Cyrus LongBones Box Set

by Jeremy Mathiesen

  “You would make me an Angel, powerful and immortal?” Cyrus asked, scornfully.

  “Yes, but at a cost,” Rorroh replied, simpering. “This bargain mussst be sealed in blood. The blood of a pure creation. This hune, for example.”

  “Murder Gabriel?” Cyrus asked.

  His words were laced with disdain.

  “A fool’s bargain,” he spat. “You would have me trade my soul for rot and decay. You offer nothing.”

  “I offer everything,” Rorroh countered, “and for a soul already so twisted and broken,” she said, pointing to Cyrus, “it is I who would be getting the poisoned end of the blade.”

  “No deal,” Cyrus shouted. “Be on your way, while you still have the chance.”

  “The captured traitors say the hune was to be a gift for our Mistress,” the tall, masked creature interjected. “Instead, they say a Lieutenant Knavish stole the giant for himself.”

  “Lies,” Knavish shouted, stepping forward.

  He stared down at Rorroh, then bowed his head.

  “Forgive my outburst, Mistress, but it was General Schlaue who planned to take the hune and turn it against you. I, along with my loyal crew, stole it from the traitor, Schlaue. We were bringing the giant to you, but the General gave chase. The vessel you captured is full of liars and traitors and they cannot be trusted.”

  Rorroh seemed to weigh Knavish’s words.

  “Lieutenant Knavish,” she said, “who now captains this, this thing?”

  The witch looked around at the steel wall as if it were something foul and offensive.

  “We were overcome by the Child Eater and his crew,” Knavish replied.

  “You were overrun by a corrupted strangeling, a cripple, and a sickly spider?” Rorroh asked.

  “The blodbad betrayed us,” Knavish said, surrounded by the many black spiders.

  Rorroh waved her blackened hand, casting aside the excuse.

  “This ‘Battle Hune’, as you call it, shot at my emissaries and killed my dragon. An attack on the Warrior Witch’s forces is the same as an attack on the Warrior Witch herself. All water klops aboard this plague ship are marked as traitors. Those truly loyal to me would have died fighting such invaders. When next we meet, we meet as enemies, and you will all suffer a traitor’sss death.”

  Cyrus looked to Knavish and Merke. Their grey skin grew pale, and their shoulders sank.

  “You have spoken your diseased mind, hag,” Cyrus said, “now leave, and take your groveling slaves with you.”

  The lean creature with the painted facemask stepped forward. His rodent eyes became wide and enraged behind his ghoulish mask. With practiced ease, he planted his feet and hurled his bladed staff up towards the bridge deck. The weapon flew fast and true. Cyrus spun away and ducked his head. The harpoon clipped his long, tangled hair. The lance arched over the wall.

  “Aahhh!”

  It struck one of Merke’s troops stationed at the edge of the woods. Cyrus grew enraged. He turned and aimed his rifle.

  Bang!

  The creature did not flinch. The bullet sparked off of the guard’s steel brow, leaving the flesh beneath unharmed.

  Fibian moved forward, raising his own gun. Rorroh stepped in front of her minion, her arms spread wide.

  “Forgive Captain Greves,” she said, faining mock humility, “Nagen are such proud, stubborn creatures.”

  “Nagen are no slaves,” Captain Greves hissed, his body quivering with fury.

  “You have one hour to get off my hune and clear this blockade,” Cyrus shouted. “After that, any ship still in range of my cannons will be sent to Mor Hav’s belly.”

  “Of course,” Rorroh replied, bowing low, “but remember my offer, Child Eater. Only I can absolve your corrupted soul.”

  She motioned her guards back towards the boat. Cyrus watched unmoving as the landing party boarded the craft and retreated to their ship.

  “She is scared,” Cyrus finally said, turning to Fibian. “She is outmatched and outgunned. She attempts diplomacy because she knows she will lose in open battle.”

  “She believes she has already won,” Fibian countered. “I did not see fear in her eyes, young Master, I saw triumph. She saw the Child Eater prophesied and she liked what she saw.”

  Cyrus’ anger rose. What did Fibian want from him? To lie down and die? To let his enemies do whatever they wanted, just as long as Cyrus did not get his hands dirty? He was damned if he did, and damned if he did not. He thought of his brother Niels, and of Tier, both dead because of his fear and uncertainty. Never again! When he was troubled by nightmares, it was never those he had killed who haunted his dreams.

  With or without Fibian’s help, Cyrus would pilot the hune and rescue his stranded people. Then he would hunt down Rorroh and wipe her minions from the sea like blood from his blade. Lastly, he would batter the Sea Zombie with cannon and fire powder, flame and steel, until only ash and dust remained. Then, and only then, would the alvelings be free, and the sea be forever his.

  Chapter 17

  TWISTED STEEL

  BY MID-MORNING, the enemy fleet had retreated over the horizon. Cyrus felt Gabriel’s apprehension subside. It’s going to be okay, he thought to the ancient giant.

  Cyrus recalled Rorroh’s rotting hand and damaged neck. She had seemed smaller than before, more withered. The witch had become weak, while Cyrus had grown strong, and he was only getting stronger.

  He gazed out over the vast ocean and asked Edward in what direction their crumbling hune lay. Due south, the snow-white spider had replied.

  Cyrus imagined the stricken terror on Llysa’s face when, against all odds, her despised stepson returned home to their eroding shores, a forgotten ghost back from the dead.

  Hoblkalf, the villagers, would all cower before his feet and plead for mercy. He would deliver them from starvation, deliver them from a watery grave. He would become the savior prophesied, and all would follow his lead. He flexed his chest and felt the strength of his flesh.

  He remembered Sarah, rescuing him from the mayor’s noose. She had risked everything to save his life. His past felt like the memories of another. He prayed his decaying island still remained.

  Over the next several days, the giant ventured southward through rolling seas and slicing sleet. Cyrus ordered Knavish and Sauer to familiarize him, Fibian and Edward with the head fortress’ workings. They inspected the gun stations, the barracks, the armory, and the network of trails that led around the entire island. Cyrus discovered that drinking water was in low supply on the Battle Hune. If the alves were to inhabit the island’s shores, they would need a plan to collect more rain.

  Cyrus demanded to know the tail fortress’ layout, so Knavish drew him a rough diagram in the wet snow. The aft fortress’ design was similar to the head fortress’, with a bridge at bow and stern and gunners posted every one-hundred-and-fifty-feet or so along the wall’s perimeter. Not all cannons were manned or even operational, Knavish informed him. Cyrus learned that a Captain Oks commanded the tail fortress. He would have to meet this Oks, and soon.

  Cyrus ordered a work detail to build a temporary shelter for him, Fibian and Edward near the klops barracks. Word spread fast across the Battle Hune of the interloper’s takeover, the blodbad brood’s new allegiance, and of Rorroh’s promise of bloody revenge on Knavish’s crew.

  Unless in superior numbers, klops were not especially bold creatures. Still, two had made attempts on Cyrus’ life. The first was a small klops with a poison-tipped blade in the middle of the night. A blodbad had taken the assassin at Cyrus’ bedside. Cyrus had found the pile of armor and charred remains the following morning. The second was a batalha that had challenged him to single combat. Cyrus had stabbed the brute in the heart and cut off his head with ease. Since then, the klops had been disillusioned with any hopes of rebellion. Still, a smoldering resentment could be sensed among the spiteful crew.

  On the fourth day, Cyrus and Fibian test-fired the bow bridge’s top-mounted twin cannon.
Sauer showed them the revered explosive round that had brought down the Trollman’s mighty dragon. The batalha lit the cannonball’s wick, then rolled the explosive down the bore. Cyrus slid the artillery through the wall breach and checked the angle. It’s going to be okay, he thought to Gabriel. Then he pulled the lanyard.

  Boom!

  Bitter smoke stung his eyes. Cyrus sensed Gabriel’s alarm. Easy. The round fizzled as it arched over the ocean. It struck the water and sent a pillar of seaspray high into the air.

  Waboosh!

  A second detonation erupted beneath the surface. The giant’s apprehension was lesser this time. The water above spiked like a porcupine’s back. The sea surged and boiled as smoke belched from within. Then shockwaves spread from the explosion, rolling across the ocean swells. It’s over, Cyrus thought to Gabriel.

  He looked to Chief Sauer and nodded his head, approvingly.

  “That’s exactly what we need to blow that hag from the sea,” he said, turning to Fibian. “Let’s see her stitch herself back together after that.”

  “I pray it is that simple,” Fibian replied.

  The froskman’s expression betrayed his obvious doubt.

  “We’re off course,” Edward said, from Fibian’s shoulder.

  “Knavish,” Cyrus yelled up, making his way across to the base of the fore bridge, “Show me how you pilot the hune.”

  “Bearings?” the hunch-backed klops asked, rising from the captain’s chair.

  Cyrus climbed the rickety steps with Fibian on his heels.

  “We’ve veered off course five degrees east,” Edward said, clinging to the froskman’s back.

  “Five degrees west,” Knavish ordered, walking to the bridge rail.

  The signal klops alerted first the starboard tower, then the port side. The lookout atop the starboard structure shouted below. The cables running beneath him grew taut.

  Cyrus sensed the hune reach out to him in pain. Then he felt the entire fortress shift west. He looked to Knavish, then to the heavy steel cables running over the wall and down to what could only be Gabriel’s face. A cold dread settled in Cyrus’ stomach.

  “With me!” he commanded the hunchback.

  He ran down the starboard battlement. Knavish and Fibian followed. He found within the hune’s defenses a second, smaller tower, and a second massive wheel mounted on a steel base. A team of klops walked in a circle, pressing hard on the wheel’s wooden handles and winding the cables tight.

  “Where do those lines lead?” Cyrus demanded.

  “It’s how we steer the hune,” Knavish replied.

  Understanding washed over Cyrus like an icy shower. Those cables were pulling at Gabriel’s flesh. How could he have been so blind? He ran down the wood and steel parapets.

  “Get down from there if you want to live,” Cyrus yelled, to the spotter perched atop the starboard tower.

  He dashed down a set of stairs to a wall cannon below. Then he shoved the two gunners aside.

  “Help me,” he ordered Fibian and Knavish, as they made their way down the stairway.

  He grasped the cannon by its heavy wooden housing. His wound pulled at his back. The two gunners watched, bewildered.

  “What are you doing?” Knavish asked, incredulously.

  “Destroying that wheel,” Cyrus cried, wrestling with the big gun’s iron barrel, “Help me lift this thing.”

  “How will we steer the beast?” Knavish challenged.

  “Either you help me lift this cannon, or you stand in front of it,” Cyrus roared.

  Fibian and Knavish grasped the front of the base. Cyrus gripped the rear. Together they heaved. Steam spit from Fibian's mechanical arm. The three lifted the cannon off its iron tracks and dropped it with a dull thud onto the slushy, tiled earth. Cyrus aimed the artillery towards the cable’s wooden reel.

  “Move,” he shouted.

  The team of klops working the wheel looked over. Cyrus grasped the weapon’s lanyard. Confusion became understanding. The klops fled the contraption like cockroaches from a flame.

  Boom!

  The cannon kicked. It flew off of its base and crashed into the sentry post’s foundation. The cables’ wheel shook and splintered. The cables quivered and frayed. The spotter clinging to the large tower only now heeded Cyrus’ warning. He raced to descend the metal framework. It was too late.

  The twanging lines snapped within their housing. They ripped and slashed through the two towers, tearing the structures to shreds. The cables’ recoil lashed the escaping klops to ribbons. Then the steel snakes slithered over the wall.

  Bits of metal and debris rained down on the battlements as the larger exterior tower teetered like a drunk. It crashed to the earth, a groaning tangled mass of twisted steel.

  “What have you done?” Knavish shouted. “How will we steer the hune now?”

  Cyrus grasped the hunch-backed batalha by the oily gilled throat.

  “Have a detail do the same to that second wheel,” Cyrus demanded. “Let me worry about piloting the hune. If those cables are not gone within the hour, it’ll be your face I hook and tow around like a fish.”

  Cyrus then turned his broad back to the batalha and stalked away. Knavish glared after him, hate festering in his heart.

  Chapter 18

  A DEBT YET UNPAID

  GUILT WRACKED CYRUS’ THOUGHTS. Why had he not known of Gabriel’s suffering sooner? Why had he not done more to ensure the giant’s safety?

  He recalled first boarding the Battle Hune. He had touched Gabriel’s hide with his bare hand. Shame and rejection twinged in his guts. Gabriel had seen inside of him, seen what he had done, what he had become. Cyrus could not go through that again, the vulnerability, the judgement, yet what other choice did he have?

  He delved down a secluded trail, then plunged deep into the murky forest. He could hear the click and pop of his blodbad guards shadowing him. The hair on his back stood on end. He suspected Fibian and Edward too were close by. The froskman was growing ever uncertain of Cyrus’ nature, but that did not matter. Cyrus knew what he must do.

  He searched the woods and found a small clearing amongst the thorns and brambles. It would have been a muddy bog when not frozen. He knelt down and withdrew his right glove. Then, taking a deep, frosty breath, he shoved his bare hand into the slushy snow, probing the icy mud beneath.

  POP!

  Cyrus’ ears rang, and his vision grew bright. The ground shifted beneath him. Then the scent of sunny orchards filled his senses. Finally, Gabriel’s warmth wrapped him like a quilt.

  Are you okay? Cyrus asked.

  His stomach filled with butterflies. He felt gratitude, relief mixed with pain and fear. Cyrus’ anxiety waned.

  What more can I do?

  Cyrus saw beyond himself a vision of a half-finished steel battle mask bolted to Gabriel’s face. What had the klops done? The rusted metal plating was anchored to the hune’s scaled flesh with long, painful screws.

  The scene shifted to the giant’s shell covered in a dark, twisted forest. The vines and creepers were choking the trees and souring the earth. Then, like magic, the clouds cleared and the sun rose. The predatory weeds rotted away, leaving the forest to bloom. Then an alveling village of bright homes and fertile lands sprung forth amongst the glowing woods.

  Soon, Cyrus said, picturing the stranded villagers of Virkelot. In the meantime, I’ll have the mask removed and the forest cleared of the poisoned creepers.

  Cyrus flushed with the hune’s love and warmth. Then a dark shadow crossed overhead. The giant brought forth a vision of Cyrus stabbing Moro through the back. The moment felt present, real as if it was happening all over again.

  Bile rose up in Cyrus’ throat. He wrenched his hand from the frozen earth and fell backward, sprawling on the cold forest floor. He coughed and retched. His eyes cleared. His surroundings slowly returned to the dark shadows and tangled tree limbs of the familiar woods.

  He peered about, gathering his bearings. His head spun and his s
tomach rolled. Two glowing blue spheres approached in the darkness. Fibian emerged from the murk, creeping like a cat through the tainted woods. Edward crouched warily on his shoulder.

  “Are you all right, young Master?” the froskman asked, holding out his webbed hand.

  Cyrus grasped Fibian by the forearm and pulled himself to his feet.

  “The klops bolted a steel mask to Gabriel’s face,” Cyrus said, recovering his composure, “It’s only half-finished, but it has to be removed.”

  Fibian nodded his agreement.

  “And I want crewmen clearing the woods on both fortresses of all poisonous vines and creepers. They’re making Gabriel sick. We need to ready the islands for the alveling’s arrival.”

  “And what becomes of the klops, once the alvelings are here?” Fibian asked, soberly.

  Cyrus did not reply. The truth was, he had not yet considered that eventual reality. His plans had been hasty and haphazard. Events were moving swiftly, and they promised to grow faster. He would have to cross that bridge once he reached it.

  “Promise me you will kill them all…” Tier had said to him, dying within the klops dungeons, but Cyrus had yet to keep that grim oath.

  Chapter 19

  HOME

  FOR FOUR WEEKS the Battle Hune traveled south through rough waters and blustery winds, destined for the crumbling island of Virkelot. Whenever a storm knocked the giant off course, Cyrus would press his bare hand into the frigid earth and relay to Gabriel Edward’s revised bearings. Always, Gabriel would probe Cyrus’ mind at these opportunities. Cyrus wished he could better explain to the hune his violent actions, his choices, the path he had been forced to travel on his unfortunate journey, but he was coming to realize that he himself could not fully grasp the decisions he had made.

  Cyrus tasked a detail of reluctant klops with the removal of Gabriel’s mask. The crewmen were forced to dangle by rope down the cliff-like front of the creature’s visage and carefully unscrew massive bolts from the giant’s scaled hide. The armor covered Gabriel’s forehead and the right side of his face. Along the cheek, the plating delved several feet below sea level. Crashing waves claimed handfuls of klops as they labored to remove the lowermost portion of the Battle Hune’s mask. Like dying scabs, the shielding fell away from Gabriel’s flesh and crashed unceremoniously into the cruel sea. The living island suffered much discomfort under the klops’ toil but also enjoyed much relief.