As he wandered the fortress, Jim came to a grim realization. He had no idea where he was, how long he’d been unconscious on the Nyarlagroth, or which way he had to go to find Enrique. Jim hadn’t felt this lost since he was in that labyrinth with . . .
“Rob,” Jim murmured to himself, only now remembering his guide.
He didn’t know where the obnoxious spitfire had gone and, frankly, Jim didn’t care.
No friends in the Darklands, Jim mentally reminded himself of his policy.
Rounding a corner, the Trollhunter finally found Skarlagk in what must have been her chambers. The place seemed more like a war room, with a sprawling map of the Darklands sketched in white chalk across the full length of the slate walls. Skarlagk drew a few more details in one of the corners. Once finished, she dropped the nub of chalk into her satchel. She then stared intently at this new portion of the map, as if trying to memorize it.
“I use chalk so I can erase it at a moment’s notice,” Skarlagk said before Jim could ask. “We’ve always managed to stay one step ahead of Gunmar’s forces. But the moment we let down our guard is surely the very moment he will strike.”
“Surely,” Jim agreed. “But Gunmar’s been here as long as you, right? He’s gotta have a map of all the places he’s been to in the Darklands.”
“This shows more than where we’ve been,” Skarlagk said. “It shows where we’re going.”
She stomped her boot powerfully against the stone floor one time, and the whole fortress rumbled. Jim steadied himself by the war room’s open window and yelled, “What is that?!”
Skarlagk joined Jim at the portico and pointed at the dense shroud of fog below them. A colossal Nyarlagroth—at least fifty times larger than any Jim had seen—rose from the haze, lifting the entirety of Skarlagk’s fortress, which had been built upon its back.
“A Nyarlagroth queen,” said Skarlagk. “That is how we stay one step ahead of Gunmar. She moves us to one of nine secure locations across the Darklands every few days.”
“Unbelievable,” Jim said, boggled by the incredible scale of the beast beneath them. “But . . . why? Why all this for Gunmar? I mean, yeah, I kinda get it. After all, he’s promised to make ‘an ocean of blood from my loved ones.’ And . . . and ‘a throne from their bones.’ But to devote your entire existence to getting even with one enemy? To be on the run from him for centuries? That’s just, well . . . crazy.”
Skarlagk did not speak. Instead, she reached into her satchel, pulled out the old horned skull, and pressed it lovingly against her forehead.
“This belonged to my father, Orlagk,” Skarlagk said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Until Gunmar betrayed him.”
Jim’s eyes softened in understanding. He wanted to reach out, to say something to her. But he didn’t know what.
“He did this in front of me, as I hid like a coward in the shadows. Then he assumed control of my father’s Gumm-Gumm army,” she continued.
“How . . . how old were you?” Jim finally said.
“Almost sixteen, in your human years,” Skarlagk answered.
“Skarlagk, you weren’t a coward,” Jim said. “You were a teenager.”
“Explain that to my father,” said Skarlagk as she put away the skull. “Ever since that moment, I have dedicated myself to demolishing Gunmar and everything for which he stands. Now that I’ve found you, I finally have the weapon I need to fulfill my life’s mission and avenge my father.”
The Trollhunter remained quiet, trying to process all that he had heard. Although Skarlagk had no way of knowing, Jim had just turned sixteen himself. The very idea of Skarlagk witnessing what she had seen at that age made Jim wonder what he’d do in her situation. All of a sudden, he didn’t crave water or a hot shower anymore. It was hard for Jim to feel anything other than a cold emptiness in his chest.
“You have not responded to my offer, Trollhunter,” said Skarlagk. “Will you join me? Will you help end Gunmar’s reign before he fulfills his promise and does to your loved ones what he did to mine?”
Jim looked up at Skarlagk, his blue eyes meeting her cold, flinty ones. That hollow feeling spread inside of him.
“Yes,” said the Trollhunter, unsure of what steep cost it would take on his own soul.
CHAPTER 10
DEAL WITH THE DEVIL
After a long march, the Gumm-Gumm search party shoved a shackled Nomura into the Crucible Pit. Dictatious approached the throne and bowed to Gunmar.
“Dark Underlord, we have yet to find any evidence of the Trollhunter’s presence in the Darklands,” Dictatious began. “But this rogue Impure we discovered may bring you some small measure of satisfaction.”
Gunmar stood, and Nomura’s defiant posture faltered. But she quickly recovered and stared back into his lone, livid eye.
“I recognize you,” Gunmar said, his stinking breath hitting Nomura like a fist.
Kodanth scrambled into the Crucible Pit, late to the scene. He glanced at Dictatious, who wagged four disapproving fingers—one on each hand—at Kodanth.
“Tell me, Kodanth, does she seem familiar to you, as well?” Gunmar went on.
“Y-yes, Master,” stammered Kodanth, relieved that Gunmar hadn’t mentioned his tardiness. “Nomura is a member of my Janus Order.”
“Is that so?” Gunmar asked, still not taking his eye off Nomura. “I, too, remember her. As one of the Changelings who failed me when Bular last tried to return me to the surface lands. You do know the price of failure, do you not?”
Gunmar flexed his right claw, and strands of energy weaved the Decimaar Blade into his grasp. Dictatious tried get Gunmar’s attention, to stay Nomura’s execution. But she beat him to it.
Nomura bent at the knees and flipped high into the air. On her descent, Nomura tucked in her legs, pulled her cuffed arms in front of her body, and landed gracefully. The Gumm-Gumms immediately slashed at her with their axes. But Nomura held out her manacles so that their weapons split the chains that bound her instead. Now freed, she grabbed the scimitars from her scabbards and fought back. Her curved blades struck against the Gumm-Gumms’ rusty weapons, setting off showers of sparks that lit up the Crucible Pit.
After clearing a wide circle in the arena, Nomura held out her left sword to keep her attackers at bay. With her right, she traced a fast map into the black sand floor, marking nine distinct spots with large Xs.
“These are the locations where Skarlagk’s fortress crawls every few days,” Nomura finally said. “I have tracked them since I first arrived in the Darklands, and only I know their timing and pattern.”
Gunmar glared at Nomura, the Decimaar Blade still held firmly in his grasp. Behind him, Dictatious and Kodanth traded an uncertain look.
“Let me live, Gunmar, and I will share these with you,” Nomura offered. “If not, well . . .”
Nomura swept away the map with her sword, erasing the Xs. Gunmar just stood there breathing for quite some time before he said, “Come, Nomura. Whisper what you know into my ear so that you may live and serve Gunmar once again.”
Nomura hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Dictatious. But he just held up all his hands in uncertainty. Realizing she didn’t have much of a choice, Nomura sheathed her scimitars, walked over to Gunmar, and whispered. She had to stand on the tips of her toes just to reach his ear, even as he hunched over. When she was done, Gunmar nodded and said, “You have kept your end of the bargain. So shall I.”
Gunmar cast his eye toward the Gumm-Gumms, and they seized Nomura.
“What’s the meaning of this?!” Nomura shouted. “You said that I would live! That I would still serve you!”
She struggled against the Gumm-Gumms, but they ultimately overpowered her.
“You do live,” Gunmar answered with an ugly grin. “And you shall serve—a lifetime imprisoned in my dungeons.”
“Curse you, Gunmar!” Nomura spat in rage. “Curse you!”
“I already am,” Gunmar replied.
The Gumm-Gumms dragged Nomur
a, twisting and kicking, into a tunnel. More of those orange spikes slid into place behind them like the bars of a crystal prison.
“Lord Gunmar,” Kodanth began after Nomura’s anguished cries finally faded. “Surely you’ve considered that Nomura’s information might just be a trap set by Skarlagk herself?”
“I have,” said Gunmar. “For I have already suffered the folly of trusting a Changeling.”
Dictatious watched with glee as Gunmar took a lumbering step toward Kodanth, the Decimaar Blade alight. Under his cloak, Dictatious silently clapped his four hands together.
“W-what?” Kodanth groveled. “You couldn’t possibly mean—”
“Such an unpredictable lot,” Gunmar continued, taking another step. “Tell me, Kodanth, have you discovered who let my Eye fall into the Trollhunter’s hands?”
Kodanth swallowed hard and said, “It could only have been Strickler, sire. He was entrusted with safeguarding the Eye until your triumphant return to—”
“Ah, another Changeling, then,” said Gunmar as he brandished his Decimaar Blade.
“Yes! I mean, no!” Kodanth fumbled. “I mean, I think he sought to use it as a bargaining chip. I think—I think—”
Kodanth found he could no longer speak. The orange Changeling looked down and saw the tip of the Decimaar Blade grazing his chest, its pale energies now spiraling around him.
“You think too much,” said Gunmar. “So stop.”
The wispy tendrils of energy crawled up Kodanth’s stricken face and turned his eyes into two mirrored orbs. Gunmar removed his Decimaar Blade, and Kodanth stood still and silent before him. Skulking in the background, Dictatious wanted to whoop in joy. Instead, he forced himself to wear a more somber expression.
“Kodanth, make yourself useful for a change. March down to the pens and offer yourself to my Horde—as a meal,” Gunmar suggested rather plainly.
Without protest, Kodanth turned and shambled over to the entrance of the Horde pens. The crystal spikes retracted, Kodanth descended underground, and Dictatious heard the starving Horde roar in delight.
Gunmar returned to the sand and used the Decimaar Blade to recreate the entire map as Nomura had described it to him in her whispers. Still white-hot with energy, its searing tip drew all the nine Xs that represented Skarlagk’s hideouts.
“Dictatious,” Gunmar said to his one remaining adviser. “I give you the honor of preparing my forces for battle.”
“At once, Dark Underlord,” said Dictatious with false humility. “And let me be the first to address you by your glorious new title—Gunmar the Warbringer!”
Gunmar heard the words and bared his fangs in a twisted smile.
CHAPTER 11
PLAN K
With unbridled speed, the gyre rocketed down the tunnels crisscrossing beneath the Earth. Toby, Claire, Blinky, and NotEnrique held on for dear life inside the Troll vehicle, while Draal manned the controls.
“Can you go easy on the clutch, dude?” Toby groaned, rubbing his belly.
“No,” said Draal, pulling a lever and sending the gyre pinballing down another tunnel.
Toby’s face turned as green as NotEnrique’s before Draal slammed on the brakes, and the gyre came to an abrupt stop within an active volcano.
“Oh, boy, here come yesterday’s tacos,” warned Toby.
Claire shuddered as Toby leaned out of the gyre and puked into the lava flowing beside them. A few feet ahead, the magma started to churn and swell under a slab of igneous rock, raising it upward.
“We’d better hurry or we’ll miss our connecting flight,” said Blinky. “So to speak.”
Draal opened the gyre door and started handing heavy bundles to everyone. Claire unfolded her bundle and discovered that it was some sort of strange uniform. The suit was hewn from heavy-duty fabrics, with colorful gemstones dotting the seams. A large hollowed-out crystal sat at the top, like a helmet, with another bulky crystal attached to the back, like a scuba tank. Toby weakly wiped the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, then inspected the suit’s gloves. They only had spaces for four fingers.
“I’m guessing you didn’t buy these at the boutique on Delancy Street,” Claire said.
“Graven Garb,” said Blinky as he donned his own uniform. “AAARRRGGHH!!!’s tribe—the Krubera—designed these millennia ago to withstand the crushing pressures and absolute darkness of their deepest mines.”
“Hold on a tick,” NotEnrique groused. “This is one dwarf who ain’t going a-mining! Besides, I don’t even see one of those Graven Garbs for me.”
“Maybe the Krubera have a petites section,” Toby joked while nudging NotEnrique.
“Unfortunately, RotGut only had four suits in their inventory,” Blinky explained. “You’ll have to share with someone.”
“Not it!” said Toby, Blinky, and Draal before Claire did.
She threw her hands up in the air and said, “Fine! But that better be a fresh diaper on you!”
NotEnrique hopped into Claire’s baggy suit, while the others finished dressing. The volcano rumbled, and the lava level started to rise.
“Helmets!” Draal yelled.
The group latched the hollow crystals securely to their Graven Garb and followed Draal onto the floating slab. The rock began to quake beneath their feet as the volcanic pressure built.
“Hold on to your horns,” Draal said. “If you got ’em.”
Without warning, the lava surged under the igneous platform, launching the team up, out of the volcano’s caldera, and into a dark and weightless void.
“Um, did that volcano shoot us straight into outer space?” Toby asked.
The gemstones studding the Graven Garb suddenly glowed. The spectrum of color revealed that they had not traveled to space—but to the bottom of the ocean. From inside their watertight helmets, Toby and Claire looked down and realized that they had just erupted out of an undersea volcano.
“NotEnrique, you’ve got to see this!” Claire said in wonder.
But the Changeling remained clutched to her side. Claire thought she felt him shivering.
“Nope!” NotEnrique said quickly. “I’m good!”
“Welcome to the Mariana Trench!” Blinky exclaimed.
Somehow, the others could clearly hear Blinky’s voice in their ears.
“Whoa!” Toby said. “These helmets have better reception than my cell phone!”
“These crystal helmets have been attuned to share the same frequency,” said Blinky. “Think of them as something similar to a human child’s crude communication device—the two cans connected by a string. Only without the string. Or the cans, for that matter.”
“Blinky, this is amazing,” Claire said. “But why are we even here?”
“Perhaps it is time that I shared with you the K in my Plan K,” said Blinky.
Blinky pointed above them. The group craned their heads up and stared through their crystal visors in awe. A gargantuan Deep-Sea Troll stepped over them as it walked across the ocean floor. Unlike other Trolls, its body was made of living coral, not rock, and a crust of barnacles and seaweed clung to it like a thick coat.
“Behold,” announced Blinky. “The Kelpestrum!”
The Kelpestrum trod along the ocean floor, each of its footsteps kicking up huge clouds of silt.
“Oh my gosh!” Toby hyperventilated. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!”
“The Kelpestrum . . . ,” Draal whispered in awe. “My father used to tell me stories of him. How he’s a prehistoric Deep-Sea Troll, the last of its kind. How he’s related to Mountain Trolls like Gatto or Craggen and his Brothers Three. Kanjigar said the Kelpestrum doesn’t care about anyone or anything. He just keeps to the seabed, always walking, always consuming everything in his path.”
“Everything . . . including rare Troll artifacts,” Blinky added.
Putting his four arms to use, Blinky swam toward the Kelpestrum, and the others joined him. NotEnrique still trembled inside Claire’s Graven Garb, clinging tightly to h
er waist.
“Stop fidgeting, NotEnrique!” Claire told him. “What’s the matter—scared of a little water?”
“What? Me, afraid?!” said NotEnrique.
His elfin eyes darted to the sides nervously as NotEnrique became more and more aware of the dark, deep, endless ocean around them.
“Uh, don’t be silly, Nuñez!” he said, trying to sound brave. “Yer just, er, kickin’ me in the gronk-nuks every time ya doggy paddle!”
“Wait, did you say rare Troll artifacts?” Toby asked Blinky. “You mean, there could be another Glamour Mask inside of that thing?”
“Precisely, Tobias!” said Blinky. “Legend holds that the Kelpestrum once swallowed an entire undersea Trollmarket—the factual basis for your absurd human tale of Atlantis.”
“Whoa,” Toby said, fogging up his visor.
“Whoa, indeed,” Blinky went on. “Before they were eaten, the aquatic Troll villagers used to manufacture many powerful totems, most notably the Glamour Masks.”
“So we enter the Kelpestrum, get the mask, swim back to the gyre, and return to Arcadia Oaks to convince everybody that Jim’s still around, even when he isn’t,” said Claire, all in one breath.
“Correct,” Blinky answered. “Except for the part about swimming back.”
His six eyes went crossed as they watched a small crack etch along his crystal faceplate. Little drops of moisture started to bead along the fissure and dribble into his helmet.
“It appears these Graven Garb might not handle the oceans as well as they handle the mines!” Blinky worried. “Perhaps RotGut sold us defective models.”
“Or cheap knockoffs!” said NotEnrique’s voice from somewhere around Claire’s midsection.
“In either case, I fear they won’t last much longer at these depths!” Blinky added as everyone’s suits started to take on water.
CHAPTER 12
THE CRYSTAL SPIRE
Hours later, Skarlagk’s hollowness still hung over Jim like an extra suit of cold and heavy armor. He had left Skarlagk and her generals to plan their attack on Gunmar’s Crucible Pit, and he had explored more of the fortress. Ascending to the highest spire, Jim found a small room containing what appeared to be a crystal collection. Numerous gems lined the tower’s shelves, with chalk markings written around them.
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