The Thief's Tale

by Jonathan Moeller

  The door to the cottage banged open, and a man of about thirty stormed out, a club in his hand, a woman and a pair of small children hovering in the doorway.

  “Thief!” roared the man, brandishing the club. “Thief! Thief!”

  “Be off, churl,” said Paul. “I am no thief, but Sir Paul Tallmane, the son of your lawful lord, and I claim this goat as my rightful due.”

  “I am a freeholder,” said the herder, scowling at the knight, “and I already paid my scutage for the year. You’ve no right to take that goat without paying.”

  “I have every right,” said Paul. “I am the son of your lord. I am your better.” A cold glint, almost like glee, came into his black eyes. “And I am the stronger, and that gives me the right to do with you and your chattels as I please. Sir Tarrabus always said so, and he is a wise man.” He jerked his head. “Now go back to your wife and your brats. Do it now, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” said the herder. “Take that goat, and I will complain to the Comes in Westhold.”

  Paul’s expression darkened. “You would? And you think the Comes would listen to a ragged goat humper?”

  “All of Caerdracon knows your father is a lazy rogue,” said the herder, “and that the Comes hates him. Aye, if I appeal to the Comes, I think he will listen. Better to leave my goats in peace.”

  “Do not think,” snarled Paul, “to threaten your lawful lord.”

  “Aye, and maybe you can herd goats yourself,” said the herder, “once the Comes dispossesses your father and…”

  There was no warning. Paul raised his bow, drew back the string, and released. There was a horrible wet tearing sound, and the herder fell to his knees, gagging on his own blood, the shaft of an arrow jutting from his chest. The woman screamed and ran from the cottage, the children wailing as they toddled after her.

  Jager stared in horror as the herder gagged once more and collapsed to the ground, his blood soaking into the earth. The woman fell to her knees next to him, screaming as she grabbed his arms. Jager wanted to go to her, to the children, to find a way to help the dead man.

  He looked at Paul, and felt a wave of hatred and loathing such as he had never known.

  And fear. Paul had just murdered a man, and Jager had witnessed the crime. Surely Paul would kill Jager to silence his testimony. He might even kill the poor widow and the dead man’s children to ensure their silence.

  But Paul simply picked up the dead goat and slung it over the back of his horse.

  “Come, halfling,” he said. “You can skin the goat when we return home. The noise is tedious.”

  Numb, Jager obeyed, and he followed Paul back to the domus, the new-made widow’s cries ringing in his ears.

  ###

  “He killed him,” Jager whispered.

  Night had fallen, and Alan and Paul and their men-at-arms were getting drunk in the dining hall. Jager sat with Dagma by the kitchen door. He knew he ought to attend to Sir Paul, but he did not want to go anywhere near the man, not now.

  “I believe you,” said Dagma.

  Hilder had not. At first he had accused Jager of making up stories due to his dislike of Sir Paul. Then he had said that Jager must have been mistaken, that he had misunderstood what he had seen. The son and heir of Sir Alan Tallmane might be a crude and boorish man, but not a murderer.

  “Thank you,” said Jager.

  “What are you going to do now?” said Dagma.

  “I don’t know,” said Jager.

  ###

  But as it turned out, Jager needed to do nothing at all.

  He spent the next three days in a daze, avoiding his father and going through his duties with Paul as quickly as he could without earning a beating. Jager’s heart veered between terror and disgust and guilt. He knew he ought to do something, but what? If he tried anything, Paul would kill him as he had killed that freeholder. Yet Paul himself showed no sign of concern, went about his usual routine as if he had not just killed an innocent man and stolen his property.

  Then the letter arrived from Westhold.

  The widow had gone to Rilmar Cavilius, the Comes of Westhold, and appealed to him for justice, claiming that Sir Paul had murdered her husband. The Comes found these accusations grave enough that he would come in person to investigate, accompanied by a party of knights. As Sir Alan’s liege lord, he commanded that Sir Paul remain at the domus for questioning.

  That night Jager stood with Hilder in the great hall, waiting upon his master as Sir Alan raged at Paul.

  “Well?” thundered Alan, his face nearly purple with fury. “Is it true?”

  Paul shrugged. “I cannot be bothered to remember.”

  “Damn it, boy!” said Alan. “Is it true?”

  “I took the goat, and the ragged commoner tried to stop me,” said Paul. “He received his just due.”

  “Damn it!” said Alan, flinging the letter against the floor. “How could you have been so stupid?”

  Paul shrugged. “I wanted the goat, and he refused to deliver it to his rightful lord.”

  Alan quivered with fury, and for a moment Jager wondered if he had been wrong about the old knight. Perhaps there was a true and worthy knight of Andomhaim under years of neglect, the sort of knight who would have followed Malahan Pendragon and waged war against the dark elves, the sort of man who would have followed the Dragon Knight into battle against the Frostborn.

  “Do you have any idea how bad you’ve made me look?” said Alan, and Jager’s hope withered away. “Rilmar hates me, and he’s always been looking for an excuse to reclaim my benefice and give it to someone he likes. Since you had to murder that damned goatherd, you’ve given him just the excuse he needs. Couldn’t you have killed that widow?”

  Jager looked at his father, but Hilder’s face remained impassive.

  “There didn’t seem any reason to kill her,” said Paul. “Who would believe some goatherd’s slattern?”

  “Comes Rilmar, apparently,” said Alan. “Since you were dumb enough to kill the goatherd in front of witnesses, he will have all the justification he needs to imprison you and take Caudea from me.”

  Paul scoffed. “What witnesses? Commoners and servants.”

  “A grieving widow,” said Alan. “Her children. And your body servant.”

  Paul whirled and stalked toward Jager. “What about you, little rat? Will you lie about me to the Comes, tell him I murdered that stupid goat herder?”

  “Of course not, my lord knight,” said Hilder. “We are loyal servants of the House of Tallmane.”

  “See that you remember it,” growled Paul.

  “Enough,” said Alan. “The Comes will arrive and hold court tomorrow. I suggest, my son, that you think of a clever story.”

  ###

  “You want me to lie?” said Jager.

  He stood in his father’s study again. It was well past midnight, and the rest of the domus had gone to sleep. Hilder paced back and forth before the cabinet holding the silver.

  “Of course not,” said Hilder. “It is a violation of both the laws of God and the High King to lie under oath. But…Jager, you may have been mistaken. Perhaps you didn’t see what you thought you saw. Surely Sir Paul must have been defending himself. Or…”

  “No!” said Jager. He hit the cabinet so hard the silver rattled. “Paul murdered that man, Father. I saw it with my own eyes. Paul started to steal the goat, the herder tried to stop him, and Paul shot him. He just shot him. Why do you believe him instead of me? Do you think I am lying to you?”

  “No,” said Hilder. “I just think…”

  “That I’m mistaken,” said Jager.

  “The Tallmanes are our lords and masters,” said Hilder. “They have looked after us for centuries. And now you want to turn against them?”

  “If you had heard that widow scream for her husband,” said Jager, “you would not think as you do. If you had heard those children sobbing, you would agree with me.”

  “And what hap
pens if the Comes disinherits Paul?” said Hilder. “What will happen to us? What will become of the servants? Do you think whoever claims the benefice will keep us on? We shall starve, or toil in the fields for the freeholders. I…”

  “I don’t care!” said Jager. “When the Comes holds court tomorrow, I am going to tell the truth. The rest is in his hands, and the hands of God.”

  Jager left without another word.

  ###

  The next morning Rilmar Cavilius, Comes of Westhold, arrived at Caudea, claimed Sir Alan’s seat in the great hall for his own, and began an inquest into the death of Thomas, freeholder of Caudea. Rilmar looked like the pictures Jager had seen in the chapel’s books of the Romans of Old Earth, tall, hook-nosed, lean, and stern. His men-at-arms took Jager, holding him under guard in the atrium. Then the Comes would summon the witnesses one by one to question them under oath.

  Jager waited in the atrium, shivering in the chill air, the guards standing indifferent over him. At last the door to the great hall opened, and the men-at-arms took Jager inside. Comes Rilmar sat upon the high seat, scowling down at Jager. Sir Alan stood with Sir Paul, Hilder hovering behind them. The widow and her children stood against the other wall, and a dozen of the Comes’s men-at-arms kept a stern watch over the proceedings.

  “You are Jager of Caudea,” said the Comes, “a servant in the household of Sir Alan Tallmane.”

  “I am, my lord,” said Jager, keeping his voice firm. He would not show weakness, not now.

  “Do you swear,” said Rilmar, “before the sight of God, the Dominus Christus, and the assembled saints of heaven, under peril of your immortal soul, to speak the entirety of the truth before this court?”

  “I do,” said Jager, glancing at his father.

  “Then,” said Rilmar, “you will tell this court what you witnessed four days past concerning the death of Thomas of Caudea.”

  So Jager told the Comes everything, holding nothing back. From time to time Rilmar asked another question, or for clarification of a certain point, and Jager explained. He felt both Sir Alan and Sir Paul glaring at him, felt their eyes digging into him like daggers. There was a very real chance that they would try to kill him for what he had said today. But he did not care. He was tired of lies. Of pretending that Sir Alan and Sir Paul were noble lords and valiant knights when they were not.

  “So be it,” said Rilmar once Jager had finished. He scowled at Paul. “It seems, based upon the testimony I have heard and the evidence I have seen, that only one judgment is possible. Sir Paul, knight of the House of Tallmane, I…”

  “My lord,” shouted Hilder, shoving between his master and his heir. “My lord, hear me!”

  Rilmar frowned. “You will not interrupt these proceedings, halfling. I…”

  “My lord, I did it,” said Hilder. “I confess. I murdered Thomas. I slew him in front of his wife and children.”

  “No!” said the widow. “He did not. He is…”

  “I did,” said Hilder. “I killed Thomas. I confess it freely, without coercion, and before these witnesses. I regret it deeply, and repent of my crimes.”

  The widow began screaming, and ran across the hall, reaching for Paul. The men-at-arms restrained her, pulling her away from the Tallmanes. Paul stared at her with a smirk, while Hilder stood impassive before the dais.

  “Clear the hall!” said the Comes. “I shall consider this confession. Clear the hall!”

  The men-at-arms herded the incoherent widow, the children, the Tallmanes, and Jager and his father from the hall.

  ###

  The domus had no cells, so the guards secured Hilder in the cellar below the kitchen. Given the famed nimbleness of halflings, holding him in a room with windows would have been folly.

  “Please,” said Jager to the Comes’s men-at-arms, “please, let me speak to my father. He has gone mad. He did not do it. I swear it. I swear it!”

  The men-at-arms relented, and Jager descended the stairs. The cellar below stored sacks of grain and flour. Hilder sat upon one of the sacks of grain in his black coat and trousers, gazing at his hands.

  “What are you doing?” said Jager.

  “Sitting, I think,” said Hilder.

  Jager gave a sharp shake of his head. “Don’t play games with words! You lied under oath, you said you did this…this terrible thing!”

  Hilder nodded. “You are correct.”

  “Why?” said Jager. “Are you sacrificing yourself to save Paul? He doesn’t deserve it. He murdered Thomas, he made that poor woman a widow…”

  “I’m not doing it for Paul,” said Hilder.

  “Then for who?” said Jager.

  “For you,” said Hilder.

  “What?” said Jager. “Don’t lie for me. I…”

  “And for myself,” said Hilder, “and for House Tallmane. I made a deal with Sir Alan. If I confess to the crimes, he will ensure that I spend the rest of my days under house arrest. You and Dagma will be unharmed, and Sir Alan will ensure that the widow and her children are supported.”

  “But that…that is wrong, Father,” said Jager. “Paul murdered that man. He should suffer for it, not you.”

  “I know,” said Hilder. “But I am a servant, Jager. I serve the House of Tallmane. And this…this is how best I can serve them.”

  “They don’t deserve it,” said Jager.

  Hilder smiled. “The honor of service has nothing to do with the object of service. Our traditions are what is important, and how closely we hew to them. Not…”

  “Damn your traditions!” said Jager. “Damn them if they lead you to this. Father…”

  The door opened, and the men-at-arms descended the stairs.

  “It is time,” the sergeant said. “The Comes commands your presence in the great hall.”

  They took Hilder from the cellar, and Jager followed.

  ###

  “Hilder of Caudea,” said Rilmar, “this, then, is my sentence. I have my doubts about your confession. Nevertheless, you have given it freely, and the law is clear that a confession outweighs the testimony of eyewitnesses. Therefore you are convicted of the murder of Thomas, freeholder of Caudea. Do you recant your confession?”

  He looked at Paul as he spoke, his eyes narrowed.

  “No, my lord,” said Hilder.

  Jager’s hands curled into fists at his side.

  Rilmar sighed. “So be it. By my authority as Comes of Westhold, I convict you of the murder of Thomas, freeholder of Caudea. Because of the particularly heinous nature of the crime, because you murdered a man in front of his wife and children over an animal of little value, the sentence shall be carried out at once.”

  Hilder looked at Sir Alan, his face trusting and calm.

  Alan remained impassive, but Paul smirked.

  Two men-at-arms seized Hilder, pulled a black hood over his head, and forced him to kneel over a bench, and suddenly Jager realized what was about to happen.

  He suspected Sir Alan had not mentioned the details of the sentence to Hilder.

  Jager shouted in protest, and two men-at-arms grabbed him and dragged him from the hall. He fought and screamed and cursed, but to no avail. They were too strong. Another man-at-arms stood over Hilder, a massive axe in his hand.

  He raised the axe high.

  The blade came down with a wet, meaty thud, and crimson drops spattered across the floor of the great hall.

  ###

  A week later Jager found his sister at the rooms she had taken in the village’s inn.

  “Jager,” she said, her voice hoarse, her eyes bloodshot. “I am so glad you came back. I thought…I was afraid that you might have done something foolish.”

  Jager shook his head. “I settled matters with the Comes’s men. Sir Alan might have dismissed us from his service and put us out, that was his right. But even he would not dare to deny an inheritance.” It still stung, speaking of Hilder, and every time Jager closed his eyes he saw the blood splashing across the floor. “Father had quite a bit o
f money saved up, and we each get half.”

  “Oh, Jager,” breathed Dagma. “We won’t starve!” She tried to smile. “I suppose you can become a merchant after all.”

  “What will you do?” said Jager.

  “I think I will go to Tarlion or Cintarra, maybe Coldinium or Westhold,” said Dagma. “The great noble houses in the cities employ hundreds of servants. Surely they must need one more.”

  “You still want to serve the nobles?” said Jager, more anger in his tone than he had intended. “After everything that we have seen?”

  Dagma shrugged. “What else do I know how to do?”

  Fury burned through him, and he wanted to grab her shoulders and shout at her, to force her to see that the nobles of the High King’s realm were murderers and tyrants, every single one of them, that they did not deserve respect or honor or service, only scorn and mockery.

  But it was not her fault.

  “No,” said Jager. “You’ll take all of Father’s money. My share, too. Go start a new life for yourself.”

  “But Jager,” said Dagma, “you’ll need money, too. Where will you get more?”

  “By doing,” said Jager, “something foolish.”

  He kissed her upon the cheek and left, knowing that he would likely never see her again.

  ###

  A few hours after midnight, Jager scaled the walls of the domus and climbed into Sir Alan’s bedroom.

  His contempt for the man redoubled. Neither Alan nor Paul had bothered to increase their guard. No doubt they believed the little halflings cowed and incapable of revenge. Alan lay sprawled upon the bed, his mouth open as he snored, his vile breath filling the room with the stench of strong drink. Jager wanted to take a dagger and bury it in the fat old man’s black heart.