatz Manglers was a former blitzer, one of the best Nuffle had ever seen fit to bless, and starting to run to fat, as the old muscles went flat from lack of use. Even so, he was still more than capable of prying an opponent’s skull open like a bottle of Bloodweiser.

‘It can be both,’ Morgrim said. In contrast to Bundt, Morgrim was as hard as slate. Beneath the greasy smock he habitually wore in his capacity as team sawbones, his broad form was covered in tattoos and scars. His hair and beard had been stiffened with bear fat and dyed in Manglers’ colours, giving him the look of someone who’d lost a fight with a feral rainbow. Despite his appearance, he was one of the best physicians in the league.

‘Stop ruining this. I’m happy. Why won’t you let me be happy?’

‘I’m a dwarf. We are not at home to happy.’ Morgrim thumped a fist against the side of the cupola and stared down at the white wasteland visible below. Norsca. Why did it have to be Norsca? The high, snow-capped crags below reached up towards the underside of the airship like the claws of some vast beast. Somehow, it looked worse from the air.

Morgrim had always hated Norsca. It wasn’t the cold, so much as everything that went with it. Also, the cold. He’d sworn never to set foot in these wild lands again, but Bundt had insisted. And Morgrim had taken an oath, on the field of battle, to always stand by his teammate. To stand by the manling who’d saved his unworthy life. ‘Never should have played in that game,’ he muttered.

‘What?’

‘This is a mistake.’

‘You already said that.’

‘And I intend to keep saying it until you listen.’ Morgrim turned from the window. ‘The Tournament of a Hundred Woes is a meat grinder. It’s chewed up and spat out more teams than I can name.’

‘Then it’s due an upset.’

‘I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.’ Somehow, the Manglers had been invited to the tournament.

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