The pile of white rocks near the hole began to move, weirdly rolling over themselves, the polka-dotted sheet shifting around them, bunching and gathering into a new shape.
The shape of a dress. Oh, no.
The rocks were a giant craggy-skinned woman, curled into a ball next to the amphitheater entrance. She rolled to her feet, stretching out, at least twenty feet tall, and turned around slowly.
Her head looked like a giant potato—misshapen and ugly as hell, with two holes for eyes, a little craggy bulge for a nose, and long gray hair straggled over her scalp.
She cracked open her mouth. “Little Donny. I see you, little Donny.” Her voice sounded like rocks grinding together.
It was a moment before I could form words. “I’m guessing that’s your old nanny?”
Donovan swore. “You guessed correctly.”
It confirmed my fears. “Connor’s put his assassin here to stop us from going in, Donovan! We need to get in there.”
“We have to get through her first,” he said grimly, reaching behind himself to pull out his sword.
“And him.” Nate pointed. A figure in sinister black armor walked slowly out from the darkness of the archway, dragging a sword behind him.
Agarthon was here, too. The line of centaurs trotting into the amphitheater skittered sideways, avoiding him.
As I watched, he dropped his sword at his feet, and pulled off his helmet, revealing the terrifying pink-scarred, pitted flesh of his head. Rolling something between his fingers, he pushed whatever it was into one ear.
“What is he doing?” I whispered. Agarthon repeated the process with the other ear.
“Protecting himself against you,” Donovan grunted, rolling his shoulders. “If he can’t hear you, you can’t command him.”
Oh. “I can still—”
“Grisela does not have ears. Trolls absorb information transdermally. Your siren powers will not work on her either.”
A wave of panic hit me; I felt useless. “So, what do we do?”
Donovan reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “We fight them, of course.” He glanced up. “Nate, with me. We’ll take Agarthon. Cress, Eryk, you need to find something that will knock Grisela over. Chosen—” His eyes met mine and darkened. “Go. Get inside the amphitheater and stop the summit.”
Cecil, hiding behind my back, gave a desperate whinny. “How the hell are we supposed to stop the summit? There’s no fire alarm to pull!”
It was too late. The troll woman began to stomp slowly towards us, polka-dot dress fluttering around her enormous bulging body. “Come hug Grisela, Donny.” She stretched her arms wide. “You are bad boy. Come hug and say sorry to Grisela.”
Eryk cupped his hands, and a flaming ball ignited on his palms. Cress brandished her daggers and charged forwards. “You’re not fooling anyone, you lumpy bitch! You’re mine!”
“Jealous princess. Ugly princess. Grisela happy she did not nurse you!” Grisela stomped down the hill, changing direction, and headed straight towards Cress, her polka-dot dress rippling weirdly over her rock-hard body. The earth beneath our feet shook with every step. “Bad Princess,” Grisela grunted. As Cress got closer, spinning her daggers and roaring a challenge, Grisela wound up her foot to kick her away. Cress dived, rolled, and slashed at the troll’s legs with her blades, sending up sparks where they smashed against her skin.
Grisela didn’t even flinch. Eryk flung his flaming balls, hitting her in the head. She waved them away like a buzzing fly. Her lichen-like hair didn’t even catch on fire.
Cecil, hiding behind me, gave a whimper. “This is above my pay grade, Chosen. Oh, I’m not built for this! What do we do?”
“Be brave, Cecil,” I muttered. My gaze shot to the amphitheater entrance. Agarthon had paused in the archway. The last of the centaurs broke into a canter running around Cress and Grisela, and galloped into the tunnel, skidding around Agarthon.
“How can I be brave? I can’t even think straight.”
“Sometimes it's best if you don’t think,” I muttered. “You just… do.”
Agarthon replaced his helmet and planted his feet in the archway, blocking the entrance. Donovan and Nate stalked towards him, footsteps light on the grass, swords outstretched.
Suddenly, a deep, oily, booming voice echoed out from within the hill. “Silence, mighty herd! Hear me now, my good friends, and be still!” The rumbling of voices faded out quickly.
Shit. They were starting.
“I am Redmayne the Dominant, Supreme Archer of the Rolling Plains, and, by right of might and birth, the Speaker for the Great Herd,” the voice boomed out to loud cheers. “Today, I welcome guests from every corner of every realm in our known universe. Many have heard the ancient prophecy that there will be one who will rise to great power and rule over all the Worlds. As centaurs, we, of course, will remain impartial, as we are not bound to such hierarchies beyond our own. But those creatures less mighty than us require guidance and leadership. So here we provide a stage, and we welcome those who come to see how their destinies will unfold. Welcome to the Summit of all the Worlds!”
The crowd roared.
Cress and Eryk, furiously trying to bring Grisela down, managed to set fire to her dress before she flung out her arm, catching Eryk in the stomach. He flew into the air in an arc and rolled in the grass, while Cress continued to slash and hack at Grisela's heels.
The sound of the crowd died down a little. The centaur Redmayne continued his speech. “Today we will hear from the two key players in the prophecy—the Chosen and the Devourer—in a bid to untangle answers from the murky depths of the multitudes of translations. For only the centaurs are level-headed and wise enough to discern false and fact. But, my friends, if you have been looking forward to a hearty, vigorous debate, I am afraid you will be disappointed, for it has become clear to us very quickly that only one candidate is worthy of taking the mantle of Ruler of All Worlds.”
Adrenaline pulsed through me—we had to get in there. “Quick, Cecil,” I said desperately. “How do you kill a troll?”
“You don’t!” Cecil wailed. “She’s literally a pile of rocks. Chosen, Cress and Eryk will not be able to make a dent in her!”
My eyes drifted towards Donovan, moving slowly towards Agarthon. The huge assassin finally moved, stepping out in front of the archway, obviously giving himself room for a fight. He rolled his massive shoulders and lifted his sword. “Come, false heir,” he rasped from within his helmet. “Let us finish your training.”
Donovan advanced, and Nate crept up beside him. They spread out, coming at Agarthon from both sides. Nate’s hands glowed blue. Donovan attacked, his sword clashing with Agarthon’s like cymbals. The assassin whirled, blocking Donovan’s next strike, and battered away Nate’s thrown curse with his gauntlet. Thrusting, ducking, parrying, he took on both Nate and Donovan with lightning-fast speed.
I started forward, but Cecil pulled me back. “You have to let them get rid of Agarthon so we can get through! He’ll kill you, Chosen!”
Redmayne the Dominant’s voice drowned out the rest of Cecil’s terrified whinny. “I do not seek to influence you. Of course, the centaurs must remain impartial. But I can tell you now, that their monikers—the Devourer and the Chosen—are wildly misleading. I, for one, know exactly where my loyalty lies.”
