The Child Thief

“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