The Thief's Tale Read Free Page B

to put any away before winter.”
    He unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it to the floor, the weapon bouncing. 
    Jager hurried forward and picked up the sword. “Perhaps, my lord, if we put the sword on the sideboard, it would be easier on the woodwork.”
    Paul stared at him, face blank.
    Then he snarled, his fist a blur.
    The blow slammed into Jager’s jaw and threw him against the wall, the sword belt tumbling from his hands. He stared at Sir Paul, frozen with shock and pain. Before he could recover, Paul punched him again, his fist sinking into Jager’s stomach. Jager doubled over with a wheeze and fell hard, his entire body clenching as his lungs tried to draw a breath.
    He heard a slithering, steely rasp, and felt the cold point of a sword against his throat. 
    “I suggest you listen carefully,” said Paul. “Don’t question me. Don’t ever question me. You will do exactly what I say, and you will do it at once. Bad enough that I have to take lip from my fat pig of a father. But I won’t take it from a cringing halfling rat. Do you understand me?”
    Jager opened his mouth, intending to protest that he only wanted to look after Sir Paul’s things, to make sure his armor did not rust and his sword did not damage his floor. But one look at Paul’s flat, dead eyes convinced him to stop talking. If he did not agree, Paul was going to kill him then and there.
    “Yes,” whispered Jager.
    Paul’s boots gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. “Yes, my lord knight.”
    Jager nodded. “Yes, my lord knight, yes, I…”
    “Stop sniveling,” said Paul, returning his blade to its sheath. Jager scrambled to his feet, watching Paul warily. “Now bring me my food! Move, you rat! Move!”
    Jager took a shuddering breath and hastened to obey.
     
    ###
     
    Later, much later, after Alan and Paul had drunk themselves to incoherence and staggered off to their respective beds, Jager sat in his father’s room, holding a cloth to his swollen lip.
    “There,” murmured Dagma, wiping off Jager’s forehead. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
    “Will I?” said Jager. “They’re monsters, both of them.”
    Hilder frowned. “They are our sworn lords and masters, and we should speak respectfully of…”
    “Respectfully?” said Jager. “Sir Alan is a lecher.” Hilder glanced at Dagma in alarm, but she did not seemed surprised. Likely she had already heard of the old knight’s behavior. “And Sir Paul is a thug and a bully.” 
    “They are not,” said Hilder. “Sir Alan and his son are…”
    “They are!” said Jager, shaking his head. “Father. Look me in the eye and tell me they are not. That they are equal of the great heroes who freed our ancestors and defeated the urdmordar.”
    Hilder stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed and looked away.
    “They are…weaker than I would hope,” said Hilder. 
    Jager scoffed and glared at the wall.
    “What are you going to do?” said Dagma.
    “I am going to leave,” said Jager.
    “What?” said Hilder. “And go where, precisely?”
    “I don’t know,” said Jager. “I will go to Tarlion or Cintarra, to one of the great cities. The merchants and nobles there have halfling workers and servants. Or…maybe I shall strike out on my own, become a merchant.” He scowled. “Then I shall have no master but myself.”
    “And how will you do that?” said Hilder. “You have no experience in such things and only a little money.” 
    “I don’t know,” said Jager. “But it would be better than staying here to serve that fat old drunk and that cruel thug…”
    Hilder slapped the top of his desk. “Do not say such things about your sworn lords! It is ill to talk of them that way.”
    “Why?” said Jager. “It is also ill to speak lies, Father. To call them valiant knights is a lie.”
    “Yes,” said Hilder. “But I told you, Jager, that our lords are often less than perfect. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, is that not what