Welcome to the Darklands

by Richard Ashley Hamilton

  PROLOGUE

  HEXILE

  Gunmar the Black howled.

  He howled in confusion, unable to tell day from night in this strange new realm. He howled in pain. Ice-cold winds whipped against his body—a body born in the fires of war. And he howled in defeat. Victory had been snatched from his grasp, just as Gunmar had been snatched into these dark lands.

  Gunmar forced himself to stand. His hooves nearly slipped on the glowing green rock beneath him, but he found his balance.

  Never again will I be brought to my knees, Gunmar promised himself.

  He looked out at the Darklands with his single burning eye and watched his army start to appear around him. One by one, thousands of Gumm-Gumm soldiers arrived in flashes of blinding white light. They, too, crashed against the barren landscape, as Gunmar had done mere seconds ago. They, too, fell over with vertigo and shivered against the sudden cold.

  Gunmar turned his horned head upward and saw the portal through which he and his army had been thrown. Killahead Bridge sat atop a jagged stone peak. Its arch shimmered with magic as more Gumm-Gumms plummeted into the Darklands.

  Gunmar squinted his eye and stared through the portal. He glimpsed the distant surface world on the other side, as well as the enemy who had just banished him from there.

  “Deya,” said Gunmar with a low growl.

  Deya the Deliverer stood guard at the other end of Killahead Bridge. Her silver Daylight Armor was battered and dirty from weeks of combat, but still unbroken. She planted her broadsword into the battlefield, a grim look of finality in the Trollhunter’s eyes. Even across the immeasurable space that separated them, Deya’s message was clear: this war is over.

  “No!” Gunmar shouted.

  He sprang into the air and climbed the peak toward the bridge like a wild animal. Gunmar’s claws tore into the rock. He pulled himself higher, dodging the Gumm-Gumms that still fell out of the portal and past him. His body heaved, and his glowing blue veins pumped with energy. But Gunmar did not stop. He closed in, never taking his eye from Deya.

  With only a few feet left between Gunmar and the Trollhunter, Deya reached up to her side of Killahead.

  “No!” Gunmar yelled again, fangs gnashing in anger.

  Deya’s fingers closed around the Amulet embedded in the top of the bridge. Gunmar leaped toward her. His massive legs propelled him across the remaining distance.

  “NO!” Gunmar shouted one last time.

  But he was too late. Deya removed her Amulet from the bridge a second before Gunmar reached her. And the portal to the surface lands closed.

  Gunmar’s body hurtled through the now-empty air and collided with Killahead Bridge, reducing it to rubble. The inert fragments of the bridge then began to vanish around him, just as the portal had disappeared before his very eye.

  Wrenching open his jaws as far as they could go, Gunmar the Black unleashed his most awful howl yet. The primal scream echoed across the Darklands for quite some time. When his wail finally faded, Gunmar looked down the peak to his army. The Gumm-Gumms all stared back at their fallen king, each too frightened to even blink under their heavy metal helmets.

  “My son,” Gunmar whispered, his throat raw. “Where is my son? Where is Bular?”

  Unsure of how to respond, the soldiers looked at one another. Some shifted nervously, their weapons and armor clanking in the awkward silence.

  “My lord,” called a voice from below Gunmar.

  The crowd of Gumm-Gumms parted, and a muscular, orange-skinned Changeling stepped forward. He swept his cape to the side and gave a slight bow in Gunmar’s direction.

  “Speak, Kodanth,” said Gunmar to the Changeling. “For the information your Impure spies bring has always proven valuable.”

  “The last I saw of mighty Bular, he was slashing most valiantly through the Trollhunter’s forces, along the southern front,” said Kodanth. “Might I suggest you question your general stationed in that vicinity?”

  Gunmar fixed his glare upon a particularly large Gumm-Gumm whose body was decorated with stripes of war paint, and said, “The south was your assigned area.”

  “Y-yes, my lord,” stammered the striped general.

  “Then what news of my son?” demanded Gunmar.

  “F-forgive me,” answered the general after a long pause. “But Bular, he . . . deserted us!”

  “What did you say?” Gunmar asked quietly, his eye narrowing into a flickering slit.

  “That Krubera turncoat, AAARRRGGHH!!!—he switched sides and began fighting with the Trollhunter, not against her,” explained the Gumm-Gumm. “Bular met AAARRRGGHH!!! on the field of battle, and they fought fiercely. But the traitor struck a lucky blow. He broke off part of the horn from Bular’s crown.”

  The general pointed to his own right horn to indicate what had happened and then said, “Bular clutched his wound and fled before the Trollhunter placed her Amulet in Killahead Bridge and sent us here to—”

  Gunmar landed powerfully before the general. He flexed his right arm, forcing strands of pale energy from his pulsing veins. The energy weaved together, taking shape and forming the Decimaar Blade in Gunmar’s grasp.

  “My son is no coward,” said Gunmar, holding his arcane sword in front of the general.

  More wisps of energy crawled off the blade and up the horrified Gumm-Gumm’s face, until his eyes glazed over like mirrored chrome. The once-proud general stood unmoving and unfeeling before Gunmar, reduced to a mindless slave.

  “Find the nearest abyss and throw yourself into it,” Gunmar said matter-of-factly.

  The entire army watched as the general did as he was told. Gunmar then stalked forward, pointing the Decimaar Blade at all of them. The Gumm-Gumms inched back in fright.

  “My son is no coward,” Gunmar repeated.

  “Of course not,” said Kodanth, stepping away from the others. “Bular’s courage and bloodlust are second only to your own legendary—”

  “Aah!” cried an unfamiliar voice, interrupting Kodanth.

  Gunmar looked down and raised his hoof. He had just stepped on a hooded Troll who was far, far too scrawny to be a Gumm-Gumm.

  “Mercy!” said the Troll from under his cloak. “Please, I beg of you! Grant me mercy!”

  “I am not known for my mercy, stranger,” uttered Gunmar.

  He made his Decimaar Blade vanish in a cloud of mist before grabbing the Troll. As Gunmar dragged him bodily into the air, the Troll’s hood fell back, revealing six frightened, blinking eyes.

  “I recognize you,” said Gunmar. “You’re the Trollhunter’s companion. The talkative one with his snout always buried in a book.”

  “Yes,” answered the six-eyed Troll, his heart pounding. “Although I suppose my brother, Blinkous, has now inherited my library. I am Dictatious Galadrigal, at your service.”

  “You?” spat Gunmar as he tossed Dictatious back to the ground. “Serve me?”

  Dictatious’s body rolled to a stop at Kodanth’s scaly, orange feet. The Changeling sneered and said, “Only I advise Gunmar the Black! Gunmar the Vicious! Gunmar the Skullcrusher!”

  Kodanth gestured to two Gumm-Gumms, and they immediately raised their axes over Dictatious’s head. Satisfied, Gunmar turned his back on them and lumbered away.

  “Send this six-eyed scum straight to Gorgus,” Kodanth ordered.

  “Wait!” Dictatious hollered, holding out all four of his arms to halt the Gumm-Gumm’s axes. “Strike now and your only chance of leaving the Darklands dies with me!”

  Gunmar stopped midstep and looked back over his shoulder. Seeing his single, livid eye, the two Gumm-Gumms immediately lowered their axes, sparing Dictatious for now.

  “How could a fool like you eve
r get us out of this hopeless place?” asked Kodanth.

  Still on his knees, Dictatious ignored Kodanth and instead addressed Gunmar.

  “With all due respect, my Dark Underlord,” he began. “Drog respa sulk respaluk.”

  “Even the word ‘hopeless’ isn’t void of hope,” Gunmar said to himself, translating Dictatious’s last phrase.

  “Ah, I see your mastery of Trollspeak is as sharp as your sword,” said Dictatious, slowly getting to his feet. “One as unworthy as I would never dream of advising you. . . .”

  Dictatious gave a smirk only Kodanth could see. The Changeling fumed in quiet outrage.

  “But where some might see the Darklands as an inescapable death sentence, my six eyes see only opportunity,” Dictatious continued. “For I know all too well how the Trollhunter and her ilk think. Let them believe they have won!”

  Feeling braver now, Dictatious approached Gunmar, gesturing grandly at their dismal surroundings with his many hands.

  “While they grow old and weak and mingle with those pathetic humans, you shall make the Darklands your kingdom,” said Dictatious. “Where nothing grows, you shall build an unstoppable empire.”

  A smile spread on Gunmar’s scarred face, despite the cold ache in his bones.

  “Where others would never dare venture, you shall bide your time, marshal your forces, and double—no, triple!—your already limitless strength,” Dictatious went on, his voice building with each new word. “Where only death and despair lurk, you shall call out to your surviving son. And together, Bular the Brutal and Gunmar the Black shall once again storm the surface world and bring forth—”

  “The Eternal Night,” said Gunmar, finishing the thought as Dictatious knew he would.

  For the longest time the only sound in the Darklands came from the frigid wind. Every single Gumm-Gumm held their breath and watched Gunmar, but none more intently than Kodanth and Dictatious.

  “Kodanth,” began Gunmar, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, my lord?” Kodanth answered, beckoning those two Gumm-Gumms to raise their axes over Dictatious once again.

  “Take the ten best battalions, find a secure location, and begin construction immediately on my new throne room,” Gunmar ordered. “Dictatious will stay with me and explain how I might still commune with my son.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Kodanth through gritted teeth.

  “And Kodanth,” Gunmar added when Kodanth started to leave. “From this moment forward, you will also address me as ‘Dark Underlord.’ I find that a title befitting my majesty.”

  “As you wish, my lor—” Kodanth began, then halted. “That is . . . my Dark Underlord.”

  The Changeling cast a spiteful look at Dictatious, who winked back at him. Kodanth departed in a huff, his cape flapping as he strode past the bowed heads of several soldiers . . . including one named Skarlagk.

  Skarlagk stood apart from the other Gumm-Gumms. Her mane had been shaved into a Mohawk that crested like a wave between her horns. She wore a quiver full of spears across her back. When Skarlagk finally lifted her eyes, she looked upon Gunmar not with awe or terror—but with hatred. He was close enough for Skarlagk to crush with her powerful arms. But she knew this wasn’t the time to strike. Not yet.

  “Tell me, sire, have you ever heard of a Fetch?” asked Dictatious, his voice fading as he and Gunmar walked away together. “It’s a compact portal, far too small to allow a fully grown Troll to pass through. But it may be large enough to send messages to your son—as well as other little items to and from the surface world. And I believe we can construct these Fetches from the very rock found in the Darklands. . . .”

  After Gunmar and Dictatious left, Skarlagk unfastened a satchel at her side and removed an old, weathered Gumm-Gumm skull. She held it to her own and said, “Soon, Father.”

  Skarlagk returned the skull to her satchel and struck out in the direction opposite from Gunmar. And for centuries, no living thing ever walked across this end of the Darklands.

  Until . . .

  CHAPTER 1

  UNWELCOME

  Jim Lake Jr. entered the Darklands alone.

  The Trollhunter’s black-and-red Eclipse Armor protected him from the cold, but not from the faint echo of his friends’ voices. Looking back over his shoulder, Jim saw the rebuilt Killahead Bridge. Even though the portal under it had already closed, he could still hear his teammates on the other side, calling out to him.

  “Jim!” yelled Toby from the surface world.

  “Master Jim!” Blinky’s voice carried into the Darklands. “What have you done?”

  Jim took a deep breath and kept walking, trying to ignore them. But the Trollhunter’s next step faltered, when he heard one more distant voice.

  “Jim, come back!” cried Claire. “You don’t have to do this by yourself! We can figure this out together!”

  Jim wanted nothing more than to run back to the bridge, reopen the portal, and return to the warm safety of Heartstone Trollmarket. He wanted see Toby’s braces-filled smile again. He wanted to fist-bump all four of Blinky’s Troll hands. And more than anything, Jim wanted to look into Claire’s eyes. He wanted to tell her that he was okay, that deep down all this was for her—and her baby brother, Enrique, who had been stolen into the Darklands months ago.

  But the Trollhunter didn’t do any of that. Jim forced himself to tune out Claire’s plea. He marched farther across the Dead Plains, until he reached a cliff. Standing at the edge of the precipice, Jim looked out on the endless expanse of the Darklands. His disbelieving eyes beheld towering rock structures that intersected at odd angles, a low black sun that cast a sickly light over everything, and a mind-bending maze that seemed to stretch into infinity.

  The engravings in Jim’s armor pulsed with red power. A split second later, the Sword of Eclipse appeared in the Trollhunter’s hand. The black sword shimmered as Jim affixed it magnetically to his armored back.

  “Get ready, Gunmar,” Jim said out loud, even though he couldn’t see a single sign of life anywhere around him.

  Jim knew that somewhere down there, in the twisted heart of the Darklands, Gunmar the Black waited for him. And that when they finally came face-to-face, only one of them would survive the encounter. But Jim couldn’t worry about that just yet. Before he could take on Gunmar, the Trollhunter had to find someone else.

  Jim cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Enrique!”

  Even though he projected as loud as he could, Jim’s voice hardly seemed to carry over the dead, flat air in the Darklands.

  “Um, remember me?” Jim continued. “It’s your sister’s favorite study buddy—Jim! Just, uh, gurgle if you can hear me!”

  Jim waited for a response, but none came.

  “Of course it wouldn’t be that easy,” Jim muttered to himself. “Looks like I’ve gone from being Trollhunter to Babyhunter.”

  Jim took a step, then stopped. His brow furrowed as he thought about what he had just said.

  “Um, that came out wrong. I mean, who actually hunts babies? Other than, y’know, Gunmar and his Changelings. Maybe I should go by something a little more appealing, like . . . Babyfinder? Babyrescuer? Babysaver? Yeah, Babysaver. That’s way more appropriate. . . .”

  Jim trailed off, a sense of isolation starting to creep in before adding, “Aaand I’m already talking to myself less than five minutes into the Darklands. Way to keep it together, Lake. . . .”

  He looked over the edge of the cliff and wondered how he was going to climb down it. Jim suddenly found himself wishing he had bothered to pack a few supplies before jumping haphazardly through Killahead Bridge. He figured that stuff like a rope or compass or bottled water—or, heck, even a meatloaf sandwich—would’ve been kinda helpful right about now.

  Maybe the Amulet could have guided Jim to a safer path, just as it had guided him ever since he found it months ago, in the Arcadia Oaks dry canal. Jim still couldn’t believe how an Amulet created by Merlin—yes, that Merlin—had passe
d to Jim from the previous Trollhunter, Kanjigar, just as it had passed to Kanjigar from Deya centuries before that.

  But the Amulet wasn’t of much use to Jim now. He had had to leave it back on the other side of Killahead Bridge. That was the only way to make sure the portal would reopen for Jim when he returned.

  If I return, Jim thought darkly.

  He looked down at the empty space over his heart where the Amulet usually ticked—where it had unlocked new weapons for Jim, like the Eclipse Armor. Like the Sword of Eclipse. Like the . . .

  “Glaives,” Jim said to himself, getting an idea.

  He held his hands by his sides, and two curved blades—the Glaives—magically appeared in his palms. Using them like a pair of pickaxes, Jim lowered himself down the side of the cliff, like a mountain climber going in reverse. As he descended, Jim’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Each time he sunk a Glaive into the rock, another recent memory flooded into the Trollhunter’s head.

  KA-SHUNK!

  Jim thought of the hurt looks on Claire’s, Toby’s, and Blinky’s faces as he locked them out of the vault in Heartstone Trollmarket, which held the ruins of Killahead Bridge.

  KA-SHUNK!

  He remembered inserting the final Triumbric Stone—a shard of Gunmar’s missing eye—into his Amulet and reading the incantation that then appeared across its surface: “For the doom of Gunmar, Eclipse is mine to command!”

  KA-SHUNK!

  Jim recalled how the Amulet then turned Jim’s armor from silver to ebony before magically reassembling Killahead and opening the portal. Even now, Jim still felt that stomach-churning sensation from when he had stepped through the swirling passageway and into the Darklands.

  KA-SHUNK!

  He wondered what would happen when his mom, Barbara, woke up from the spell that made her forget Jim was the Trollhunter. Would Draal honor his oath to protect her? Could he even protect her? After all, Jim wasn’t worried about another attack from enemies like Strickler or Angor Rot. He was more concerned about how his mom’s heart would likely break when she discovered her only son had now gone missing.

  KA-SHUNK!