Gruff did indeed make a fearsome spectacle as he emerged from night shadows into the pale moonglow bathing the field. Even for a troll, he was a massive specimen, more than nine feet tall, with his bouncing dreadlocks giving the illusion of another foot or two. His heavy-boned brow was like a battering ram over glittering night eyes. Two vicious tusks curved up from a pugnacious jaw, beads of venom twinkling at the pointy ends. His shaggy humanoid frame was cabled with muscle and sinew, and his hands had the strength to make dust of small rocks and big heads.
Mulch yanked on the troll’s dreadlocks, instinctively resurrecting an age-old troll-steering technique. His granddad had often told stories around the spit-fire of the great troll riders who had rampaged across the countryside doing whatever they felt like, and nobody could even catch them to argue.
The good old days, his granddad used to say. We dwarfs were kings. Even the demons would turn tail when they seen a mounted dwarf comin’ over the hill atop a sweat-steamin’ troll.
This doesn’t feel like a good day, thought Mulch. This feels like the end of the world.
Mulch decided on a direct approach rather than *footing around with battle tactics, and he steered Gruff directly into the throng of Berserkers.
“Don’t hold back!” he shouted into the troll’s ear.
Bellico’s breath caught in her throat.
Scatter! she wanted to shout to her troops. Take cover!
But the troll was upon them, smashing terra-cotta warriors with scything swipes of its massive arms, knocking them over like toy soldiers. The troll kicked the dog into the lower atmosphere and sideswiped Bellico herself into a water barrel. In seconds, several pirates were reduced to a dog’s dinner, and even though Salton Finnacre managed to jab a sword into Gruff’s thigh, the massive troll lumbered on, seemingly unhindered by the length of steel sticking out of his leg.
Mulch’s toes located the nerve clusters between Gruff’s ribs, and he used them to steer the troll into the barn.
I am a troll rider, the dwarf realized with a bolt of pride. I was born to do this, and steal stuff, and eat loads.
Mulch resolved to find a way of combining these three pursuits if he made it through the night.
Inside the barn, the plane lay balanced on a wheel and wing tip, with arrows piercing its body. Holly’s face was pressed to the glass, her mouth a disbelieving O.
I don’t know why she’s surprised, thought Mulch. She should be used to me rescuing her by now.
Mulch heard the clamor of ranks re-forming behind him, and he knew it was only a matter of heartbeats before the archers launched a salvo at the troll.
And as big as my mount is, even he will go down with half a dozen arrows puncturing his vitals.
There was no time to open the glider door and scoop up its three passengers, so Mulch yanked on the dreadlocks, dug in his toes, and whispered in the troll’s ear, hoping that his message was getting through.
Inside the solar plane, Holly used the few moments before all hell would surely break loose to hustle a dazed Artemis into the pilot’s seat. She strapped herself in beside him.
“I’m flying?” asked Artemis.
Holly flip-flapped her feet. “I can’t reach the pedals.”
“I see,” said Artemis.
It was a banal yet necessary conversation, as Artemis’s piloting skills were soon to be called into use.
Gruff shouldered the plane upright, then put his weight behind it, heaving the light craft toward the open doorway. The plane hobbled forward on damaged gear, lurching with each rotation.
“I did not foresee any of these events,” said Artemis through clattering teeth, more to himself than to his copilot. Holly placed both hands on the dash, to brace herself against an impact toward which they were rolling at full speed.
“Wow,” said Holly, watching arrows thunk into the nose and wings. “You didn’t foresee a troll-riding dwarf pushing your plane down the runway. You must be losing your touch, Artemis.”
He tried to connect himself to the moment, but it was too surreal. Watching the Berserker soldiers grow larger through the double frames of windshield and barn doorway made the entire thing seem like a movie. A very realistic 3-D movie with vibro-chairs, but a movie all the same. This feeling of detachment coupled with the old Artemis Fowl slow reflexes almost cost him his life as he sat dreamily watching a Berserker long-arrow arcing toward his head.
Luckily Holly’s reactions were stellar, and she managed to punch Artemis in the shoulder with enough force to knock him sideways to the limit of his seat belt. The arrow punctured the windshield, making a surprisingly small hole, and thunked into the headrest exactly where Artemis’s vacant face would have been.
Suddenly, Artemis had no problem connecting to the moment.
“I can air-start the plane,” he said, flicking switches on the dash. “If we get off the ground at all.”
“Doesn’t that require coordination?” asked Holly.
“Yes, split-second timing.”
Holly paled. Relying on Artemis’s coordination was about as sensible as relying on Mulch’s powers of abstinence.
The plane battered its way through the Berserkers, decapitating a terra-cotta warrior. Solar panels tinkled and cracked, and the landing gear buckled. Gruff kept pushing, ignoring various wounds that now gushed with blood.