“This must be how she entered the castle,” Edward said.
The gate was as tall as thirty men, and half as wide. It was very thick andcrafted to look like a shield. It was rusted and encrusted with barnacles nearthe water line.
Cyrus peered up at the fortress, high upon the cliff. He wished enteringthe castle would be as easy as knocking on the massive door and steppingthrough, but he knew that would be as suicidal as attempting a frontal assault.He saw no weakness in the gate, and it would take a lifetime to cut through thatsteel.
“You think whoever created this place cut a tunnel through the rock fromsea to castle?”
“It seems so,” Edward said.
Cyrus shook his head in disbelief. How many armies would it take tocomplete such a task?
He paddled past Rorroh’s ship, giving it awide berth, and over to the cliff below the fortress.
“Are you sure about this?” Edward asked.
Cyrus had the rope, bow, andquiver of arrows strapped over his shoulder and around his chest. The smallspider crawled along the equipment, inspecting it all for flaws.
“It’ll be fine,” Cyrus said, “I just have to remember what Fibian taught me.”
He wished he felt as confident as he pretended to be. He checked hisboots, made sure his knife was secure andtucked his hair under his cap. Then Cyrus reached out and grasped the stonewall. Was he really going to climb up thesheer rock face to save Fibian? He could still turnand leave, paddle out to sea and hope for the best. He gripped the face withhis other hand, then wedged his right boot into a crack. Cyrus peered down athis left foot still in the boat. The craft gently bobbed with the sea. Cyruswithdrew his foot and jammed it into the crevice. The small craft began todrift away.
“There’s no going back now,” Edward whispered.
Cyrus relaxed and took a deep breath. Then he loaded his weight onto hislegs and, keeping at least three points of contact with the cliff, began to scalethe rock face.
Chapter 32
NO GOING BACK
HAND OVER FOOT, Cyrus climbedthe rock face. He dared not look down. He focused only on his breath and thenext place he would wedge his hand or foot. Several times his grip slipped.Cyrus kept his composure, and his three points of contact, and continued on undaunted.
Cyrus reached the foot of the castle, exhausted. The climb had not beenas treacherous as the Himmel Horn, but it had still taken all of hisdetermination and focus. His forearms quivered, andhis fingers bled.
Where castle wall met cliff face the earth had eroded, exposing thefortress’s foundation. Cyrus forced himself to steady his breath. He studiedthe wall above, plotting out the next leg of his climb.
“You see any guards?” he asked Edward, his voice strained.
“None,” Edward replied, from the top of Cyrus’ cap.
So far, their guess that the seaside flank of the castle would be leastdefended had paid off. The castle’s builders too must have thought that no onewould dare scale that wall of the fortress, for the mortar between thebrickwork had been poorly filled, making for rough handholds. Cyrus’ kneesshook. He climbed the brick face as if it were a ladder.
Cyrus finally reached the battlements. He could barely feel his arms andhis hands were grimy with bird droppings.
“Come on,” Edward whispered, “we’re almost there.”
A shriek echoed deep within the castle’s innards.
“Fibian!” Cyrus gasped.
His heart ripped. Was Fibian dying? Was hebeing tortured? Cyrus had to hurry.
Fear strengthened his grip, and hepulled himself over the ledge. He crouched low within the rampart’s walls, hischest heaving. The adrenalin ebbed, andhis muscles started to knot. He peeked over the inner wall. There was a small courtyardbelow with a trap door at its center. The door was open…
Cyrus smelled dung and realized that the ground was slick with a sort ofmuck. A snorting, snarling sound came from the stone stairs leading from thecourtyard to the battlements. Cyrus’ mind raced. He unshouldered his bow. A rat as big as a sheepdoghobbled onto the rampart. Its teeth were yellow shanks, its eyes red pits, andits tail arched and lashed like a whip.
“Kill it,” Edward cried, leaping from Cyrus’ hat onto his bow arm.
The rodent was only a few yards away. It sighted the intruders andhissed. Cyrus drew an arrow. He took a deep breath and pulled the nock to thecorner of his mouth. His fingers stung and his arms shook. The rat began tofroth, loping forward like a mad boar. Cyrus exhaled; then, at point-blank range, released the arrow. Themissile struck the beast between shoulder and neck, penetrating the lungs, and probablythe heart. It crashed snout first to the floor, its rear legs twitching.
“Thank the Angels,” Cyrus sighed.
He doubled over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“It has a collar,” Edward said, his black, fuzzy form crawling down Cyrus’forearm.
“Some sort of watchdog,” Cyrus said, stepping on its skulland jerking the arrow free.
He looked at his dung-stained pantsand hands, then at the rampart floor. Had that lone creature created that muchwaste?
More hissing came from each side of Cyrus.
“We’re surrounded,” Edward said,his two eyes wide.
From the rampart’s north and south corners came two more of the grotesquemonsters. They were about thirty yards away. Could Cyrus make the stairs? Theyspotted their downed comrade and came at the trespassers in a frenzied rage.Cyrus nocked the arrow he was holding. He shot at the rat to his right. The targetwas too far. The projectile missed, shattering against the stone floor.
“Hurry,” Edward said, scurrying up Cyrus’ arm, “the other is coming.”
The rodent to his right was now mere yards away. Cyrus fired a secondarrow. The shaft punched through the rat’s skull, dropping it like a sack offlour. The second creature closed in from behind and shrieked. Cyrus clutchedhis knife and spun. The rat lunged at his groin. Cyrus kicked it in the nose.It snapped at his hand. Cyrus cut it across the face. It bit into his sealskin boot.Cyrus stabbed it in the ribs and, with his free hand, grasped its collar. Hepulled the beast from his boots and hurled
