The Child Thief

fallen torches, then stepped toward the elven barracks. He rapped the hilt of Caliburn against the barred door.

“I give you one last chance,” Ulfger shouted. “Come out and face Avallach’s judgment honorably or burn alive as cowards.”

He could sense them, five of them, they’d barred and barricaded the door and hid within. He knew they wouldn’t come out, their fear was too strong.

Ulfger strolled to the corner of the entranceway and set the torch to the shingles over the archway. The ancient wood caught easily and it wasn’t long before smoke began to billow out from the cracks of the walls and windows.

He drank in their desperation, their panic, closed his eyes and watched them move to the back of the structure. He strolled around the building and waited beneath an oval window. Avallach, he thought. You make this too easy.

Ulfger heard them choking and coughing. The shutters sprang open and smoke poured out. An elf leaped through the smoke, landed hard, wiping frantically at his eyes as he stumbled to his feet.

Ulfger brought Caliburn down upon the elf’s neck, but he didn’t cut the elf’s head off as he so easily could have. He merely nicked the elf, just enough to break the skin. He’d learned it was far better to let the sword decide who lived or died, who was honorable and who was a traitor. So far, it had condemned all it had touched. The elf let out a wail as his skin blackened and sizzled away from the bone.

A sharp pain drove into Ulfger’s side. He let out a cry, fell to one knee. He was shocked to find a spear hanging from his ribs.

The remaining four elves sprang from the window and raced past him.

Ulfger grabbed the shaft and yanked it free with a loud grunt. There was no blood, but the wound was deep and there was a moment when it was hard to breathe. Then the pain receded, his breath returned. Ulfger tossed the spear to the ground and followed the elves. They headed north, toward the mountains, toward the Hall of Kings.

“Run rabbits, run,” Ulfger called and smiled. “You’ll never escape Avallach.”

NICK DRIFTED IN and out of sleep. The cell that he shared with Leroy was little more than a hole dug into the side of a hill, barely larger than the two of them. It smelled of sweat and urine. Leroy lay crumpled in a tight ball in the deepest shadow, and hadn’t spoken a word. Nick pressed himself against the plank door of the cell as far away from Leroy as their small confines would allow.

The fading glow of the day shifted through the slats, letting in just enough light that Nick could make out fingernail scores on the inside of the door. He let his fingertips trace the jagged marks and wondered how many other damned souls had spent their last days cramped in this pit.

The cell was on a slight rise; Nick could see into the village about fifty yards below. Torches burned around the town square. He could see the back of the cross, could see one of Peter’s hands hanging limp and lifeless. Small groups of women occasionally drifted by, shouting taunts or throwing clods of dirt at Peter. Two men stood guard in the square, but they did nothing to discourage the tormentors.

“What a pisser,” growled the guard leaning in front of Nick’s cell. He tugged his cloak tighter around him. “Damn fog be thick tonight,” he groaned, his voice rough as driftwood. He limped about, getting a fire going. The guard was missing his right eye, an ear, his right arm near the shoulder, and had a peg leg starting just below the knee.

He set a torch to blaze and carried it over to the cells. He leered in at the boys with his good eye. “It makes me bones hurt. This fog. Chills me down to me gullet.”

Nick leaned away. He could hardly stand the sight of the scarred eye socket.

“Not pretty, aye?” the guard said, grinning toothlessly. “It were your kind done this to me.” He jabbed at the open socket. “First time they got me eye. Not so bad. God gave me a spare y’know. Second time they’s got me arm. Still, I ain’t the sort to let a measly maiming bugger me, nay. But I stepped in one of them little demon traps you boys is so good a-fixin’ and it cut me leg off at the knee. Then well, then I started to slow down a wee bit.” The old guard set his head back and hee-honked like a donkey. When Nick only stared at him, he finally stopped. “Err…have to excuse me carrying-ons. If you don’t learn to laugh at life it’ll surely kill you, that I know.” He looked Nick up and down. “You’re a pretty sour looker yer’self. Bet ya could use a drink, aye?” He hobbled over to the fire and poured water from a clay pitcher into a crumpled tin cup. He pulled a small slat across the planked door and handed the cup to Nick.

Nick hesitated.

“Go on now, take it. I ain’t gonna bite you.”

Nick took the water and drank it dry, wiped his arm across his lips, then handed the cup back. “Thanks.”

The guard cupped his hand around what was left of his ear. “Eh?”

“Thanks,” Nick repeated, louder.

“Aye. Not a big deal. Don’t know why they gotta treat you boys so mean. I say just chop off your heads and be done with it, aye. But does anyone listen to Old Scabby? Nay. They all got their airs. Too busy calling each other sinners. Trying to out-God one another. Bunch of silly douches, the lot of ’em.”

The guard pushed his hand through the open slat and ran his scaly fingers lightly along Nick’s arm. Nick pulled away.

The guard looked up and frowned. “Eh, sorry. A mangy sod like me-self shouldn’t be putting his craggy mitts on a boy.” He hesitated, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Weren’t trying to be fresh with you. No. Me Jolly Rodger ain’t been good for much more than a hot piss for a half hundred years now and even that’s been giving me trouble of late, aye, it has. When you’ve been covered with scales as long as me, you just tend to forget what a person’s skin s’pose to feel like. That’s all.”

The guard was quiet for a while as he stared up into the cloudy night sky. “Tell me, boy. What’s it like out there now?”

At first Nick didn’t understand, then he realized the guard meant in the world of men.

“Are there still stars in the sky?”

Nick nodded.

“I wish I could fly. I dream about it sometimes. If I could fly, why, I’d soar out of this damnable fog, right up through them clouds right now. I’d just float up there and stare at them stars all the night long. I used to be a sailor and I know them stars better than me own wife’s breasts. Just to see them one more time…err, them stars, don’t rightly know if I’d be wanting to see me wife’s breasts these days, just to see them stars one more time would be enough for me. I could die a happy soul.”

The guard slid the slat back in place. Double-checked the chain holding the door shut, then stood and wandered back over to the fire. He lay down next to the fire, propping his head up on a blanket roll, and stared up into the clouds. Nick guessed Old Scabby was searching the sky for a flicker, a glimmer, or any other trace of a star.

And with all Nick already had to feel so bitter and bad about, he still found room to pity this old man whose only wish was to see a star. But it was easier somehow to feel bad for this man than to think about his mother, about Abraham, Sekeu, Redbone, or himself. Those thoughts were too painful. Nick wanted to cry but found he didn’t have the strength, and fell into the merciful bliss of a dreamless sleep.

NICK CAME OUT of sleep with a start. Something had flitted across his cheek— a spider? He sat up fast. A faint bluish light caught his eye and there, standing between the slats of the door, was a blue pixie—and not any blue pixie, but the girl from the privy, the one with the wispy white hair.

What’s she doing here? Nick wondered, and rubbed his forehead, trying to massage his muddled gears back into action.

She fluttered her wings and blinked softly. She looked terrified, glancing around in every direction as though unseen hands might grab her at any second.

Nick was glad she was all right. He managed to smile at her and when he did, to his surprise, she cocked her head and smiled back.

Again he wondered what she was doing here. She fluttered just out of sight. Nick pressed his face against