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Authors: Julie Kagawa
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crossing, so whatever was following us would have to swim. Hopefully, that would slow it down a bit, but it also meant that we had burned our bridges, so to speak, if we wanted to return the same way.
“Uh-oh,” Puck murmured, and I turned around.
A tiny village lay in the mud at the edge of the river, thatch and peat roofs covering primitive huts built into an embankment, peeking out between the roots of enormous trees.Spears lay in the mud, some broken, and the roofs of several huts had been torn off. Silence hung thick over the village, the mist creeping up from the lake to smother what was left of the hamlet.
“Looks like something got here before us,” Puck observed, picking a shattered spear out of the mud. “Did a number on the village, too. No one’s here to welcome us, Grim. We’ll have to try something else.”
Grimalkin sniffed and jumped atop the bank, shaking mud from his paws. “How inconvenient.” He sighed, looking around in distaste. “Now I will never receive my favor.”
In the distance, somewhere beyond the mist coming off the water, there was a splash. Puck looked back and grimaced. “It’s still coming, persistent bastard.”
I drew my sword. “Then we make our stand here.”
Puck nodded, pulling his daggers. “Thought you might say that. I’ll find us some higher ground. Wrestling in the mud just isn’t my cup of tea, unless it involves scantily clad—” He stopped as I shot him a look. “Right,” he muttered. “That hill over there looks promising. I’ll check it out.”
Grimalkin followed my stare, blinking as Puck sloshed his way toward a lumpy mound of green moss and ferns. “That was not there the last time I was here,” he mused softly, narrowing his gaze. “In fact …” His eyes widened.
And he disappeared.
I whirled back, lunging forward as Puck hopped onto the hill, pulling himself up by a twisted root. “Puck!” I shouted, and he glanced back at me, frowning. “Get out of there now!”
The hill moved. With a yelp, Puck stumbled, flailing wildly as the grassy mound shifted and lurched and started to rise out of the mud. Puck dove forward, landing with a splat in the mud, and the hill stood up, unfolding long, claw-tipped arms and thick, stumpy legs. It turned, twenty feet of muddy greenswamp troll, moss and vegetation growing from its broad back, blending perfectly with the landscape. Dank green hair hung from its scalp, and its beady red eyes scanned the ground in confusion.
“Oh,” Puck mused, gazing up at the enormous creature from the mud. “Well, that explains a few things.”
The swamp troll roared, spittle flying from its open jaws, and took a step toward Puck, who bounced to his feet. It swiped a talon at him and he ducked, running under its enormous bulk, darting between the tree-stump legs. The troll roared and started to turn, and I flung a hail of ice daggers at it, sticking it in the shoulder and face. It bellowed and lurched toward me, making the ground shake as it charged. I dodged, rolling out of the way as the troll hit the embankment and ripped a huge gash through the huts, tearing them open.
As the troll pulled back, I lunged at it, swiping at its thick arms, cutting a deep gash through the barklike skin. It howled, more in anger than pain, and whirled on me.
There was movement on its broad shoulders, and Puck appeared, clinging to its back, a huge grin splitting his face. “All right,” he announced grandly, as the troll jerked and spun around, trying in vain to reach him, “I claim this land for Spain.” And he planted his dagger in the base of the troll’s thick neck.
The creature roared, a shrill, painful wail, and clawed desperately at its back. Puck scooted away, avoiding the troll’s raking talons, and stuck his dagger on the other side of its neck. It screeched again, slapping and tearing, and Puck scrambled away. With all its attention on Puck, I leaped forward, vaulted off a stumpy leg, and plunged my sword into
“Uh-oh,” Puck murmured, and I turned around.
A tiny village lay in the mud at the edge of the river, thatch and peat roofs covering primitive huts built into an embankment, peeking out between the roots of enormous trees.Spears lay in the mud, some broken, and the roofs of several huts had been torn off. Silence hung thick over the village, the mist creeping up from the lake to smother what was left of the hamlet.
“Looks like something got here before us,” Puck observed, picking a shattered spear out of the mud. “Did a number on the village, too. No one’s here to welcome us, Grim. We’ll have to try something else.”
Grimalkin sniffed and jumped atop the bank, shaking mud from his paws. “How inconvenient.” He sighed, looking around in distaste. “Now I will never receive my favor.”
In the distance, somewhere beyond the mist coming off the water, there was a splash. Puck looked back and grimaced. “It’s still coming, persistent bastard.”
I drew my sword. “Then we make our stand here.”
Puck nodded, pulling his daggers. “Thought you might say that. I’ll find us some higher ground. Wrestling in the mud just isn’t my cup of tea, unless it involves scantily clad—” He stopped as I shot him a look. “Right,” he muttered. “That hill over there looks promising. I’ll check it out.”
Grimalkin followed my stare, blinking as Puck sloshed his way toward a lumpy mound of green moss and ferns. “That was not there the last time I was here,” he mused softly, narrowing his gaze. “In fact …” His eyes widened.
And he disappeared.
I whirled back, lunging forward as Puck hopped onto the hill, pulling himself up by a twisted root. “Puck!” I shouted, and he glanced back at me, frowning. “Get out of there now!”
The hill moved. With a yelp, Puck stumbled, flailing wildly as the grassy mound shifted and lurched and started to rise out of the mud. Puck dove forward, landing with a splat in the mud, and the hill stood up, unfolding long, claw-tipped arms and thick, stumpy legs. It turned, twenty feet of muddy greenswamp troll, moss and vegetation growing from its broad back, blending perfectly with the landscape. Dank green hair hung from its scalp, and its beady red eyes scanned the ground in confusion.
“Oh,” Puck mused, gazing up at the enormous creature from the mud. “Well, that explains a few things.”
The swamp troll roared, spittle flying from its open jaws, and took a step toward Puck, who bounced to his feet. It swiped a talon at him and he ducked, running under its enormous bulk, darting between the tree-stump legs. The troll roared and started to turn, and I flung a hail of ice daggers at it, sticking it in the shoulder and face. It bellowed and lurched toward me, making the ground shake as it charged. I dodged, rolling out of the way as the troll hit the embankment and ripped a huge gash through the huts, tearing them open.
As the troll pulled back, I lunged at it, swiping at its thick arms, cutting a deep gash through the barklike skin. It howled, more in anger than pain, and whirled on me.
There was movement on its broad shoulders, and Puck appeared, clinging to its back, a huge grin splitting his face. “All right,” he announced grandly, as the troll jerked and spun around, trying in vain to reach him, “I claim this land for Spain.” And he planted his dagger in the base of the troll’s thick neck.
The creature roared, a shrill, painful wail, and clawed desperately at its back. Puck scooted away, avoiding the troll’s raking talons, and stuck his dagger on the other side of its neck. It screeched again, slapping and tearing, and Puck scrambled away. With all its attention on Puck, I leaped forward, vaulted off a stumpy leg, and plunged my sword into
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