Chapter One

The young man regretted not wearing boots as he was chased barefoot through the cobbled streets of Polka.

Cradled inside the mountainous area of North Holt, Polka was a walled-in Principality, with tall Germanic-like houses squeezed together with timber frames and lead-lined windows. (Closer in appearance to a Christmas Card grandparents like to send).

Out of breath and panicked, Eitr Monksfoot adjusted the bandana which hid his distinctive bright red hair.

Looking around, he noticed the evening crowds growing denser and more packed.

The world was nearing the southern part of the year, bathed in a golden light and fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and spices. And yet there was no time to bask in the moment; the bandits would catch up in no time.

Ducking into a dark alley, he scampered through winding passages, pushing against the wall to avoid slamming as he turned sharply.

For a moment, he allowed himself to think he was free from danger until he felt himself falling flat onto his back, as a muscular arm took him out with a ‘clothesline’ move.

Shaking his head, he could see the bandits crowd around him with weapons and sneers. One of them had already picked the velvet bag he had been clutching.

The bag was handed to the leader, who took out what appeared to be a black crystal crown.

“I tell ye now,” The Big man said. “My gut is never wrong. So when I see a peasant, looking shifty and holding a nice-looking bag, I get curious.”

The leader dragged Eitr to his feet and punched him in the stomach with a meaty fist. “That's what a wrong gut feels like.”

The others cackled and started wailing on the skinny boy, using his body as a heavy bag for their own amusement.

Once they were done, the thief was dumped against a wall.

“You should know.” One of them said. “We own these streets.”

Eitr spat and smiled a bloody smile..

“You got ripped off, mate.”

“Oh? A comedian.” The leader said, pushing a foot to the boy’s cheek. “I hope you’re laughing when we roast you on a spit. At least then we can say you tasted funny.” The others laughed, like Hyena’s at Karaoke night. “But we can’t bleed you here. The smell might attract rats. It gets colder and the nights longer, so my boys will need good eating.”

The young man turned to the others, whose eager eyes saw him as nothing more than a cannibal corpse.

Before Eitr could think about escaping, he felt the air shut off in his throat as the leader's fat hand started to squeeze.

The rest of the gang laughed and licked their knives. (Why do they always do this?)

Their smiles fell away to confusion upon seeing their boss choke, as if he had swallowed a wishbone. Confusion became horror upon seeing the big man convulse violently, while his hand turned pitch black.

Thick foam spilling from his mouth, the leader could only manage a strangled death rattle before ending on a slow, ignominious death.

The rest of the bandits fell quickly, their eyes rolling in their sockets while coughing up -and finally drowning - in blood

Still seated, Eitr pushed himself away from the bodies and tried to get up. Wincing at the assault, he clutched his stomach and limped away from the scene.

Turning a corner, he could see the mouth of the alley, bathed in golden light, with the people dressed in full furs.

Nearing the exit, he heard the sounds of clanging metal and running behind him.

Someone ordered him to stop.

Turning around, he saw town guards in Burgonet open-faced helmets, chest armour and yellow-black striped parachute pants.

“Sarge! Sarge!” Another cried.

The Sergeant looked to the right, to where the bandit’s bodies lay and then turned his eyes back at the boy.

“Don’t move.” The man said. Two other town guards approached the boy, but the Sergeant raised a hand. “Stop! Do not touch that boy, not one inch.”

Oh. Eitr thought They know.

The man threw a rope with a snare knot on the end, facing the thief.

“Put your hands through.”

Eitr did as he was told, and the snare knot was tightened, locking him in.

***

The prisoners of the local jail cell gave the boy death stares.

Not only did he look weak, but they were also forced to share a single cell, as the ones on either side of Eitr were left empty as a precaution.

What the prisoner did not understand was why the Chief of the guard, a person who ran the entire system, decided to give this one thief a personal visit. Or why the Chief wore heavy gauntlets, the kind only used on a battlefield.

The Chief unlocked the boys’ cell door and thumbed back.

“Time to go.”

Leading the boy out the back, he nodded to the only exit, a dark, hay-strewn alley which led right.

Rounding the corner, Eitr found himself facing three burly men in full-faced helmets and cheap armour.

They were all blocking the way.

Was I brought here to die?

Thinking the last thing he would smell would be the nearby manure, it seemed almost cruel.

Just then, all three men shifted and went down on one knee, their heads bowed.

The burly man on the right spoke, his voice rough and low.

“Time to go, Highness.”