“Why didKnavish come for an entire barrel of infant’s blood? What’s been going on outthere?”
“I’ll ask youonce more,” Moro snarled, “Which one of these is female?”
“Why? Thelittle wenches is only good for eating, so long as I’m alive.”
The klops folded her stubby arms in defiance.
“Only onefemale to a nest, and don’t go trying to make trouble.”
Fibian pressed Cyrus back, then began to creep forward.
“I do not havetime for this,” Moro said.
She placedEdward on a ledge beside an oil lamp, then moved towards Vacaand began to search the pods.
“Wait a minute…”Vaca said.
Her cavernousmouth fell open.
“Something bad’s happened out there,” she said, pointing towards themain hall, “Something horrible. You’re abandoning us, ain’tya? You’re planning to steal a female, run away fromhere, birth a whole new nest for your precious battle hune.You’re leaving the rest of us to the wolves and trolls?”
“Not all of us,”a deep, rumbling voice said.
Thick,tattooed arms picked Cyrus up off the ground. General Morte!Fibian turned and sprang forward, blade in hand. Morte kicked the froskman in thechest, sending him backward.
“Fibian, look out!” Edward’s muffled voice cried.
Moro crossed thecavern in a flash and leaped onto Fibian’s back. Fibian crashed backward, crushing Moro between his back andthe hard, stone wall.
General Morte threw Cyrus sprawling to the ground. Cyrus crackedhis elbows and knees on impact.
“Guess you’llbe breaking that promise to your dead yeto friend,”the general said, grinning, “Bet you die squealing like a newborn.”
He uncorked hiswineskin and drank deeply. Purple klops blood randown his square chin. The muscles in his arms and chest swelled, and the veinsin his neck bulged.
Cyrus rose tohis feet, fear masking the pain in his bruised bones and broken fingers. Helooked for a way past the general. To his left, the passage led back intoMoro’s lair. To his right, barrels of baby klops bloodblocked his way. On a ledge, just beyond the barrels, Edward clung, wild-eyed,to the wall of the glass jar. Cyrus peered over Morte’sshoulder. The two froskman rolled, kicked and spranglike feral cats.
“Cyrus, run!”Edward shouted.
Morte began to move forward, his blood-fed muscles rolling and bulging beneathhis leather and armor. Cyrus circled off the wall, towards the passage he hadentered through. Morte moved right and cut off hisescape. Cyrus tried to rush between the general and the barrels. The brutecontinued forward but sidestepped left, blocking Cyrus’ way. With nowhere toturn, Cyrus gritted his teeth. He chopped at Morte’stoes with his broken half-sword. The batalha steppedback, slipping the blow, then continued his advance. Cyrus slashed at hisknees. Again, Morte slid away, but this time hecountered with a backhanded blow that caught Cyrus on the side of the jaw.
“No!” Edwardcried.
Cyrus struck therock wall with an armor denting clang. His head dashed off the jagged stone.Blood began to pour from his mouth and a gash in the back of his head.
“You break soeasily,” Morte said, grasping Cyrus by his grimyblond hair.
He threw Cyruscrashing into the barrels. One tipped over, gushing gallons of blood onto thefloor. Cyrus tripped and slipped over the bloody cask and picked himself up offthe ground. His head was spinning and his arms and legs were sopping withblood.
“You don’thave to die, you know,” Morte said, sneering, “Joinus. You’ll be my little pet.”
The batalha clutched at Cyrus’ neck. Cyrus slashed out wildly, bloodblotting his eyes.
“Ghhaa!”
Morte withdrew his purple spattered hand. A thick klopsfinger fell to the floor. The general grasped his maimed limb and reeled backin shock.
“No!” heroared.
Cyrus saw hisopening. He slashed at Morte’s foot a second time,cleaving off two toes.
“Gaaah!”
The generalstumbled back, favoring his left foot. Cyrus lunged forward and shouldered Morte in the stomach. The brute tripped backward. Cyrus slashedat his belly, cutting deeply into his thick leather tunic. Mortecrashed to the floor, purple blood leaking through the leather.
“Get back!”the klops shouted, struggling to his feet.
Cyrus dove athis downed adversary, his half-sword held high. Morte’sfoot shot up like a bloody piston. It struck Cyrus in the chest and sent himcrashing against the wall. Cyrus rolled to his side and gasped for breath. Hislungs would not respond. His head was achy and dull and his body cried for air.A strong hand grasped his neck and lifted him off the ground.
“Cut off myfinger?” Morte roared, “I’ll cut off your head!”
The generalpunched Cyrus in the face with his maimed hand. Cyrus’ mind exploded like cannonfire. Somehow, to his dismay, his consciousness maintained. General Morte buried his foot in Cyrus’ ribs. Cyrus screamed a breathlesscry. His mind began to fade from lack of air.
“Havingtrouble breathing?” Morte asked, “Maybe this will help.”
The large klops limped over to the stack of barrels. He ripped thetop off the nearest one. Then he walked back towards Cyrus. Cyrus held hishands up in surrender. He just wanted the pain to stop. He tried to beg formercy. The words would not come. The general took Cyrus by the hair and draggedhim over to the cask.
“How about somenice, fresh air,” General Morte snarled.
He plunged Cyrus’head into the vat of blood. The liquid was oily and cold. Cyrus kicked andsquirmed, fighting for air. The general pulled him out. Cyrus gasped, his lungsfinally accepting the life-giving oxygen.
“Feel better?”General Morte asked, his words dripping sarcasm.
He forcedCyrus’ head back into the vat. Cyrus’ world became a bubbling, muffled vacuumof darkness. He clawed at the klops’ hand. He scrabbledagainst the barrel’s sides. His lungs were at their limits. He fought the urgeto inhale klops blood. Something in his head popped.A high pitched ringing filled his mind. Morte pulledhim back from the brink.
“What, the airhere not good enough for ya?” the klopslaughed.
He shoved Cyrus’head below the surface a third time. Cyrus’ mind began to leave him. His worldbecame a swirl of nightmares, real and imagined. Child Eater, the yeti hadcalled him. He recalled Runa’s words, all those nights ago.
The saviorwill become an eater of children. They will sacrifice a part of their soul to defeatthe Sea Zombie.
He thought ofMoro’s tale, of how she had told him that the water klopswere fallen hune alves,twisted and soulless. The ideas swirled before Cyrus’ eyes.
Child Eater.Infant’s blood. Water klops. Hunealves, twisted and
