“Firingstations, “Lieutenant Knavish shouted, “form up and follow me.”
The lieutenantbowed to the queen, then turned and led his small group of klopstowards the main gate. Two runners ran along the eastern and western walls andducked into the hallways to the left and right of the fortress doors.
Cyrus made hisway along the western edge of the throne. He stepped out of the shadows andattached himself to the tail end of the group. His brow sweat under his jaggedhelmet. He dared not look back to see if the queen had taken notice of a tallerklops straggling from the shadows. He noticed theseveral barrels of lamp oil stacked against the western wall.
The platoonmarched out of the gates in a ragged line. It was a starless night sky. Yetiand klops voices shouted and clashed off in thedarkness. Cyrus guessed it was late evening. He figured he must have been inthe dungeons for nearly twenty-four hours. The hallways on each side of thegreat doors led to narrow stairways. The stone steps must lead to the cannons,Cyrus thought. He took a deep breath and slipped left into the shadowycorridor. The rest of the platoon marched out of the gates.
Cyrus hid inthe shadows, his good hand white-knuckled around his crossbow. His shins achedand his nose throbbed. No one came for him. He advanced slowly up the stairs.The passage was unlit. He had to squint to see his footing.
Boom!
The mountainsideshook. A great flash of white, like lightning, shone through the doorway above.The cannons! The yeti camp. It had begun.
A secondcannon thundered in the distance, then a third and a fourth. Cyrushurried his pace and reached the top of the stairs. A thick wood and iron doorstood open to his right. When locked, it appeared impenetrable, but the runnerhad left it open.
“What youdoing creeping around here?” a whiny klops voice asked.
Cyrus followedthe voice to his left. A small guard stood in the corner, at the top of thestairs. How had Cyrus not seen him? He did not dare raise his crossbow. He justangled it upwards from his hip. The bolt struck the guard in the belly. The creaturebegan to shriek. Cyrus dropped the empty crossbow and buried his knife in the klops’ throat. He left the creature in a quivering mass in thedarkened corner.
Cyrus steppedthrough the doorway and arrived at a parapet carved out of the mountainside. Hemounted the parapet and looked out over the mine.
The airsmelled oily and acrid. Great explosions of white detonated from all around thecliffs. Below, in the eastern corner of the mine, mud, iron and wood erupted ingreat bursts, as cannon fire impacted the ragged yeti camp.
From his vantage,Cyrus could see that the cliff cannons had been mounted in a horseshoeshape above the north end of the mine. Cyrus found himself at the center of thebend. He looked up. Thirty or forty feet above, he saw two large holes in therock face issue gray smoke. Where exactly did those chimneys lead, he wondered?
BOOM!
To his right,crouched within a rocky bunker, two cannon guards watched their handiwork andsquirmed with delight. Below, yeti hid under large sheets of armor. Others laydead in the snow. Cyrus watched as the cannon guards focused their attack on agroup of yeti nearest the great hall’s entrance. The yeti were mounting anattack on the stronghold’s gates. The barrage of cannon fire bounced off thearmor plating, rattling the giants beneath. Sparks spattered, sizzling throughthe night. Archers on the ground picked away at the group’s flank, with only ahandful of yeti able to protect themselves with smaller sheets of iron.
Cyrus creptalong the parapet and dropped down into the bunker. The noise of his leathersoled feet hitting the floor sounded like little more than falling clumps ofsnow. Cyrus grabbed the first creature by his armor-plated spine and heaved thefiend over the edge. The water klops kicked andscreamed his way to an organ rupturing death. The second dropped his torch andreached for his poisoned blade. He grasped only thin air. Cyrus drove the knifeunder the klops’ jaw and into his skull. The scoundreltwitched and kicked, before crumbling into a pile of armored filth.
Cyrus climbedback onto the parapet. He made his way to the next cannon. He dropped into thebunker and moved towards the cannon guards. Both lay stone-still slumpedagainst the cannon. Cyrus crept closer, his knife at the ready. Warm klops blood melted the fallen snow. What had happened here?Was this a trap?
Cyrus felt amechanical arm wrap around his chest, then a blade pressed against his throat.
“Is that MasterCyrus I smell under all that stink?”
Fibian’s voice was unmistakable. Cyrus pushed the knife away andturned.
“Thank theAngels,” he said, removing his helmet.
Fibian stood before Cyrus, a rope over his shoulder, and dressed in loose furs.The froskman looked pale and weak.
“Your face,” Fibian said, his brow lined with worry.
“They killedTier,” Cyrus said, looking away, “Ungur double-crossedus, led us into a trap. They tortured and threatened me. They said that if Ididn’t tell them everything, they would kill Tier. I gave in. I’m sorry. Theyknow everything, including who you are. They killed Tier anyway.”
Fibian’s shoulders slumped.
“Tier’s deathwas not in vain,” he said, deep sadness in his tone, “The yeti believed herwords to be true. After we received word you three were taken, the elders met.They took counsel with Vinter and me. We told themthey had to fight. We told them we had to free you. Then the klops began to search the yeti camp, bullying and killingyeti. That is what finally ignited the revolt, but they need our help.”
“There’s more,”Cyrus said, “Gammal’s dead, and the hune is lost. All this was for nothing.”
Fibian looked at Cyrus without saying a word.
“And thequeen,” Cyrus continued, “She’s a froskman. Sheclaims to be your sister.”
Fibian’s eyes grew wide and bright.
“She is theirleader?” he asked, “She has done all this?”
Cyrus noddedyes.
“What is sheup to? Where does all this lead?”
“I don’tknow,” Cyrus said, “and I don’t care. I made Tier a promise, and I intend tokeep it. We need to
