“Take heart, Trollhunter,” added Kanjigar. “It will get better. With time . . .”
Once again, Jim’s surroundings shifted. He now stood in Ballustra’s smithy—the very same cave Jim had just seen demolished by the Troll civil war. Yet it still appeared intact in this Void Visitation, and Jim and Kanjigar observed as young Draal spoke with his mother.
“Then your decision is final?” Ballustra asked.
“It is,” answered Draal. “I fear for Father’s safety. The ‘New World’ is no place for a scholar. If he is to join Deya in her quest to find a new Heartstone, then he will need protection.”
“I, for one, can think of no greater—or deadlier—protector than my son,” said Ballustra with a somber smile. “Though I shall miss him more than he could ever know.”
“Mother, come with us,” Draal said.
“Alas, I cannot,” said Ballustra, blinking away tears. “My place is here, in my smithy, building the weapons needed to defend those Trolls who, like me, choose to stay behind. Just as your place is beside Kanjigar. Yet, perhaps some small part of me might still travel with you. . . .”
Ballustra unfastened her nose ring and handed it to Draal. He took the engraved heirloom and inserted it into his own snout. Jim felt his pocket, where that same ring now rested, before a thick veil of mist passed in front of his eyes. When it cleared, he and Kanjigar were back in the Void. His chest and mind feeling clearer than they had before the visitation, Jim said, “Blinky told us about what happened next. About how you became the next Trollhunter on the way to America. About the Great Rocky Mountain Troll War you fought there. And about how Draal really did protect you the entire time. You may not have needed that protection anymore, but it sounded like you were both exactly where you needed to be.”
Kanjigar said, “Perhaps we might say the same of you in this moment. With my dying breath, I begged Merlin to spare Draal from becoming the Trollhunter. To let him have a life of his own, not one defined by the wants of an Amulet or a distracted parent. The wizard answered my wish, just as he answered your wish to speak with me.”
Jim ran his hand through his hair, reconsidering. Hearing Kanjigar put it this way, Jim now wondered if that cranky old wizard didn’t just clonk-donk him to the Void out of spite. Maybe there was a method to Merlin’s madness after all.
“And yet, I now see in death what I couldn’t in life,” Kanjigar continued. “That each of us, human and Troll alike, must walk our own path, some paths shorter than others.”
Galvanized by the purity behind Kanjigar’s words, Jim raised his head and looked into his predecessor’s ghostly eyes. Kanjigar placed a fist over his Amulet and said, “You need not feel guilt, Trollhunter, nor need you grieve my son any longer. If you wish to honor him, then honor him by continuing what he loved most in life. Make peace with your heart, get back on your path, and, for the glory of Draal the Deadly—FIGHT.”
CHAPTER 12
THE O.P.
“Just hang a little longer, guys—we’re almost there!” Toby hollered unconvincingly.
He felt his grip on the Warhammer slip and saw that Claire, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH!!! all struggled to cling onto the floating mallet, too. They’d all been hovering over the warring Garden and River Trolls for what seemed like hours, though it was likely closer to minutes. In that time, all of their arms had grown fatigued. But Toby spotted an empty muddy stretch at the outskirts of the battlefield. If they could just make it there and rest for a moment, Blinky would definitely be able to come up with some sort of plan to—
“Incoming!” Claire shouted.
A regiment of River Trolls launched a gigantic river stone from one of Ballustra’s trebuchets. As the boulder catapulted toward Team Trollhunters, Toby’s mind raced.
“Um, everyone ignore what I just said! In fact, do the opposite—let go!” he yelped.
All four friends released the Warhammer and plunged to the ground, more than fifty feet below them. As they fell, Blinky grabbed Toby and Claire right before AAARRRGGHH!!! wrapped his body around all three of them.
With a gigantic splat, AAARRRGGHH!!! landed back-first into the mud. He unfurled his arms, and Blinky, Claire, and Toby—dazed, but otherwise unharmed—slipped onto the squishy mire. The unmanned Warhammer plopped beside them, and AAARRRGGHH!!! shook the muck from his fur, splattering the others. Blinky wiped the grime from his six eyes and said, “We’re fortunate the River Trolls soaked this terrain so thoroughly; it made for a soft landing. To say nothing of the way Tobias carried us here by sheer willpower—even a Troll of AAARRRGGHH!!!’s considerable carriage!”
“Aw, he ain’t heavy, he’s my wingman,” Toby said with a muddy fist bump.
“Garden Troll filth!” shouted a nearby voice.
They spun around and recognized the regiment that had shot them down. Five River Trolls surrounded Toby, Claire, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH!!!, pointing more of Ballustra’s signature weapons at them. Team Trollhunters huddled defensively, and Blinky whispered, “It would seem this mud has done little to conceal Porgon’s glamour over all of us!”
“Who are you calling filth, river rat?” shouted a Garden Troll.
Team Trollhunters spun around again and found a company of five Garden Trolls cornering them from the other side, brandishing even more of Ballustra’s weapons. Their leader pointed his pitchfork at the four muddy figures and said, “We claim all of you River Trolls as our prisoners of war!”
AAARRRGGHH!!!, Blinky, Toby, and Claire each braced for a fight, when they heard someone clear his throat with a deliberate “Ahem.” The group spun around a third time and saw Merlin approaching, careful not to get any mud on his emerald boots. Claire looked beyond the wizard, seeing he was alone, and asked, “Where’s Jim? Wasn’t he with you?”
“The Trollhunter needed a time-out,” said the wizard. “And so does this little charade.”
With a snap of his fingers, Porgon’s glamour dissipated. Toby, Claire, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH!!! stood revealed as two humans and two Trolls. The River and Garden soldiers spluttered, then glowered with renewed suspicion at each other.
“Don’t be daft,” said Merlin. “This level of trickery’s beyond your tribes’ ken.”
“Then who?” demanded a Garden Troll. “Who pulled the moss over our eyes?”
“Likely the same trickster who suggested you reconnoiter this particular area and who ordered the River Trolls to fire their catapult at that particular moment,” said Merlin.
The wizard snapped his fingers once more, and the muck at his feet magically sculpted into an incredibly lifelike bust of Porgon. Merlin said, “Look familiar?”
The River and Garden Trolls shook their heads. Nope.
“How about now?” Merlin asked, reshaping the mud to add a boulder atop the head.
“It’s him!” cried one of the River Trolls. “He calibrated our catapult’s aim!”
“As I suspected,” Merlin sighed, altering the head so that branches now adorned it.
“That’s the one who supplied our camp with Grave Sand!” said a Garden Troll. “The stuff’s whipping our forces into a frenzy!”
“Porgon’s been playing both sides against each other!” Claire realized. “And who knows for how long. . . .”
“Why don’t we just ask him?” said Merlin. “He’s right over there.”
Merlin pointed at one of the five River Trolls and vanished the boulder atop his head and the algae beard along his chin—revealing Porgon beneath the disguise. He burst into another giggle, this one a tad more high-pitched and nervous than usual.
“Think you can out-trick a Trickster Troll, do you?” taunted Porgon.
Merlin blew a rather unimpressed raspberry and said, “Please. You address the fellow who invented pranks.”
With his hexing arm, Porgon tapped an unsuspecting River Troll. The soldier then involuntarily spat out a mouthful of river water at Merlin. Without batting an eye, the wizard doffed his skullcap. The curved headpiece caught the stream and r
edirected it—right into Porgon’s face.
“Touché!” Blinky hailed from the sidelines.
The Trickster Troll shook the water from his mug, then hexed a Garden Troll before she could avoid his touch. Her branches suddenly burst into flames, and she ran around in distress like a fiery bull. Merlin yawned, grabbed ahold of Claire’s sleeves, and said, “May I?”
Before Claire could say no, he removed her blazer, turned it inside out, and changed the color of the lining to a bright red. The wizard held out the crimson coat like a matador’s cape. As the Garden Troll passed by, he twirled the jacket with a flourish, making her disappear.
“Whoa!” said Toby, Claire, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH!!! in unison.
Everyone wondered what had happened to that hexed Garden Troll—until she appeared again behind Porgon. Still barreling ahead in a straight line, the Garden Troll rammed the trickster’s backside with her lit branches. Porgon jumped into the air, gripping his singed hindquarters, and landed face-first in a pool of mud.
Smirking, Merlin poured the leftover river water from his skullcap onto the Garden Troll’s branches. The flames extinguished, only to be replaced by a fresh bloom of leaves. The other Garden and River Trolls couldn’t help but applaud, drawing the attention of nearby soldiers from both sides. A larger crowed gathered as the wizard extended an armored hand to Porgon and said, “No hard feelings?”
The Trickster Troll took Merlin’s hand—only for it to pop off Merlin’s wrist. Porgon lost his balance, winding up with more mud on his face and an empty gauntlet in his grip.
“Ah, the old false hand gag,” chuckled Merlin, wiggling his armored fingers as if they’d never left his arm. “Never gets old.”
While Porgon’s feet struggled to find purchase on the slippery sludge, he heard giggles. But they were not his own, for a change. Droves of River and Garden Trolls had given up their battles to join in laughing at him. They all stood side by side, pointing and jeering at the outclassed and out-pranked Porgon.
“Stop it!” the Trickster Troll demanded. “You’re supposed to laugh with me, not at me!”
But this just made the Troll audience laugh even louder. Merlin raised his hands in the air, silencing the crowd, and said, “Though he may look the buffoon at present, I believe Porgon to be the chief architect behind your perpetual feud—and all for his own amusement!”
The gathered Trolls did not appear to be in a laughing mood anymore. They turned their angry eyes upon Porgon, who shrieked, “Lies! The wizard lies! Yes, I may have nudged both tribes a little here and there. But a Trickster Troll never acts directly. I merely added fuel to the animosity already burning betwixt your camps!”
The assembled Garden and River Trolls now noticed how closely they had become intermingled. They started to shove at one another. Then came the swinging fists, followed by more volleys of vegetation and water. Team Trollhunters ducked away from the renewed war, and Blinky said, “So much for an armistice.”
“Army sis?” asked AAARRRGGHH!!!
“Armistice,” Blinky corrected. “It means ceasefire, suspension of hostilities, a truce.”
“But if Merlin couldn’t broker one, then who can?” asked Claire.
A portal tore open in front of them. Pale blue vapor cascaded out of the breach, followed by one metal boot, then another. The mists parted, and Jim appeared, clad in the gleaming Daylight Armor. As his friends embraced their returned Trollhunter, Jim said to Merlin, “Thanks. I needed that.”
“A mere parlor trick,” the wizard muttered with a dismissive wave.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Merlin,” Toby said. “You’re the O.P.—original pranksta!”
“I see the war’s still raging,” said Jim of the strife sprawling around them.
“Indeed, Master Jim,” Blinky said. “It’s as if every Troll refuses to stop fighting!”
“Then it’s a good thing we don’t need every Troll to stop fighting,” Jim said with sudden clarity. “Just one.”
CHAPTER 13
PUZZLE PRINCE
Gold-and-black talons picked up a pebble and inserted it between two larger stones. The pieces fit perfectly, like the tiles in a mosaic.
Gunmar took a step back to judge his progress so far. He supposed the Heartstone around him had likely glowed brighter when these private quarters belonged to that fool Vendel. But now that black streaks of rot coursed through it, Trollmarket’s luster had diminished considerably. Still, the corrupted crystal gave enough light for Gunmar to see his subject take shape.
“My, my,” echoed a lilting voice from the shadows.
Gunmar stood erect. Behind him, the Heartstone’s decayed veins wove into the silhouette of a severe woman in a barbed headdress. She clucked her tongue and said, “In all my years, I’ve only seen you destroy, never create. Perhaps I should take to calling you Gunmar the Artiste?”
“Morgana,” Gunmar said to the living shade. “You grace me with your malign presence.”
“Do I?” said Morgana from behind the Heartstone barrier. “I’d have thought you were avoiding me, the way you hide in here alone, playing with little toy rocks.”
“Hiding?” Gunmar roared. “I hide from no one!”
“Then how else do you explain your inaction?” Morgana said with a disapproving tsk.
Gunmar’s eye wandered to Merlin’s Staff of Avalon. It leaned against the corner of Vendel’s onetime workshop, its green gemstone pulsing faintly in the dark.
“Only that staff can free me from my prison within this very Heartstone,” said Morgana. “Did you think I spent so many centuries in here, I wouldn’t mind another day more? While you waste time reassembling your puzzle prince?”
Gunmar considered his work-in-progress. In the faint half-light of the Heartstone, the remains of Gunmar’s son, Bular, stood rebuilt into some patchwork monument to brutality, pebble by miserable pebble. The Dark Underlord studied the cracks marring Bular’s reconstructed face. Finally, he said, “I already tried to free you from your chrysalis with the staff, Pale Lady, but the effort was for naught. Rather than try the same fruitless tactic twice, I chose to come here and plot my next move.”
“A most sound explanation,” Morgana said. “Was it meant to convince me . . . or yourself?”
For the first time in his long, torturous existence, Gunmar hesitated. But the silence quickly abated, when the ceiling rumbled above them. Recovering from his delay, Gunmar pointed a razor-sharp finger upward and said, “Neither. The nine Nyarlagroths speak to my conviction. Listen how they grow, Eldritch Queen, how their movements have sewn disarray in long, ugly scars beneath the surface world. The Trollhunter—if his puny human heart still beats—shall be too consumed by his loved ones’ suffering to prevent my mastery of Merlin’s staff. I will bring you out of the Heartstone, just as I will bring about the Eternal Night.”
Even from behind the marbled sheath of Heartstone, Gunmar studied Morgana. She considered this strategy, until the Dark Trollmarket shuddered with an even stronger rumbling. Gunmar’s single, incensed eye caught one last glimpse of his son before Bular’s body crumbled into a pile of pebbles once more.
The Dark Underlord resisted the acute, feral urge to howl—to let loose a cry of abject suffering. Morgana’s silhouette cackled and unstitched itself. Even as she faded, her shrill, sadistic laugh echoed louder in Gunmar’s mind than the tremor that had just leveled his son.
CHAPTER 14
FOR THE LOVE OF . . .
Normally, Merlin hated to run. It was just so ordinary.
But the wizard had to, if he wanted to keep up with Team Trollhunters. Jim led them through the war zone, slashing at vines with his Sword of Daylight and deflecting scalding geysers with his shield. Toby and Claire followed close behind, using their Warhammer and Shadow Staff to trip up any Troll combatants who interrupted their forward progress. Blinky lobbed the occasional Dwärkstone grenade, not to add to the chaos, but to separate River and Garden Trolls with large craters. And AAARRRGGHH!!! guarded
the back of the line, his runes glowing green as he swatted away the boulders, arrows, and spears that had been loosed upon his friends.
“Heads up!” said Jim.
He spied two Garden Trolls overturn a large vat of boiling oil from the oil baths. The pitch ignited on the burning battlefield, forming a wall of fire in front of Jim. Without breaking pace, the Trollhunter mentally summoned his helmet and faceplate and leaped through the flames. He landed unsinged on the other side, then looked back at his teammates. They skidded to a halt in front of the wall of fire and waited for Merlin to do something about the blaze. But the wizard lagged behind them, doubled over and gasping for air. He held up a trembling finger as if to say, one minute.
“Oh, for the love of—” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “Jim, go—we’ll catch up!”
Jim nodded gratefully and broke off on his own. Claire pointed her Shadow Staff at the wall of flames, her face wrenched with the extreme strain.
“C’mon, baby,” she grunted at her staff. “How ’bout one little shadow for Mama Skull?”
Claire doubled down on her effort, and a tiny black hole tore open. But it was big enough. The miniscule vacuum sucked all the oxygen out of the inferno, smothering it. With their path cleared, Claire, Toby, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH!!! saw the Trollhunter’s remote silver form finally reach his destination in the distance.
Jim shoved his way through a sea of River and Garden Trolls. Yet, these soldiers weren’t fighting. Each of them held out objects of value—hunks of crystal, purses fat with gemstones, milk crates full of human laser disc collections—all to curry the favor of the busy Troll before them: Ballustra. She stood atop one of her siege engines—a massive cannon on wheels with a long crystal barrel—conducting transaction after transaction. With one hand, Ballustra took the Trolls’ offerings. And with the other, she replaced them with her inventions. The lucky Trolls would then run off with their new weapons, eager to test them on any unsuspecting enemies.
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