And just like that, a new minifeud erupted between them on the banks of Lake Arcadia Oaks. Sir Barks-a-Lot ducked behind Jim’s legs, poking between them every so often to yap at the fighting Trolls. Hanging his head in disappointment, Jim pulled the Amulet from his shrunken pocket and read the incantation engraved on its back.
“ ‘For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!’ ”
In a swirl of mist and magic, the pieces of the Daylight Armor materialized around Jim. Sir Barks whimpered as the silver plates snapped together and electric blue energy blazed along their etched patterns. Phosphorescent orbs shot like emergency flares from the Amulet now on Jim’s breastplate, forming the Daylight Sword in his hand.
Suited for battle, the Trollhunter took one step toward the tribes—and promptly collapsed. His body lurched with another round of muscle-knotting spasms. Jim cried out. Sir Barks circled him protectively, alternately whining in sympathy and barking to scare away whatever afflicted his human friend. Hearing the commotion, some of the Garden and River Trolls broke away from the fight and considered the bizarre, trembling human going into shock at their feet.
“My pet!” exclaimed Junipra, pulling away from her parents. “I think he’s sick!”
“He alone understands the love Junipra and I feel for each other!” Ronagog hollered from the lake, where his family had dragged him.
“Then he’s every bit as abominable as your unspeakable union!” hissed Junipra’s father.
The cluster of Garden and River Trolls started stomping on Jim’s armored form. Sir Barks bit at their heels, trying to drag them away, until a much louder growl drowned out his own. The Trolls looked down right before their bodies were sent flying with a furious roar. The echo carried across the lake and made Sir Barks hide his head under his paws. Every Garden and River Troll gasped as the Trollhunter snarled back at them, Jim’s teeth sharpened into fangs, his eyes redder than blood.
CHAPTER 4
THE WEAPON WHO WALKS
In all his lifetimes, Angor Rot had never witnessed anything that filled him with as much wonder and dread as he now felt. Not when Merlin buried him in an avalanche at the Temple of the Pale One. Not when that fool Strickler freed him centuries later, only to switch sides, as all Changelings did. Not when that human girl stole his Skathe-Hrün and the Trollhunter finally put Angor Rot out of his misery. Not even when Morgana’s spirit recently resurrected her assassin, only to condemn him to another existence of supernatural servitude.
For Angor Rot’s yellow eye now looked upon the one, true Morgana. Her gaunt, golden form hovered over the remains of her prison for the past millennia: Dark Trollmarket’s corrupted Heartstone. Angor Rot felt the irresistible urge to kneel before the sorceress in spite of his conflicted emotions. Doing so, he looked to the side and saw Gunmar—the Gumm-Gumm Angor Rot despised above all others, the merciless monster with whom Angor Rot was now forced to conspire—also bowing his horned head.
“The Eternal Night is here,” announced Morgana.
The sorceress’s heels clicked on the Heartstone’s shards as she lowered herself. Gunmar stood with haste, clearly uncomfortable bending to any master. He said, “You speak the words my black heart has longed to hear for so very long, Pale Lady. Every war I’ve won, every life I’ve ended, has led to this, the surface world’s last rites. I, Gunmar the Vicious, the Skullcrusher, the Warbringer will ready my armies at once to—”
“No,” Morgana interrupted, her voice like an icicle.
Angor Rot now felt another urge—the urge to laugh—as Gunmar’s single eye flared in insult. The gilded witch floated, surveying all of Dark Trollmarket. Thousands upon thousands of Gumm-Gumm soldiers stood at the ready with their barbaric armor and weapons.
“Before I extinguish the sun, you must first tie up all loose ends,” Morgana said while eying the countless Trolls at her disposal.
“I do not permit ‘loose ends,’ ” Gunmar replied in defiance.
“Don’t you?” she asked. “Then what shall we call the Changeling and the human woman who escaped after you bade them release me?”
“The Impure and the Trollhunter’s mother are of no consequence,” Gunmar said dismissively.
“But their knowledge is,” said Angor Rot, relishing the Gumm-Gumm’s outrage. “Who knows the amount of sensitive information to which they might have been exposed? Before you let them escape, that is. . . .”
He felt Gunmar’s furious eye boring into the back of his neck, while Morgana said, “Ah, Angor Rot, as observant as he is relentless. It would seem I chose wisely when remaking you into my champion, my weapon who walks.”
“A weapon that’s dulled with age,” sneered Gunmar. “Angor Rot was unable to slay those you consider ‘loose ends’ when he had the chance months ago.”
The Gumm-Gumm flexed his right claw, and faint wisps rose from his veins—veins that glowed gold with the life force leeched from the dying Heartstone. The gossamer strands gathered and coalesced into the Decimaar Blade. But rather than turn the smoldering weapon upon Angor Rot, Gunmar crossed to the other side of the cavern, where a trio of Stalklings awaited him. He dragged the searing tip against all three Vulture Trolls’ necks, and their eyes instantly glazed over like mirrored chrome.
“The Stalklings’ sight is now my own, as are their minds,” said Gunmar. “They shall soar over Arcadia and eliminate the Trollhunter and his ilk—”
He hesitated under Morgana’s withering glare before adding, “—if it pleases my Eldritch Queen.”
The sorceress nodded her spiked head in approval. The Gumm-Gumm king shoved his Stalklings’ reins into Angor Rot’s hands. Leaning close so Morgana wouldn’t hear, Gunmar said, “Lead them up the crystal stairs, then out via the Horngazel tunnel. I suspect even a lapdog like you could handle so simple a task. After all, didn’t you once have animals of your own?”
• • •
Angor Rot still seethed after he’d unleashed the Stalklings at the Arcadia Oaks dry canal. Perhaps Morgana would not punish her weapon if he walked into Dark Trollmarket and drove his poison dagger into Gunmar’s back. She might even reward Angor Rot with his long-lost freedom for ridding the world of the arrogant Gumm-Gumm.
But deep down, Angor Rot knew Morgana would never free his soul. He was about to trudge back down the Horngazel’s swirling tunnel of rock and light when the wind shifted. Angor Rot’s sharpened senses detected a scent on the night air, one that seemed at once familiar and unfamiliar. It belonged to the only other being he despised as much as Gunmar.
“Trollhunter . . . ,” said Angor Rot as he let the Horngazel close behind him and walked toward the coming storm.
CHAPTER 5
GROWING PAINS
Despite the many differences between them, every Garden and River Troll around Lake Arcadia Oaks stared with the same amazed expression at the feral Trollhunter. Seeing the surprise on the faces of those who had just ganged up on him, Jim regained his senses. His irises faded to their normal blue. He took a breath and said, “Com dwhon, evweywon.”
Jim appeared as bewildered by what he just said as everyone else. Even Sir Barks cocked an ear in confusion. He meant to say Calm down, everyone, but the words came out garbled. Jim ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling sharp fangs sprouting from his gums, and understood why.
“Why do you all stand there?” Ronagog’s father said. “He’s still a fleshbag!”
“On this—and only this—do we agree, River Troll!” added Junipra’s mother. “This is a personal matter involving our children. Now the human must pay a price for his interference!”
Spurred by their elders, the Garden and River Trolls resumed their attack on Jim. But this time he was ready. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, sensing movement in the background. Jim could tell a River Troll was charging behind him, as he saw another do the same in front of him.
Bending at the knees, the Trollhunter waited until the last possible second, and then sprang into the air. His armo
red body jumped higher than it ever had, easily avoiding the two River Trolls. Unable to stop in time, they collided headfirst, cracking each other’s boulders.
Jim landed gracefully on his feet, just like one of Nana Domzalski’s many cats. A handful of Garden Trolls now encircled him, prodding their branch-horns at the Trollhunter. Thinking fast, he stuck the end of his Daylight Sword into the shore and then kicked it forward, spraying sand into the Garden Trolls’ eyes, briefly blinding them.
Jim put his sword onto his back, then summoned the Glaives from his thigh-plates. With one fluid motion he connected the interlocking blades and flung them. They spun in a wide arc, trimming off the tips of the Garden Trolls’ branches before returning to Jim. He caught the Glaives and said, “Back off. Or you’ll get another pwuning.”
Pruning, Jim thought. That would’ve sounded way cooler if I could actually say “pruning”!
Either way, it worked. The snipped Garden Trolls returned to their elders, just as the recovering River Trolls rejoined theirs in the lake’s shallows. Jim saw Junipra and Ronagog look longingly at each other from their parents’ clutches and said, “Let ’em go. Please.”
Hey, I can say my Ls again, thought Jim. So there’s some good news!
Awed by the Trollhunter’s victory over their tribes, the Garden and River elders released their children. Ronagog and Junipra embraced in the middle of the beach, their bodies lit by the wavering bonfire.
“Follow your foolish heart if you must, my child,” said Junipra’s father as the Garden Trolls retreated into the woods.
“But know that, from this moment forward, you belong to neither of our tribes,” added Ronagog’s mother before the River Trolls sank back under the lake.
Junipra and Ronagog pulled apart, saddened by the finality of their parents’ words. Jim felt bad for the two Trolls, only to be stricken by the onset of a throbbing headache. He staggered to the lake and studied his reflection on its rippling surface. The Trollhunter barely recognized the face that stared back at him. The tips of Jim’s new fangs jutted past his lips. Dark hair hung over his eyes, looking far longer and shaggier than it did when he woke up that morning. And Jim couldn’t tell if it was due to the pale moonlight or if he was still in shock, but his mottled skin now bore a faint, blueish tint.
What have I done? Jim wondered of his own distorted reflection. Why did I let Merlin turn me into some . . . some weirdo human-Troll hybrid?
Jim examined his new features in the lake, wondering how his mom and friends would react to his new face. Would they gasp, as the Garden and River Trolls did? Would they hide their eyes, unable to look at him? Or would they try real hard—too hard, even—to pretend that nothing was different at all? Why, Toby would probably try to lighten the mood with a joke about “Jimbo 2.0” or something. Jim suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. He stumbled away from the lake, and Sir Barks, Ronagog, and Junipra ran to his aid.
“Oh, my poor pet! Were you injured in battle?” asked Junipra.
“No,” Jim choked, tugging at his collar. “Can’t—get—air!”
The Trollhunter felt like he was trapped in a tin can, like the ones full of anchovies he used when cooking pasta putanesca. The Daylight Armor clamped so tightly around his body—even tighter than his clothes had minutes ago—that Jim’s lungs couldn’t even fill with oxygen. He wished he could trade in his suit for one that was at least two sizes bigger.
And just like that, the Daylight Armor restructured itself. Waves of energy radiated out of the Amulet and down the silver plates, causing them to expand and glide into new configurations. Jim watched his armor adjust, as it had done when he first wore it in his backyard those many months ago. Only then the suit shrank from Kanjigar the Courageous’s dimensions down to Jim’s slender size. Now, though, the Daylight Armor grew again to accommodate Jim’s increased height and muscle mass. The last metallic panel fastened into place, and the Trollhunter drew breath once more. He felt the fitted armor rise and fall with his own chest, perfectly tailored to Jim’s new body.
“We can never thank you enough,” Ronagog said. “Fighting for our love like that.”
Junipra held Ronagog’s hand and said, “Yet I suspect the real fight has only begun, now that our families have disowned us. If you have any inkling as to where we should go, Trollhunter, we’d greatly welcome it.”
Jim stared at the smitten Trolls. Despite their large size, they seemed so vulnerable, so lost, even though they were together. He looked away from Ronagog and Junipra and to the shroud of storm clouds above them. His enhanced eyes focused on the moon, and Jim became aware that it wasn’t the only “inconstant” thing in his life. Ever since he’d inherited the Amulet, Jim experienced one drastic change after another, going from student to Merlin’s champion to . . . to the abominable Were-Troll he was now becoming. Could Jim and Claire ever hope to truly be together like Ronagog and Junipra? How would their relationship survive beyond high school, let alone the Eternal Night?
“I . . . I don’t know what to tell you,” he finally said. “It’s like you made this choice without fully considering the consequences. And now you don’t fit in at your old home anymore. So, it’s hard to imagine where you’re supposed to go next, when you don’t even know where you belong in the first place.”
Jim finished, unsure if those words were meant for the pair of Trolls . . . or for himself. Junipra’s and Ronagog’s eyes rounded with sorrow, and she asked, “Are . . . are you saying we’d be better off alone?”
“Maybe,” said Jim. “Maybe that’s the right thing to do when we really care about someone—cut them loose before our decisions come back to hurt the ones we love.”
Ronagog and Junipra nodded solemnly and unlaced their fingers. The Garden Troll shook her flower-crowned head and said, “All I ever want is for you to be happy, dear Ronagog. . . .”
“And I you, my beloved Junipra,” said Ronagog, his eyes misting with tears. “But given the bitter history between our tribes, perhaps that happiness will only be found a . . . a . . .”
“Apart,” sobbed Junipra, finishing the sentence that Ronagog could not.
The forlorn Garden and River Trolls shared one final, weak smile before turning their backs on each other and heading off in separate directions. Jim watched them go, until he was left with his own sorrow—and Sir Barks-a-Lot.
“You better take off too, little guy,” Jim said, pushing the wolf pup away with the toe of his boot.
But Sir Barks remained in place, even when thunder clashed over their heads. Jim shut his eyes and grimaced, the rumbling only adding to the headache pounding at his temples. A light rain fell on the Trollhunter. Lightning raked across the sky.
And in that brief, strobing flash, Angor Rot stood illuminated at the edge of the woods, his weapons drawn, his yellow eye burning like a predator’s.
CHAPTER 6
N IS FOR NO, M IS FOR MERCY
More ill winds swept across Arcadia, signaling the storm to come. Behind Stuart Electronics, newspapers blew like tumbleweeds past two tiny figures. Gnome Chompsky held on to his hat so the wind wouldn’t take it. Beside him, NotEnrique balled his little Changeling fists and said, “Whattaya know about the missin’ Trollhunter?”
Fragwa, the Goblin leader they’d cornered in the narrow alley, stroked his magic marker mustache and yelled, “Shik shaka!”
“Neep neep, neep neep neep,” Chompsky responded impatiently.
“I agree,” said NotEnrique. “I think the little scamp’s holdin’ out too.”
“Shik shaka!” Fragwa yelled again, making rude gestures with his fingers and toes.
“Oh, ya wanna do it the hard way, do ya?” NotEnrique threatened. “Fine. I’ll play ‘good cop,’ while me Gnome pal here plays ‘bad cop.’ ”
Chompsky hissed at the Goblin, revealing his miniature mouthful of serrated teeth. The Goblin stopped laughing and backed away, but the alley’s brick wall blocked him. NotEnrique crossed his arms and smiled as the Gnome started thr
ottling Fragwa. Desperate to end the interrogation, the Goblin grabbed the Talk ’n’ Type toy at his side and started pressing its keys.
“N is for no. P is for please,” said the toy’s electronic voice. “M is for mercy.”
“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” NotEnrique said. “All right, spill yer guts!”
Fragwa opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words coming out, a glowing green rock flew in. The Goblin swallowed the foreign object in surprise, only for his body to spontaneously combust a second later. Stunned and splashed in green goo, Chompsky and NotEnrique turned around. At the other end of the alley, Steve Palchuk and Eli Pepperjack struck an over-the-top pose with their slingshots and more glowing Dwärkstone grenades.
“C is for Creepslayer,” said Eli in his deepest, most dramatic voice.
“And that was for pepper-spraying me and Pepperjack, snot stain!” Steve hollered at the puddle that used to be Fragwa.
NotEnrique wiped the Goblin slime off his diaper and said, “That ‘snot stain’ was just about ta say somethin’ that coulda helped us find the Trollhunter, ya glorks!”
“NEEP!” Chompsky shouted in rage at the Creepslayerz.
NotEnrique took a step away from his Gnome companion, saying, “Okay, easy there, fella. No need for that kinda language!”
“We were just trying to help!” Eli said. “And it’s not like you can trust Goblins. My allowance is still paying for the damage they did to my mom’s car!”
“Ah, who asked for yer help anyway?” NotEnrique groused.
“We did,” said a female voice behind them.
NotEnrique, Chompsky, and the Creepslayerz watched Claire, Toby, and Strickler step out of another black hole and into the alley. Toby and Claire each wore sleek new suits of Merlin-made armor—his reddish-brown, hers purple—and held their Warhammer and Shadow Staff at the ready. Claire closed her portal and added, “With Jim missing and Morgana finally freed, we’re calling in every favor we can to keep Arcadia from going crazy-town banana-pants.”
Angor Reborn Page 3