“If the klops findout…” Edward whispered.
“This was Llysaand Hoblkalf,” Cyrus snarled, rising to one knee. “They’ll pay for this.”
He pressed hisfurs to his wound.
“We must tread carefully,young Master,” Fibian said, concern creasing his gaunt face, “or the whole islandmay turn on us.”
“Let them try,” Cyrussaid, gritting his teeth. “I’ll throw them to Mor Hav where they belong.”
“Are we here to saveor destroy?” the froskman asked. “Their minds have been poisoned. They are ignorantof the truth. Why would you expect blind loyalty?”
“Because I risked everythingfor them,” Cyrus shouted, ignoring the piercing pain in his belly. “I, the onethey tried to hang, saved their lives. They should be grateful! They should dowhat they’re told!”
“But they do not trustyou,” Fibian said, exasperated.
“Then they will learnthe consequences,” Cyrus said, darkly.
He staggered to hisfeet and grasped Landman by the leg.
“Get me Lars,Landwirt, and the rest of those filthy farmers,” he ordered, as he dragged the lifelesscorpse back down the path.
“What do you planto do with them?” Edward asked.
Cyrus did not answer.
Chapter25
THAT WHICH YOU DESPISE
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Cyrus stood on a freshly cut stump inthe middle of the worksite. The sun was low, masked by a thin layer of fog, andthe scent of death hung in the cool dawn air. Several klops and many alves stoodbefore him in two separate groups. At his feet lay a body draped in a stained blanket.Cyrus’ woolen top was torn and soiled with dark blood. A trickle of crimson haddried on his cracked lips. His head hung low from his wide-set shoulders, andhis long, wet mane shadowed his brooding grimace. Edward hid within his sweat-stainedcollar. Children stared up at him as if he were a ghost. He gripped a coarse noosein one hand and held a loaded rifle in the other.
“Lars Hoblkalf andat least three other conspirators attempted to murder Corporal Fibian and myselflast night,” Cyrus shouted. “They succeeded in their attempt on Admiral Knavish.”
Villagers gasped,klops sneered, and two batalha roared.
“Impossible,” MayorHoblkalf blurted, cradled in the arms of a large, bearded alve.
Llysa LongBonesstood directly behind the old man, whispering.
“These crimes willnot go unpunished,” Cyrus shouted, blood and spit flying from his mouth.
Lars Hoblkalf andfour shabby farmers came stumbling out of the foggy woods. Behind them, Fibian,armed with a pistol, and a tattooed batalha, brandishing two broadswords, pushedthem into the clearing. There was a fresh scar on the left side of the froskman’sneck. The prisoners had their wrists bound behind their backs and looked as ifthey had spent the night sleeping rough in the forest.
“What is this?” MayorHoblkalf asked, with theatrical outrage.
“Trial and execution,”Cyrus replied.
“What proof do youhave?” Llysa shouted, crouched behind the mayor.
“If my word is notenough…” Cyrus raged.
He tore open the frontof his woolen top, exposing his broad chest and muscled stomach. Children shrieked,and adults reeled. A ragged, black pit marred the right side of his belly. Thewound was mending, and his body had pushed the bullet out in the night, but theattempt on Cyrus’ life was still clear.
“You need help!” achild’s voice cried.
The little girlwith the ice-grey eyes and the front tooth missing stepped from the crowd. Sheoffered up her torn doll to Cyrus. Her parents quickly pulled her away.
“She’s right,” SarahHeiler said, pushing forward through the villagers.
Cyrus held hishand up in silence.
“Corporal Fibianhas similar evidence on his neck,” he continued. “Unfortunately for the assassins,he and I are not so easily slain, not any more, but if that is not enough…”
Cyrus kicked openthe blanket, exposing the dead body lying at his feet.
“Aaden, no!” an oldwoman screamed, her neck laced with roasted nuts and her head covered in a rag.“Murderer,” she shrieked, pointing at Cyrus, “Demon murderer. Why aren’t you dead?”
“Lars Hoblkalf luredus into the woods under false pretenses,” Cyrus shouted, drowning out the old woman’scries, “then farmer Landman and three cohorts ambushed us, shooting us down incold blood.”
Klops and alves lookedaround, bewildered.
“Please, Cyrus,” Larscried, “I really thought Sarah was hurt. They told me she was hurt.”
Sarah turned, glaringincredulously at the mayor’s son.
“Who told you?” Cyrusdemanded, rounding on the middle-aged man.
Lars bit his fat mouthshut, glancing at Llysa and his father.
“Tell me, or I’ll haveyou all shot.”
The four farmers staredat each other, their faces whiter than snow.
“Then you were alla part of it,” Cyrus said.
He cocked his rifle.
“It was Lars’ idea,”scrawny farmer Landwirt cried. “He schemed to get you and the other two alone inthe woods. Then these three agreed to gun you down.”
“Shut up, Emil,” Mr.Aker shouted. “You’re a liar!”
“I told you rot-headsyou were goin’ a get yourselves killed,” Landwirt yelled. “Now look at Aaden!”
“You’ll regretthis,” Aker sneered.
“You rat-facedcoward,” the Tiller twins growled.
Cyrus nodded toFibian. The froskman cut Landwirt free.
“Lars, you're too stupidand cowardly to be behind all of this,” Cyrus said, glaring at Llysa and Hoblkalf.“Who put you up to it?”
“I don’t know whatfarmer Landwirt’s talking about,” Lars chuckled nervously. “It was an honestmistake. I really thought Sarah was hurt.”
“This is the secondtime you’ve betrayed me,” Cyrus said, raising his rifle. “There will not be athird.”
Lars’ quiveringmouth hung agape. Slowly he shook his head no.
“As you wish,” Cyrussaid.
Gingerly, he leapedoff of the stump and he threw his noose high over a thick tree limb.
“I’m going to hangthe assassins one at a time,” Cyrus shouted.
“No,” Fibian said,stepping forward.
“Lars Hoblkalf will be last,” Cyrus continued,ignoring the froskman. “If Lars gives up the ringleaders he will be pardoned, andhis masters will be executed in his stead.”
“Killing your ownkind in self-defense is one thing, young Master,” Fibian said, coming face to facewith Cyrus, “but cold-blooded murder? That is the very thing the Warrior Witchwants. That is why she offers you immortality. Do you not see? Do you not understand?From that there is no redemption, no reparation, no atonement!”
“Get out of my way,”Cyrus said, towering over the froskman.
“Cyrus,” Edward pleaded,crawling across his shoulder.
“Do you know how yourisland of Virkelot died?” Fibian shouted to the surrounding alves. “Do you knowwhy you fear the world beyond your Dead Fence?”
The villagers lookedaround at each other, unsure of what was being asked.
“You used to be atall, proud, and vibrant people. You
