The Child Thief

swinging his sword forward with the full weight of his momentum, slicing the man’s head off at the base of the neck. The head careened through the air and hit Eva in the chest, knocking her to the ground. The spear she held clattered to the stones. Eva’s eyes flashed wide as Nick came for her, as though this time she were truly seeing a demon. She opened her mouth to scream and Nick shoved the sword down her throat, feeling only pleasure as the blade tore out the back of her skull. He planted a foot against her chest and yanked his sword free, leaving her convulsing in the dirt.

A shrill wail filled the night. Eva’s friend had no trouble finding her voice or her feet as she ran screaming from the square. Nick saw Leroy pull his spear out from the other guard’s chest.

They both looked to Peter. “Hurry!” Nick cried and they jumped atop the platform.

Peter’s eyes sprung open.

Nick held the sword above the ropes but didn’t start cutting. “Peter, you promised to take me back. Remember? Swear to it. Swear to it again right now or I’ll leave you here.”

“I swear,” Peter said hoarsely, then grinned. Nick didn’t like that grin.

They had him down in a moment, propping him against the platform. “Water,” Peter rasped, as he rubbed his wrists. Nick darted over and brought back a canteen from beside the guard’s fire. Peter guzzled the water, pouring it over his face and on the blistering welts running across his chest. They’d set the brand to him five times.

Nick heard people shouting, could still hear Eva’s friend wailing on and on about demons and devils to the whole world. Nick leaped up, began pulling torches from their stocks and slinging them onto rooftops. The thatched roofs began to smolder then burn.

Nick snatched up the guard’s sword and tossed it to Peter. He put an arm around Peter and pulled him to his feet. “Peter, can you walk?”

“Let’s see,” Peter said, already sounding better.

Leroy got his other arm and together they hurried from the square. Peter stumbled at first, but had his feet under him in short order and soon was walking—albeit a bit unsteadily—on his own.

A woman came quickly around a corner, saw them, and froze. Peter hissed at her. She clutched spastically at her crosses, nearly tripping over her own feet as she clambered away.

They heard shouts and the clanging of arms from somewhere behind them. Suddenly a man in a long cape stepped out from a hut just ahead. He held a torch out, squinting into the dark. It was the mole-faced Reverend.

“Oh, joy,” Peter said, pushing away from Nick and Leroy, standing on his own feet. “It’s playtime.”

“What nonsense is going on here?” the Reverend snarled. He held the torch up and, when he saw the boys, his expression changed from one of irritation to that of horror. “Devils!” he gasped.

A wicked smile slid across Peter’s face. “Devils indeed.”

The Reverend threw the torch at them and ran. Peter batted the flame harmlessly away and leaped forward. Even with a limp, Peter caught the Reverend in three strides, dropped the man to the ground with a two-handed slash across the back of his knees. The Reverend writhed in the dirt, clutching his legs and screeching. Peter picked up the torch and moved in.

Nick could see people gathering in the square. “There’s no time to play around, Peter,” Nick said.

“Oh, there’s always time to play,” Peter replied, his voice cold and hard. He planted a foot on the man’s chest, holding him down while he jabbed the sword into the man’s shoulder, twisting the blade. The Reverend screamed, and when he did, Peter shoved the burning torch into the man’s mouth.

“THERE!” someone shouted from the square. Nick saw a handful of men hobbling toward them, and it struck him that they were all amputees. Then it dawned on him that all the able-bodied men had gone with the Captain to find the Lady. Amputees or not, if these men caught up with them it would be over. “Peter,” Nick shouted. “The Lady, think of the Lady.” This brought Peter back around. He left the Reverend rolling on the ground engulfed in flame and they raced away toward the gate.

Five men blocked their way. They were cripples as well, but they looked determined to stop the boys.

Peter let loose a howl and charged. Nick saw their faces in the torchlight, the same faces that had cheered and jeered as he was drowning in the cage. He let loose his own howl and raced Peter for them, surprised to find not fear in his gut but only a terrible lust to make these men pay.

Nick zeroed in on the outside Flesh-eater. The man had a peg leg and a hook for a hand. The man brought his pike to bear but was unprepared for the speed and recklessness of Nick’s assault. Nick’s movements were quick and liquid as he knocked the pike aside and slipped past the man. The man tried to turn, but before he could even get a foot around, Nick kicked the peg out from under him. The man tumbled backward and Nick felt nothing but satisfaction as he hacked into the man’s neck.

Peter dropped one, then, together with Nick, they hit the man between them at the same time, leaving him flopping about in a pool of black blood.

There came a cry, and both Nick and Peter spun in time to see the last man drive his sword into Leroy’s gut. Leroy stumbled back, clutching his stomach, his face twisted in agony, and fell to his knees.

Nick leaped forward and slashed the back of the man’s neck. The man swung wildly at him, missed, and Peter dropped him from behind.

Peter and Nick shoved the slat free of the gate, pushed the door outward. Peter took an extra second to snatch up a knife and tuck it in his belt. They got Leroy’s arms around their shoulders and fled into the night.

THEIR TORCHLIGHT BOUNCED and glittered off the high shear walls of the box canyon, illuminating the twisting vines, making them seem to dance like a nest of snakes. The Captain cut his eyes to the man next to him. “What do you think, Beasley?”

“I don’t rightly like it, sir.”

“Aye, I don’t either,” the Captain agreed. “Not one bit.” He pulled at his thin mustache. “Maybe we should backtrack a ways. Send a few men up along the ridge, there. We could—”

“What is the trouble now, Captain?” called an irritated voice from behind them. The Captain turned to see the Reverend and Ox shoving their way up through the ranks. “Why the delay?” the Reverend asked, stopped, and stared ahead into the narrow canyon. “Why, it’s a dead end.” He snatched Danny by the collar and jerked him around to face him. “This your idea of a joke, boy? Are you toying with us?”

“No!” Danny cried. “The door is right there. I swear. I swear.”

The Captain set his hand on the Reverend’s shoulder. “Reverend, please.”

The Reverend glared at the Captain’s hand and the Captain promptly removed it.

“Beg your pardon, Your Grace,” the Captain said. “But the boy tells there’s a doorway hidden beneath the vines.”

The Reverend squinted at the wall. “Well, is there?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“And why not?” he snapped. “What are you waiting for? Go check.”

“All in time, Your Grace. First we must make sure the way is safe. There’s no need to senselessly risk the lives of the men.”

“Nonsense. God watches our path.”

“Perhaps then the Reverend would like to lead the way?”

The Reverend set hard eyes on him but made no move to walk into the canyon.

“You there.” The Reverend pointed to Beasley. “And you. Go see what you can find.”

“Reverend,” the Captain said sharply. “I refuse to allow—”

“Captain,” the Reverend hissed through tight lips. “You tread a dangerous line.”

The Captain sucked in a deep breath, fought the urge to slap the Reverend’s almighty sneer from his face. “My apologies, Your Grace. I simply meant to suggest that this is a dangerous path, and we should proceed cautiously.”

The Reverend waved the Captain away. “You’ve made your concerns plain enough.”

The men, Beasley and his shipmate John, hadn’t moved; they looked to the Captain. Good men, the Captain thought. Two men he knew he could count on to stand with him against any foe, including the Reverends and their fanatics. Loyal men like Beasley and John were fewer and fewer these days, for too many had fallen under the Reverend’s influence.