The Child Thief

blaring horns, even the sirens. Peter felt as though he were in a dream; the whimpering and groaning of the wounded and dying echoing along with the sad song of the Mist.

The Mist? The Mist could mean only one thing. The Lady’s alive! Peter thought. There in the pond. She must be in the pond!

The pond’s glow faded, slowly returning to black. Peter jerked his swords free from the dead Flesh-eater at his feet, not even bothering to wipe the blood off, just shoving the blades back in their scabbards as he sprinted for the pond. He pushed past two wounded Flesh-eaters—supporting each other as they hobbled away—giving them not so much as a glance, focused only on the pond—on the Lady.

“Where is she?” Peter whispered, scanning the pool. He needed to find her, needed to see for himself that she was indeed alive. He saw Danny, standing knee-deep in the pond, the rope still tied around his middle. The rope was taut and sank below the water. Peter leaped into the pond, splashed out to Danny, and grabbed the rope, following hand over hand until he found the Lady. He gently pulled her to the surface, cradling her.

Peter saw her face, her half-open eyes—blank and lifeless, completely void of any color—then saw the angry gash in her collar. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “No. No.” He pulled her to shore and laid her on the bank.

She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at Peter. “Mabon, you found me.” She touched his cheek.

The witch was there, beside them. “No Modron, you silly teat. It’s just the boy. Your Mabon is dust and bones.” She took the Lady’s hand in hers. “Now, no more gibbering. Concentrate on your wound.”

The Lady’s eyes closed. She seemed to stop breathing altogether.

“Do something,” Peter said to the witch. “Please, do something.”

“Oh, stop your blubbering,” the witch said. “There’s little I can do. Avallach gave his healing touch to Modron, not me.” She sneered. “Little bright and sparkly here was always his favorite. Look, she’s stopped the bleeding at least.”

“She’ll be all right then,” Peter insisted.

“Maybe. She’s weak. She used herself up bringing on the Mist. She needs water. Pure, fresh water, not this stinking, stagnant pool. We have to get her out of here. Take her someplace where—”

“PETER!” Huck called. “Behind you!”

Peter whipped around, sword in hand in a mere blink. There, next to Danny, the Captain! He stood knee-deep in the pond, the rope in one hand, a long knife in the other.

Peter’s lips peeled back. “YOU!” he snarled and pointed his sword at the man.

“Hold!” the Captain called, raising his hands, holding the knife up. “I just want the boy.” He gestured to Danny. “Just want the boy, nothing more.”

Peter couldn’t believe his ears. This demon, this monster, dared ask to take a child—from him. After all the Devils that lay dead at this man’s hands? “Never,” Peter growled, and leaped into the pond, charging the Captain with a wide swing. The Captain parried the blow with his knife and fell away, causing Peter to barrel past. The Captain snatched out his own sword, readied himself.

“PETER, NO!” Nick cried, and jumped into the pond, splashing between them. “STOP!” Nick carried a spear, one of the large Flesh-eaters’ spears. He brought the shaft up, blocking Peter.

Peter leveled his sword at Nick, placed the blade directly under his throat. “I’m warning you, Nick,” Peter said coldly. “You’ve come before my sword too many times. Get out of my way. Now! ”

“Just free Daniel,” the Captain said calmly. “Send him with me and we’ll go.”

“WHAT?” Peter cried. “You will never take another child from me, not ever. All you will get from me is the edge of my sword.”

The Devils splashed into the pond, spears and swords pointed at the Captain, holding him in check. The Captain didn’t waver. He kept his guard steady.

“Peter, stop this!” Nick cried. “Look, open your eyes and look.” He pointed at the bodies around the pool, to Ivy, her unblinking eyes staring up into the mist, to Carlos, lying on the bank, his throat open, a ribbon of blood feeding into the pond. “How much is enough? How many must die? You have your precious Lady, just let them go.”

Peter tried not to look at the dead Devils. They’d died honorably, heroically. He wouldn’t let Nick muddy their deaths, twist things around. Nick had it backward, that’s all. “There’s only one bastard to blame for their lives. One.” Peter pointed at the Captain. “Him.”

“No, Peter,” Nick said. “The Captain fought with us. He saved your Lady. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Nick.

“It’s true,” Cricket called.

Peter let out a long breath, then set his glare on the Captain. “Leave now. Right now and I’ll spare you. But the boy…that traitor. He stays. He owes me a debt.”

The Captain shook his head slowly. “I will not leave the boy. Not with you.”

The Devils tightened their grips on the spears, glanced to Peter.

Peter shrugged. “Then you will die, here and now.”

Nick spun the point of his spear toward Peter. “No, not this time. I won’t watch you murder this man. Not like Leroy. Never again.”

Peter saw the conviction in Nick’s eyes. He’s not bluffing. He means it. By all the gods, this stupid kid means it. He glared at Nick. “Nick, you’re going to get hurt, bad. This is your last—”

A scream cut through the Mist. Peter spun, ready for anything but what he saw. “Ulfger,” Peter exhaled in a wounded breath.

Ulfger stood near the far end of the pond. His head cocked to one side as though hearing voices, his hair frayed, soot smeared across his face, his dark, brooding eyes haunted, crazed. The Mist swirled away from him and there at his feet lay—Drael!

“Oh, no!” Peter said and started forward, stopped. Something was wrong. Peter squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The old elf cradled his arm to his chest. It was turning black, the blackness crawling up his shoulder, then his neck, along his cheek. Drael’s face cinched up in pain, and his skin began to smolder.

“What madness is this?” Peter hissed.

Drael let out another cry, a cry that made Peter’s skin crawl. The elf rolled onto his back, began writhing in the grass, blood poured from his eyes, nose, mouth. His back arched, his fingers tore at his chest. He let out a final strangled cry, then lay still.

Peter stood frozen in place, could do nothing more than stare at the smoldering corpse of his old friend. “No,” Peter murmured. “This isn’t possible.”

An elf darted forward, sent his spear shooting across the ground, catching Ulfger in the chest, punching through his chest-plate and deep into his heart. Ulfger stumbled back, looked at the spear like he was just— curious. He grabbed the spear, grunted, and yanked it out. No trace of blood touched the blade.

“What’s going on?” Peter whispered.

“His blood is one with the sword,” the witch said. “He cannot be stopped. Not by mortal sword and spear.”

Ulfger’s eyes fell on the Lady. He smiled at Peter. “I will have her head. Come, you runt. You little freak.” He waved to Peter, as though inviting him to a hand of cards. “Come see if you can save your queen.” He kicked Drael’s smoldering corpse. “Come taste Avallach’s judgment.”

Peter snarled, sprang out of the pond, and charged Ulfger. He let out a howl and swung high with his left sword and low with the right. Ulfger smashed Caliburn against one sword, shattering the blade and knocking the weapon from Peter’s grasp. But Peter’s second blade sliced into Ulfger’s thigh just above the knee. Ulfger stumbled and Peter slashed him across the back of the neck. A savage light flashed in Peter’s eyes at the feel of steel biting flesh. For Drael! Peter spun around to finish Ulfger, but to his horror, to his total disbelief, he found Ulfger still on his feet. The giant seemed hardly affected by either strike. Peter fell back a step as the