Prologue

The lad grimaced as he scraped the last of their cornmeal into the rusty pan. It was hardly enough to feed Gilly, let alone him and their mother as well. He would have to lie again and tell Mother he was not hungry, otherwise she would give him her own portion and he did not think it possible for her to grow much thinner without wasting away completely.

A girlish screech came from under the table and a dirty form scuttled to the corner of their crumbling home.

"Gilly," the boy asked, "Why are you hiding again?"

"There was a mouse ran at me."

"Kick it away," he suggested, frown deepening as he turned the flat cakes over to brown the undersides.

"I can't be brave enough. You kick it."

The cakes were set aside to cool, and the lad turned his attention to the cowering girl.

Crouching on his long legs to reach her, he tapped her sooty nose, "You should learn to be brave without me. What do you do when I'm out making deliveries?"

"Hide. And be sad."

He chuckled fondly at her simple but honest answer as he searched the room for something to craft. They could not spare stockings for what he had in mind. Nor the threadbare blanket that barely stretched to cover all three of them as they huddled together on the straw cot by the fire each night.

The scrap of cloth he used to cover his nose while loading the wagon at the miller's would have to do. He took it up and began twisting loose bits of straw into the shape of a man. He tied the flour-covered cloth around the straw figure's shoulders like a cloak. Bits of blackened wood became eyes that would not stay on. Finally, he gave up and handed the odd creation to his curious sister.

"Here. This is your knight. To keep you brave when I am away."

"Like in the stories?" she brightened as she reached out her hand for it. "The ones that lived in castles and fought dragons?"

"The very same."

Her face fell as she inspected the man of straw. "He is so ugly."

"But his heart is good!" the lad assured her. "You should give him a name."

"He looks like a goblin."

"A Vindermunch, then?"

She shook her head. "Different name."

"Gorbinskletchel?"

Her nose crinkled in displeasure.

"Mmm… Klutchelhiem?"

"Rumpelstiltskin," she declared.

"Oi. Worse and worse." He tousled her matted hair, remembering a time when the curls atop her head were soft and light as duck down. "Well, Rumpelstiltskin here will help you to be brave."

"How?"

"Well… he's so ugly, you just wave him in front of the mice, and they'll run away in terror. 'Oh, no! What a horribly ugly goblin! Noooo!'" he shrieked.

Gilly laughed and waved the ugly doll in practice. "Go away, mice! Shoo, or Rumpelstiltskin will eat you! Grr!"

"Grindor!" Their mother rushed into the house, eyes wild, and cheeks flushed. She looked as if she'd been running a great distance, and her hand was closed tightly around a piece of paper she pressed into Grindor's own.

"What is it? Would no one buy Nell?" Mother had insisted on taking the dry goat herself. She said a strapping boy of twelve would not get as much sympathy as she would, and Gilly was afraid of the faces some of the men made when bartering.

"You must do this," she gasped. "Pack your things at once and take this to the armed man at the crossroads."

"This is…" he could read but a few words on the fine, thick paper, and what he gathered only confused him further. "The king's guard?"

"I cannot read it, but the captain told me what it says. They are accepting all able bodied young men between nine and fifteen."

"I have a job here in the village."

"Not anymore. Miller Frell… he was arrested today."

"What! Why?"

"Never you mind," she warned him with a dangerous flash in her eyes. "Just gather your things and be on your way."

"Mother," he said, as she piled his few belongings onto their only blanket, evidently not willing to wait for him to act. "I would have to live in the city."

"Yes, lodgings at the barracks," she nodded, feverishly tying the corners of the blanket into a makeshift satchel. "Where you will be fed and clothed, and no longer scraping the bottom of jars to fill our bellies." She glanced up only briefly to say, "You could make something of yourself, Grindor. But you must go." She shoved the pack into his arms as urgently as she said, "The man warned us he would only wait until midday! You must leave now."

Grindor swallowed a lump in his throat. He shouldered the small pack of few belongings and turned his gaze to his sister.

Gilly had appeared at his side, confused and frightened.

"I'll be back," he said weakly.

"No," their mother shook her head with fervour, voice cracking strangely, "You must not come back. You must go and build a life for yourself and forget about us."

"That's ridiculous, I have to—"

"Grindor. Listen to me." She grasped his face firmly between her two hands. "I cannot feed us all, and there is not work here enough for either of us to provide. You may send coin back after you are established there."

"What of you and Gilly? You said Father isn't coming back. Who will look after you?"

Gilly tugged on his sleeve and tearfully held up the mangled little doll. "Rumpelstiltskin will."

He scooped her into his arms and squeezed her tight. "I will come back."

"After you learn how to be a knight?"

"Yes," he choked out.

"Go," their mother pleaded, pushing him out the door. "He will not wait for long!"

Grindor wondered how she could urge him so, without embrace or a single tear. Her hand did linger on his shoulder as she pushed him forward, but the tight smile she offered when he looked back did not at all match the turmoil he felt in his own gut.

The door closed abruptly.

He continued past the little plot that used to be a thriving garden, ignoring Nell's fretful bleats.

And just as he reached the familiar dusty path that would lead him straight to his new life, he caught the sound of his mother's broken sobs from behind their rickety door.

And he knew that he must press on.

For she would not have sent him away if their lives didn't depend on it.