The batalhadragged Cyrus and Fibian out into the cold night air. The sky remained clear. Millionsof stars stared down at the peculiar scene. Klops gathered up armor and weaponsand ran towards the stone jetty. There they boarded landing crafts loaded with saltfishand casks sealed with tar and pushed off towards the attack ships.
There was astrange void in the inlet. Where once there had loomed two large islands, therewere now still waters. But wait, the island was not gone, it had simply moved.Cyrus could see it escaping on a westerly course, passing behind a bend in the mountainousfjord. It left a ghostly green glow in its rather large wake. Cyrus watched as severalof Schlaue’s vessels set sail and began their pursuit.
The four batalha dragged Cyrus and Fibian downthe snowy shore. They passed clusters of large tents, the odd dying fire, and ahandful of confused, white-furred slaves. The big klops threw Cyrus and Fibianinto a rowboat. Cyrus fell face first into an inch of ice water pooling on thefloor of the craft. He spat and rolled to his side, kicking at the surrounding klops.The villains kicked back, then dragged the boat into the sea. Fibian lay infront of Cyrus with his back to him. Cyrus searched for a way to untie the froskman’sgood arm. It was impossible.
“I have Edward,” hewhispered.
“I know,” Fibianwhispered back.
Using his mouth, Cyrusfished the purse from the collar of his tunic. He looked up at his four tormentors.All four stared ahead, their eyes on their destination.
“You okay?” Cyruswhispered to Edward.
“What’s going on?”Edward’s muffled voice replied.
“I’m getting youout of there.”
Cyrus began tochew at the pouch’s leather string. He could feel the knot loosen. The boatbumped something hollow and large. He quickly hid the purse. The klops loopedropes around his and Fibian’s ankles. Then both were hoisted feet-first intothe air.
“Let go of me!” Cyrusshouted.
He watched the batalhaspin far below as he swung high overhead. His head and stomach swirled. Crewmenreached out with long iron hooks and pulled the prisoners aboard a large woodenvessel. The klops dropped their captives like caught fish onto the oily deck. Cyrus’head struck wood. Stars burst before his eyes. His body folded over hisshoulder and neck. His muscles spasmed in searing pain. General Schlaue toweredover the fallen prisoners.
“Tie them to thebowsprit,” the general ordered, his face grim, “and stow that infants’ blood inmy quarters.”
Six klops hauledCyrus and Fibian up off of the splintery deck boards and dragged them towardsthe bow. Cyrus watched as two klops carried a heavy wooden barrel through asmall door below the quarterdeck. A metal smokestack poked out of the cabin’sroof. The iron chimney coughed grey smoke into the air.
The ship was grimyand ill-maintained. Most vessels in the fleet flew moldy yellow sails, but thisship’s sheets were a dark blotchy red. The crewman dragged Cyrus and Fibian upa short flight of steps to the ship’s bow. Extending from the bow rail, outover the sea like a long tusk, was a wooden beam. Taut cables ran from the beamup into the vessel’s riggings. What torture was this?
“I’ll kill you,” Cyrusshouted, “I’ll kill every last one of you for this!”
The batalha tiedgags around Cyrus’ and Fibian’s mouths. It took another six klops to lash them tothe bowsprit like raw meat on a spit. The boat set sail. Only a handful ofklops remained to guard the village. The rest were aboard the vessels, pursuingthe hune.
An east wind carriedthe fleet out of the dark inlet. Cyrus watched apprehensively as the sea racedfar below. Beyond, a creaking groan moaned across the waters. Cyrus lookedahead to the fleeing Battle Hune. Its crew was jettisoning a tall iron crane fromthe fortress’ aft. The metal beast tipped over the wall. It broke in two as itstruck the top of the defenses. Lumber splintered and iron twisted. The tophalf of the machine sheared a stretch of scaffolding from the unfinished battlements.Then the large mechanism crashed into the water. It roughly dragged its scrapingbottom half with it up over the steel wall and into the sea. The ocean bubbledand frothed in the hune’s wake as it digested the towering contraption whole.
Cyrus’ terrorgrew. He could not die like this. He fought like a caged beast to break free. Theicy breeze numbed his face. The ropes securing him to the bowsprit cut at hisbody. He tried to talk to Fibian, but the gag around his mouth choked his words.
Steep, snowy mountainsrose up on both sides of the winding passage. Where snow could not gather,veins of green vegetation grew within the rocky crags.
Ahead, on the southernside of the fjord, the mountains receded into a barren peninsula. The sea ragedand crashed into the weather-worn rock. The calm waters of the inlet mixed and roiledwith the rough waves of the open ocean. The hune was already beyond the point,heading out to sea. Cyrus watched, his heart quickening, as the first of thefleet’s ships struck the unguarded open waters. The vessel was gaining on thehune. It attacked the raging swells, bow-first, sending two large sheets of seaspray into the air. The boat fell into a steep trough. It knifed into anoncoming wall of water. For a moment the bowsprit appeared submerged beneaththe sea. The ship cast aside two more sheets of ocean. Seaspray swept the deck.The boat crested the swell. Three puffs of white appeared from the aft of the hune’ssteel-plated wall.
Boom, boom, boom!
The wind carriedthe smoke and sound west. The first cannon round struck the sea to the port sideof the gaining vessel. The second blast tore through the ship’s stained sails.The third shot punched a ragged hole in the boat’s bow, just below thebowsprit. The wounded craft slid down the wave’s back into another steeptrough.
Cyrus turnedwide-eyed to Fibian. General Schlaue’s ship was moving faster than the rest. Itwould be their turn soon to challenge the hune. The froskman glared back atCyrus, his blue eyes ablaze.
Chapter 6
THUNDERHEAD
THE WIND AND WATER whipped at Cyrus’ face. The ship heaved like a mad
