The alves began tomurmur. The klops looked around confused. Cyrus considered Fibian’s words. Wouldthe villagers understand? They could sense Gabriel’s mind, feel his warmth. Wouldthey see the truth? Llysa began to whisper into the mayor’s ear.
“Lies, all lies,” Hoblkalfshouted. “How can you trust a murderer and a blue-eyed demon? This is clearly furtherevidence of the Sea Zombie’s meddling. Look at the child, his size, his strength,the company he keeps. He has been shot through the belly and still lives. He isno alve. He is a monster bent on murder. Ask his stepmother. Ask his dead brother.”
“Enough,” Cyrusshouted. “No more lies.”
He drew his rifleand aimed it at the mayor’s head.
“Fibian, no,” Edwardcried.
Cyrus heard a hammercock. He turned. Fibian was pointing his loaded pistol at Cyrus’ head.
“How dare youpoint that thing at me,” Cyrus growled.
“You have gone toofar, young Master,” Fibian said, tears forming in his large, blue eyes. “I willnot let you become that which you so despise.”
Even when tortured,the froskman had not wept.
“Don’t you see?”Cyrus argued, “this is self-defense. They’lljust kill us in our sleep.”
“The prisoners arecoming with me,” Fibian said. “I will not let you murder your own kind, notlike this.”
“If you leave now,”Cyrus said, gritting his teeth, “there is no coming back.”
Fibian took a deepbreath, never taking his aim off of Cyrus.
“As you wish,” hesaid, a single tear rolling down his dark face.
He began to move awayfrom the crowd, keeping himself between Cyrus and the prisoners. The tattooed batalhaclutched his broadswords, growling low. Four more of the big klops joined hisside.
“Let them go,” Cyrusordered, “her as well,” he said, pointing to his stepmother.
“No!” Llysa shrieked.
“I’m not going anywhere,”Hoblkalf scoffed.
“Dad, you can’t stay,”Lars said, gesturing to the noose. “He knows.”
Hoblkalf began tocough.
“Very well,” he said,adjusting his monocle, “but this proves nothing.”
“Let them out the aftgate,” Cyrus commanded the batalha. “They can take one boat, but if they refuseto leave, or if they try to return, shoot them dead.”
“Cyrus,” Edwardgasped.
“As you wish,” thebatalha growled.
“It should havebeen you!” Llysa screamed. “You killed Niels! You deserve what you got!”
Lars took his fatherin his arms and grasped Llysa by the elbow.
“Please, Mrs. LongBones,we have to leave.”
Then Cyrus watchedas the five batalha escorted the seven back-stabbers towards the Battle Hune’stail. Rorroh had been right. The froskman was weak.
Cyrus turned his backon the traitors and glared at his frightened people. They stood in shocked silence,not daring to utter a single word. Good, Cyrus thought. No more conspiring. No moreinsubordination. They would finally do what they were told.
His gaze fell uponSarah. She appeared heartbroken as if she had lost someone dear to her. He thoughtof the boy who had drunk the dragon’s blood, and of the fool who had watched Tierbe murdered. Maybe she had lost someone dear to her. Maybe certain people neededto die.
Chapter26
CURSES ON THE WIND
IT HAD BEEN FOUR DAYS SINCE Cyrus had last seenthe outcasts. He stood at the wall of the aft bridge, searching the angry sea beforehim. Wind and water battered the island’s shoreline. His wounded belly ached. Thecold air aggravated his mended side. Edward sat, balled up, within his fur jacket,watching his best friend’s back.
Cyrus began to walkthe wall and inspect crew and weapons alike. At first, he noticed that therewere areas of the battlements that the black spiders avoided. Then he saw thatmany of the alvelings still wore the roasted dunklewood charms. Cyrus ripped thebaubles from their necks and warned them against further betrayal. The alves coweredaway in fear. The blodbad slowly returned. Was his crew prepared for what wascoming? Again, Cyrus searched the dark waters beyond.
“They were last seensailing northwest,” Edward said, his white fur blowing across his broad face.
“Towards the perimeterislands,” Cyrus replied.
“Do you think they’llbe okay?” Edward asked.
“Fibian will.”
Edward began tospeak, but something made him hesitate. Cyrus waited.
“Maybe we could sendword,” Edward finally said, “tell Fibian you’ve changed your mind.”
“It would make me appearuncertain,” Cyrus said, rubbing his injured stomach, “The villagers now fear me,but if they sense weakness, any weakness…”
“This is bad,Cyrus,” Edward said, crawling into his collar. “Without Fibian…”
“Fibian gave me nochoice,” Cyrus said, losing patience. “We need order if we’re going to destroyRorroh. Once she’s dead, we can figure out the rest, but until then -”
Cyrus felt panicin his chest.
“Gabriel!”
The battle hornssounded. Ragged black birds swept the trees. Cyrus’ body tensed. Electricity crackledin his stomach. He ran to the parapet and searched the horizon. A fleet of darkships loomed west of the Battle Hune’s starboard shore.
“Rorroh,” Cyrussaid, pounding the rail.
His guts aching, heran as best he could along the wall towards the bow bridge.
“Ready your riflesand artillery,” he shouted to the crew, “Keep your powder dry. Speed of reloadingwill be everything. Don’t waste a single shot. Hold your fire until ordered.
“Keep your torcheslit and your eyes open,” he shouted to the lookouts. “Communication is whatkeeps us alive.”
He ran the lengthof the starboard wall and stormed onto the fore bridge. The tattooed-faced batalhawho had exiled the seven outcasts sat upright in the captain’s chair.
“Sergeant Kron, hasthe head fortress been alerted?” Cyrus asked.
“They alerted us,”the tattooed sergeant growled, rising from the seat.
“Any reports?”Cyrus asked.
The batalha shook hiswide head no.
“Run to the fallbackwall,” Cyrus ordered. “Have the workers double their efforts. Leave nothing tochance.”
The batalha grunted,then bounded down the wooden stairs and vanished into the forest.
Cyrus scrutinizedhis communications officers, then considered his two gun teams. The crew appearedfrightened, but ready. He ordered sentries on both fortresses to report in at five-minuteintervals. The first dispatches started to arrive. There were
