Manticore Rampant

Ch 11 - The Long Arm of the Troll

Whirling, spinning faster and faster, much as her world now seemed to spin around her, the dwarf approached the climax of his performance, moving into the centre of the alley and then, with a final, convulsive spring, soaring into the air, turning a complete somersault and landing lightly at her feet.

Breathing deeply, ruddy features aglow, eyes alight with the simple and pure joy of being alive, he gazed into her face as they shared a look of complete understanding and accord, in the deep and unspoken atavistic bond of the dance. And then—the look of simple and pure joy becoming just a little less pure—he knocked her out cold with a single crisp uppercut, right to the tip of her pointed chin.

Silence reigned in the alley. Rubbing his knuckles, Hobe gazed down at the fallen goblin.

"Interpret that, sunshine."

And then, as Carri and Slash broke into spontaneous, stunned and rapturous applause, he bowed.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here, then?"

At the sound of the voice behind him, Slash paused in the act of backing out of the alley. He considered the unconscious assassin, whose ankles he was clutching, the shirtless dwarf holding her by the other end, and the elf coming up behind them, cradling two swords and a very large axe. Now was hardly the time for conversations with curious passers-by.

"Um. Nothing?" he ventured.

"Nothing, my arse. Nice try, matey. I wasn't born yesterday, you know."

Slash resumed backing. "Look, our friend just had one too many, alright? So, we're taking her home to sleep it off. Not that it's any of your business." It seemed some people couldn't take a hint.

"None of my business? Ha! I'll decide what's my business, thanks very much. And around these parts, everything's my business. Now, I suggest you put down that goblin pretty damn quick smart and start telling me the truth right about bloody now, otherwise I just might start to get a bit cross. And believe me, you don't want that."

"Cross?" In exasperation, Slash turned his head to see just what manner of idiot they were dealing with. "Keep talking that way and you'll soon see what cross looks..."

He swallowed. Standing behind him in the afternoon sunlight, with passing pedestrians giving it a wide and wary berth, was a troll. A particularly large example of the species, which, given largeness was pretty much one of the key defining attribute of being a troll, meant it was very large indeed. It was also an usually eloquent example, as Slash couldn't recall ever before having heard one string more than a few words together (and those words generally came from a pretty short list, in which 'ugh', 'hungry', 'eat', 'food', 'clobber' and 'me', 'kill', 'you', 'now' all featured quite heavily). Eloquence and size notwithstanding, this one did at least bear the traditional troll expression of deep stupidity on its rubbery oversized features as it stared down at the strange little tableau.

"Uh, look," said Slash, with the best attempt at a conciliatory smile he could manage while looking awkwardly over his shoulder and simultaneously holding up one end of a surprisingly heavy unconscious goblin assassin, "sorry if I spoke out of turn a little there. It's just—"

"Sorry? I should damn well think so. I'll have you know you're addressing two of Quollo's finest, my friend. Two of the best damn law-enforcement officers to ever brave the down and dirty streets of this blackhearted city. So, just you show a little respect, matey-boy."

For the briefest of moments, Slash was about to add ventriloquy to this singular troll's list of remarkable attributes, but then he noticed the little figure flittering around down by its midriff and understanding abruptly fell into place. Well, a place, at any rate.

It was a fairy. Wings glistening in the sunlight, it was a male fairy decked out in a blue uniform of a vaguely military style, but not from any regiment or legion Slash had seen before. Given fairies were very much known—notorious, even—for their verbosity, this little creature was clearly the source of voice. Not for the first time, the surprising depth and volume those miniature chests could generate had led Slash to expect someone considerably more substantial. And, now that he thought about it, there was something familiar about that voice. Not to mention, upon closer inspection, the face.

"Barderim!" he exclaimed, unceremoniously dumping his goblin cargo. At Carri and Hobe's looks of askance he added, "Don't sweat it, he's an old friend," before turning back to the fairy, with a wry grin. "Long time no see. How's it hanging, you overgrown excuse for a mosquito?"

"High and handsome, boyo, same as usual." His look of censorious disapproval transforming into a devilish grin, the little form flew down and punched Slash in the shoulder. "How the hell are you?" he went on, patting the soldier's glistening epaulette. "I see you haven't wised up and moved on to greener pastures, like I did. Still slumming it in the Dragons, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah. Guilty," replied Slash, gesturing to the fairy's crisp uniform. "Which legion's desperate enough to have you?"

"Legion? Pfft." Carri sniffed in disapproval. "He's not with any legion. He's competition, is what he is."

"Competition?" Slash frowned at the little figure. "Wait, so you're a PI, these days? Huh, I never would have picked you for that kind of thing. You always loved the uniform and the bling and the bossing people around too much." He nodded at the troll, still standing there in benign vacancy. "What's this, your muscle?"

"PI?" scoffed Barderim. "Oh, please. I'm not some street-rat freelancer like your elf friend. Nope, good old Blompo here"—he flew up and patted the troll on the leathery dome of its great head—"and I are official officers of the law, officially appointed by the High Council to officially police the streets of Quollo. And as such"—alighting on the troll's head, he put his hands on his hips and gave them all a stern look—"it's now my official duty to officially inform you that you're all officially under arrest. Book 'em, Blompo."

*No sooner had this thought formed than somewhere way down in the deepest recesses of her brain, an annoying little voice piped up to express some reservations as to its grammatical veracity, along with the sentiment that, given said reservations, perhaps it might have been nice if the League elders could have foregone, say, the bottom three items in the top ten list of things to watch out for when garrotting a troll, in order to spend just a tiny bit more time on the three Rs (and no, the voice wasn't talking about reaming, ripping and ravaging). Fortunately, she had become very accustomed to ignoring this voice over the years.