Tales of the Zodiac - The Goat's Tale by PJ Hetherhouse Page A

opportunity to probe him, to sort out the truths, the half truths and the lies. But this is not in my nature; to pursue such questioning might lead him to feel that I consider such feats an accomplishment. I don’t.
    “What does it matter, anyway?” I sigh. “We’re dead men.”
    “To us, we who are about to die,” he slurs, drunkenly raising his cup, smirking anew. I clink my tankard to his.
    “You know… We could just quite simply not go, you know…” he murmurs, dropping his voice out of the serving girl’s range.
    “What’s the alternative? There’s nowhere else to go. Lady Vesta made it quite clear we’ll be hanged as traitors should we return empty handed.” I whisper too, joining him in the collusion.
    “Then we rough it for… let’s say… two years. It’ll be easier to find a spot of territory to defend than it will be to wander the wilderness,” he whispers. There is more than an air of drunkenness about the idea, something at least a little half-baked.
    “Surely if there was anywhere worth defending, there will already be someone defending it?”
    “Then we can take it over… I don’t know if you’ve seen me fight… And you… And you…” His voice trails off as he remembers that he thinks he’s been saddled with a lame goat. His eyes look open and honest as he talks, betraying an almost boyish naivety.
    “Lady Vesta told us… if you stand still in the wilderness, you are dead.”
    “Well then… we could defect to the Kernow,” he suggests.
    “Lady Vesta told me that the Kernow now kill all strangers on sight.”
    “Ha ha ha… What is this thing you’ve got with farking Vesta? ‘Lady Vesta says this, Lady Vesta says that.’ Fark. The woman’s a maniac!”
    “She knows what she’s talking about.”
    “Everyone’s got this thing about Vesta. Like she’s some sort of farking paragon, but let me tell you something, she’s a monster… Have you ever fought her?”
    He drunkenly brings his face so close to mine that I can smell the beer on his breath. The question brings back memories of how I was restrained in the palace at Tallakarn. I wince slightly.
    “Briefly.”
    “Then you’ll know what I mean… You know… Only one man has ever put her down.”
    “Who?”
    “The Bull.”
    This answer does not altogether surprise me. The Bull is probably the only living knight who looks set to join his mythic forebears in legend. One doesn’t become leader of the Bwlch easily.
    “So she’s a great fighter. How does that make her a monster?”
    “If you ever become trained in knightly combat, you’ll see what I mean. A true knight wouldn’t decapitate an underpowered opponent. Your mate from the other day, for instance.”
    “But he wasn’t doing his job properly. He was obstructing royal business.”
    “So he deserved to be decapitated? Fark… There’s more to life than the rules, Ser Goat.” As he says this, he burps and wipes his mouth. I use the opportunity to withdraw to a safer, less odiferous distance.
    “Well, for me, rules are rules,” I sniff.
    “This coming from a boy who ignored royal orders to let the prince win that farking little trophy or whatever it was.”
    “Those were orders that expected me to break the rules of the competition. They were immoral.”
    “So rules are rules when they suit you? When they don’t, they’re immoral?” he smiles smugly, thinking he’s got a point.
    “No, it’s not like that.”
    “And how about that little gwnt you crippled? Where were the rules then?”
    “Tomos was twice my size. He attacked me…”
    “Ha ha, you don’t have to justify yourself to me, boy. You’re the one with the rule book.”
    He reclines further back in his chair, flashing me yet another of his increasingly self-satisfied smiles. Getting the sense that he is merely provoking me for his entertainment, I remain silent and draw a long sip of my ale.
    “So, seeing as how you know it all, I’m guessing you know how Vesta got her