BooksBarbecue
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

Rabbit. Bull. Python. My imagination assembled a mythological beast with parts of all three. How this amalgamated monster related to my own theoretical fighting tactics should have been entirely unclear. And yet it wasn’t. A strange clarity swept over me regarding how these three animals made the perfectly lethal mix.

Jack swung the sword like a golf club, shooting two stones—one that hit my knee, breaking me from my fantasies, and one that struck Tub in the stomach. I hopped up and down in pain and Tub grunted, clutching his tummy. He had our attention, all right.

“Rule number two: there are three vulnerable spots on a troll.”

Jack pointed his weapon at ARRRGH!!! and she shuffled over and leaned down, an eager model. Jack swung his sword at her body. I held my breath as the sword halted just short of her chest fur. ARRRGH!!! wiggled like it tickled.

“The heart,” Jack said.

He spun around, weaving reflected light around him so that he was ribboned in temporary golden lace. The tip of the sword swooped toward ARRRGH!!!’s lower belly.

“The gallbladder.”

The sword cut downward and Jack hopped over it as easily as skipping rope. It passed behind his back, from one hand to the other, before Jack extended his limbs and the tip of the blade rested at the side of ARRRGH!!!’s neck. There, I noticed, a small growth bulged beneath the fur.

“The softies.”

ARRRGH!!! yawned—a ghastly sight.

“Softies,” Tub repeated. “I must’ve missed that day in biology. What’s a softie?”

Jack whirled around. Yellow light burned off his lenses.

“It’s a part that kills trolls when you stick it,” he snapped. “This is what we’ll be doing this week—all we’ll be doing this week. If you’re right about the Killaheed, we have seven nights, counting tonight, before the bridge reaches completion. We have to eliminate the Gumm-Gumm minions before then and be ready to take on Gunmar. Heart, softies—that’s how you kill a troll. The gallbladder—that’s how you make sure he stays dead. That fire in our cave? That’s where we burn them. Collect and burn. Got it? A gallbladder left behind can sprout the troll back to life like a seed.”

I felt nauseated. The frog dissection in seventh grade had been difficult enough.

“You know, this week’s not so good,” I said. “It’s the Festival of the Fallen Leaves. Wouldn’t surprise me if Dad needs help mowing some of the parks. And I’m in this play? We’ve only got this week to rehearse it. And math! There’s a huge math test on Friday, too, and Ms. Pinkton says if I don’t get eighty-eight percent I’m going to flunk. So I’ve really got to study—”