Tintauri's Squire - Part 3
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It was drizzling again as Tal hurried outside - not even slightly hungry, and not likely to win much from that rough scrabble for fine dinner in any case. The South Tower was a wet jog around the other side of the keep, past the rose garden and the groundsman's hut. The door to the tower itself was unguarded. Only a true idiot or a truly courageous assassin would even think of trying to kill a winterknight.
Tal stepped gladly into the tower, shaking off the rain, and began to hurry up the stairs. It was cold in the stairwell, and probably much, much colder to sleep in the corridor. Bed in Narraine was linen and eiderdown.
Narraine, Narraine, Narraine ... It echoed in Tal's head with every unwilling footfall. Narraine, Narraine, Narraine ...
There was the third floor. Tal shook away the echoes, choking on bitter homesickness, and thought again about all those resolutions to be brave, to muster up the fullest of courage, before arriving in Ceorlhold.
It was cold. There was a biting draught. The stone was unbelievably uncomfortable. But Tal curled up beside the door all the same, tightly closing both eyes against the horrible reality of the surrounds.
There was no sleep, but there was rest, of a sort. The hours passed. Sometimes footsteps passed on the stairs as well, but none came into the third-floor corridor. Perhaps Sir Tintauri was already inside and asleep himself - in a real bed, no doubt.
Tal lay there shivering a while longer, huffing into cupped hands and curling up as tight as possible for warmth, and finally heard more footsteps. Unlike the others, these did pause on the third landing, and then came down the corridor, the clean clip of a soldier's footsteps.
"What's this?" came the laugh, and Tal started up on one elbow at the sound of Sir Madaire's silver voice. "I didn't think you'd change your mind quite so fast!"
"I'm sorry, my lord," Tal said quickly, scrambling up to give a bow. "Y-your squire told me this was Sir Tintauri's room ..."
Sir Madaire seemed to find that funny. His grin broadened even further, and he gave a ringing little chuckle. "He's precious, that Keal, he really is. Dear me."
"I'll leave you to your rest -"
"You're a thoughtful boy. Don't worry - what was your name?"
"Tal, my lord."
"Don't worry, Tal, I'm a late sleeper. Especially when I'm bored. Come keep me company - I've wine to ward off the cold. Your lips are blue!"
"You're very gracious, Sir Madaire, but Sir Tintauri may need -"
"Tintauri won't think one way or the other about you. Not while you're still breathing, anyway." The beautiful white youth laughed again at his own joke, mouth twisting just a little, then took Tal's arm at the elbow.
"My lord, my lord, I really can't," pleaded Tal, resisting.
"Of course you can," Sir Madaire soothed, opening his door with the other hand. "And let's face it, my lad, I haven't really given you a choice, have I?"
The crack in the door was smiling too, widening like a parting mouth. Tal ducked and twisted around the winterknight's grip in a sudden lunge and broke free, slipping past him back towards the stairs.
"Sweet Divine!" exclaimed Sir Madaire with another laugh, this one slightly startled. "You're quicker than you look!"
Cold air swished at Tal's back, warning that Sir Madaire, too, was very fast. Tal bolted back out onto the landing and started sprinting downstairs again, stumbling lightly over the pins and needles in one leg, heart and feet pounding faster than the pursuing footsteps - but only just.
Down towards the first landing, a pale figure loomed hazy grey out of the darkness. Tal was moving too fast to react, but in another second it dodged and was gone, no longer standing in front.
A moment later, a hand snatched and caught at Tal's scruff.
"There are plenty of easier ways around here to break your neck," sighed Sir Tintauri's voice. "Try that on Scadamain, for examp- oh, I see. Madaire."
"You should've seen him run!" Sir Madaire's voice exclaimed a little higher up and further back. "Keep an eye out if you take him outside, Tintauri. He might even get away."
"I must admit, vulture, I'm pretty impressed if he gave you the slip." Tal said nothing, still trying to gasp back all that breath, as the winterknight turned them both in an about-face. "Serves you right. Go take a cold bath or five, for hell's sake."
"Yes, you like yours cold, don't you, Corpseraker?" Sir Madaire returned with a nasty little grin, but he was already walking upstairs again, his own breath barely expended after the sprint.
Sir Tintauri released Tal's scruff, pointing up the stairs as well. "Off we go," he said, yawning.
"Which floor?" asked Tal, still panting. "One of the squires told me third floor, but ..."
The winterknight gave another of his whooping little laughs. "Did he now? Sneaky bastard! Can't blame him if it's you in his place. I thought Madaire had come on a little hunt outside my door. He's done that before, you know."
"Outside your door? What should I do if he does it again?"
"Knock really, really loudly," the knight advised, flashing teeth as he laughed again. "Fourth floor. Come on, don't just stand there."
Tal began to climb, trying to concentrate on the stony tower stairs rather than the orchards of Narraine. A door closed somewhere nearby - Sir Madaire's - and then the only sounds were their double footfalls.
"My lord?"
"Yes, my squire?"
"Where was the Queen tonight?"
"She eats alone, most of the time," replied Sir Tintauri. "I doubt you'll see her at dinner. Or very often at all. Not many do."
"Do you?"
"As much as anyone," the knight answered, no longer smiling. "You saw her today, I suppose."
Tal thought about black-on-white, snow under a starless night. "Yes."
Sir Tintauri did not reply. Perhaps another comment was called for. "I thought her very beautiful."
"It doesn't matter what you or anyone else thinks of her," retorted the winterknight, glancing at Tal as if in surprise. "And even if it did - 'beautiful'? What's that mean?"
"I don't know, my lord," Tal replied hesitantly. "I thought beautiful was ... beautiful. The Queen is beautiful."
"So's Madaire, and you'd be asking for a roll down the stairs if you compared the two. And Madaire would be the one pushing you." Sir Tintauri stifled a yawn and pointed over Tal's shoulder at the fourth landing.
"Everyone back home's always saying how much the winterknights love their Queen," said Tal after a pause.
For some reason, that made him laugh again - loudly this time, shaking his head in helpless mirth as the echoes leaped off walls. "You're a really, really lousy flatterer, squire. I'd stop digging my hole any deeper if I were you. That's my door right there, by the way - remember what I said about the knocking."
And before Tal had a ready answer, apology or plea, the winterknight had already opened and closed the door behind him.
It was drizzling again as Tal hurried outside - not even slightly hungry, and not likely to win much from that rough scrabble for fine dinner in any case. The South Tower was a wet jog around the other side of the keep, past the rose garden and the groundsman's hut. The door to the tower itself was unguarded. Only a true idiot or a truly courageous assassin would even think of trying to kill a winterknight.
Tal stepped gladly into the tower, shaking off the rain, and began to hurry up the stairs. It was cold in the stairwell, and probably much, much colder to sleep in the corridor. Bed in Narraine was linen and eiderdown.
Narraine, Narraine, Narraine ... It echoed in Tal's head with every unwilling footfall. Narraine, Narraine, Narraine ...
There was the third floor. Tal shook away the echoes, choking on bitter homesickness, and thought again about all those resolutions to be brave, to muster up the fullest of courage, before arriving in Ceorlhold.
It was cold. There was a biting draught. The stone was unbelievably uncomfortable. But Tal curled up beside the door all the same, tightly closing both eyes against the horrible reality of the surrounds.
There was no sleep, but there was rest, of a sort. The hours passed. Sometimes footsteps passed on the stairs as well, but none came into the third-floor corridor. Perhaps Sir Tintauri was already inside and asleep himself - in a real bed, no doubt.
Tal lay there shivering a while longer, huffing into cupped hands and curling up as tight as possible for warmth, and finally heard more footsteps. Unlike the others, these did pause on the third landing, and then came down the corridor, the clean clip of a soldier's footsteps.
"What's this?" came the laugh, and Tal started up on one elbow at the sound of Sir Madaire's silver voice. "I didn't think you'd change your mind quite so fast!"
"I'm sorry, my lord," Tal said quickly, scrambling up to give a bow. "Y-your squire told me this was Sir Tintauri's room ..."
Sir Madaire seemed to find that funny. His grin broadened even further, and he gave a ringing little chuckle. "He's precious, that Keal, he really is. Dear me."
"I'll leave you to your rest -"
"You're a thoughtful boy. Don't worry - what was your name?"
"Tal, my lord."
"Don't worry, Tal, I'm a late sleeper. Especially when I'm bored. Come keep me company - I've wine to ward off the cold. Your lips are blue!"
"You're very gracious, Sir Madaire, but Sir Tintauri may need -"
"Tintauri won't think one way or the other about you. Not while you're still breathing, anyway." The beautiful white youth laughed again at his own joke, mouth twisting just a little, then took Tal's arm at the elbow.
"My lord, my lord, I really can't," pleaded Tal, resisting.
"Of course you can," Sir Madaire soothed, opening his door with the other hand. "And let's face it, my lad, I haven't really given you a choice, have I?"
The crack in the door was smiling too, widening like a parting mouth. Tal ducked and twisted around the winterknight's grip in a sudden lunge and broke free, slipping past him back towards the stairs.
"Sweet Divine!" exclaimed Sir Madaire with another laugh, this one slightly startled. "You're quicker than you look!"
Cold air swished at Tal's back, warning that Sir Madaire, too, was very fast. Tal bolted back out onto the landing and started sprinting downstairs again, stumbling lightly over the pins and needles in one leg, heart and feet pounding faster than the pursuing footsteps - but only just.
Down towards the first landing, a pale figure loomed hazy grey out of the darkness. Tal was moving too fast to react, but in another second it dodged and was gone, no longer standing in front.
A moment later, a hand snatched and caught at Tal's scruff.
"There are plenty of easier ways around here to break your neck," sighed Sir Tintauri's voice. "Try that on Scadamain, for examp- oh, I see. Madaire."
"You should've seen him run!" Sir Madaire's voice exclaimed a little higher up and further back. "Keep an eye out if you take him outside, Tintauri. He might even get away."
"I must admit, vulture, I'm pretty impressed if he gave you the slip." Tal said nothing, still trying to gasp back all that breath, as the winterknight turned them both in an about-face. "Serves you right. Go take a cold bath or five, for hell's sake."
"Yes, you like yours cold, don't you, Corpseraker?" Sir Madaire returned with a nasty little grin, but he was already walking upstairs again, his own breath barely expended after the sprint.
Sir Tintauri released Tal's scruff, pointing up the stairs as well. "Off we go," he said, yawning.
"Which floor?" asked Tal, still panting. "One of the squires told me third floor, but ..."
The winterknight gave another of his whooping little laughs. "Did he now? Sneaky bastard! Can't blame him if it's you in his place. I thought Madaire had come on a little hunt outside my door. He's done that before, you know."
"Outside your door? What should I do if he does it again?"
"Knock really, really loudly," the knight advised, flashing teeth as he laughed again. "Fourth floor. Come on, don't just stand there."
Tal began to climb, trying to concentrate on the stony tower stairs rather than the orchards of Narraine. A door closed somewhere nearby - Sir Madaire's - and then the only sounds were their double footfalls.
"My lord?"
"Yes, my squire?"
"Where was the Queen tonight?"
"She eats alone, most of the time," replied Sir Tintauri. "I doubt you'll see her at dinner. Or very often at all. Not many do."
"Do you?"
"As much as anyone," the knight answered, no longer smiling. "You saw her today, I suppose."
Tal thought about black-on-white, snow under a starless night. "Yes."
Sir Tintauri did not reply. Perhaps another comment was called for. "I thought her very beautiful."
"It doesn't matter what you or anyone else thinks of her," retorted the winterknight, glancing at Tal as if in surprise. "And even if it did - 'beautiful'? What's that mean?"
"I don't know, my lord," Tal replied hesitantly. "I thought beautiful was ... beautiful. The Queen is beautiful."
"So's Madaire, and you'd be asking for a roll down the stairs if you compared the two. And Madaire would be the one pushing you." Sir Tintauri stifled a yawn and pointed over Tal's shoulder at the fourth landing.
"Everyone back home's always saying how much the winterknights love their Queen," said Tal after a pause.
For some reason, that made him laugh again - loudly this time, shaking his head in helpless mirth as the echoes leaped off walls. "You're a really, really lousy flatterer, squire. I'd stop digging my hole any deeper if I were you. That's my door right there, by the way - remember what I said about the knocking."
And before Tal had a ready answer, apology or plea, the winterknight had already opened and closed the door behind him.