The Adventure Begins

by Richard Ashley Hamilton

  PROLOGUE

  ONE LAST HUNT

  Kanjigar knew he was going to die exactly one day before it actually happened. The Amulet told him so.

  He felt the device ticking on the armor over his heart, as it had done for centuries. Until yesterday, when it suddenly started ticking faster and louder than it ever had before. Like a countdown.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  In that moment Kanjigar knew this hunt would be his last. The realization didn’t really surprise him. Countless Trolls had carried the Amulet before Kanjigar, so part of him always knew that he, too, would fall in battle one day. The Amulet would then call out for a new champion—the next Trollhunter—to carry out the unknowable wishes of its creator, Merlin the Wizard.

  Crossing Heartstone Trollmarket, Kanjigar’s underground home for the past two hundred years or so, he walked between caves bustling with thousands of Trolls of all shapes and sizes. Radiant gemstones reflected their neon colors across Kanjigar’s engraved metal armor. He smiled at the massive Heartstone that towered over Trollmarket, filling its subterranean residents—Kanjigar included—with precious life energy. His smile faded, though, when he remembered that this would be his final visit to Trollmarket and that his energy would soon return to the Heartstone. With his remaining time, the Trollhunter knew that he must say good-bye to those who were closest to him.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Kanjigar bowed his head so that his horns wouldn’t scrape against the library entrance, as they had countless times before, carving twin grooves into the stone archway. Inside the library he found his two best friends, Blinkous Galadrigal and AAARRRGGHH!!!

  “Why, if it isn’t Kanjigar the Courageous,” said Blinky, clapping all four of his hands together in delight. “To what do we owe this most prestigious of honors? If you’re here to review Gringold’s Grimoire again, I’m afraid I have it checked out to Vendel.”

  “That’s quite all right, Blinky,” said Kanjigar. “For I come in search of warm conversation, not dusty old books.”

  “I must say, that seems quite unlike you, Kanjigar,” said Blinky. “Er, no offense.”

  “It’s true,” AAARRRGGHH!!! mumbled, lowering his horned head meekly. “Never talk anymore.”

  Kanjigar sat down beside the pair at the large reading table covered with numerous open volumes and research scrolls and sighed, “For that, I apologize, my friends. I have been distracted of late. The burdens of the Trollhunter weigh heavily on my mind. But now . . . now I’m finally remembering what is most important to me.”

  Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! traded a look of concern as Kanjigar considered the library around them. Thousands of leather-bound books and various relics from their past adventures crammed its shelves, including a large rusted propeller.

  “Do you recall the time we tracked those Goblins to that human airfield on the surface?” Kanjigar asked with a grin.

  “But of course!” said Blinky, his six eyes brightening at the memory. “Back in . . . 1942. On the human calendar, of course.”

  Kanjigar’s grin spread to AAARRRGGHH!!! and Blinky as they shared his memory.

  “My, how those Goblins tore apart those ‘air-o-planes.’ Pointless contraptions,” Blinky continued. “Why would any sane creature possibly want to fly when they can remain perfectly safe underground? And those poor, frightened pilots! What did they call the Goblins when they saw them? ‘Gromets’? ‘Grammars’?”

  “Gremlins,” said AAARRRGGHH!!!

  The three Trolls laughed so hard, Kanjigar almost forgot the Amulet.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Kanjigar closed his eyes, exhaled, and stood up.

  “The sun has set above,” said Kanjigar. “I had best begin my patrol.”

  Blinky began, “Then let me gather my supplies so that AAARRRGGHH!!! and I might join—”

  “That won’t be necessary, old friend,” Kanjigar interrupted. “Stay, both of you, and think more on old times.”

  “Kanjigar,” said AAARRRGGHH!!! in a soft voice. “Everything . . . all right?”

  The Trollhunter thought for a moment before he forced a weak smile at his enormous ally and said, “It will be.”

  Kanjigar then clapped AAARRRGGHH!!! and Blinky on their shoulders and left the library before they could ask anything else. He turned left at the Glug Pub and continued down the path to the Hero’s Forge.

  There, at the center of the sprawling arena, Draal trained. He dodged a razor-sharp pendulum, weaved between jets of fire, and tucked his body into a rolling, spiked ball to smash through a stone barrier. When the dust cleared, Draal looked up and saw Kanjigar at the sidelines. Their matching nose rings glinted in the faint gemlight.

  “Most impressive,” said Kanjigar, cocking his eyebrow.

  “Thank you, Father,” Draal answered. “Yet it pales in comparison to your mighty deeds.”

  “Draal, I—” Kanjigar began, unsure of what to say next.

  He moved closer, wanting to share the pride he felt for Draal . . . until he remembered the Amulet that occupied the space between his heart and his son.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “Your guard,” Kanjigar finally managed to say after changing his mind. “Remember to keep it up after you come out of a roll. To protect against a side attack.”

  “I shall, Father,” Draal said dutifully before watching his father’s armored form turn and leave him—and Trollmarket—for good.

  • • •

  Kanjigar still thought about Draal, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH!!! hours later as he crept into the abandoned factory on the surface world. His armor shone in the moonlight that filtered through the broken windows. He trod lightly across shattered glass, wads of garbage, and a downed sign that said VESPA MOTORS ASSEMBLY PLANT in humanspeak, following a trail of blood drops.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Hearing voices ahead, low and sinister, Kanjigar eased over to the corner and peered around. There, before him, the Trollhunter saw his prey: Bular, Son of Gunmar.

  The massive red-eyed monster sat on a throne of discarded engine blocks and bent metal. At his cloven feet kneeled three reptilian Changelings: one tall and gaunt male, one squat and bearded male, and one lithe female with menace flashing in her eyes.

  “You have heard my father’s orders, Impures,” said Bular with a snarl. “Hasten your search. The time of Gunmar’s return draws near.”

  “As you wish, O Great Bular,” said the gaunt one with a hint of sarcasm. “But might I point out that we’re not alone?”

  Bular’s head whipped up and a growl formed in his throat as Kanjigar walked into the makeshift throne room.

  “Merlin’s creation,” sneered Bular.

  “You’ve grown sloppy in your arrogance, Bular,” said Kanjigar. “Even a blind Nyarlagroth could have followed that blood trail.”

  The throne shuddered with a metal-on-metal screech as Bular rose. The three Changelings got to their feet and instinctively backed into the shadows.

  “A Troll has to eat, and there are so many delicious fleshbags to choose from on the surface,” Bular said with a terrifying smile.

  Bular unsheathed the two swords from his back and leaped off his throne, his powerful legs carrying him across the entire factory floor. Kanjigar held out his hand, and his broadsword, Daylight, manifested instantaneously. Swinging his weapon like a club, Kanjigar smacked Bular with the flat of the blade, sending him crashing through the building’s crumbling brick walls.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Kanjigar followed outside, only for Bular to reach out from the darkness with a roar. His claw grabbed the Trollhunter by the helmet and tossed him bodily into a nearby neighborhood. The two warriors tussled down the streets, smashing into mailboxes
, setting off car alarms, and slicing through trees with their weapons.

  With his eye swelling from a bruise, Kanjigar glanced up at the sky. The horizon turned from purple to orange with the coming sunrise.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Bular lunged at Kanjigar. The Trollhunter sidestepped the attack, letting Bular’s momentum carry him tumbling down a concrete ramp. The dark Troll came to a stop in the dry canal that ran through this human town, Arcadia Oaks. Kanjigar charged after Bular, their swords clashing again under a looming bridge crossing the canal above them.

  “Yield, Kanjigar!” thundered Bular, his body heaving from exertion.

  “A Trollhunter never yields,” said Kanjigar, equally spent. “I’d rather die.”

  “Terms accepted,” said Bular.

  So focused was Kanjigar on his nemesis that he failed to notice the sun rising above him. A beam of light glanced off the Trollhunter’s armor, turning one of its corners to lifeless stone.

  Bular used the distraction to kick Daylight out of the Trollhunter’s grip. Kanjigar scrambled after his weapon, but he recoiled when another shaft of sunlight appeared between his fingers and the sword. He felt his hand go numb and the Amulet’s glow start to fade.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  The Trollhunter bounded for the bridge and climbed up, around, and below its weathered struts. But Bular followed. Kanjigar ignored his taunts and the hot, rotted meat stench of his breath as the evil Troll pinned him to the bridge’s edge. Bular forced Kanjigar’s face into the sunlight, burning half of it into dead, unmoving stone.

  Kanjigar heard himself scream, but it sounded distant to him. Summoning the last of his strength, he clasped his hand around Bular’s forearm and yanked it into the sunlight as well. Bular howled in agony, but all Kanjigar could hear was the incessant ticking of the Amulet, the countdown nearing its end. Soon it would all be over.

  Tick.

  Regaining his footing on the brink, Kanjigar found himself trapped between his enemy and the risen sun. Bular pulled out his swords again, albeit with a bit more trouble due to his now-paralyzed claw.

  Tick.

  “It’s me or the sun,” said Bular. “Either way, you’re doomed.”

  Tick.

  “No,” said Kanjigar with difficulty. “The Amulet will find a champion. We will stop you and your master. I may end, but the fight will not.”

  The Amulet stopped ticking. A sense of peace washed over Kanjigar as he folded his arms across his chest, secure in the knowledge of what he needed to do next. With one simple step backward, Kanjigar fell off the bridge and into pure, golden sunlight.

  “Please, Merlin, let your Amulet choose anyone other than my son,” whispered the Trollhunter a second before his stone body shattered upon impact with the ground.

  CHAPTER 1

  DAYLIGHT

  The alarm clock on the desk clicked to 6:00 a.m., emitting the same annoying beep it did every school day. James Lake Jr. blinked his eyes open slowly, still remembering his strange dream. He was surrounded by thousands of disassembled Vespa scooter parts without instructions or anyone around to help him put it all back together. And Jim had this feeling that carried over from the dream into the morning—a dreadful sense that time was running out. Looking at the alarm clock didn’t help the feeling go away.

  Dressing and combing his black hair in a hurry, Jim went downstairs into the kitchen and started cooking three meals at once: buttered toast for himself (a simple but oh-so-satisfying breakfast), a chipotle-ketchup-glazed meat loaf baking in the oven, and a caramelized onion and goat cheese omelet. Jim worked his Santoku knife with practiced precision across the cutting board, putting a fine dice on the red onions. And he had enough faded scars on his fingertips to remind him to keep them tucked as he sliced the basil into a chiffonade.

  Multitasking around the kitchen, Jim pulled the meat loaf from the oven and portioned three slices of it into three separate sandwiches, and folded the omelet effortlessly in the skillet. Not bad for a Tuesday. Now came Jim’s favorite part: he washed his knife in the sink and air-dried it by twirling the blade between his fingers.

  Kids, don’t try this at home, Jim thought. Unless your mom works crazy-long hours and you’ve gotten totally sick of eating PB and J alone every night.

  Once he had spun every last drop of moisture off its surface, Jim holstered the Santoku in the knife block, plated the omelet, and carried it upstairs on a tray. He gently opened the door to the second bedroom and found his mom, Barbara, sound asleep in her bed.

  Jim set the tray down on the night table, gently removed his mom’s glasses from her face, and polished them with his sweater before placing them next to the omelet. Seeing her there, looking so peaceful, Jim felt kind of sorry for his mom. She worked so hard at the hospital, actually saving peoples’ lives, and providing for the two of them. Jim vowed long ago never to complain about making meals. It was the least he could do to help his mom out. That, and she was also a really terrible cook.

  “Love you, Mom,” Jim said softly as he kissed her on the head and went back downstairs.

  • • •

  The garage door cranked open mechanically, and Jim walked his bike outside, squinting against the brilliant sunlight.

  “We’re late for school, Jimbo,” called a familiar voice.

  Jim smiled when he saw Toby Domzalski waiting for him at the end of the driveway. Tobes was trying to stuff his head into a bike helmet that he had long since outgrown.

  “Sorry, Tobes,” said Jim. “Busy with the lunches. One for me, one for Mom, and . . .”

  Jim held out a brown paper bag, and Toby eagerly snatched it, inhaling deeply.

  “Ah,” Toby sighed. “Balsamic mushrooms, meat loaf—chunky—sun-dried tomatoes . . .”

  Toby’s braces shined in the sunlight as he rolled his tongue inside his mouth, trying to place that last flavor he was smelling.

  “And cardamom,” said Jim.

  “Ooh, taking a chance there, Chef Jim!” Toby replied.

  Jim smiled. Ever since kindergarten, Toby had always had, well, an appreciation for food. Toby loved the way Jim used equal parts ground beef and pork to keep his meat loaf tender, and Jim loved how Toby loved stuff like that.

  “What’s life without a little adventure?” joked Jim as he hopped onto his bike.

  Toby did the same (after a few failed attempts), and the guys pedaled their way to school. Since they were running late, they cut through the woods toward the canal to save five minutes. Toby complained about the bumpy ride, but Jim couldn’t help but tune him out a bit and savor the ride. He lived for moments like these—racing against the clock, feeling the wind against his face, and jumping his bike over a hill whenever he got a chance.

  Those little thrills kept Jim focused on the moment and not worried about the day ahead. The idea of sitting through a bunch of classes he was not particularly good at, all while trying not to stare at the amazing girl who didn’t even know he existed, made Jim’s stomach twist. He wondered how long he would feel this way. How long he would just be so . . . ordinary. All through high school? College? That sensation of time running out returned to Jim, sending a fresh pang of worry to his gut.

  Oh well, Jim thought as Toby blabbed on behind him. Claire Nuñez may never notice me, but at least I’ve got Tobes. And my mom. And a promising career making sandwiches, I guess. Meat loaf is great and all, but still. I wish there was . . . more.

  Jim tried to push all his anxiety aside as he rushed toward the canal. Reaching its concrete edge, Jim pulled up on his handlebars and his bike caught air. During the downward arc, he felt free—free of responsibility, free of worry, free of that nagging voice in his head—for a few fun, fleeting, glorious seconds.

  The tires landed at the bottom of the canal with a rubber squeak, and Jim looked back toward the woods, waiting for the lagging Toby.

  “Come on, Tobes!” Jim called out, his voice bouncing against the canal’s graffiti-covered walls.

 
No response came from Toby. He was probably too far behind to hear Jim anyway. Instead, Jim heard another voice echo in his mind. Not the usual one that popped up to second-guess Jim all the time.

  No, this was an unfamiliar voice. It sounded old, powerful, and deathly serious as Jim felt it call out his name.

  “James Lake.”

  CHAPTER 2

  CHOSEN

  “Curse this infernal sunlight!” shouted Blinky.

  His four hands rattled the corroded metal grate of the drain tunnel before him, but it did not budge. AAARRRGGHH!!! hunched behind Blinky and winced at the noise, his eyes welling with tears. For both Trolls had watched from this dark hiding spot in the dry canal as their best friend, Kanjigar, sacrificed himself mere hours ago.

  Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! had each felt unsettled after Kanjigar left the library of Troll lore. Something about what he’d said—or hadn’t said—and the way the Trollhunter’s eyes wouldn’t quite meet their own, had concerned both of them. So when Kanjigar was late in returning home from his nightly patrol, Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! traveled from Heartstone Trollmarket to that drain tunnel on the surface world.

  As the sun broke through the morning fog, the two Trolls caught the very last of Kanjigar’s final battle with Bular. AAARRRGGHH!!! could have very easily knocked the grate aside with his tremendous strength, but burning sunlight had filled the canal between their tunnel and the bridge. Blinky cried out at the top of his lungs to try to distract Bular. But the bridge was too far away. And so the two Trolls watched in horror as the Trollhunter plunged off the bridge and smashed against the canal floor into thousands of shards of rock.

  AAARRRGGHH!!! had to look away after that, but Blinky derived some grim satisfaction in spying on Bular as the dark Troll tried in vain to reach the Amulet buried within Kanjigar’s remains. Every time Bular neared the pile of rubble, the rays of sunlight that surrounded it would sear his stone skin. After several failed attempts and enraged roars of frustration—and the human city now waking up around him—Bular finally retreated into the nearby woods, which were still untouched by the morning sun. For the longest time after that, Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! did not speak to each other. They just sat there, in the dank and musty tunnel, wordlessly heartbroken.