Tintauri's Squire - Part 5
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It was dark in the stable - most stablehands had gone home - when Sir Tintauri came in. It was long past the evening meal. Perhaps he had been forced to pour his own wine.
"Have you watered my - uh? Squire?" The winterknight paused, looking down at Tal by the door. "So this is where you've got to!"
"I can't feel my legs," said Tal through fuzzy-feeling lips. "I can't move."
"Ah," Sir Tintauri replied. "I suppose that's why you're still here."
The knight moved on, back down to his horse's stall, and for a while Tal could hear the pale man murmuring to the beast. The few remaining stablehands passed back and forth, mostly tidying things away.
Finally Sir Tintauri came back and hunkered down on his haunches, eyeing Tal rather thoughtfully. He smelled worse than horse, now. It was a smell rather similar to a tannery when the fresh hides were first stretched out in the sun, thick and rich and ripe.
"I'm dying," said Tal in a whisper.
"No, you're not," the knight replied. "Trust me. I know."
"Spiders ..."
"Yes, Madaire and his bloody spiders. No restraint and no imagination." Sir Tintauri rolled his pale eyes, then leaned in.
"Don't touch me!" Tal cried, voice cracking. "Don't touch me don't touch me -"
"You want to sleep here?"
"- don't touch me don't touch me -"
"It's probably warmer than the corridor, I'll grant you, but if someone finds you out here ..."
Tal continued to pour the litany out, appealing to the Divines as much as to the winterknight.
"All right! All right! Five Hells, I've never heard anything so shrill!" Sir Tintauri raised his hands in surrender and rose, giving Tal first an odd look, then a little wave. "I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams."
But Tal did not sleep much, and dreamed only of spiders.
The next morning, although Tal's legs still felt thick and heavy, they were no longer numb. Tal rolled back the cuffs of the thin trousers to see streaky red welts, still quite chill to the touch.
"Well, ouch," someone said as Tal ran a finger around one ankle.
It was Sir Scadamain's squire, Jeys. The boy had said it in passing, and was now striding towards the stall where his master's horse was quartered, hoisting the saddle off the stall wall.
Tal didn't reply. A little while later, the two other squires Tal had met at dinner came in as well, heading silently for their respective stalls.
Tall Sir Scadamain was the first winterknight to enter the stable, even more intimidating than usual in his mail and white tabard. If he noticed Tal, he gave no sign of it. He simply stood by the first stall with arms folded, impatiently waiting.
Lady Auridine was next, and with her Sir Madaire, both muttering in lowered voices. Lady Auridine cast Tal a fleeting, narrow-eyed look, and Sir Madaire a distracted smile, but no more than that.
Sir Tintauri came last, yawning and raking his wild hair out of his face. All three squires had already finished saddling their masters' mounts by then.
"I'm glad to see you all so battle-ready," said Sir Scadamain.
"Don't be such an old woman," replied Sir Tintauri with another yawn. "I had to find someone with half a clue to help me with my armour. Anyway, unlike some, I was ready yesterday."
"Sweet Divines, Tintauri, you still reek," Sir Madaire grimaced, fanning air away from his face. "If you were ready yesterday, you could've indulged in a bath."
"Are we decided?" interrupted Lady Auridine impatiently. "Do we ride out with Tintauri's smelly friends today or not? The group in the woods seems skittish, so it can't be large. I was one on a horse, and they still scattered when I got near."
"We ride out, but we don't engage," Sir Scadamain said. "If Hanalia were here ..."
"If Hanalia were here she'd have taken twice as long to prepare as Tintauri," the woman muttered. "Well, let's mount up."
"Race you back, too, Tintauri," Sir Madaire laughed, winking at Tal.
"Can't take that bet," replied Sir Tintauri. "You're always first to turn and run home."
The first three winterknights headed for their respective mounts, leading them out of the stable in even procession. Sir Tintauri lifted his saddle down to take care of it himself.
"Still can't move, then," he remarked, apparently to Tal. "That's a pity. I certainly hope you can move by the time we get back."
Tal said nothing.
"Even with all those welts, you know, you have the tiniest ankles I've ever seen. It's a wonder they don't break when you run. When do you think you'll be able to walk again?"
"I don't know, my lord. But I can feel some sensation in my legs again."
"Hmm," said the winterknight pensively. "Is that right?"
He didn't say anything else after that. He simply finished saddling up his horse, then led him outside into the light. A little while later, Tal heard the four knights ride away.
The three squires filed out without saying anything, either.
Tal spent the first part of the morning chafing both legs, trying to work off the ugly feeling of leaden clay. The stablehands watched with occasional interest, and Tal heard a few bets being laid on when the squire was likely to be up and moving again.
Stamping, stretching and flexing for all that time finally had the desired effect around midday, when Tal heaved upright with the support of the wall and took a few tottering steps. A few cheers and groans went around the stable, and some money passed hands.
Tal didn't pay much attention. By mid-afternoon, swift walks up and down the west wall had become jogs and sprints, and that seemed to be the worst of the poison's malice spent; the rest of Tal's recovery was within a startlingly swift hour. There was still a lingering sting whenever something pressed Tal's skin too hard, and the red-streaked welts were still there, but full mobility was restored.
For all Tal's shaken spirits, that much was a relief. The thought of another helpless night with Madaire about was like snakes down one's shirt - or spiders on one's legs.
I have to fight, Tal thought, desperate. I can't give in now.
Twilight and the onset of more early-spring cold eventually drove Tal back to the stables again. They were becoming the closest thing to a haven Ceorlhold had. To Tal's surprise, one of the stablehands - perhaps one who'd profited out of the morning's struggles - actually handed over a large, red apple without saying a word, which at least took the sharper edge off all that gnawing hunger.
Tal picked up a rake after devouring the apple and did a little more hay-stirring, more for want of something to do than desire of it, and spent almost an hour of something approaching calm that way.
Twilight was almost gone when the sound of hooves came clattering up from the outside - the chaotic non-patterns of horses slowing from a swifter clip - and boots started thumping to ground as riders dismounted. Tal left the rake and went outside to see, as many stablehands were doing.
The winterknights had returned ... but in a startling state. All four white tabards were blade-torn and stained with vivid blood - Lady Auridine and Sir Tintauri were little more than a sodden mess of it - and Sir Scadamain's head was half-wrapped in a dirty strip of cloth, keeping the blood from a forehead cut out of his right eye.
"My lords!" a stablehand exclaimed. Then Tal realised it wasn't a stablehand - it was Lady Auridine's squire. "Back up, you gawking hayrakers! Make some room!"
"Don't flap around like a pinned pigeon," snapped Lady Auridine, tossing the boy her reins. "No-one's injured."
"What are you talking about? Brother Scadamain's noble brow was marred," Sir Madaire chuckled, glancing around for his squire. "Are we quite decided we don't want to ride out alone again?"
"I should've taken a half-dozen turnip-farmers instead," snapped Sir Scadamain, flicking his reins at Lady Auridine's squire when his own failed to appear. "I told you not to engage."
"We didn't! We were just trying to keep them off our backs after Tintauri’s last bit of meat got dropped!" The other knight wiped his face. "Sweet Divine, have you ever seen anything like it? Like being savaged by a mob of rats!"
"Very, very brave rats," remarked Sir Tintauri. "Whoever they actually are. You know, for all that we killed back there, I think there are actually rather a lot more of them out in the woods."
"Oh, really? You think so, Tintauri?"
"We'll talk about this tomorrow and in private," Sir Scadamain said curtly. "Until then, stay inside the walls, get rested and clean yourselves up."
The tall knight left his horse and set off towards the keep, followed by Lady Auridine. The stablehands began to float back indoors again, collecting their rakes and buckets as they went.
"Oh, very good," said Sir Tintauri when he saw Tal still watching by the door, and prodded a gauntleted finger at his gory mail. "You can move again. Let's get back to the tower - I need you to get this off me."
It was dark in the stable - most stablehands had gone home - when Sir Tintauri came in. It was long past the evening meal. Perhaps he had been forced to pour his own wine.
"Have you watered my - uh? Squire?" The winterknight paused, looking down at Tal by the door. "So this is where you've got to!"
"I can't feel my legs," said Tal through fuzzy-feeling lips. "I can't move."
"Ah," Sir Tintauri replied. "I suppose that's why you're still here."
The knight moved on, back down to his horse's stall, and for a while Tal could hear the pale man murmuring to the beast. The few remaining stablehands passed back and forth, mostly tidying things away.
Finally Sir Tintauri came back and hunkered down on his haunches, eyeing Tal rather thoughtfully. He smelled worse than horse, now. It was a smell rather similar to a tannery when the fresh hides were first stretched out in the sun, thick and rich and ripe.
"I'm dying," said Tal in a whisper.
"No, you're not," the knight replied. "Trust me. I know."
"Spiders ..."
"Yes, Madaire and his bloody spiders. No restraint and no imagination." Sir Tintauri rolled his pale eyes, then leaned in.
"Don't touch me!" Tal cried, voice cracking. "Don't touch me don't touch me -"
"You want to sleep here?"
"- don't touch me don't touch me -"
"It's probably warmer than the corridor, I'll grant you, but if someone finds you out here ..."
Tal continued to pour the litany out, appealing to the Divines as much as to the winterknight.
"All right! All right! Five Hells, I've never heard anything so shrill!" Sir Tintauri raised his hands in surrender and rose, giving Tal first an odd look, then a little wave. "I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams."
But Tal did not sleep much, and dreamed only of spiders.
The next morning, although Tal's legs still felt thick and heavy, they were no longer numb. Tal rolled back the cuffs of the thin trousers to see streaky red welts, still quite chill to the touch.
"Well, ouch," someone said as Tal ran a finger around one ankle.
It was Sir Scadamain's squire, Jeys. The boy had said it in passing, and was now striding towards the stall where his master's horse was quartered, hoisting the saddle off the stall wall.
Tal didn't reply. A little while later, the two other squires Tal had met at dinner came in as well, heading silently for their respective stalls.
Tall Sir Scadamain was the first winterknight to enter the stable, even more intimidating than usual in his mail and white tabard. If he noticed Tal, he gave no sign of it. He simply stood by the first stall with arms folded, impatiently waiting.
Lady Auridine was next, and with her Sir Madaire, both muttering in lowered voices. Lady Auridine cast Tal a fleeting, narrow-eyed look, and Sir Madaire a distracted smile, but no more than that.
Sir Tintauri came last, yawning and raking his wild hair out of his face. All three squires had already finished saddling their masters' mounts by then.
"I'm glad to see you all so battle-ready," said Sir Scadamain.
"Don't be such an old woman," replied Sir Tintauri with another yawn. "I had to find someone with half a clue to help me with my armour. Anyway, unlike some, I was ready yesterday."
"Sweet Divines, Tintauri, you still reek," Sir Madaire grimaced, fanning air away from his face. "If you were ready yesterday, you could've indulged in a bath."
"Are we decided?" interrupted Lady Auridine impatiently. "Do we ride out with Tintauri's smelly friends today or not? The group in the woods seems skittish, so it can't be large. I was one on a horse, and they still scattered when I got near."
"We ride out, but we don't engage," Sir Scadamain said. "If Hanalia were here ..."
"If Hanalia were here she'd have taken twice as long to prepare as Tintauri," the woman muttered. "Well, let's mount up."
"Race you back, too, Tintauri," Sir Madaire laughed, winking at Tal.
"Can't take that bet," replied Sir Tintauri. "You're always first to turn and run home."
The first three winterknights headed for their respective mounts, leading them out of the stable in even procession. Sir Tintauri lifted his saddle down to take care of it himself.
"Still can't move, then," he remarked, apparently to Tal. "That's a pity. I certainly hope you can move by the time we get back."
Tal said nothing.
"Even with all those welts, you know, you have the tiniest ankles I've ever seen. It's a wonder they don't break when you run. When do you think you'll be able to walk again?"
"I don't know, my lord. But I can feel some sensation in my legs again."
"Hmm," said the winterknight pensively. "Is that right?"
He didn't say anything else after that. He simply finished saddling up his horse, then led him outside into the light. A little while later, Tal heard the four knights ride away.
The three squires filed out without saying anything, either.
Tal spent the first part of the morning chafing both legs, trying to work off the ugly feeling of leaden clay. The stablehands watched with occasional interest, and Tal heard a few bets being laid on when the squire was likely to be up and moving again.
Stamping, stretching and flexing for all that time finally had the desired effect around midday, when Tal heaved upright with the support of the wall and took a few tottering steps. A few cheers and groans went around the stable, and some money passed hands.
Tal didn't pay much attention. By mid-afternoon, swift walks up and down the west wall had become jogs and sprints, and that seemed to be the worst of the poison's malice spent; the rest of Tal's recovery was within a startlingly swift hour. There was still a lingering sting whenever something pressed Tal's skin too hard, and the red-streaked welts were still there, but full mobility was restored.
For all Tal's shaken spirits, that much was a relief. The thought of another helpless night with Madaire about was like snakes down one's shirt - or spiders on one's legs.
I have to fight, Tal thought, desperate. I can't give in now.
Twilight and the onset of more early-spring cold eventually drove Tal back to the stables again. They were becoming the closest thing to a haven Ceorlhold had. To Tal's surprise, one of the stablehands - perhaps one who'd profited out of the morning's struggles - actually handed over a large, red apple without saying a word, which at least took the sharper edge off all that gnawing hunger.
Tal picked up a rake after devouring the apple and did a little more hay-stirring, more for want of something to do than desire of it, and spent almost an hour of something approaching calm that way.
Twilight was almost gone when the sound of hooves came clattering up from the outside - the chaotic non-patterns of horses slowing from a swifter clip - and boots started thumping to ground as riders dismounted. Tal left the rake and went outside to see, as many stablehands were doing.
The winterknights had returned ... but in a startling state. All four white tabards were blade-torn and stained with vivid blood - Lady Auridine and Sir Tintauri were little more than a sodden mess of it - and Sir Scadamain's head was half-wrapped in a dirty strip of cloth, keeping the blood from a forehead cut out of his right eye.
"My lords!" a stablehand exclaimed. Then Tal realised it wasn't a stablehand - it was Lady Auridine's squire. "Back up, you gawking hayrakers! Make some room!"
"Don't flap around like a pinned pigeon," snapped Lady Auridine, tossing the boy her reins. "No-one's injured."
"What are you talking about? Brother Scadamain's noble brow was marred," Sir Madaire chuckled, glancing around for his squire. "Are we quite decided we don't want to ride out alone again?"
"I should've taken a half-dozen turnip-farmers instead," snapped Sir Scadamain, flicking his reins at Lady Auridine's squire when his own failed to appear. "I told you not to engage."
"We didn't! We were just trying to keep them off our backs after Tintauri’s last bit of meat got dropped!" The other knight wiped his face. "Sweet Divine, have you ever seen anything like it? Like being savaged by a mob of rats!"
"Very, very brave rats," remarked Sir Tintauri. "Whoever they actually are. You know, for all that we killed back there, I think there are actually rather a lot more of them out in the woods."
"Oh, really? You think so, Tintauri?"
"We'll talk about this tomorrow and in private," Sir Scadamain said curtly. "Until then, stay inside the walls, get rested and clean yourselves up."
The tall knight left his horse and set off towards the keep, followed by Lady Auridine. The stablehands began to float back indoors again, collecting their rakes and buckets as they went.
"Oh, very good," said Sir Tintauri when he saw Tal still watching by the door, and prodded a gauntleted finger at his gory mail. "You can move again. Let's get back to the tower - I need you to get this off me."