“You have two choices,” Cyrus shouted at thecowering crew.
He drew himself up to his full height andconverged on the klops.
“Bow down, or die.”
Chapter7
RUNNING DARK
CYRUS STOOD AT THE RAIL of the quarterdeck, glaring ahead.
“Southeast,” heshouted to the helmsmen, “We must intercept Schlaue’s ship.”
They had to rescueEdward. The general’s vessel was still within their reach, but the Battle Hunewas pulling away in the storm. Cyrus could barely see the island fortress beforethem on the dark horizon. He searched his senses. Whatever connection he hadhad with the giant was gone. The hune’s capture would have to wait.
Fibian stood poisedon the main deck, guarding the three klops as they managed the lines. Waves batteredthe prow of the ship. The sea washed over their feet.
Cyrus’ furs weresoaked through, but they still held in enough heat to fend off the cold sicknessfor now. His injured back throbbed, yet he could already feel his body heal at itsnew, uncanny rate. Thank the Angels forthat, he thought.
Several attack shipsbegan to overtake them on their starboard and port sides. Cyrus wore what klopsarmor he could find to disguise his true nature. Fibian did likewise, removingarmor and boots from two of his victims. Both imposters pulled their thickhoods over their heads.
Cyrus’ ship beganto lose ground behind General Schlaue’s hobbled craft. How? Cyrus looked up intohis boat’s riggings. The fore- and mainsails were half-shredded. Cannon fire from the hune.
“Curses,” Cyrus shouted,“Replace both those sails now!” he said to the klops.
Fibian ordered thethree deckhands into the hold. Crewmen from the surrounding ships began to raisesignal flags.
“What are they doing?”Cyrus shouted.
“They’re asking ifwe’re still in the hunt,” the helmsman replied, trembling.
Cyrus moved to thetiller and shoved the klops aside.
“Signal the ships we’refine,” he said, “If any try to board us, you’ll be the first I kill.”
The helmsman bowedlow, then rushed down to the main deck. Fibian and the three deckhands emergedfrom the hold. One at a time they loosed lines and dropped the two damaged sails.The ship began to lose power. It fell behind the fleet. Cyrus fought to controlthe vessel's course, struggling to keep the prow turned into the waves. Water startedto crash over the starboard rail. The ship began to list.
“Move, you greasy frogs,”Cyrus cried, “or I’ll gut you and leave you for the fish!”
The klops finallyreplaced the shredded sheets, then set the sails. The ship regained full wind power,but the sea had the leverage now. Cyrus fought the tiller and shouted orders. Fibianand the four klops wrestled lines as waves crashed over the ship’s starboard. Alarge swell broadsided the boat. Seawater scoured the main deck. Fibian and thefour klops clung to the fore- and mainmasts. The sucking sea dragged at theirlegs. The helmsmen lost his grip on the boat and the rushing water carried him pitchingtowards the ship’s port side. He struck the gunwale hard, then tumbledoverboard. The thrashing wind devoured his desperate cries as he fell to the churningocean.
Slowly, Cyrus nosedhis prow back into the raging waves and regained control of his ship. He triedto relax his injured back. He looked to Fibian, then to the three remaining klops.All appeared whole. He glared ahead. Again, he sighted Schlaue’s vessel to thesoutheast. He set his course. Edward, stillbe alive.
Cyrus had lost completesight of the hune. The fog began to swallow Schlaue’s ship whole.
“Jettison the cannonsand anything else not tied down,” Cyrus cried, battling the tiller.
Once more Fibianordered the three klops below deck. The deckhands began to emerge from the hold,carrying smaller gauge cannons. One at a time, they tilted the artillery overthe side of the ship. Once they had scrapped all eight guns, they started to heavebarrels of fire powder and other assorted cargo overboard.
“The landing craft,”Fibian shouted, gesturing to the skiff fixed to the quarterdeck.
“We’ll keep thelanding craft,” Cyrus replied,” and save some of the fire powder and guns.”
Their vessel beganto gain ground. The storm grew slack. Lanterns started to glow at the fore andaft of Schlaue’s boat. The general was losing his way in the thickening fog.
“No torches,” Cyruswhispered, “We run dark.”
Cyrus stalked thehamstrung craft into the murky haze. Schlaue began to lag behind his fleet, blindto what followed.
“I have you now,”Cyrus whispered.
Then the Child Eatertrimmed his sails and moved in for the kill.
Chapter8
SABOTAGE
FOR NEARLY AN HOUR, Cyrus stalked the enemy craft deep into the fog. If not forSchlaue’s oil lanterns, it would have been impossible to track the general’s attackship.
The night was waning.It would be dusk soon. Was there enough time to rescue Edward? Would the fogcover hold? Cyrus finally drew within two ship-lengths of his wounded prey.
The storm passed, thesnow ebbed, and the sea settled to a thick chop. Cyrus eased his vessel inbehind Schlaue’s aft.
“Young Master,” Fibianwhispered, climbing the steps of the quarterdeck, “This plan is foolhardy.”
Cyrus ignored the froskman’swarning.
“At least let me bethe one to retrieve Master Edward,” Fibian continued.
“Bring us right upon her stern,” Cyrus said, “If we’re spotted, do what you must.”
“But Master,” the froskmanreplied, taking the wheel, “you know I am better suited to the task.”
He gestured to Cyrus’wounded back.
“Not this time,”Cyrus said, making his way down to the main deck.
His nerves werequivering with fear and anticipation. He grasped a keg of fire powder, a lengthof rope, and a grappling hook. Then he marched towards the bow. The enemy vesselcruised ahead, shrouded behind a thick curtain of fog. Through the haze, Cyrus sawwhat looked like a light glowing dully within the stern windows of thecaptain’s quarters.
He had thoughtmuch about how best to infiltrate Schlaue’s ship and where Edward would mostlikely be hiding. Cyrus needed to board the boat somewhere secluded, somewhere unseen.Edward, he thought, would be hiding somewhere warm, somewhere sheltered, and withlittle traffic.
