Oathbreaker: The Knight's Tale by Colin McComb

hearth behind him and the bodies started cooling, and I think he’d have kept talking ’til dawn came if the baby hadn’t started crying then.
    He let those eyes slip off me then to focus on the infant, and I found I could breathe again. He set the baby down on the bench gentle as can be, stood, turned from me, and stoked the fire ’til it burned brightly again.
    “Pack me a bundle, taverner. Include bread, milk, water, and whatever fruits you have in season. Pack the best you have, if you value your life.”
    I hurried off to do that. I don’t think there was any doubt in his mind that I’d follow his order. When I was done, I came back and laid the pack down beside his blade.
    He didn’t take his eyes off the child, but he grabbed my right wrist and pinned it to the table.
    “Taverner.” His eyes met mine.
    “Yes, m’lord?” I tried to keep my voice from quaking.
    “You knew what they were planning.”
    “No, my lord, no! I had no idea!”
    “You lie, taverner. I saw you watching me. I saw you watching them. You thought of warning me, but instead held your tongue. You also overcharged me for the inferior food you brought before you knew who I might be. You thought you’d take advantage of a tired man, a man who needed help.”
    “No, Sir Knight, no, that’s not the case, no,” and I found my tongue running away from me as he settled the baby down into his lap. I tried to tear my hand away, but his grip was like stone. He drew his knife from his belt, said, “You’ll suffer only lightly for your sins,” and took my hand off with a single blow.
    He let go of my spouting wrist and picked up his sword as I howled. It hummed to life again, and I crawled backward away from him, and I knew then what my death looked like. But instead of killing me, he grabbed my stump and laid his blade on it and the blood stopped spraying from the wound, and that hurt worse’n all the rest put together.
    He stood above me, and I could see he was tired, but oh lords, still powerful! I curled up on the floor. He wiped his blade on my shirt and stuck it back into its sheath. He turned and picked up the baby and bundle of food. He bent to the hearth and picked up a piece of burning wood and walked toward the door while I struggled to stand up. He stopped at the door and said, “Get out.”
    I hurried past him, and as I rushed out, he tossed the brand behind him into the tinder by the fireplace. Then he told me that I better not put it out, or I’d find out that losing my hand wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me.
    He took himself to the trees right over there. I saw metal glimmering in the firelight from behind me, and it moved out of the woods and I realized it was his metal horse. He swung himself up and rode west without looking back as my inn burned.
    I didn’t dare put it out. The villagers who came to put out the flames stopped when they saw the bodies inside. Even those who might have helped, I stopped—I didn’t want him to come back, because I know you fellows always keep your vows.
    The village put me out because they thought I’d had something to do with the deaths of their friends, even when I showed them where I used to have a hand. I was lucky to escape town with my life. I’ve been without a home ever since, begging because I have no hand and know no other work. He stole everything from me. The way I figure it, the knighthood owes me at least a way to get out of the fix I’m in.
    And I been helpful to you, ain’t I?

    Recommendation: Execute this man for treason.
    Recorded,
    Winthorn
    RECOMMENDATION SIGNED

The Sailor’s Tale
    The errant knight met me on the streets of Westport. He offered money—and steel to back it up—for us to carry him to his destination, but we turned him down. We thought that’d be the end of it.

    The dockhands shouted curses at each other as they heaved the Ocarina to. We waited on board ’til they had finished, and when the massive breakwater gates slammed