The Child Thief (24 page)

The boy stared at him in wonder.

The girl spoke up. “I’m Wendlyn.”

Peter walked right up to the point of the boy’s spear. Stuck out his hand. The boy looked from Peter’s hand to Wendlyn. She nodded. The boy lowered his spear and slowly stuck out his own hand. Peter took it, shook it mightily, and smiled, and the boy and the girl and the other children all smiled back, because Peter’s smile was a most contagious thing.

“Say,” Peter said. “I know a place we can go. It’s a heck of a lot nicer than here.”

“PETER, THIS IS
madness. You
must
take them back!” Tanngnost said.

“No,” Peter replied and crossed his arms. “They’re my friends.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re doing. No idea. The Horned One will never allow their kind here.”

“Come see our fort,” Peter said, waving for Tanngnost to follow him down the trail.

“I
will
not. I’ll not have anything to do with this folly. Peter, if Ulfger finds out, the elves will hunt you down. They’ll kill all of you.”

Peter whistled and five kids dropped from the trees, spears in hands, teeth bared. Their wiry nude bodies were covered in war paint. They surrounded the troll, growling and glaring at him with wild golden eyes.

“Let them try,” Peter said. “We’ll feed them their own noses.” He raised his spear and howled.

The kids howled back, began to clack their teeth together and jab the air with their spears.

The troll rolled his eyes, then batted one of the spears away. “Don’t point that at me you little wart,” he snapped at a small boy wearing a raccoon skin over his head like a mask.

“These are our woods now,” Peter said sternly. “They belong to us, the
Devils
. From here to Goggie Creek is now Devilwood. Any who enter risk our wrath.”

Tanngnost let out a sigh and shook his head. “Devils? You mean halfwits. Peter, there’s so much here you don’t understand.” The troll glanced at one boy a bit older than the rest. “The magic of faerie can be poison to their kind. If any of these children are too old, they’ll turn. Have you any idea what that means?”

Peter gave the troll a suspicious look.

“The magic can twist them, turn them into murderous demons.”

“Don’t try to scare me. It won’t work. Not this time.”

“Peter, you have enemies enough. People with too many enemies don’t live long. I’ll not stay around to see you hanged.” Tanngnost stomped away.

PETER HEARD THE
whistle, snatched up his sword, and leaned around the tree. The whistle meant Ulfger was coming. Peter did a quick check; the Devils were all in place and well hidden.

We’re ready
, he told himself, and realized his hands were shaking, but not from nerves—from excitement. He listened to his heart pounding away.
I’m alive, more alive than I’ve ever been. The game is on, the greatest game ever. I’ve thirty Devils now. Thirty brave, deadly warriors.
How long had they practiced and prepared for this very moment? Two seasons, three? These children were done with drills, done with living in fear—of men, of elves, of
Ulfger.
These feral children would run no more. They were ready to fight, ready to kill. They were Devils now, and this scrap of scraggly wood was
their
forest.

Ulfger came into view, leading a squad of eight well-armed elves. They strolled right down the main trail just as Peter knew they would, Ulfger no doubt believing he was about nothing more dangerous than a fox hunt.
Well
, Peter thought,
this fox intends to bite.

When they were within twenty yards, Peter stepped out into the trail and leveled his sword at Ulfger.

“This is Devilwood. This is
my
forest,” Peter shouted.
“LEAVE!”

Ulfger halted and lifted a gloved hand. The elves moved up on his flanks. He looked Peter up and down and sneered. “Seems Myrkvior has become infested with vermin. Surrender yourself and the other pests and I promise you leniency.”

Peter could see they carried no nets, ropes, or other bindings, only swords and spears. He knew Ulfger’s leniency amounted to nothing more than a quick death.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” Peter said. “Or is it hard to hear with just one ear?”

Ulfger glowered. “The time for fun and games is over, little runt.” He pulled a long, wide sword from his scabbard, spun it once, and started forward. The elves began to fan out.

Peter whistled and the woods came alive with howls. Kids dropped out of trees and sprung up from the bushes, leveling spears, swords, and hatchets at the elves, all thirty kids snarling and clacking their teeth.

The elves looked about wildly, their thin, narrow eyes filled with shock and surprise. The Devils jabbed at the air, pressing them back into a tight knot.

Ulfger spun around and around, appeared stunned, confused, as though trying to comprehend how the tables could’ve turned so quickly, so utterly. He clutched his long sword with both hands and stumbled backward into the elves.

“You have to the count of four to drop your weapons!” Peter cried.

“ONE!”

The elves glanced at one another.

“TWO!”

The Devils hefted their spears, ready to throw. There was no playfulness on their faces, no mercy, only the eyes of children that had seen more than their share of brutality and death.

“THREE!”

The elves tossed down their spears.

“What are you doing?” Ulfger cried.

Three Devils shoved their spears to within an inch of Ulfger’s face.

“It’s your call, Ulfger,” Peter said.

Ulfger’s sword trembled in his hands. His face twisted into a knot of rage, his dark eyes glowering. He threw down his sword with a cry of frustration.

“Take all their weapons,” Peter said. “We can use some good elven blades.”

They kept the elves under guard as several smaller kids swarmed around and relieved them of their swords and knives.

“Thieves,” Ulfger said, and spat. “Nothing but the lowest caste.”

Peter jabbed his blade beneath Ulfger’s chin. “Take off your clothes. Everything.”

“What?” Ulfger’s dark eyes flashed.

“That’s ‘What,
Lord
Peter,’” Peter said. “As in ‘May I
Lord
Peter’ or ‘
Lord
Peter, may I.’”

Ulfger glared at him.

“Oh, don’t you remember the drill?” Peter asked. He could see by Ulfger’s face that he did.

Peter pressed his sword point into Ulfger’s neck, just enough to prick the skin. “Take off your clothes,
now
.”

Ulfger tugged off his boots, then his tunic, a thin shirt of mail, his pants, until finally he stood before them all completely nude.

The Devils snickered and jeered. Ulfger’s face flushed red, his lips trembling with outrage. “You…will…regret this.”

Peter smacked the side of his face with the flat of his sword. Ulfger reeled, almost lost his feet. He spat and wiped his mouth, looked at the blood on his hand.

“You forgot to address me as
Lord Peter.
”

Ulfger squinted.

Peter raised the sword. “Do it now! And maybe, just maybe, I will let you leave with your balls still attached.”

“Lord Peter,” Ulfger forced out between clenched teeth.

“Good, now turn around. I owe you something.”

Ulfger no longer seemed capable of speaking. He just shook his head.

Peter flicked the blade across Ulfger’s cheek, opening a small cut. Ulfger flinched, let out a weak cry.

“If I have to ask again, you’ll lose your other ear.”

Ulfger turned slowly around.

Peter reared back his sword and hit Ulfger across the buttocks with the flat of the blade. The loud clap echoed off the trees. Ulfger let out a cry. Peter hit him again, then again. The kids winced with every blow. Ulfger let out a sob, stumbled forward, and fell to the dirt.

“This is Devilwood,” Peter said and leaned over next to Ulfger’s ear. “This is
my
forest. The next time you set foot in these woods I will shove my sword all the way up your ass.” Peter kicked Ulfger hard in the buttocks. “Now
get
out of here!”

Ulfger pushed to his feet and limped down the trail. The Devils chased after him, hooting, howling, and barking, as they pelted him with pinecones and dirt clods, chasing him all the way to Goggie Creek.

A SHARP CHIRP
brought Peter back to the present. He caught a flash of green: faeries—three of them—leaped off a branch and flew away up the trail.

“I believe news of our visit precedes us,” Tanngnost said with a wry grin. “Keep your eyes open: the welcoming committee should be arriving soon.”

Peter glanced about the terrain, spotted a rocky ledge just off the main trail. “We should wait over there,” Peter said. “Those rocks will give me a good head start if I need to leave a bit early.”

The troll nodded and the two of them strolled toward the ledge.

“All will be fine,” Tanngnost said. “So long as you keep your head about you and don’t antagonize him. He can’t possibly raise his sword against you, not after his own father granted you a place among faerie fold. He’s honor-bound to at least hear us out.”

“Honor? Ulfger has no honor.”

“Ulfger does have honor—in many ways it is his greatest undoing. He’s tied to what he believes is his duty, no matter how distorted that may have become. He’ll honor his father’s clemency. But I don’t have to warn you to be careful. You know he’d love to kill you. And if he can find a reason to claim you a threat to Avalon, or to the welfare of the Lady, he will try.”

“From what you’ve told me, the Lady’s little more than his prisoner.”

“Peter, you distort my words. I never implied any such gibberish.”

“You said he never allows visitors or for her to leave. When was the last time you saw her outside her refuge?”

Tanngnost’s great furry brow creased. “I can’t say exactly. I don’t know if she ever leaves.”

“See!”

“I don’t believe that’s Ulfger’s doing, though. When the Great Horned One died, part of Modron seemed to have died as well. I saw her once, briefly, sometime after the great battle. She didn’t recognize me. Not sure she even saw me; she stared through me as though asleep with her eyes open. And now the elves tell that she has grown listless and weaker still. Sadly, she neglects the Mist, and as you well know it has become infested with the Sluagh. They feed on it. Feed on…
her
.” The troll was quiet for a moment. “I fear if she loses her will altogether, the Mist will fall. Then that will be the end for all of us.” Tanngnost pulled at his long chin whiskers and drifted away into his own thoughts. “Um, what were we talking about?”

Peter smiled. “About what an
ass
Ulfger is.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right. What I meant to tell you is that whatever Ulfger’s failings, you must never forget that he’s the son of the Horned One. That he, and only he, can wear the Horned Helm and wield Caliburn.”

“But the sword was broken.”

“Even broken, the blade holds enough power and poison to help us drive the Flesh-eaters into the Mist.”

“You never told me
that!
What are we waiting for?” Peter’s voice became excited. “Where do they keep it? I’ll steal it. Why, if I had the sword I’d drive the Flesh-eaters away myself!” Peter’s eyes lit up.

“Peter,” Tanngnost huffed, and rapped twice on the boy’s head. “Do you ever listen? Did you sleep through all my teachings? Have all my pearls of wisdom been wasted on a dingbat? Caliburn was forged by Avallach and given to the Horned One to protect Avalon in his stead, to drive outsiders away.”

“I
know
that,” Peter muttered.

“Its touch is death. Only those of ancient blood lines can wield it. And of those, who is left?”

Peter shrugged.

“Don’t be a dunderheaded halfwit,” Tanngnost said. “
Ulfger
. Only
Ulfger
remains. Not even the elves can touch it without being burned. And one of impure blood such as yourself? Why, it would burn you from the inside out!”

Peter frowned.

“Peter, whether you like it or not, we need Ulfger. And we need to do our best to convince him to join us.”

“Well, all I know is if
you’re
putting any faith in him then you’re the dunderheaded halfwit. Ulfger’s a coward. It’ll be just like at the Merrow Cove.”

“No, not a coward. Trapped in the past. Ulfger inherited his father’s physical prowess but not his will. He cannot rise above his father’s ghost. It wasn’t his choice to stay behind at the great battle. His father had him swear an oath to defend the Lady and her garden against whatever should pass. Ulfger still holds to that and will not leave her forest. Even with the destruction of all of Avalon at hand, he believes it is his duty to remain with the Lady.”

Peter let loose an ugly laugh. “He hides behind duty like it is his mother’s apron.”

“That may well be, but—”

Peter put up his hand and cocked his head. “They’re here.”

Just on the top of the rise stood Ulfger, flanked by twelve narrow-eyed elves all carrying swords and spears. The elves’ leathers were the color of the forest and well-worn, while Ulfger still wore the gold-and-red tunic. The tunic was a bit threadbare now, but it still bore the black elk-head crest.

“A meddler and a human-born,” Ulfger called. “And neither welcome here. Trespass in the Lady’s Wood carries but one punishment…
death.
”