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Back Trollhunters Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. Part I
  8. 1.
  9. 2.
  10. 3.
  11. 4.
  12. 5.
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. 10.
  18. Part II
  19. 11.
  20. 12.
  21. 13.
  22. 14.
  23. 15.
  24. 16.
  25. 17.
  26. 18.
  27. Part III
  28. 19.
  29. 20.
  30. 21.
  31. 22.
  32. 23.
  33. 24.
  34. 25.
  35. 26.
  36. 27.
  37. 28.
  38. 29.
  39. 30.
  40. 31.
  41. 32.
  42. Part IV
  43. 33.
  44. 34.
  45. 35.
  46. 36.
  47. 37.
  48. 38.
  49. 39.
  50. 40.
  51. About the Author

Gunmar gagged and the waterfall of saliva falling upon Jack went black with blood. Gunmar reeled in a crazy circle, clutching for the sword but having trouble fitting his considerable claws inside of his mouth. Jack dragged himself away, slopping the spit and blood off of his face, and when he saw Claire jogging up to us, he took hold of Doctor X and threw it at her, end over end.

I yelled for her to duck—Jack had confused her for an attacking troll! But instead, she plucked the sword out of the air and used its own momentum to pull it back with an ornamental flourish. She stared at us with wide eyes, panting in exhilaration. Jack was grinning, his teeth white beneath the dark smear of his gore-splashed face. Even Blinky paused to braid a few tentacles in exultation.

“Trollhunter,” Jack said.

“Trollhunter!” Blinky cried.

“Claire?” I asked.

She blinked her eyes at me, bewildered but electrified.

“Hello, Mr. Sturges.”

In that moment it all made sense. Claire came from the Scottish Highlands, a hotbed of trolls and trollhunters alike. Her birthday was exactly a year from my own. Her skill with the blade, evidenced upon the theater stage, couldn’t have been the result of a few paid lessons. Her trollhunter blood was true and she’d been drawn to San Bernardino via the same subtle pullings of destiny that had brought me here. It was only because she had become so adept at hiding her dual selves, one side from her parents, one side from her friends, that the trollhunters had failed to detect her paladin nature—and that she had failed to recognize it herself.

Claire knocked the mud from her boots with the sword.

It was the behavior of a girl born to fight.

There came a deafening cough, and the prop sword impaled itself into the twenty-yard line.

Gunmar lorded above us, blood streaming from between his teeth and down a torso that, emptied of babies, flapped with loose flesh. He’d lost control and was flailing about, stamping his feet like an infant, flogging himself front and back with his double-jointed arms, quills extending and flattening with the sound of a hundred falling guillotines. He spread his limbs and swooped down at us, big as a fireworks finale.