Chapter 36
THE QUEEN’S CHAMBERS
CYRUS HACKED AND STABBED his way along the westernwall, keeping one eye on the queen. He watched her, high upon her throne, asshe reached into her robes and withdrew a small object. She threw the object tothe floor. The throne erupted in a billow of white smoke. Someone grasped Cyrusby the shoulder. He spun and thrust, screaming in fury. Fibianparried his attack.
“MasterCyrus?”
Fibian’s face was creased with worry. He looked at Cyrus as if hewere a stranger. Cyrus looked down at his hands, his chest. His yeti furs and klops armor were dripping with purple blood. He held hishands up in surrender. Fibian nodded and clasped hisshoulder.
“Are you all right,young Master?”
“I’ll befine,” Cyrus said, regaining his composure.
His lungsburned and his eyes filled with sweat.
“Quick,” Fibian said, “the queen is escaping. We must find Edward.”
He grabbedCyrus’ collar and pulled him stumbling into the fog. Cyrus kept close to Fibian’s heels, unable to see further than his hand couldreach.
“There’s adoor in the northeast corner of the hall,” he shouted, “She must have escapedinto there.”
Cries of painand anger surrounded them as hulking forms clashed within the haze.
They reachedthe northeast corner. Cyrus and Fibian felt along thestone wall.
“It is here,” Fibian whispered, “but the door is locked.”
He began towork the keyhole with a narrow dagger. Scuffling creatures started to clamorclose through the cloud.
“Hurry,” Cyrusbreathed, looking back.
“This bladewill not do,” Fibian said.
“Move over,”Cyrus replied.
Fibian stepped back. Cyrus charged forward. With an overhand blow, he struckthe door’s handle with all his might. His sword shattered in two, leaving himgrasping a jagged half-blade. The door’s handle fell to the floor. Lousy klops craftsmanship, Cyrus thought.
He kicked thedoor. It cracked open an inch. Cyrus ran at the door, driving his shoulder intothe timbers. He burst through the threshold and entered a large, chandelier-litchamber. Crimson silks draped the walls and red-patterned carpets cloaked thefloor. He looked across the den. A gaunt figure stood before him. He raised hisbroken sword in alarm. The bruised and bloody form was his own, reflected offone of the many mirrors throughout the lair. What had he become?
His gaze fellupon a ceiling-high bookshelf, mounted to the far wall. Beside the shelf restedan oak dresser littered with pieces of gold jewelry. On a table in the centerof the room sat a small turtle skeleton.
Someone had modeledgrass and trees on top of the skeleton’s skull and in the middle of its back.Around its head, it wore an iron-plated mask. As the plating approached the foreston the top of its head, the armor curved upwards, forming a defensive wall. Onits back, the metal plating protected the exposed portions of the turtle’sshell. The armor there too curved upwards as it neared the forest, creating aprotective barrier. Within the iron walls, small apertures had been cut. Modelcannons peaked out of those holes, ready to defend the turtle’s shores.
Cyrus sawmovement to his right. Beside a large red-silk four-poster bed, the queen rummagedthrough a dresser drawer. Fibian stepped in front ofCyrus.
“Do not comeany closer,” the queen ordered.
“What have youdone with Master Edward?” Fibian asked, the hum inhis voice strained.
The queenwhirled on the spot, a glass orb in hand. Edward clung to a branch within,staring terrified at his companions.
“He is minenow,” Moro shouted, “a key member of my new army. Stay back, or he is dead.”
“Edward!”Cyrus cried, pushing forward.
Fibian held him back.
“Get me out ofhere,” Edward cried.
His voicesounded muffled and strange as if he had been punched in the mouth.
The queenstudied the newcomers.
“Is that whatyou call him, brother?” she asked, her voice thick with disdain, “MasterEdward?”
Moro removedher silk mask. Her lone eye shone brightly.
“It is we whoare the Masters. No one else,” she snarled.
“I rememberyou,” Fibian said, “It is like a feeling or smell. I donot remember where or when, but I remember.”
“The WarriorWitch sent you,” the queen said.
It was astatement, not a question.
“Why?”
“I am nolonger in league with the witch,” Fibian said, “Thisboy is the savior of legend.”
“You believethis boy to be the Child Eater?” the queen asked, her voice thick with doubt.
“He escapedhis crumbling hune, drank dragon’s blood, and claimedRorroh’s head in single combat. I serve the chosenone now.”
“If youdefeated the Warrior Witch and cut off her head, where is she now?” Moro asked.
“I left her inpieces within a castle, on a southern island overrun by klappen,”Cyrus said. “I cut her down, just like I cut down your Councilor Agulha, same as I’m going to do to you!”
“Perhaps youwould like to try?” Moro said.
She steppedforward and presented herself unarmed. Cyrus gripped his broken sword and pressedtowards her. Fibian put his mechanical hand to Cyrus’chest.
“That is whatI thought,” Moro said, with a dark grin, “So much for your chosen one.”
“And whatabout you,” Fibian asked, “Should you not be withyour hune?”
Moro watchedthe newcomers with a narrowed eye.
“The hune is close,” she said, her voice playful.
Cyrus’ bellyfluttered.
“You knew allalong?” he blurted.
This changedeverything. There was still hope. Their efforts had not been in vain.
“Where is it?”he demanded.
“That is of noconcern to you, Child Eater.”
Moro spoke thename with thick sarcasm.
“Why are youhere in the mountains?” Fibian asked,” What has the witchordered you to do?”
“I too no longertake orders from that leprous monstrosity,” Moro spat, “I am my own masternow.”
She waved herhand before her in a theatrical flourish.
“All this ismy creation. A creation you’ve ruined!”
“You no longerserve the witch?” Fibian asked, “Why?”
“Because thisis how she treats her subjects,” Moro said, pointing to her silk eye patch, “Sheused her blodbads to kill the hunealves, even the children. There was a young girl. Icould not let the alveling die. Not like that.
“In time, Rorroh discovered that I had hidden the girl away withinthe hune’s forest and raised her as my own. For thisminor indiscretion, she took my eye, right in front of the child. Then Rorroh gave the girl the same choice she gave the rest of herpeople, all those years earlier; join her army and become water klops, or die.”
Klops were fallen hune alves?Cyrus was so confused. Was Moro
