Jack blinked hard for a few seconds, then nodded. This left his face pointing downward, and he seemed to notice his wire-covered right arm for the first time. He turned it this way and that, examining the makeshift armor as if it were a colony of leeches that had attached itself to his arm.

“I’ve missed,” he whispered, “so much.”

“Come up with me,” I urged. “Dad will be so happy. He never really stopped looking for you.”

Jack examined me as if looking for proof that we were related.

“You’re a Sturges,” he said.

“I guess.”

“You know what the name means? Did Jimbo—your dad, I mean—did he ever tell you?”

“No.”

“And Dad—I mean, your grandpa—he never told you, either?”

“Sorry.”

Jack pressed his lips together in disappointment.

“Comes from the ancient word styrgar. Means spearhead or battle spear. It’s the name of a warrior.”

“Great,” I said.

Jack leaned in with a snarl.

“No,” he said. “It is not great. It is the worst kind of burden. Before we’re through, you’ll wish you had been born with a different name. You’ll wish you could wake up a different person. Because warriors? They go to war. And war is not fun. War is bloody. Things that were alive end up dead and sometimes you’re the one who has to burn what’s left over. And when they go, Jim, they don’t go quietly. They make sounds. For the rest of your life, when you try to sleep, those are the sounds that will keep you awake.”

Back a few bends in the tunnel, I heard the crushing footfall, serpentine slither, and tennis-shoe stumble of the absent characters.

“Hey, look,” I said. “You’ve convinced me. I don’t want in your club or whatever.”

“Got no choice,” he grunted. “Every few generations, the Sturges clan produces a warrior of consequence, a paladin. It might be you, Jim. It might not. Either way, we have to find out. I can’t do this by myself anymore. Something’s happening. And we’re going to need every paladin we can round up.”

“There’s more? Why can’t you get them instead? Where are they?”

Jack shrugged. “Sure, there’s more. From other families. Probably. Somewhere. If they didn’t die out. But the lines have been lost. For now it’s just you and me.” He gave my skinny body another dubious perusal. “You and me and the battle of our lives.”

Tub came around the bend with a ghastly pasted-on grin. Behind him loped and slunk the two mismatched trolls, leaving in their wake tumbleweeds of hair and a trail of sludge. Jack turned on his boot heel and recommenced his stomping.

Tub grabbed me by the shoulder. He kept his voice cheery.

“Gee, Jim. Thanks for leaving me all alone with the troll patrol.”

“Sorry, Tub.”