Cyrus heardthe scrabbling sound of klops footsteps. With hisneck still shackled, Cyrus picked up the broken cell bar and ran for the door.He mounted the stairs and held the bar at the ready, poised like a spearman atthe edge of a river.
“What’s allthat racket?” he heard the short klops shout.
“Sounds likesomeone needs a cold shower,” the chalky klopssneered.
The door’slock clicked. Cyrus adjusted his grip on the bar, aiming the sharp end forward.
“You betternot be making any trouble in there.”
The doorkicked open. Cyrus thrust the bar forward. In one rage-filled blow, the spearpierced the first two klops’ skulls. The third klops fell back, his eyes filled with horror. Cyrus usedhis bare foot to unburden his iron spear. The helmeted klopsscrambled for his crossbow. Cyrus kicked his wrist. His shin throbbed. The boltshot wide, ricocheting off the hallway walls. Cyrus drove the bar through the klops’ chest, twisting the spike as he ran the fiend intothe wall.
There wasshuffling to Cyrus’ left. He looked up. He could feel the warm klops blood on his face. Agulhastood shaking; his hands held high in surrender.
“I am unarmed,”he said, pleading.
Cyrus steppedforward. He plunged the iron spear into Agulha’s faceand out of the back of his head.
“So was Tier,”Cyrus snarled.
He put a footto the old klops’ chest and jerked the bar free. Agulha fell to the floor, stiff and quivering. Cyrus screamedwith rage and stabbed the bar into Agulha’s skullseveral times over. The councilor’s head became purple pulp. Cyrus recoveredhis breath, then spit on what was left of the bony corpse. Warm blood leakedout onto the cold, hard stone.
Chapter 32
A PROMISE TO KEEP
CYRUS FOUND THE SHACKLE key on the helmeted klops and unlocked his neck. He rushed down the hall to thesecond chamber. He had to find Edward and a way out of this place.
Cyrus enteredthe room and found his clothes strewn across the floor. Shaking, he dressed inthe furs. The pelts were warm against his bitter, bruised skin. He returned tothe hallway and unarmored the first two skewered klops.The steel felt heavy on his fatigued body. He took the helmet from the last klops and fit it over his fur hood. Then he rubbed klops blood all over his pelts, adding to the caked on darkfilth. His disguise was nearly complete. All he needed now were weapons.
Cyrus took acrossbow and poisoned knife off the downed guards and made for the stairs. Hereached the top step, took the knife in his right hand and opened the door. Hisblood pounding, he crept through.
Two smallguards stood at each side of the door’s exterior. One looked at Cyrus as iftrying to place him. Cyrus snarled, shoving his blade in under the helmet’schin guard, piercing the klops’ brain. The fiend stiffenedand exhaled. Before the other could react, Cyrus withdrew the knife from thefirst and buried it in the second’s eye. Both klopsslid to the floor without a sound.
Cyrus lookedabout. The base of the towering throne was to his left; the great hall’s westernwall to his right. Roaring fires raged within the hall’s fireplaces.
Several klops bustled and fretted at the foot of the queen’sthrone. None had seen Cyrus’ deeds. Dancing shadows and a large pillar hadcovered his attack.
“My Queen,” afat batalha shouted, “Vacais fed and her hatchlings are secure.”
“LieutenantKnavish, your soldiers cannot find the intruder anywhere?” a trill voice cried.
Cyrus lookedup. Four stories above, the queen rose from her white pillowed throne. She worea black silk gown.
“No, myQueen,” a tall, hunch-backed klops replied, “We havesearched the hall, the cliffs, the southern gorge. But the newcomers havestirred the slaves. Their camp has been difficult to search. They are beginningto rebel.”
The queenquivered with rage.
“It is as Ifeared,” she spat, “Fetch me General Morte and myprivate guard.”
LieutenantKnavish motioned to a tiny white klops groveling nearhis feet. The small creature scrambled off like a beaten mutt through a smallhatch in the massive doorway. Moments later, four guards turned two largecranks on each side of the great entrance. Wood and steel moaned as thescraping doors parted like the eyelids of a waking giant. Ten batalha marched through the gateway, led by General Morte. The general chewed the remains of a small white leg.
“My Queen,your personal guard are ready and await your orders,” Morteshouted.
Cries of painand rage rang out beyond the gates.
“What is goingon in the mine? I thought I ordered the yeti slain!” the queen said.
“We locked downthe mine, but we thought it best to search the yetoquarters before we blast them to hell. We cannot hunt the intruder and laywaste to the camp at the same time. The yeto refuseto submit to our orders. Many on both sides have been killed in the standoff.”
“Did you nottell them we would slaughter their families if they disobeyed?” the queenasked.
“Yes, myQueen. They no longer believe this to be true. They are demanding we free theprisoners locked in the dungeons, or they will attack the main hall.”
“Fools,” thequeen hissed, “Abandon the search for the intruder. I want archers postedoutside the main doors. Use the perimeter cannons. Blast those mangy beastsinto ragged pieces. Do not cease fire until they are dust.”
“Yes, myQueen,” General Morte replied, “And your privateguard?”
“They are towait here for my orders.”
The guardstook up position at the foot of the throne, shoving the smaller klops aside. General Morte bowedand marched back through the massive doorway.
The queen wasabout to destroy the yeti. Cyrus had to stop
