Chapter 31
KILL OR BE KILLED
CYRUS SAT WITH HIS THOUGHTS, cold and shivering, forseveral hours. The tears had stopped, but it would be some time before theheartbreak passed. Tier was dead because of him. He had let Agulhalive because of some stupid sense of morality. He had let a killer live becauseof childish principles. Tier had been right; you kill the enemy before theykill you, regardless of fair play. There was no right or wrong. There was onlykill or be killed.
Edward knewthis. He had not hesitated when killing the dragon, the klappen,even Tier’s mother, Runa, and Tier seemed to understand this. Cyrus never knewif Tier truly forgave them, but she had let them live when she could havekilled them many times over. She had even saved their lives. Some part of herunderstood that, if Edward had not bitten her mother, Runa would have killedthe three of them instead. Runa had ambushed them, set them up. They had had noother choice.
They hadescaped up the mountain. Been attacked by klops,kidnapped by trolls, hunted by wendigo, and what had Tier said to him in thebowels of the mountain?
“Your weakheart’s going to get someone killed one of these days.”
She was right.His weak heart had gotten someone killed. It had gotten Tier killed, and Ungur’s cowardice had imprisoned the three of them. Thetraitorous yeti had sentenced her people to death.
Cyrus’ questhad been in vain. Gammal was dead. The remaining hune was lost to all. The prophecy was a sham. Cyrusgripped his head and shook with rage. How could he have been so stupid? He hadlet himself down, let his people down, he had let Sarah down…
Yet Fibian was still alive, maybe Edward too, and Cyrus had apromise to keep. A new quest formulated in his mind.
He clenchedhis teeth and jerked at his shackle. He was not going to rot in this cell, waitfor General Morte, Councilor Agulha,or even the queen to decide his fate. He was going to find Fibianand rescue Edward. Then he was going to stop the yeti destruction, disembowel Agulha, decapitate Morte, andcrush every last filthy klops he could find, and whenthe queen got in his way, he would cut her in two, or be killed himself.
Cyrus studiedhis wounds. His nose was slightly fractured, but not broken. His shins and rightankle were badly bruised, but the chill air fended off the swelling. His chestwas blackened and blistered, but he could fight. He felt along his brokenfingers. They needed to be straightened. Tears began to form in anticipation.With his right hand, Cyrus gripped his left pinky. It felt like a cookedsausage. He pulled and straightened. Bone and cartilage ground together.
“Gahhh!”
Cyrus fought thepain, then slumped against the wall. He grasped his left ring finger and tookthree big breaths.
“Aahhh!”
He hit hishead against the stone, trying to distract from the agony in his left hand. Hegently moved both fingers. They seemed as straight as he could make them. Heblew blood from his nose, then looked about the room. He needed clothes, butfirst, he would have to find a way of escape.
Had the queentaken that metal wire? Cyrus scoured the floor. He found it near the cell door.She had dropped it in her haste to leave. He stuck it in the shackle’s keyhole.He jiggled the wire around for several minutes. How had she done it? He triedtwisting and turning the wire. The neck cuff would not open. Cyrus lost his patience.He dropped the wire and began to pull and yank against the chains. Theshackle’s chains ran through an iron eye plate screwed into the stone wall. Theeye plate began to shift. Rock dust sprinkled to the floor. How many powerful yetihad pulled against this very chain?
ThankKingdom for sloppy klops craftsmanship, Cyrus thought. He pulledand yanked at the chains, working them first left, then right. Then he began toswing his arms in circles, always working at the four bolts securing the eyeplate. The bolts grated and creaked. Cyrus’ hands began to bleed and his frigidbody started to sweat. Bits of wall fell from behind the plate. The boltsloosened a millimeter at a time. Cyrus breathed heavily, but he never relentedhis attack on the plate.
After anhour’s work, the plate pulled free. It fell to the floor with a dusty clang.Cyrus’ neck was still shackled, but at least he could still move about theroom. His second problem was breaking out of the cell. He looked about the fourwalls. Two were stone; two were made of bars. He had to pick the lock or breakthrough the bars.
Again, he triedMoro’s wire. It was useless. He did not know how to pick a lock, any lock.Could he kick and break the bars? He tested each one. They all seemed toosecure for him to break without aid. He looked outside the cell. Was there somethinghe could reach that might help him escape?
The woodentable! The one they had stretched Tier over. Cyrus looked about the cell. Hehad his blanket and the shackle that had once held Moro. He would have to ripMoro’s shackle from the wall as well. Could he do it? Hopefully, he had enoughtime to find out.
* * *
CYRUS TORE THE BLANKET into strips. Then he tiedthe strips together to make a rope. Using the rope, he snagged one of thewooden bed’s manacles. The act took over a half-hour.
Cyrus pulled therope towards him, bringing the chain and manacle with it. The chain was tooshort. The manacle could not reach the cell bars. Cyrus reached through thebars. He grasped the manacle and secured it to Moro’s shackle. Then he wrappedand tied Moro’s shackle chain to a cell bar. Together, they were barely longenough. Cyrus tied a loop at one end of his rope. He reached through the barsand cast the rope. After many attempts, he caught one of the prongs of thetiller-like crank. He pulled it towards himself.
Click, click,click.
As hecarefully drew on the rope, the table’s tiller turned and the chain grewtighter. The rope
