A big-bellied klops with wideshoulders rose up from a wooden throne. He stoodlike a king before the coals. The batalha wasmissing his left ear.
“What is this?” the brute asked.
“General Schlaue,” the tattooed klops replied,“Lieutenant Knavish brings prisoners and news from the mine.”
The horde of klops began to whisper. Knavishstepped forward and bowed low before the general.
“Silence,” Schlaue barked.
The room again grew still.
“What message do you bring from our Queen?”the general asked.
“I am sorry to say, General,” the lieutenantsaid, firmly, “but our Queen is dead.”
The hunch-backed klops peered around at thesurrounding mob.
“And I bring you the murderers who did it.”
Chapter 5
A THIEF IN THE NIGHT
MORE THAN AN HOUR PASSED within the reeking tent. Cyrus wassurprised to still be alive. The klops seemed more afraid than angry at the devastatingnews. Their minds went first to self-preservation. They squabbled endlessly overhow to handle their newfound situation, but Cyrus knew that once a course ofaction was decided, talk would turn to retribution. His blood ran cold.
“Our Queen is dead,and the slaves have overrun the mine,” Knavish argued. “There will be no morearmor, no more weapons. We have also lost the female, so there will be no moresoldiers, no more infants’ blood, and no more batalha. What we have here is allwe have. It would be foolhardy to challenge the Warrior Witch in such a weakenedstate, and without our Queen I see no reason why we should try. We do not wantan enemy like the Trollman at our necks.”
There were scatteredgrumbles of support from the surrounding klops.
“We have all we need,”General Schlaue countered.
The glowing redcoals lit the batalha’s wide, misshapen features from beneath.
“And it is she that does not want an enemy like us at her neck,” he said, pounding a thick fist down on his wooden throne,“We have the Battle Hune. We have the attack ships. We have all the soldiers weneed. We have cannon and fire powder and batalha. We will bear down on the Trollmanlike a white on a whale, and we will blast the witch from the seas, in the nameof our Queen.”
A larger rumble ofsupport broiled throughout the mob.
“But what if we joinedher?” Knavish argued, “We bring her these prisoners. We bring her the BattleHune. Think of all the riches and power she would lavish on us. We would neverhave to look over our shoulders again.”
More mumblings of encouragementcame from the soldiers.
“We do not have tolook over our shoulders now,” Schlaue shouted, “We kill yeti, we kill dragon.We will hunt down the Warrior Witch and slay her too. Then we will have all theriches and power we desire.”
“But General,”Knavish said.
“But nothing,” Schlaueroared, “Might is right! We will do things my way.”
The one-earedbatalha rose up from his chair and drew his blade. Lieutenant Knavish bowed hishead low and stepped backward. Many klops roared their support, but otherslooked around afraid. Schlaue had won, but Cyrus saw what the general could not.A dark shadow spread across Knavish’s long face as he lowered his gaze. It wasthe same expression he had worn upon the mountains before the wolves had descended.The hunch-backed klops turned and retreated towards the exit. He neared the twoprisoners. Cyrus felt compelled by an impulsive urge. As Knavish passed, heacted as if shoved and bumped into the lieutenant. With his bound hands, Cyrusstripped the coin purse from the klops’ neck. Knavish paused. Cyrus stiffened. Theslender batalha grasped his wrists and held them out waist high. He looked downat the leather pouch held within Cyrus’ grasp. Then he looked to Cyrus. Heseemed to consider something. Cyrus’ hair began to tingle.
“Take as many withyou as you can before you are slain,” the lieutenant whispered.
Then the fiendpressed through the horde and ducked out of the tent. Cyrus stared confuseddown at the purse still held in his hands. What was the crooked klops playing at?Cyrus pretended to scratch his bristly chin, then he stuffed the pouch down hiscollar. This was not over, Cyrus knew, and Knavish was not through.
***
SEVERAL HOURS PASSED in the night. Cyrus and Fibian sat with their arms bound totheir sides, leaning against opposite walls of a dirt-floor hut. Hundreds ofsmall, silvery fish dangled overhead from thin horizontal poles in the roof. A tinyfire burned in the center of the room, barely able to cut the frigid night air.
Cyrus could notsleep with the cold, the stench, and so much dread hanging over him. Would he againbe tortured? Would he or his friends be killed? Cyrus’ head ached with fear andanxiety.
He felt Edwardshift within the purse stuffed in the collar of his furs. He dared not reachfor the pouch. He did not want to bring about unwanted attention.
Why had Knavish lefthim Edward? Surely the devious klops wanted them all dead. General Schlaue had orderedhis guards to hold them within this hut until further notice, but to what end? Cyrus’system shivered with tension.
He searched for anobject to cut his bonds. Nothing. He considered burning the ropes over thefire. The armed guards standing watch at the door made that plan unlikely. Heand Fibian made several attempts to communicate, but every time they tried, theyroused the brutes’ attention. Cyrus had already received one rifle butt to thehead for speaking.
Boom!
The sound of acannon rang out over the slave village. Cyrus grew taut, like a drawn bow. He heardthe voices of confused, groggy klops emerge from their quarters. Theirbewildered words turned to frightened cries.
“ALARM, ALARM!” a high-pitched,raspy voice shouted.
More soldiers beganto rush past the hut. Cyrus heard the words, “Battle Hune,” cried several timesover. Four batalha entered the shed and lifted Cyrus and Fibian up off the floor.Cyrus twisted and kicked against his captors.
“Where are youtaking them?” one of the door guards demanded.
“Lieutenant Knavishand a quarter of our force have stolen the Battle Hune,” one of the batalhagrowled, “We're going after the deserters, and these prisoners are coming withus.”
No! Cyrus thought. The hune was gone? He searched
