“Chapter 14

“Nice.”
Coach Robsson leant back on his rickety three-legged and very uncomfortable stool and took a long, slow look around the opposing team’s stadium. It was the usual undead fare.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
Beside him, Coach Olgrot groaned.
“If only I had a gold crown for every time a visiting coach has said those very words. I could use it to buy myself an entire new stadium, with candles and drapes and everything.”
A faraway look came into his sunken eyes.
“Or maybe a very, very large squad of cheerleaders. Live ones, with proper skin and all their limbs and everything. Now that would be something.”

“More necros, Coach?” asked Beds are Burning. “What’s with that?”
Coach Robsson shrugged.
“They were available. And they’re usually good for a reasonable gate. We could do with a nice bit of cash right now. And besides, they’re plodders. Take out the doggies and they’re slower than a wardancer getting a joke.”
Beds are Burning looked at the coach quizzically.
“Huh?”
“Exactly. Now, off you go and do your stuff.”

After ten minutes the White Men in Black Suits were 2-0 up and looking at a comfortable win. The Maniac Shrouds were struggling to get a proper offence together and their blocking was having little effect against the wood elves. Coach Robsson was already looking around at the crowd and wondering how much gold he would be taking home with him. It wasn’t a full house, but it was reasonable, and maybe if things were still looking comfortable during the second half he might get his boys to play a bit more adventurously. Put on a show for the crowd. That was always a sure fire way of shifting a few extra flags and team vests from the concession stall…
“No!”
The scream shook Robsson out of his reverie. Doc Onholiday was rushing out onto the pitch, heading for a crumpled pile of green clothing covered in blood. A lot of blood. Generally, he left the doctoring to Onholiday, but this time he followed the apothecary onto the field, partly out of support, but mostly out of curiosity as he still couldn’t tell who it was that had gone down.
As he drew near, he saw that it was Snow (Hey-Oh) and it was to his shame that even before he felt any sympathy for the fallen line elf, he noticed himself thanking the gods it wasn’t anyone important.
Doc Onholiday spent barely half a minute examining the elf before he stood up and began to wipe the blood off his hands.
“Not a hope,” he said, shaking his head. “It was instant. Even I can’t bring them back from the dead.”
“But perhaps I could have a go?”
Coach Robsson turned to see Coach Olgrot standing behind him, eagerly looking over his shoulder at the fresh corpse.
“Salvage rights, and all that.”
And without further ado, he raised his dark staff into the air and began to chant his sinister spell of raising. Robsson turned away in disgust.
“Poor lad,” he said to Onholiday. “As if being killed wasn’t enough. Now he’ll be dragged back from the dead and forced to play against us.”
“Lass,” corrected Doc Onholiday.
“Eh?”
“Lass. Snow (Hey-Oh) was a she-elf, remember?” explained the apothecary.
“So she was,” said Robsson, remembering back to the discussion on gender politics they’d had after their match against some amazons a while back.
He looked back at Coach Olgrot, still performing his dark magics.
“You don’t think it matters do you? I mean her being female and all.”
Doc Onholiday shrugged.
“It’s possible. Nothing seems to be happening so far.”
They watched for a few more minutes but no matter how much he waved his staff around, Coach Olgrot was unable to raise up Snow (Hey-Oh). After a while, the referee interrupted the attempt and ordered the necromancer off the field. The she-elf was dragged off and unceremoniously dumped in a makeshift coffin while Coach Olgrot went to sulk and commiserate with the golem who had made the kill.
“Never mind, Mash. It still counts as a kill. You still get to make the sacrifice after the game, I promise.”

Regardless of the failed attempt to bring the wood elf back from the dead, the kill had helped to pick up the Maniac Shrouds’ spirits and the necromantics began to take control, isolating and eliminating the wood elves one by one. Even The Lion and the Unicorn was felled by Thulgrim, the second of the fearsome flesh golems, and by the time the Maniac Shrouds had pulled back to within a single score, there were only four elves still capable of taking the field. So outnumbered, they were unable to prevent the undead from scoring one final, easy touchdown to tie the game.


* * * * *


Coach Robsson was fuming.
“Thirty thousand? Thirty thousand? What am I supposed to do with that? That’s barely enough to cover my costs. I was expecting double that.”
“Times are hard,” replied Coach Olgrot. “And it’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.”
“Is it?”
Olgrot raised his staff.
“Want to try it and see?”
Robsson scowled and turned his back on the smirking necromancer. One dead, his treeman and star passer out of action for the next game… It was beginning to feel just like all the other times, with those other teams. One minute you were feeling on top of the world, the next you were turning up to games with no more than five players and a prayer. Still, he reminded himself, at least this new league allowed for journeymen to come in and cover whenever necessary – which seemed to be most games where the White Men in Black Suits were concerned.
“Hey!” called Coach Olgrot as Robsson prepared to leave. “Any time for a rematch. It was a lot of fun.”
Robsson gave a non-committal wave of the hand. He’d certainly consider it, but he’d want a cash guarantee upfront next time. Thirty thousand was hardly worth getting out of bed for.
“And don’t forget your corpse,” called Olgrot with a laugh. “It’s no use to us, it seems.”
And with that he wandered off to find his prized flesh golems and share some dark ritual with them, or something like that. Coach Robsson wasn’t really interested in the details. He just wanted to get home and wash away the smell.
”