Happy Saturday everyone! I would like to thank all of you for reading, and I hope this chapter comes to you on an excellent day.

Chapter 11

Armed Truce

"I'm sorry."

She looked up. It made her dizzy to move her head. She'd been crying so long and hard that her chest ached and her eyes burned. The young man's face was blurry behind salty tears. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, offering this to her. It was clean and white but her nose was too clogged to know if it smelled nice. It probably did.

"You did what you could. You saved a lot of people." Her voice cracked and she lowered her head to her knees. Another sob wracked her chest, and the world was so heavy that she just wanted to sleep and never wake up. "I just…I just don't know what I'm going to do."

The young man knelt; he couldn't have been any older than she. As he came close she got a better look at him. His hazel eyes were lusterless with grief and his brown hair was messy, tousled from battle and smelling of smoke. A staff in his hand – some kind of long, carved walking staff? Were those flames on the crystals? – drew her eye. "I think you have magic propensity," he said suddenly. "You can come with us. We have treatment, therapy. And we always need people who know about the world…about the beings in it that average people don't."

She couldn't hand back the handkerchief. It was something to hold, something real. Something other than the thick, painful heartbeat so heavy in her chest. "What happened to the troll that…that…"

"Ate your mother?" His voice was soft. She bit the cloth, tasting her own tears. "I killed him. I used magic to break him into pieces. He'll never hurt anyone else ever again."

She was alone in the world at fifteen. It was too much – she threw herself into her arms and bawled, screaming with grief. He wrapped his arms around her uncertainly, letting her bury her face in his neck. "I know. I know," he said gently.

"…Who are you?" He was a stranger but there was comfort inn his arms, in being wrapped up in the illusion of safety.

"My name is Lancelot Arland. I'm the leader-in-waiting for a group called the Trollslayers. What is your name?"

"Victoria."

"Lance?" He didn't seem to hear her. She bit her lip before raising her voice. "Lance!"

He lifted his head with a start, as if he'd been transfixed by his reading. The kitchenette counter was covered in pages and notes, and he was reading something on his phone at the moment, writing on one of the sheets as he went. "Victoria. I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. I was…lost in thought." She approached slowly, aware that he'd been up late and was obviously stressed. "A dragon. They turned her into a dragon Victoria. I have no idea how we ought to proceed with such danger."

"Wyvern. And we don't know that they did it," she said softly. "We got a call. From…well, it's hard to explain."

He frowned and she brought the tablet into his room. "You shouldn't be up and around Victoria. You need rest, it was bad enough with the wyvern and that terrible summit, and we need to be ready if the trolls-"

She put the tablet down. "This man claims to be King Arthur." She couldn't read his expression now. "And I think I believe him."

"You both know I can hear you right? You didn't mute yourselves." The voice from the tablet was flat. "Look, I'm not at my most personable folks. I've been killing golems for the past two weeks nonstop and my son's been kidnapped. I'm also running on fifteen minutes of sleep in the past four days."

Lance turned on the screen and the man reflected in it blinked. "Wow. You do look like Lancelot. Same nose, hair color. I can't lie, I don't know what the genetic likelihood of that is."

Lance eyed him. "Our bloodline has magic in it. The strength of the knight travels with it." Victoria sat down at the kitchenette table beside him. The tablet was propped up so they could both see the man and, if she was honest, the man would have been quite handsome if he trimmed his beard and slept a few hours. Purple shadows under his eyes were distracting but the blue was still stunning. She could well believe he was the Trollhunter's biological father, though his features were harder than Jim's. "You say you're King Arthur?" Lance asked slowly. "How did you get this contact information?"

"Got a young man over here that's really talented with computers and a few contacts that help me find people. That has not helped with the kidnapped son part, which has put me in the worst mood I've been in for a while." The man rubbed his face absently. "I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon. My legal name is currently James. And you've been bothering some friends of mine."

Victoria bit her lip. "Sir, could we take a step back please? I just…I'm a little confused. The Trollhunter, Jim, is your son? And you're allied with the trolls near Hoboken?"

"Yep. And you guys have problems with some of the trolls here because of former human-eating habits. Which I get, it's kind of a notable issue to have had." The man had regal bearing. Rough and irritated but smooth, she knew he was the kind of person that gave orders and people listened.

Lance's eyes narrowed. He spoke suddenly in Gaelic, fluent and fluid as rain. The man replied in the same language. "Interesting. If you really are King Arthur, how are you alive?"

"Merlin. How else?" Victoria was starting to sense a pattern. "He put magic in me so I would have the power to rule the kingdom and drive back enemies and do all that kingly junk. This made me immortal, which is why I've still got this gorgeous, well-preserved mug."

Victoria giggled. Lance looked at her and she blushed. "So Merlin has magic placed on you…magic that has preserved you for fifteen hundred years? And you don't think he's untrustworthy?"

"I never said that. I mean he's better than he was, he's graduated to a D-plus in empathy and honesty…okay, C-minus, he really has been trying. There's a lot of stuff we're putting under the bridge." He waved a hand as his own magical status were dull. "I know about the marks, but the krubera is the biggest, sweetest guy you will ever meet. The changelings are nice too, helpful and kind. And Blinky would sooner eat a book than hurt a human. I think everyone got off on the wrong foot and the wrong impressions, and we should all sit down together after the Trollhunter is back. Because I don't really want to deal with you until he's safe. No offense."

Lance turned to Victoria slowly. "May we convene privately?"

"Sure. Just be sure you mute yourselves all right? I don't need to be privy to a bunch of your secret plans." The man rested his chin on his fist and shut his eyes as Victoria turned off the volume and screen. To be safe they stepped into the next room, a compact little bedroom with dark carpet and crisp blankets. Victoria tried not to think about the fact that she could smell Lance's cologne and preferred products – it was a little distracting.

"Lancelot did believe the king would live a long time. He's the right build and appearance from my ancestor's writings." Lance crossed his arms. "But if Merlin truly could place such magic on a man, he could be influencing him."

"That's true…but honestly Lance. There have been no attacks on humans. I haven't turned up a thing except for a case of goblins from a couple years ago, and nobody got hurt." He opened his mouth and Victoria, for once, put up a hand. "Lance, you know I respect you and believe you have the best intent. But I think that, in this case, your judgment might be a little clouded." He gazed at her, hazel eyes sharp and focused. "The proximity of a large market to human cities is making all of us nervous, especially given how things have escalated. But there have been no human deaths we can trace to troll action. None. I know what the marks mean, but I have try to side with the evidence we have available." She dared to touch his arm supportively. "Can't we try? If this is truly King Arthur, there's a chance for magical interaction that might not be possible otherwise!"

Lance sighed. "Victoria…maybe you're right. I just…I don't know. After that attack by the golem, and everything the way it is, and one of them being a wyvern-!"

His hand came to rest at her back and Victoria felt the warmth of him. Her breathing hitched. He didn't seem to notice, brows troubled and exhausted. "Lance, I know. You're in a difficult position. But maybe if we just take a step back, things could be okay with these trolls. Gunmar is gone, Bular is gone! It's a new era. And wouldn't the knight Lancelot have listened to the king?"

He looked so much older than she remembered. A few short years had aged him. Victoria timidly raised her hand to his face. "You look tired."

"I am." Lance sighed. "Dig up what you can on this man. Find out if he's who he says he is. I suppose if there hasn't been any murder we can trace back to them, we can wait and see on the trolls. I have the marks to track if the trolls leave the market." He rubbed the bridge of his nose absently. "We'll remain in observation. Don't contact them. Have Meredith and John lead two teams to patrol the nearest parts of Hoboken just in case."

Victoria nodded. "Don't worry Lance, I'll handle it. You should rest. I'm fine, really, I'm absolutely back to normal." He shut his eyes tightly before opening them, as if that were enough to shake off his exhaustion. She turned over the tablet. "All right James. We'll agree to-"

She and Lance gave each other a look. The man was slumped onto one arm, snoring. She cleared her throat loudly and he sat up with a start. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"We're interested in putting this disagreement on hold until the Trollhunter is back providing no troll-related or magical harm comes to the people of Hoboken. It's obviously in everyone's best interest to reserve judgement." The man seemed pleased.

"Thanks, I'm glad you're willing to work with us. I would really hate to have to hand out a whupping to a bunch of youngsters that I think are trying to protect people." Victoria blushed as Lance scowled. "There was probably a better way to say that than I did. Talk to you later kids." The call ended and Victoria hoped she wasn't making a mistake.

Bagdwella was not having the best day.

The market was tense, quiet, and the sensation of missing something, not being whole, grew worse every day. The closest thing she could think of was wandering the country to reach New Jersey – even with Merlin's magic it had been a long, hard slog without a Heartstone. The time had been fraught with tension and tiredness as they wandered homeless and afraid. But they had their Trollhunter with them. Even knowing he was suffering, scared, in pain, his efforts to guard and protect had been something real and worthy of following. Blinky had grown as a leader and been intent on protecting their people and Jim and Claire. They had been shaken but they were together, even with Toby and Aaarrrgghh back in Arcadia.

Now…something had broken. She missed the Trollhunter popping by to check on the shop, help carry things, inquire after her affairs. He was a dear heart, vastly different from their noble-yet-aloof hunters of the past.

One of her customers had been staring at a statue for five minutes. "Looking doesn't cost anything dear but I might charge for loitering," she said at last. He lifted his chin and sighed.

"Yeah yeah…sorry, just in a funk. Have we heard anything about the Trollhunter? Or those Troll-killer blokes?"

"'Trollslayers' and no. Nothing yet. Claire is trying to control her magic and Merlin is helping her. I…don't know much else about what they're doing to find him." Bagdwella watched a brownie climb onto the counter, sniffing around and chittering. She handed it a broken chunk of quartz and watched idly as it chewed the crystal up. "I'm sure they're doing everything they can."

"I been hearing rumors about some of the groups we've brought in. Apparently the Trollslayers just want trolls with the red marks. They used to eat humans." The troll peered at her. "What do you think of it all?"

"I think we just need to do our best to be reasonable and keep our chins up." He nodded, still looking pensive under the many colors of the crystal lights. "We can't judge the newcomers by what a group called the 'Trollslayers' say. Besides, I don't think I trust their magic marks. Blinkous Galadrigal has a red one for heaven's sake!"

He chuckled. "That's true. It does sound barmy that way, doesn't it?" Bagdwella nodded, knowing full well Blinky would never have hurt a human. At least, not intentionally. So there was no point in listening to the Trollslayers anyway. No point in fretting period.

But she did miss their Trollhunter. They had their protectors of course, "Trollhunters, not Trollhunter." But despair had a palpable taste and it had soured everything. Even the changeling children moped around, missing Jim dreadfully.

Bagdwella drew herself up. "I'm shutting down my shop for now."

"What, why?" He offered her a small packet of meat in trade and finally picked up the statue, bewildered as she bustled him out.

"I'm going to make a snack for the children. Until the Trollhunter is back, we all need to do our part to pitch in. And one thing I can do is make salty niblets and read to them to distract them from all this." She hurried off, smacking the tiny wooden sign over the alcove to say, "Closed, come back later!"

"S'pose I can take an extra sentry shift too," she heard him mumble thoughtfully.

Claire didn't dream every time she went to sleep – that she knew of – but when she did dream, she drifted in the Astral Plane. Sometimes it was faint and foggy, sometimes it was sharp and cold as mint in the eye. It would have annoyed her greatly if she hadn't felt deep down in her chest that Jim was out there, somewhere.

"Jim? Jim!?" Something large and furry flew by and Claire didn't get a good look at it before it was gone. The more time she spent in the Astral Plane, the less and less it seemed like a white expanse. It was more like a watercolor painting, slowly darkening to reveal the faintest colors and impressions. Perhaps one day she would see great scapes and creatures. The unicorn had not returned, and she wished it had given her more information than "talk to the krubera jotnar, 'kay?" Which they were working on – Merlin said he needed to make some stuff before they went to get the moonwater or whatever, and once she had the markings she would be able to do something. What exactly she didn't know. Control her magic? Great, how was that supposed to help her? Would she just magically know how to find Jim? Things were never that easy. She wouldn't mind being able to blow up Geode if – no, when – they found the stupid creature.

She thought of Jim. Bringing him home, handling the Trollslayers together. He had a knack for diplomacy, a gentleness and idealism that was infectious. And they would figure out how to help Barbara together, and get rid of the stupid marks Lance had given the trolls. Was he hurt? Hungry? Lonely? Claire sighed and it echoed loudly. She missed his smile, missed his laugh and hair and smell. She missed his sweaters and hugs and sense of humor. She missed movie nights and trying new things, falling asleep on his shoulder – or pretending to, so he would fall asleep next to her and she could wake up to him still being there. All of him, every last thing about him, even his bad habits of taking on too much or spastic nature or his irrational prejudice against the microwave, needed to be there for things to be all right.

Something flickered in the distance. She almost didn't care – things flickered in this place a lot and they never seemed to get any closer. "Jim?" Claire called wearily.

It flickered again, curiously, and seemed to turn to look at her. It was like distant stained glass. Her lungs stopped working. "…Claire?" it called back, echoing and watery. She spirited forward, driven by the need to be over there, right now. The foggy impression came clearer and clearer as she approached, and within ten feet it burst into solid shapes and color-

Claire grabbed Jim and they went spinning, floating in the Astral Plane. She gripped him so tightly she couldn't feel her hands, tears flooding down her face. "Jim!"

Shock made him hesitate but Jim's arms wound around her in another second. "Claire!" Claire felt him bury his face in her hair as if to breathe her in. "Oh Claire…I wish I wasn't dreaming…"

His voice was thick, and Claire ran her hands over his back. He was wearing Daylight and it hummed gently in the magical plane, as if the white magic around them agreed with it. "I'm really here Jim. I mean, it is a dream, but I'm the real Claire. It's my real conscious."

He pulled back just a tad, enough to look at her. His big blue eyes, the crooked smile, the shape of his face. He looked the same as always; perhaps this place showed people as they preferred, or as they saw themselves? Or maybe he was safe and healthy. She prayed it was the latter. "That sounds like something a dream would say. But I guess given our track record with magic, you could be real." He held her hands, expression distant. "I was just dreaming I was late to class and Ms. Janeth was making me recite Shakespeare over a pit of crystal spikes. And I had forgotten my pants."

Claire burst out laughing. It was a stupid dream, one that sounded absolutely like something he would say, and he was here in her arms, and oh how she'd missed him. Taking his face in her hands, she drew him in for feverish kisses, one after the other on his mouth and nose and cheeks. "We're going to get to you," she said when they broke apart. "We're looking for you now. Do you have any idea where you are?"

He shook his head. "Might be somewhere Arabic is a big language based on something Geode brought back. She's got us underground in a cavern with a lot of putrestone, but that's all I know." She gave him a questioning look. "Oh, me and Paduga. She's a rare kind of troll, an aswang, Geode captured her months ago. And Peanut's here too."

She blinked hard. "The goldfish?"

"No, I named the cat Peanut. She's got a cat locked up too." Jim hesitated. "Wait, how did you know about my goldfish? Oh, right, dream…"

"No Jim, I'm really Claire! The real one! Your conscious is in the Astral Plane." Claire looked over his shoulder, head swiveling. "At least I think so. Maybe I pulled you out of your dream. Or I might have entered your dream. White magic is super weird."

Jim studied her, blue eyes brilliant. "I want to believe you hon. But I have no way of knowing if you're real or just a projection of what I want." Claire nodded – he was right. She couldn't really convince him. And she had to be sure he was the real Jim. If she was wrong and told the others, she would never forgive herself for bringing their hopes up in vain. "Either way, I'm so happy to see you."

"Can you tell me something I wouldn't know in real life? Maybe something between you and Toby. That way I can be sure if you're real," Claire said.

He smiled and held her face in his hands. Claire leaned into his touch, into the way his fingers drifted through her hair. "Even in dreams you're smarter than me. Let me think…have I told you about the fourth grade Halloween party?"

"The one where Toby got so scared of the guy dressed as Freddy Krueger that he peed his pants and you guys used half of your mummy costume to clean him off so no one would know?"

"Well, that answers that. How about Mother's Day when Tobes and I were seven?"

"Where you guys tried to get bouquets for Barbara and Gertie and all you found were dandelions, alfalfa and poison ivy? And they slathered you guys in aloe and made you wear oven mitts to keep from scratching?" By this point even Jim was cracking up. Claire wiped her eyes. "There has to be something."

"Okay, I know of one. Tell Toby I still think there are worse ways to go than death by chocolate, even for a cat. He'll get it." Jim stiffened and his form faded a little. "What's happening?"

"I think you're waking up." She kissed him one more time, and he pecked her chin in haste. "We're going to find you Jim, we love you, I promise you we'll bring you-"

He vanished, leaving empty space in her arms. Claire tucked her hands to her heart, suddenly cold. "…Home."

Barbara sniffed the collar. "So, this will do for me what Draig's glamor does for him?"

"Yes, though it's not quite as elegant as that one and it will only last a few hours at a time before the magic needs to recharge. I didn't have much time to put it together between mixing the other ingredients." Merlin held it up and Barbara nosed it. "There, just maintain contact and-"

Barbara felt as if she were a gummy worm being squeezed through a tube, and all at once the discomfort vanished. She shook herself, bewildered, and the collar jingled. Turning her head, Barbara looked over her back and ignored the dizziness that came with her surprise.

Where a scaly back had been there was now a furry one, red mixed with creamy white. A long, plumed tail switched uneasily behind her. Barbara worked her jaw, unused to the sensation. "This might sound weird," Toby said frankly, "but you make a really pretty sheltie Dr. L."

"Thank you Toby. That does sound weird, but the entire situation is weird." Barbara sat down and scratched at the collar with her hid leg. "At least I can fit through a door now. Thank you Merlin." She stood again, sniffing at the air. "What do you think Walt?"

Her husband knelt and Barbara smelled weariness on him, stress and worry. His silver hair was unkempt and the lines around his eyes were more prominent. "I'm just happy you're alive. We can go from there." She reared up on her hind legs and licked his cheek and he smiled, stroking her ears. "Though you do make a lovely sheltie."

Claire burst into the room looking as if she'd seen the ghost of William Shakespeare come to grant a new play to her eyes only. "Toby!"

The young man jumped, landing on his rear end. "Jeez Claire, what!? What's wrong!?"

"Did you ever tell Jim something that would make him say, 'There are worse ways to go than death by chocolate, even for a cat'?" Her eyes were wide and Barbara's fur was on end; white magic was oozing from her in a misty wave. The Hero's Forge was a big room, hence why they'd been keeping Barbara in it. The white magic played across the surfaces brightly, the in-progress sculptures and training machines reflecting Claire's light.

Toby blinked rapidly. "I…yeah. There was this time with one of my Nana's cats…it got into my Easter chocolate. I told Jim about it and he said, 'Death by chocolate. There are worse ways to go.'" He stood up. "When did he tell you about that?"

Claire's hair seared white and she laughed, spinning in a circle. "Five minutes ago! In the Astral Plane! It was really him!"

Merlin hastily cast a shield over her, containing the magic. "Claire, please calm yourself! I don't have the ink ready for the marks!"

With an effort the woman contained herself and the light slowly died down. The white in her hair had streaked further through it, leaving very little black at all. Barbara darted over, surprised at the speed of four legs. "What are you talking about Claire?"

Claire knelt and Merlin let the shield drop. "I talked to Jim in the Astral Plane! I asked him to tell me something only the real Jim would know about so I could make sure he was real. And he did! I got in contact!" Barbara's tail began whipping of its own accord.

"You saw him!?" She jumped up, front paws on Claire's stomach. "How was he!? Was he hurt? Did he tell you where he was!?"

Deep breaths made Claire speak more slowly. "He didn't know where he was, but he's underground. Apparently he thinks it might be a place with Arabic as a main language. I think he was all right, he's got some fellow prisoners."

Merlin clapped. "Hello! Question!" The two looked at him in surprise. "If this was indeed Jim – and it sounds as if it may very well have been – you were likely both dreaming to be able to encounter each other. It we can repeat this, it may be possible to triangulate his location by tracking him through the Astral Plane, or at least give us a better search area. That may have been why the unicorn wanted you to get the moonwater."

Toby grinned. "Seriously? Awesome! I gotta tell Blinky and Wingman and the others! I'll be back!" He hurtled out the opening and Merlin pulled at his beard in thought.

"The ink will be ready as soon as we add moonwater. I believe now is the time to go speak to the krubera jotnar, if I can have a few hours to prepare." Claire practically danced in place, holding Barbara's front paws. "With more magical control, your chances of finding him again increase. It will not be easy by any stretch of the imagination…the fact that you found him once already is rather miraculous." Merlin hesitated. "I must add that the marks will be painful. You're literally branding magic into your skin-"

"Pain shmain! I'll stick an arrow in my butt if it means getting Jim back!" Claire scratched Barbara's furry back, obviously elated. "What do we need to get there?"

"Well, a krubera for one. I assume Aaarrrgghh will assist. A spell for the pressure that far into the earth so our skulls aren't crushed and our brains don't run out our ears." Merlin began muttering to himself, and Barbara's heart beat happily as she looked to Walter, whose eyes had brightened. Jim was alive. They had a plan to find him. The splintered world could still be made whole.

Jim opened his eyes. He couldn't help but lift his fingers to his mouth – those kisses had felt real. Claire had felt real.

He wanted to believe that it had been the real Claire. Desperately. But even if it was, there was no way of being sure. Jim sat up and rubbed his eyes absently. "Did you have a good dream?" Paduga was looking at him, long arms tucked around her legs. "You kept saying, 'Claire.' Is she your mate?"

"Ye-well, no. She's my girlfriend," he explained, feeling sheepish at the knowing look on Paduga's face.

"Ah. Your mate-to-be?"

"If I'm so lucky." He stretched until his back popped and stood, running a hand along the wall. "I'm not sure if it was really her or just a dream. She said we were in the Astral Plane. I guess I can't be sure, but it was really good to see her." Jim sighed. "I miss them. Claire, Tobes, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh. My mom, Strickler. Everyone."

Paduga nodded. "It's good to have people to miss," she said softly. "Do you think they'll find you?"

"Yes." His voice was more confident than Jim had expected. "There's no way they'll stop looking." Paduga smiled. "Hey, you should come with us. When they bust us out."

"Sure a blood-eating troll would be welcome in a market?" she asked, not unkindly.

"Yeah. We've got brownies, changelings, trolls, krubera, goblins, former Gumm-Gumms, wizards, humans…we even have a dog that's actually a dragon. An aswang's not the first newcomer we'll bring in." Jim was learning to read Paduga's expressions – this was a guarded, hopeful one. "Maybe more aswang will show up one day. Are you sure you're the last?"

"No. But it doesn't really matter. Once we die, the aswang are done." Jim cocked his head and Paduga shuffled in place, settling in a snug ball. "We're sterile. Aswang trolls can't reproduce." She shrugged. "We're used to being alone. I don't know if I'd do well in a big market."

Jim was again struck by the intense loneliness in her voice. "Even so. I'd like it if you would come. Maybe you'll like it more than you expect, or meet some friends. You'd have one anyway." She gazed at him and a small smile, real and warm, spread across her face.

"Maybe I will. I've never been invited." She laughed quietly. "Now I really do sound like a vampire." Her ears pricked and she frowned. "Geode's coming."

The familiar steps drew close and the golem appeared from the tunnel, carrying another bag. More Arabic text on the bag, maybe some kind of grocery bag? She sat down and began pulling items out. "Before our discussion, I need another sample of your blood." The blank eyes seemed to fix on Jim and he let Daylight drop, leaving him in the torn, bedraggled suit from days and days ago. "I have also brought…these." She lay out several more objects and Jim studied them. A t-shirt – much too large for him but if it was clean, he didn't care – and a pair of khaki pants. "I have been researching human customs. There is one called 'bathing' that appears to be quite popular."

"It's where people wash dirt off their bodies, usually with soap and water whenever possible." Jim tried not to think about how dirty his hair was or how filthy he was getting. The idea of a wash was tempting, though he didn't like the calculated way Geode was talking. She had taken another flask out and her fingers were sharp as knives.

"I would be willing," she said carefully, "to allow you out of your cage for a time so you can wash and change clothes. If you attempt to escape I will stop you. I will also kill her," she continued, pointing at Paduga. Jim winced – the golem was no fool. "In turn you will explain more items. I will also give her more food and permit you more modest requests."

Jim wished he could read Paduga's mind. This creature was curious, and he was lucky enough to have the information she wanted. If she got bored or ran out of questions, what would she do to them? But if he could win enough trust, get her defenses down, would it be possible to escape?

It was worth a shot. Jim offered his hand and Geode beckoned him forward. He hesitated before pushing through the crystal wall. It allowed him out, flowing like water around him. Geode stood between him and the exit, but to see the world without the green sheen was stark, startling. Jim breathed slowly, appreciating the fresh space. "Okay. Blood first?"

She nodded and when he offered his hand again she sliced deftly into one finger, filling a flask with the bright red liquid. A wad of clean bandage was offered and he tied up the injury, looking at Paduga. The troll had covered her nose but was watching the pair. Geode, for her part, seemed as pleased as an emotionless crystal could be. "Excellent. Come with me." Her sharp little fingers were like a marionette's, cool and rolling on magic joints, and Jim fought a shudder when she took hold of his good hand and drew him into the tunnel, deeper into the crystal and dark.

End of Chapter 11