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.
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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, f lailing 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 green swamp 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 trol roared, spittle f lying 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 trol roared and started to turn, and I f lung a hail of ice daggers at it, sticking it in the shoulder and face. It bell owed and lurched toward me, making the ground shake as it charged. I dodged, rolling out of the way as the trol hit the embankment and ripped a huge gash through the huts, tearing them open.
As the trol 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 trol jerked and spun around, trying in vain to 62/387
reach him, “I claim this land for Spain.” And he planted his dagger in the base of the trol ’s thick neck.
The creature roared, a shrill, painful wail, and clawed desperately at its back. Puck scooted away, avoiding the trol ’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 the trol ’s chest.
It staggered, falling to its knees and with a deep groan, toppled into the mud as I ducked out of the way. Puck sprang off its shoulders as it collapsed, rolled as he hit the ground and came to his feet, grinning, though he looked like some kind of mud monster himself.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, shaking his head and f linging mud everywhere.
“Man, that was fun. Better than playing Stay on the Wild Pegasus. Can we do it again?”
“Idiot.” I wiped a splash of mud from my cheek with the back of my hand. “We’re not done yet. Whatever is following us is still out there.”
“Also, may I remind you,” Grimalkin said, peering imperiously from the branches of a tall tree, “that swamp trolls, in particular, have two hearts and accelerated healing capabilities? You will have to do more then stick a sword in its chest if you wish to kill it for good.” Puck blinked. “So, you’re saying that our mossy friend isn’t really—” There was a wet, sloshing sound behind us, and Grimalkin vanished again. Puck winced.
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“Right, then,” he muttered as we spun around. The swamp trol lumbered to its feet, its red eyes blazing and angry, fastened on us.
“Round two.”
Puck sighed and swept his hand down in a chopping motion. “Fight!” The trol roared. Effortlessly, it reached out and wrapped one claw around the trunk of a pine tree, pulling it from the mud as easily as picking a dandelion. With blinding speed, it smashed the weapon toward us.
Puck and I leaped aside in opposite directions, and the tree struck the space between with an explosion of mud and water. Almost immediately, the trol swept the tree across the ground, as if it was whisking away dust with a broom, and this time Puck wasn’t quite able to dodge quickly enough.