Age of the Amulet

by Richard Ashley Hamilton

  PROLOGUE

  SEEING RED

  Tellad-Urr did not always hate being the Trollhunter.

  There was a time, hundreds of years before, when receiving Merlin’s Amulet seemed like receiving a gift. Despite the weight of the Daylight Armor, Tellad-Urr stood tall. His heart pumped with pride as he fought his sworn enemies, the Gumm-Gumms. His noble face smiled whenever the younger Trolls gathered around their hero. “Tellad-Urr the Triumphant!” they would cheer as he strode past. The Trollhunter loved that part the best.

  Alas, that was centuries ago. That was before the Amulet’s relentless ticking made Tellad-Urr’s horns ache. Before the Daylight Armor bent his back with endless burden. Before his heart, once thundering with purpose, beat only out of habit. Before his face, now battle-worn and scarred, made a sneer of his smile. The younger Trolls barely noticed their triumphant hero anymore. Now they said nothing as he limped past. That part hurt the Trollhunter the most.

  This morning was no different. Tellad-Urr desperately wanted to sleep. But the ticking Amulet would not let Tellad-Urr rest. Its blue light pulsed past his shut eyelids.

  “Enough!” roared the Trollhunter.

  Leaving the Amulet behind on purpose, he stormed into the underground city he was forced to protect: Trollmarket. Tellad-Urr passed the purple Heartstone, which hung from the cavern’s ceiling like a jeweled stalactite, and hoped the other Trolls would ignore him, as usual.

  “Ah, Trollhunter,” said Kilfred, his fur striped black and white. “How good to see you.”

  Tellad-Urr stopped midstep, caught off guard, and asked, “Really? It . . . it is?”

  “Of course,” Kilfred answered warmly. “We just found another nest of Gnomes in SplitSkull’s apothecary.”

  The brief hope in the Trollhunter’s eyes dimmed.

  “Filthy vermin,” continued Kilfred, oblivious to Tellad-Urr’s disappointment. “Almost as bad as humans. Though not nearly as tasty. I suggest bringing a shovel to scoop up their—”

  Tellad-Urr gritted his teeth and stomped away from the striped Troll.

  “Where are you going?” Kilfred called after him in confusion. “Was it something I said?”

  • • •

  Once the Horngazel tunnel closed behind him, Tellad-Urr let out a long, calming breath. He found himself on a grassy field on the surface world, surrounded by the ring of standing stone pillars he had erected during his rare downtime. Stonehenge, the humans had taken to calling it. The Trollhunter looked up at the sky. The sun had not yet risen, but it colored the horizon a deep shade of red. Red as flame. Red as blood.

  In an existence filled with duty and discipline, this sight was the only thing that brought the Trollhunter a sense of relief—although he always had to leave right before the sunrise, lest his Troll body be turned to solid rock. Tellad-Urr sighed . . . before a familiar blue glow flashed in his eyes. The Amulet shone in the grass before him. He seized the device and said, “I hate you.”

  “Finally,” came a grim voice behind him. “Something we agree upon.”

  Tellad-Urr spun around. From the shadows of Stonehenge, a powerfully large Gumm-Gumm emerged, his fangs plainly visible in the overbite formed by his mismatched jaws.

  “Orlagk the Oppressor,” said Tellad-Urr. “Have you come to finally surrender your Gumm-Gumm army? Or are you here for another pointless battle?”

  “My forces shall never surrender, Trollhunter,” said Orlagk. “Even now, they train with my most brutal general, Gunmar. And as for battle, I assure you . . .”

  The Gumm-Gumm flexed his claw, forcing strands of opaque energy to rise and weave into the jagged shape of a sword. Once it had solidified, Orlagk trained his Decimaar Blade on Tellad-Urr and said, “This one has a point.”

  The Trollhunter rolled his eyes and said, “For the glory of Merlin, blah, blah, blah.”

  The Amulet erupted. Brilliant streaks of light swirled around Tellad-Urr, lifting him. Metal plates appeared out of thin air and formed silver armor around his body. Tellad-Urr the Triumphant returned heavily to the ground, the Sword of Daylight materializing in his hand.

  Orlagk sliced wildly with his Decimaar Blade. The Trollhunter braced himself and deflected the attacks, their swords sparking with each clash.

  “Even you must realize you’re on the wrong side of this war,” growled Orlagk between slashes. “Forget Merlin and join me so that we might rule this world together, above and below!”

  Tellad-Urr pushed away his enemy and said, “Mark my words, Orlagk. If I could forfeit this Amulet, I would. Not to aid you, but so that I might know a moment’s peace.”

  “The only peace you’ll find is in death!” yelled Orlagk with another stab.

  The Trollhunter dodged, and the Amulet—now embedded in his breastplate—sent a wave of yellow light cascading along the armor’s engravings. The surge ended at Tellad-Urr’s free hand, creating a double-headed battle-ax.

  “A new weapon,” said Orlagk. “Loaded a new gemstone into your Amulet, have you?”

  With a single slice of his ax, Tellad-Urr chopped down one of Stonehenge’s pillars. A tall shadow fell over Orlagk as the stone slab toppled toward him. The Gumm-Gumm leaped out of the way just before the pillar flattened the ground behind him.

  “Truth be told, I don’t like humans any more than you do, Orlagk,” said Tellad-Urr, readying the ax for another strike while Orlagk spit grass from his uneven mouth. “But the sooner I stop you from attacking them, the sooner this Amulet will leave me.”

  The Trollhunter stepped on Orlagk’s hand—the one holding the Decimaar Blade—keeping him on the ground. The squirming Gumm-Gumm said, “And what then?”

  Tellad-Urr’s next words caught in his throat. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. The Trollhunter had spent so many years hoping the Amulet would go away, he never considered what he’d do if that wish was actually granted.

  “Do you honestly think those cowering fleshbags will crawl out of their huts to thank you?” Orlagk continued. “Or that ‘good’ Trolls will suddenly sing of your triumphs again?”

  The words injured Tellad-Urr worse than any weapon. The Trollhunter’s sneer softened. His eyes welled with emotion, and he lowered his sword and ax as he reconsidered his existence. It was just the opportunity Orlagk sought.

  In the span of a heartbeat, the Gumm-Gumm King made the Decimaar Blade vanish out of his pinned hand and reappear in his free one. Orlagk swung with all his might and sheared off the Trollhunter’s left horn. Tellad-Urr crumpled in agony, the Sword of Daylight and the ax dissipating as he clutched his wound. It felt as if every nerve in his skull had been set ablaze.

  “You don’t seem so triumphant now.” Orlagk smirked.

  He kicked Tellad-Urr, sending him rolling out of Stonehenge and down the hill. After several bruising tumbles, the Trollhunter’s body came to a rest in a gulch at the bottom. He could barely move. Orlagk loomed over him again, blotting out Tellad-Urr’s view of the coming dawn.

  “Either finish me, or leave me to my first—and last—sunrise,” grunted the Trollhunter.

  “I’ll do neither, Trollhunter,” Orlagk gloated. “Just as I won’t force you to my side.”

  The Gumm-Gumm held his sword less than an inch from Tellad-Urr’s scarred face and said, “With but a scratch from my Decimaar Blade, I could make you my slave instead of that sorcerer’s. But I’d rather see you suffer, Tellad-Urr. Well, suffer more than you already do. . . .”

  Orlagk climbed to the top of the hill and considered his defeated enemy one last time. The first rays of sunlight threatened to filter through the pillars of Stonehenge behind him.

  “The surface world will never know peace, Trollhunter,” vowed Orlagk. “Nor shall you.”


  With that, Orlagk disappeared behind the hill, trailing a cold laugh as he went. Alone now, Tellad-Urr mustered what little strength he had left and pulled himself out of the gulch. He grimaced as each movement sent a new jolt of pain through him. The missing horn threw off his balance, but the Trollhunter eventually righted himself.

  “Why, Merlin?” Tellad-Urr whispered to the rapidly brightening sky. “Why have you cursed me with this thankless mission?”

  He tripped and came crashing down again to his knees, making him shout, “WHY ME?”

  The cry echoed across Stonehenge and beyond for quite some time. After it faded, a new voice said, “You know he won’t answer.”

  Tellad-Urr discovered a new Gumm-Gumm in the shadow of the hill, studying him through two burning eyes. This one wasn’t as big as Orlagk, yet he appeared far more dangerous.

  “Gunmar,” Tellad-Urr rasped. “I suppose you came to finish what your king started.”

  “Orlagk is a fool,” said Gunmar, careful not to touch the shafts of sunlight creeping across the field. “He leads our armies to ruin. I, on the other hand, come bearing an offer. A gift.”

  Gunmar held out his claw and opened it, revealing a small red gem in his massive palm.

  “Strange, is it not, how we each serve an unworthy master?” asked Gunmar. “But what if there was a way to break their hold over us? To reclaim control of our own fates once again?”

  Tellad-Urr tried to look away, but his eyes remained riveted to the crimson gemstone. Gunmar saw this and bared his canines in an awful parody of a smile.

  “Being the Trollhunter has brought you nothing but pain. Why not return the favor?” asked Gunmar, holding the red gem closer. “Why not be triumphant once more?”

  Tellad-Urr watched his own hand reach out and take the gemstone from Gunmar. He unfastened the Amulet from his chest and said, “No. This isn’t about triumph. . . .”

  A small compartment opened on the back of the ticking device, as if in invitation. Tellad-Urr placed the gem inside and returned the Amulet to his breastplate.

  The Trollhunter smiled for the first time in ages and said, “This is far more terrible.”

  A fiery wave of light now cascaded along the armor’s engravings, causing the metal plates to shift and sharpen, turning them a deep shade of red. Red as the sunrise. Red as flame. Red as blood.

  CHAPTER 1

  KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL

  “Terrific,” groaned Jim Lake Jr. in his kitchen. “This is just what I need after the week—the month—the year I’ve had!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Walter Strickler in mock chagrin. “Would you prefer we stop by later?”

  Strickler and his companion, Ms. Nomura, shared a smirk and drank more tea. Jim yanked his mom’s teacups out of their hands before they could take another sip and said, “I’d prefer it if I never see your double-faces again!”

  “So, I’m guessing a refill’s out of the question?” asked Nomura.

  Jim rushed the cups over to the sink and began washing them. He really had to scrub at the stubborn smudge of Nomura’s violet lipstick as he said, “You sneaking into my house is out of the question! So please, for once in your incredibly long lives, do me a favor and get out.”

  “I daresay your hospitality has lessened somewhat of late, Young Atlas,” Strickler said.

  “Yeah, well, a visit to the Darklands will do that to you,” said Jim, drying the teacups and nodding at Nomura. “Just ask my old ‘cellmate’ over there.”

  Strickler made a May I? motion before taking the teacups from Jim. As he returned them to the shelf, Strickler said, “After you spared my life and exiled me from Arcadia Oaks, I had quite a lot of time to reflect on the consequences of my actions. How . . . how is Barbara these days?”

  “Fine, no thanks to you,” Jim said, his voice rising. “I just got done convincing her I’m not the Trollhunter. And that you’re just some creep who left town—not the Changeling who almost got her killed!”

  “I see . . . ,” Strickler muttered, his eyes still downcast.

  “If she sees you here . . . if she remembers who I really am . . . it’ll break her heart all over again. And I’m not gonna let that happen,” Jim warned.

  Nomura whistled and said, “You weren’t kidding, Walter. This kid really does carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

  “Jim, I understand that I wronged you,” Strickler resumed. “I was once your teacher and—I’d like to think—your friend. Clearly, I broke that trust, but I want to make it up to you. After all, who is more capable of change . . . than a Changeling?”

  Walter Strickler instantly transformed from his human guise into his true form—that of a tall, reptilian Changeling. Reaching under his cloak, Strickler retrieved a green fistful of feather darts and flung them at Jim.

  “Whoa!” Jim hollered, ducking the razor-sharp projectiles.

  Tucking and rolling behind the kitchen island, Jim pulled the Amulet from his jeans and said in a single breath, “For-the-glory-of-Merlin-Daylight-is-mine-to-command!”

  Strickler shielded his yellow eyes from the Amulet’s glare. When the incandescence faded, Jim Lake Jr. stood before him, encased in the Daylight Armor of the Trollhunter. The shape-shifter lowered his arm and said, “Your reflexes remain as keen as ever. But how do you fare against two enemies at once?”

  Jim turned around just in time to see Nomura’s body morph into that of a lithe, purple Changeling. She snatched the meat cleaver and Santoku knife from the cutting board and hurled them at the Trollhunter. The Sword of Daylight manifested in Jim’s hand, and he used the flat of his blade to deflect the two knives. The Santoku lodged into the ceiling, but Strickler caught the cleaver and closed in on Jim. Nomura pulled two scythes from the scabbards on her back.

  Looks like close-quarters combat, thought Jim as he magically replaced the Sword of Daylight with his Glaives—a pair of curved throwing weapons, one in each of Jim’s hands.

  “This reminds me of the first time I was invited to dinner at your home,” Strickler joked.

  The two Glaives sparked against Nomura’s and Strickler’s blades as Jim parried their every strike like a skilled swashbuckler. Sandwiched between two bloodthirsty shape-shifters, Jim’s mind raced. He knew his coordination would falter eventually and that Strickler and Nomura would carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. So rather than keep the Changelings away from him, the Trollhunter hooked his Glaives around their weapons and pulled them toward him. Strickler and Nomura slammed into each other and fell to the tiled floor in a heap. Kicking away the scythes and cleaver, Jim said, “Nobody beats me in the kitchen. Nobody.”

  “Cheers, Young Atlas,” Strickler said. “You passed this pop quiz with flying colors.”

  “Pop quiz?!” Jim bellowed. “You two just tried to filet me with my own knives!”

  “Just imagine what Gunmar will do now that he’s out of the Darklands,” said Nomura.

  “Do you think he’ll hesitate to send every Gumm-Gumm at his disposal after you? Just because of the week—the month—the year you’ve had?” Strickler added sharply.

  “You . . . you . . . ,” Jim stammered in outrage, until he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “You’re right.”

  Strickler and Nomura looked at each other, cocking their eyebrows in surprise.

  “Why would I ever expect my enemies to come after me one at a time? I’ve never been that lucky,” Jim added, then looked at the Amulet on his chest. “Not since this thing found me.”

  He picked up the discarded meat cleaver and muttered, “All I wanted to do tonight was relax at home, cook a nice dinner for my mom, and maybe even get my homework done for a change. For once—just once—I wish this Amulet would let me do what I wanted.”

  “And so it can, Young Atlas,” said Strickler, reverting to his human visage. “I can show you how . . . if you accept me as your teacher again.”

  A genuine smile spread across Strickler’s face, prompting Jim to actu
ally consider the offer . . . until a set of headlights danced across the kitchen walls. Hearing a car pull into the driveway, Jim cried, “Oh no—my mom’s home!”

  “Barbara?” Strickler whispered to himself.

  “Go! Through the back door!” Jim ordered.

  Nomura collected her scythes and stopped in front of Jim to say, “You have a lovely home. Sorry I didn’t mention it the last time I was here, trying to kill you.”

  With that, Nomura adopted her human disguise and slinked into the twilit backyard. Strickler reluctantly followed, but hesitated at the threshold to address Jim one last time.

  “I know I have hurt you. Your friends. Your family,” Strickler said in quiet apology. “But at least consider what I said, Jim.”

  Before Jim could respond, Walter Strickler slipped outside. No sooner did the back door close than the front one opened. Barbara Lake stepped into the entryway and called, “Jim, I’m home. My shift ended early. Isn’t that great?”

  In the kitchen, Jim wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, only to be reminded that he was still holding the meat cleaver. And still wearing his armor.

  “Uh, yeah!” Jim lied, his voice going up an octave. “Great!”

  As Jim raced toward the knife block, Barbara threw her white doctor’s coat on the sofa. She crossed over to the dining room, missing the tail end of a mystical light show before she reached the kitchen and found her son. Jim stood ramrod straight in his normal clothes, a strained smile on his face and the Amulet tucked into his back pocket.

  “How was your day?” Barbara asked.

  “Uneventful?” said Jim, still sweating profusely.

  “Uneventful is good,” Barbara said. “But what was that blue light I just saw?”

  “Um, maybe a glare?” Jim suggested lamely. “From your . . . lenses?”

  Barbara shrugged, removed her eyeglasses, and cleaned them with the fabric of her hospital scrubs. Jim looked to the heavens and allowed himself a small sigh of relief. That’s when he noticed the Santoku still wedged in the ceiling, directly over his mom’s head. With mounting dread, Jim saw the knife start to slip lower and lower, until it finally came loose and fell—right toward Barbara. She had barely put on her glasses before Jim yanked her forward.