Eighth Circle

An unpleasant smell of rotten fish filled the air. Tom felt his strength return and was about to deliver a vicious karate blow when he noticed the front end of a harpoon protruding from the death troll's breast plate. The harpoon tightened and the troll was pulled backwards.

It staggered to the edge of the walkway and fell into the boatyard below. Tom looked down and saw a palace troll, in a boatman's uniform, winching the body over the frozen ground.

'Thomas. Are you alright?'

He heard Balduur's voice and saw the little man emerge from one of the boatsheds. Two palace trolls stood beside him. All three were armed with ray guns. Balduur wore an impressive gown of royal green and carried a jewel-encrusted baton of command.

'We were worried about you, Thomas.'

Tom scowled. It was the story of his life. He did the groundwork and others took the credit. When his plans were nearing fruition an insignificant individual, like Balduur, moved in and stole the show.

'Come down, Thomas.'

Tom worked his way down the remains of a spiral staircase. Jagged pieces of metal tore into his clothing. He reached the bottom and was in a bad mood when Balduur advanced towards him with open arms.

'Thomas. Father wants to speak to you ...'