“Move,runt.”
Atall, hunch-backed batalha grabbed Cyrus by the headand shoved him aside.
“LieutenantKnavish,” he seethed, under his breath.
“CouncilorAgulha has been murdered, and the boy has escaped,” Knavishshouted, mounting the throne’s stairs.
Cyruslooked up at the towering seat. He stared in fear and wonder as the queen’scloaked figure descended the great stairs. At the foot of the steps, six of thequeen’s guards scooped mugs of thick, purple liquid from a stained barrel. Infront of them, small klops shoved and pushed as they awaitedtheir turn to receive their portion of drink. Cyrus watched as one klops hungrily guzzled down the syrupy liquid. The creaturedropped the mug and clutched his belly. He sputtered and coughed. Then hisshoulders began to bulge. His chest armor popped open and a muscled torso swelled.He ripped off his helmet and bit at the air. His jaw filled and his head grew.He seemed to rise a full two inches in height. Cyrus wondered how many doseswould it take to turn the fiend full batalha?
“Findthe boy!” the queen ordered, “Search every last corner of this place. And bringmore child’s blood. I want as many runts turned as possible.”
GeneralMorte climbed the stairs, pushing Knavish aside.
“Butmy Queen,” he said, taking a swig from his canteen, “too many batalha leads to revolt.”
“Weare about to be overrun,” the queen shouted, “We cannot hide in here forever.We must take back the mine before it is too late.”
GeneralMorte grasped a nearby batalha.
“Rifles!Get as many rifles as possible. I want soldiers formed up and ready to fire. Intwenty minutes, we open the gates. We will cut down the yetolike trees in a forest.”
Cyrusand Fibian pushed through the clamoring, thirstyhorde in the direction of the gates. The enemy smelled of sour gas and skunkcabbage, and their breath reeked of lamp oil and rotten fruit. Cyrus looked upand spied the candle-lit chandelier. That would do. He bumped into somethingand found himself staring straight into the yellow eyes of a short, pock-faced klops. Cyrus looked down and pressed further into the mob.
“Oy,wait a second,” the klops shouted.
Cyrus’nerves triggered and his flesh prickled. He continued through the crowd.
“Isaid wait!” the fiend shrieked.
Cyrusgripped his dagger.
“Justyou wait a minute!”
Hefelt a sharp hand clasp his left shoulder. Cyrus spun around.
“That’smy mates helmet you’re wearing, you stinking thie…”
Cyrusburied his blade in the klops’ ribs as far as he couldmanage. The creature lurched. Cyrus repeated the action in rapid succession. Thevillain reeled, then slumped forward, drooling over Cyrus’ shoulder. He shuckedthe klops off. The body slumped to the floor. Cyruslooked back. Fibian met his gaze. The froskman’s expression seemed to suggest that no one hadseen, or cared. He motioned Cyrus forward. They came to the center of the hall.Cyrus paused beneath the large chandelier.
“Thegates,” he said to Fibian, gesturing towards thesouth end of the hall, “Wait for my signal, and be ready.”
Severalklops began to push in around them, loading singleshot rifles. Each rifle had a black tipped knife fixed to the end of thebarrel. The klops looked thick and burly, theirmouths stained with purple blood.
“Formup, you mangy rats!” a large batalha ordered.
Thesmall group began to fashion a ragged, jostling line, facing the gates.
“Becareful, young Master,” Fibian whispered, “and hurry.If the klops prepare their counter attack...”
Thefroskman did not need to say more. He pushed into themob, his head low, pressing towards the doors.
Chapter 35
THE GATES
CYRUS SLIPPED THROUGH THERANKS ofthe hostile water klops, his bloody knife in hand. Heprayed the barrels of lamp oil still sat against the western wall. He reversedhis grip on the dagger and held its blade hidden against his wrist. Then hemoved towards the wall, piercing enemy canteens as he went. Dark, syrupy liquorspilled to the floor.
Cyrus pushedthrough the crowd. The barrels were where he had last seen them. A thick rope,supporting the chandelier above, was secured to a cleat on the wall, left ofthe barrels.
Cyrus stoodwith his back to the containers. With three quick jabs, he punched cracks in thenearest barrel. Noxious fumes filled his lungs, as the golden oil emptied ontothe ground.
“What’s thatsmell?” one klops asked, turning towards Cyrus.
Cyrus’ handjutted out in a flash. Purple blood poured from the enemy’s throat as he foughtto scream. Two more turned towards the commotion. Cyrus gripped the barrel andtipped the container over. An amber slick gushed over the klops’feet. Cyrus rushed to the chandelier’s rope.
“We gots a traitor,” a klops shouted.
Several villainsarmed with crossbows and rifles turned towards Cyrus.
“I gets hislegs,” a fat, half-turned klops said, grinning.
They took aim.Cyrus fumbled with his knife. With all his might, he chopped at the cable, loosing the crystal fixture. The villains fired. Cyrusdropped the blade and gripped the rope tight. As the large chandelier crashedto earth, it pulled Cyrus high into the air. Lead bullets and poisoned arrowssmashed the stone wall. The flaming chandelier hit the ground in a glass-shatteringcrash. It crushed several klops under its burden.
Like a pack ofhellhounds, flames leaped from the fallen candles and dashed across the floor.Fire pounced on the backs of the nearby klops, eatingat their punctured canteens.
Woosh!
The firereached the tipped barrel and an explosion of flame ignited the surroundingmob. Panic and confusion broke out within the hall.
Cyrus swungabove the flame and chaos, dizzy. He felt several bullets zip past his body. Helet go of the rope and crashed towards the floor. He smashed into a raging groupof klops. All were knocked off their feet. Cyruscrawled below the black smoke, dazed and ill, hiding within the churning mob.
“Where did thetraitor go? Find him,” he heard a klops shout.
“I can’t seeanything. Stamp out the fire!” another cried.
Cyrus pushedto his feet and made for the eastern door. Why weren’t the yeti pouringthrough?
Cyrus arrivedat the door. He found Fibian fighting two door guards.The froskman stabbed one in the belly. Cyrus drew hissword and hacked a leg off the other. Fibian finishedhim on the ground.
“The door!”Cyrus shouted.
He and Fibian rushed to the small side hatch. A heavy wooden latchrested across the entryway. With his good hand, Cyrus fought to lift the woodenplank. Fibian nudged him aside. Using his superiorstrength, the froskman tried to move the lumber.
