“These klops weapons will have to do,” Fibiansaid, drawing the arrow from his mechanical hand.
He inspectedhis artificial arm’s workings, then pumped its lever several times, rechargingits grip.
Cyrus picked upa quiver of arrows; Fibian and Tier collectedcrossbows.
Fibian took the lead as they made their way down the foot of the scrapingvolcano and through a barren gully. Sharp cliffs reinforced each side of thepath, while dark skies pressed down from above.
Fibian peeked around a bend in the gulch. Cyrus joined him. Fibianput a finger to his lips, then pointed up.
Crouched onteetering cliffs, fifty feet above the twisting culvert, two water klops stood lookout on each side of the ravine. Off in thedistance, further down the pass, two more forms perched atop opposing sides ofthe gorge.
“There will besentries all the way down the pass,” Fibian whispered,“It will be difficult to take them out with a bow from this range.”
“I don’t trustthe aim of these klops weapons,” Tier said, “Onemistake and they’ll send warning all the way down to their main encampment.”
“We have totry,” Cyrus said, “What if you two take aim at the furthest one with your crossbows,and I aim for the nearest with my bow?”
“Or I couldtake to the cliffs,” Fibian said, “take them out oneat a time.”
“Too risky,”Tier said.
“You couldcover me with your weapons if anything went wrong.”
Cyrus and Tierlooked at each other, then reluctantly nodded.
“Wait a minute,”Edward said, “I think there’s a safer way. Cyrus, remember the klappen’s lair?”
Chapter 23
SHEEP IN WOLVES’ CLOTHING
CYRUS LIMPED DOWN THERAVINE,trying to project the impression that he belonged there. Blood pounded throughhis system. The klops armor smelt of rotten seaweedand skunk cabbage. To finish their filthy guises, Cyrus and Fibianhad coated their furs with klops blood and hid theirfaces behind helmets of steel. Cyrus found shackles on one of the dead klops. He had fit them to Tier’s wrists. She walked betweenCyrus and Fibian, her head down and shouldersslumped.
“Remember,” Fibian said, quietly, “Our goal is to get within the campand find Gammal. No unnecessary risks.”
“Walk morehunched, like they do,” Edward whispered.
The spider hidwithin Cyrus’ collar. Cyrus hunched low, favoring his right leg.
“What’s yougot there?” shouted a lookout from the clifftop.
Cyrus’ skinnearly leaped from his body.
“An escaped yeto,” Fibian said, trying toimitate a klops voice.
The hum in hiswords seemed too smooth to Cyrus.
“Where are theother four?”
“Dead, backthat-a-way,” Fibian replied, “The yetogot ‘em.”
“You betternot have eaten any of ‘em,” the sentry shouted down.
The lookoutdirectly across the ravine sounded a deep, trumpeting horn. Several more sentries,further down the gorge, echoed the call.
Was that thealarm? Should they turn and run? Cyrus froze.
“Keep moving,”the first lookout ordered.
His voicesounded bored and unconcerned.
“They are justannouncing our arrival,” Fibian whispered, “We areundetected. Our identities are safe.”
Cyrus exhaleda long-held breath and continued forward.
Over the rise,dark gray smog befouled the skies. The water klopsmines, Cyrus thought. He and Fibian escorted Tierdown the winding pass, past three more sentry posts, and around a bend in thegully. Two armed guards stood atop a stone gate. One climbed down.
“An escaped yeto?” he shrieked, “How did it get out?”
Cyrusshrugged, shaking his head and adjusting his helmet. He was sweating and itchy,as if under a hot lamp.
“I’m asking aquestion,” the guard continued, poking a black tipped spear into Tier’s throat.
Tier roaredlike a bear, baring her large, white teeth to the gums. The klopsleaped backward, falling to his backside. His partner on the wall chuckled. Thefirst guard tried to regain his composure.
“Take it toGeneral Morte,” the klops shrieked,grasping up his spear.
He thrust theweapon towards the gate entrance.
“We’ll see howfierce you are after he’s done with you,” the guard seethed, his bulbous eyesshifting back and forth between Cyrus, Fibian andTier.
The four steppedthrough the passage. The path opened up onto a frozen precipice. Below, amassive worksite splayed out, touching all four corners of a barren gorge. Nearthe far edge of the mine, set into the foot of a soaring mountainside, a pairof hulking, steel doors towered over the camp. Above the doors, four columns ofsmoke issued from the living rock.
It was as if ablack star had fallen from the heavens and crashed to earth, clearing rock andrubble for the water klops to breed. The sounds ofshouting and hammering rang throughout the camp.
“Keep moving, yeto,” Fibian said, prodding Tierwith his crossbow.
Cyrus’ beganto feel as if the entire camp was closing in. There’s hundreds of themonsters, he thought.
“Make way,” athick klops shouted.
“Yeti…” Edwardwhispered, from Cyrus’ collar.
Four of Tier’skinsmen crossed their path carrying a massive, steel plate. Three squat klops cracked them with whips. The yeti’s feet wereshackled together. Their coats were matted and oily, and their flesh clung totheir ribs like a starving wolf’s. One looked up.
“Tier?”
“Keep moving,”one of the klops shouted, striking the giants withhis whip.
The groupcarried on. Cyrus and Fibian marched Tier across amix of sludge and snow.
“How do wefind Gammal?” Cyrus whispered.
“I willrecognize him,” Tier said.
Around them,yeti labored shoulder to shoulder, constantly under klopssupervision. The smell of metallic gases and bog stench mingled in the frigid air.
To Cyrus’ lefta large, oval quarry yawned deep and wide. The pit had been excavated ten feetat a time, creating a massive theater-like crater, three layers deep. Within,yeti were chained to large iron forges, pounding out massive sheets of four-inch-thicksteel. Above, water klops bickered and fussed as theyfashioned crude swords and rickety armor from poorly smelted iron.
A fightbetween two klops broke out on the path in front ofCyrus.
“Watch whereyou’re swinging that thing,” a black-bearded klopsscreeched.
“Shut yourfool mouth and stay off my heels,” retorted a tall, weedy scoundrel.
A large scardistorted the left side of his face.
“My foolmouth?”
The beardedcreature swung a blackened mallet at the taller klops.He missed his mark by several inches. With a leather glove, the taller klops wielded a blazing shaft of misshapen iron. It cleavedthe wretch’s bearded head from its gnarled body. The gray mound rolled towardsCyrus’ feet. Its neck smoldered, cauterized from the heat. With crooked, blackeyes, the dead klops stared up at Cyrus, aghast andsoulless. Cyrus kicked the head away. Two nearby klopschuckled nervously.
“No, he’s mine!”
Cyrus lookedup and found the weedy scoundrel locked in
