The Thief's Tale Read Free Page A

think. And your crude manners. But I’ve made friends with Samothus’s heir, Sir Tarrabus. Unlike you, I know how to make myself useful to more powerful men, and Sir Tarrabus will need loyal men at his side when he becomes Dux.” He grinned. “Perhaps I’ll have you shuffled off to a monastery once Tarrabus succeeds his father. It would be amusing to watch you try and seduce the freeholders from a penitent’s cell…”
    Alan growled. “Impudent boy. I will teach you to keep a civil tongue in your head.” 
    Quick as a snake, he raised his cane and swung it for Paul’s head. But Paul caught the blow in a heavy fist, and a moment later the two men struggled, shouting curses as they staggered back and forth, the cane pinned between them. Paul was young and fit, but Sir Alan was still strong, despite his age, and father and son strained against each other. 
    Hilder coughed into his hand. Jager watched, aghast and embarrassed. These were the lords of Andomhaim? These were the men who had converted the orcs to the church, vanquished the dark elven princes, and thrown down the urdmordar?
    No. Their ancestors had done that.
    Finally Alan and Paul broke apart, both breathing hard.
    “Bah,” said Paul. “You’ve still got a grip, old man.”
    “Don’t forget it, boy,” said Alan. “I might be old and fat, but I can still thrash you.”
    Paul spat at his father’s feet. “Though not as you did when I was a boy.” 
    “No, I suppose not,” said Alan, wiping sweat from his reddened forehead. “Well, at least you’ve grown into a strong man, and not a weakling.” He snorted. “And if you impress Tarrabus once he becomes Dux of Caerdracon, you won’t need Caudea. The new Dux will give you benefices and offices of your own.”
    Paul waved a hand at the domus. “Leaving you to live in this old wreck and to romp with your millers’ daughters and farmers’ wives.”
    Alan shrugged. “A man needs something to keep him occupied in his old age.”
    “I suppose so,” said Paul, watching as the grooms led his horse away to the stables. “I don’t suppose you have a decent body servant for me.”
    “Hilder!” said Alan, rapping his cane against the ground.
    Hilder stepped forward at once, calm and impassive in his servant’s blacks. “I am here, my lord knight.” He bowed. “Sir Paul, it is an honor to see you at home once…”
    Paul burst out laughing. “You, Hilder? By God, Father, you’ve kept his old fossil on?” Jager felt his hands start to curl into fists, and then remembered his father’s lessons in decorum. “He did love his little speeches.”
    Hilder’s calm remained unruffled. “It is an honor to serve, my lord knight.”
    “Do you have someone for Sir Paul or not?” said Alan.
    “Yes, my lord,” said Hilder. “Jager?”
    Jager took a deep breath and joined his father. 
    “This is Jager, my lord knight,” said Hilder. Jager bowed to Paul. “It shall be his honor to serve you.”
    Paul squinted down at him. “Runty little rat, isn’t it?” Jager kept his face calm, as his father did. “Well, you might as well make yourself useful.”
    “It would please me,” said Jager, “to show you to your…”
    Paul snorted. “I know where my room is. Follow me.”
    He strode off, and Jager had no choice to follow, leaving Sir Alan and Hilder and the servants standing outside the domus. Paul let himself into the house, climbed the stairs to his room, and threw open the door. The room was only a little less lavish than Sir Alan’s, with a wide bed, a broad window looking toward the Lake of Mourning, and gleaming wooden furniture.
    “Adequate,” said Paul. He pulled of his surcoat and armor, and Jager winced as the dropped steel dug gouges into the floorboards. “I don’t have a squire, so I suppose you’ll have to serve. Attend to my armor and sword, and have a bath drawn up. Too much damned road dust. And bring me some food, too. Bread and ham, if Father’s servants had the wit