“Can’t - breathe,” Cyrus wheezed.
His body swelled with anxiety. He was about to pass out.
“Ouch!”
Grim dropped Cyrus. Cyrus struck the ground, smashing his elbow on the granite floor. He lay on all fours gasping for breath.
“Rotten spider bit me,” Grim continued.
Cyrus looked up. The troll was inspecting his right hand. Cyrus waited for Grim to disintegrate.
“Ouch,” the troll said, a second time, “It bit me again!”
He began to squirm and smack at his arm. Why was he not dead? Stygl pushed Grim aside and clutched Cyrus’ right leg.
“Mine!” he said, raising Cyrus to his mouth.
Cyrus had barely regained his breath. He struggled and squirmed, but had little strength left.
“Put him down,” commanded a warbled voice.
“Impossible!” Tier gasped, still chained to the wall.
Cyrus twisted and peered towards the mouth of the cave. Fibian! It had been the glow of the froskman’s eyes that he saw outside the cave earlier. Fibian stood hunched in the cavern’s threshold, pale and sweaty. He held the yeti rifle in his hands. The weapon looked absurd in his relatively small grip.
“What are you supposed to be, some sort of filthy klops?” Stygl asked.
The troll raised his foot to stomp the froskman.
“Stygl, he’s got that bewitched staff, you fool!” Grim shouted.
BOOM!
A lead ball blew Stygl’s middle toe off, then buried itself in his forehead. His head lolled as he collapsed forward. Fibian stepped aside. The brute’s face smashed into the ground beside him. Cyrus tumbled from his grip and rolled to the floor. The troll’s body gurgled and burped, then grew still.
“What have you done?” Grim roared. “Now I’m the only one left.”
He moved towards Stygl. Slowly, Cyrus crawled to Fibian’s side. The froskman re-aimed the rifle.
“One step further and there will be none of you left.”
It was an empty threat, Cyrus knew. The rifle was dry, but Grim did not know that.
Cyrus looked to Fibian. The froskman’s eyes were dim, his lips pale, and his waxy flesh beaded with black oil.
“Don’t kill me,” Grim said, “I can be of use to you. I can help you avoid the klops.”
Edward appeared on the troll’s shoulder.
“Forget avoiding the klops,” Tier said.
She rattled her rusted chains.
“You’re going to take us up the mountain. You’re going to lead us right to their queen!”
Cyrus and Fibian looked at each other. Was this another trick?
Chapter 17
TABLES TURN
EARLY MORNING FOG cloaked the mountainside. Cyrus sat beside the glowing fire, warming his shaking bones. He had retrieved his clothes from the inner cavern, but still his blood ran cold.
Grim brooded on one side of the cave, his wrists and ankles bound in spider silk, Tier sat chained to the wall on the opposite side.
“I’m sorry,” Edward said, curled in Cyrus’ hand, “His hide was too thick. It was like biting into tree bark.”
“You did great,” Cyrus said, unable to keep the smile off his face, “You and Fibian both. But how did you find us?”
The froskman sat hunched to Cyrus’ left, eating a loaf of bread.
“You did little to hide your tracks,” he said, shaking uncontrollably, “And the trolls did even less. We would have come in sooner, but in my weakened state I thought it better to try and take them in their sleep.”
Along with the rifle and crossbows, Fibian had recovered Tier’s food and powder satchels the trolls had discarded by the campfire.
Cyrus wiped the black oil from Fibian’s smooth face and gave him water from the skin warmed by the fire.
“The rifle was empty,” Cyrus said, “How did you get it to work?
“I am a quick study,” Fibian said, “I watched carefully as Tier reloaded it, back within the ravine.”
“You were shot twice through the chest,” Tier said, chewing on a heel of bread, “Once by my mother, and once with a poisoned klops arrow. Never mind reloading the rifle, how are you still alive?”
Cyrus noted the disappointment in her deep voice.
“We’re tougher than we look,” he said.
“The poison slowed the healing a great deal,” Fibian added, touching his wounded chest with his good hand, “but I believe most of the toxins have been purged from my system.”
“One of his hearts stopped at one point,” Edward said, stepping across Cyrus’ palm, “I was so afraid.”
“Whoever heard of a talking spider?” Grim said, pouting, “Warlocks and murderers, the lot of ya. We wasn’t goin’ a eats you. We was just playin’.”
The troll’s voice echoed throughout the shadowy cave, as water collected in frozen spikes from the towering ceiling.
Edward motioned towards Tier.
“What do we do about her?” he asked.
Cyrus looked over at the yeti. Tier stared back.
“She could have killed me,” Cyrus said, “or at least kept me from escaping, but she didn’t. She was going to double-cross me, but she changed her mind.”
“We can use all the help we can get if we are to rescue the yeti from their slave camp,” Fibian added.
“I don’t trust her,” Edward replied, “Her mother set us up. What’s to say she won’t do the same?”
“Well, we can’t leave her here like this,” Cyrus said, “and I’m not just going to kill her in cold blood.”
“Help rescue my people,” Tier interrupted, “and I will consider my mother’s death a casualty of war. Fail me, and no amount of spider’s poison or that blue-eyed demon’s sorcery will stop my revenge.”
Edward looked at Cyrus. He shook his tiny head no.
“We have no choice,” Cyrus said, rubbing his hands over the fire.
“I agree,” Fibian added, dining on the yeti’s food.
“Then get me out of these filthy chains,” Tier growled, “We have a queen to kill.”
Chapter 18
THE DARK PASSAGE
THE GROUP SPENT ANOTHER day and night beside the fire, recovering from their injuries and discussing their route.
“We goes through the mountain,” Grim said.
The troll nodded towards the depths of the cave.
“It’s an old volcano. When the klops was mining here, they hit a lava vent. Carries on clean through to the other side. The mountain pass will be impossible to cross this time of year. This way leads us past their guards and lookouts, right into their camp.”
The troll studied the group’s faces.
“You ain’t scared a the dark, is ya?” he asked.
Tier pushed the rifle into Grim’s nose.
“Hey, what are ya doin’?”
“Now that we know where we’re going,” Tier said, “we don’t need you any more.”
“Wait, wait. There’s twists and turns down there, the likes of which could get you fine folk lost for all eternity. Tricky, these volcanoes is, but I knows the way.”
Could they really trust Grim? Cyrus rubbed his swollen elbow. His hip and ribs were purple and swollen too. He dropped his hands and tried to ignore the wounds. He did not want to show the troll how truly injured he was.
Over their time in the cave, Cyrus watched as Fibian’s punctured hand and chest healed, forcing dark slivers from his blackened wounds. His fever broke in the night, and the dark oil beading from his pores became clean, clear perspiration.
After a breakfast of stale bread and warm water, Cyrus, Fibian and Tier made torches from the troll’s firewood. The five started their long trek through the dark mountain passage. Grim led the party with Tier’s rifle at his back. Cyrus followed Tier. Edward curled within his fur collar, and Fibian brought up the rear. His mechanical hand glinted in the darkness.
The would-be rescuers passed several rocky alcoves that harbored small clusters of wa
ter klops cocoons.
“There must be hundreds of them by now,” Tier said, poking at one of the frozen husks with her rifle.
“Near a thousand,” Grim replied, “Breed, eat, and mine is all they do.”
The torchlight cast long shadows along the cold, stone walls.
“I still say you should cut me loose,” Grim said, straining against the spider silk securing his wrists.
His voice echoed throughout the caverns in a low rumble.
“More use to you with me hands free. And where’s I goin’ a run off to? I gots no torch to see by.”
“Just keep moving,” Tier said, stabbing the muzzle of her weapon into his back.
The group marched on in silence, their path taking a slight downward angle. The rock walls seemed to become denser as the air grew stale and more frigid. The scent of rotten eggs began to wrinkle Cyrus’ nose.
“Sulfur,” Fibian whispered.
Signs of mining began to recede. Iron spikes in the walls and the odd support beam were replaced by the natural contours of the heat tempered veneer.
“The klops only took this route once,” Grim said, as they reached a fork in the pass.
He led them left into a dark, bat-infested passage. Smaller passageways began to appear, veering off to their left and right.
“Why only once?” Cyrus asked.
He held his torch up to illuminate the hundreds of tiny, leathery bodies huddled together along the low ceiling.
“Cause of the creatures that inhabit these hollows,” Grim said, with a knowing grin.
Cyrus’ stomach fell. He thought of the bat-like klappen, far away on that infested island.
“What do you mean, troll?” Tier asked.
Her grip tightened around the rifle’s stalk.
“Wendigo,” Grim said, turning into the firelight.
The flames threw devilish shadows over his grinning features.
“Old wives’ tales,” Tier said, returning to the trek.
“Maybe,” the troll said, “But whatever they is, they sure frightened the klops. The wendigo was no match for the klops’ numbers, you see. Just shadowed them until they reached the other side of the mountain.”
Grim looked back with an expression of feigned horror.
“But several of the poor sods went mad with fear at the sight of ‘em. Others lost their wits as time wore on in the caves.”
The troll stomped a rat scurrying underfoot.
“The creatures were like ghosts, always there, just beyond the reach of the klops’ torchlight. Some klops lost their way and became tasty meals for the ghouls. The rest decided never to travel these caverns ever again. That’s when they made their treacherous southern pass, back that-a-way.”
The troll pointed a knobby thumb back towards camp.
“How do you know all this?” Cyrus asked.
The group reached another fork in the road. Grim ducked low and led them northeast.
“When me and the boys got desperate for food, knocking off a couple klops was always easy pickin’s. We tracked ‘em as they went through.”
The troll cracked a dark grin.
“We’d come back every so often when food was tight. The wendigo never troubled us much. We was too big for ‘em to give us any bother. And the stupid klops barely defend the passageway leading to their camp. They figure it’s a lock with those buggers infesting its belly. But don’t you fellas worry.”
Grim turned and winked.
“You’re with me now. No wendigo’s goin’ a have your skin.”
“Stop calling them that,” Tier demanded.
“You gots a better name for ‘em?”
“What are wendigo?” Fibian asked.
“Like I said, an old wives’ tale,” Tier said.
“Can you tell it to us?” Cyrus asked.
Tier huffed.
“Keep in mind; these are just ghost stories, not truths.”
Cyrus nodded.
“A nomadic people used to hunt these shores,” Tier said, “You can still find their tree carvings and what-not if you look carefully enough.
“It’s said that long ago, one of their shaman lost his wife to disease. Riddled with grief, the man made a deal with the Trollmann to bring her back, but what was returned to him was only his wife in appearance.”
“Trollmann?” Cyrus asked.
“One of Rorroh’s many names,” Fibian replied.
A bat screeched from a crack in the ceiling.
“That first night, she became pregnant,” Tier continued, “Then, in the small hours of the morning, she killed her husband, along with the rest of the tribe. From her cursed belly, she spawned a new breed of creature, things that lived between our world and the next. Monsters that craved living flesh, whose hunger could never be satisfied.”
“Sounds like Grim,” Cyrus said, squeezing the handle of his crossbow.
The troll grunted and picked at his bloated nose.
“These creatures do not exist,” Tier said, eyeing Grim sideways, “If they did, we yeti would have hunted and ridden these lands of their bane long ago. Whatever lives in these caves, if anything, are no more than water klops in disguise, or large rats.”
“You’ll see,” Grim said, chuckling.
A rustling noise came from deep within a narrow passage to their right.
“Speak of the devils,” Grim continued.
Cyrus’ flesh spiked. He checked his crossbow. The noise came again, this time from a tunnel to their left.
“Ready your weapons,” Fibian said.
“Just don’t let the fire go out,” Grim said, laughing.
He blew slightly on Cyrus’ torch. The flame flickered.
“Do that again, and I’ll take your eye as well,” Cyrus seethed.
“Won’t be long now,” Grim said, smiling broadly, “Just wait till you get a look at their faces.”
Chapter 19
WENDIGO
CYRUS LISTENED FOR VOICES. The sound of shuffling footsteps and squeaking rodents came from the surrounding tunnels.
“Keep moving,” Fibian ordered.
He had his back to the group as he covered their rear.
“I’d say now’s a good time to renegotiate our deal,” Grim said.
The troll stopped dead in his tracks. Tier stepped forward and buried her weapon in his back.
“Move, you two-faced swine.”
“Cyrus, look,” Edward said, crawling along his shoulder.
Dread filled the spider’s voice.
Cyrus spotted several pallid apparitions stagger towards them through a tunnel to their right.
“Ah, and here they are now,” Grim said, “Pretty little things ain’t they?”
The creatures paused just beyond the torchlight. Cyrus’ heart thundered. He pointed his shaky crossbow at the new arrivals. From the rear came the sound of more shuffling. Another group of white figures appeared. Fibian raised his weapon to cover their flank. Tier kept her rifle trained on the troll.
“Move, or I’ll shoot you through the knee and leave you to fend for yourself,” she growled.
“All in good time,” Grim said, “Just show ‘em you got flame and that you ain’t scared.”
Cyrus’ nerves got the better of him. He thrust forward, slashing the air with his torch. The firelight briefly illuminated one of the creatures’ emaciated forms.
“What in Kingdom?” Cyrus gasped.
The savage’s skin was chalk white. Its eyes too held no hue, yet its body was blood spattered and dirty with soot.
“Master Cyrus, what did you see?” Fibian asked.
A thin, six-inch fur covered all but the creature’s belly, face and scalp.
“I don’t know…”
The thing had stared at Cyrus through shocked, unblinking eyes, its mouth agape in a breathless scream. It was about six feet tall and looked like it had not eaten in months.
Fibian crept towards the throng at their flank. The creatures did not stir.
“
Careful,” Cyrus hissed.
The froskman’s torch unveiled more of the same sort of savage.
“They’re growing bolder,” Grim said, his voice showing the first signs of doubt.
Some were female with exposed chests, others male, like the first Cyrus had seen. Their lips were pulled back revealing swollen gums and broken, bloody teeth. Beneath their chins, wispy beards cloaked their wiry necks. One chewed on a mouthful of rat. The remains of the dead rodent twitched in its right hand.
“Fibian, get away from there,” Edward shouted, racing across Cyrus’ back.
The corner of Grim’s mouth twitched. Tier cocked her weapon’s hammer.
“I said move, troll.”
With a slow chuckle, Grim began to lumber forward.
“Don’t you fellas worry. Long as I’m around, ain’t nothing goin’ a happen to ya.”
The group continued their advance. The shadows behind them filled with the ghastly forms of the silent ghouls.
“How much farther?” Tier asked.
“Oh, a-ways to go still,” Grim said, guiding them northwest through another divide, “Why, should we stop to rest?”
Tier prodded the troll onward.
Something nicked the side of Cyrus’ head.
“Ouch!”
“What was that?” Edward asked.
“A stone,” Cyrus said, “It came out of that tunnel,” he motioned towards the darkness to his left.
“They’ve never done that before…” the troll said, bewildered.
“Keep moving, faster,” Tier demanded.
Another stone flew at them from their shadowed flank. Holding his crossbow under his maimed right arm, Fibian caught the projectile with his left. He cast it back twice as hard. The rock struck something soft. Cyrus looked to Fibian, panic setting in. The group began to drive forward at a slow jog.
A third rock flung out of the darkness. It caught Cyrus behind the ear. His vision blurred. He collapsed, dropping his torch. Then he felt something clasp his ankle. He began to slide away from the light.
“Fibian!” he screamed.
Cyrus clawed at the earth. He grasped his dropped crossbow, twisted and shot into the murk. The creature continued to pull. Cyrus saw Fibian spin and fire a bolt. The arrow struck a white arm gripping Cyrus’ leg. The thing did not stop. Edward sprang from his collar and landed on the creature’s forearm. He bit deep into the wendigo’s flesh. The savage twitched, then dissolved into a pile of sand. Cyrus scooped Edward up and scrambled away from the dark.
Cyrus LongBones Box Set Page 24
