Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [68]
Magic? That rang a bell in his recently reassembled cranium. Fairy magic. Something was healing his wounds. He twisted his head, wincing at the grate of sliding vertebrae. There was a hand resting on his forearm. Sparks flowed from the slim elfin fingers, intuitively targeting bruises, breaks, or ruptures. There were a lot of injuries to be dealt with, but the tiny sparks handled it all quickly and effectively. Like an army of mystical beavers repairing storm damage.
Butler could actually feel his bones knitting and the blood retreating from semicongealed scabs. His head twisted involuntarily as his vertebrae slid into their niches, and strength returned in a rush as magic reproduced the three liters of blood lost through his chest wound.
Butler jumped to his feet—actually jumped. He was himself again. No. It was more than that. He was as strong as he had ever been. Strong enough to have another crack at that beast hunkered over his baby sister.
He felt his rejuvenated heart speed up like the stroke of an outboard motor. Calm, Butler told himself. Passion is the enemy of efficiency. But calm or no, the situation was desperate. This beast had already effectively killed him once, and this time he didn’t even have the Sig Sauer. His own skills aside, it would be nice to have a weapon. Something with a bit of weight to it. His boot clinked on a metallic object. Butler glanced down at the debris strewn in the troll’s wake. . . . Perfect.
There was nothing but snow on the view screen.
“Come on,” urged Root. “Hurry up!”
Foaly elbowed past his superior.
“Maybe if you didn’t insist on blocking all the circuit boards.”
Root shuffled out of the way grudgingly. In his mind it was the circuit board’s fault for being behind him. The centaur’s head disappeared into an access panel.
“Anything?”
“Nothing. Just interference.”
Root slapped the screen. Not a good idea. First, because there was not one chance in a million that it could actually help, and second, because plasma screens grow extremely hot after prolonged use.
“D’Arvit!”
“Don’t touch that screen, by the way.”
“Oh, ha ha. We have time for jokes now, do we?”
“No, actually. Anything?”
The snow settled into recognizable shapes.
“That’s it, hold it there. We’ve got a signal.”
“I’ve activated the secondary camera. Plain old video, I’m afraid, but it’ll have to do.”
Root didn’t comment. He was watching the screen. This must be a movie. It couldn’t be real life.
“So what’s going on in there? Anything interesting?”
Root tried to answer, but his soldier’s vocabulary just didn’t have the superlatives.
“What? What is it?”
The commander made an attempt. “It’s . . . the human . . . I’ve never . . . Oh, forget it, Foaly. You’re going to have to see this for yourself.”
* * *
Holly watched the entire episode through a gap in the tapestry folds. If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t have believed it. In fact, it wasn’t until she’d reviewed the video for her report that she was certain the whole thing wasn’t a hallucination brought on by a near-death experience. As it was, the video sequence became something of a legend, initially doing the rounds on the Amateur Home Movies cable shows and ending up on the LEP Academy Hand-to-Hand curriculum.
The human, Butler, was strapping on a medieval suit of armor. Incredible as it seemed, he apparently intended going toe-to-toe with the troll. Holly tried to warn him, tried to make some sound, but the magic hadn’t yet reinflated her crushed lungs.
Butler closed his visor, hefting a vicious mace.
“Now,” he grunted through the grille. “I’ll show you what happens when someone lays a hand on my sister.”
The human twirled the mace as though it were a cheerleader’s baton, ramming it home between the troll’s shoulder blades. A blow like that, while not fatal, certainly distracted the troll from its intended victim.
Butler planted his foot just above the creature’s haunches and tugged the weapon free. It relinquished its grip with a sickly sucking sound. He skipped backward, settling into a defensive stance.