Tintauri's Squire - Part 7
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Tal crouched against the wall by Sir Tintauri's door that night, weighing all her options together carefully. She thought of her home and her beloved family with a wistful sadness for a while, knowing that she would not see them again. It was a fact now. There had only been a little hope before, true, but even that was gone as present matters stood.
She would fight as long as she could, but she knew in her heart she wouldn't be strong enough to prevail for long afterwards.
There was no alternative. Sir Tintauri had spoken. The Queen was no alternative.
Tal rose, drawing in and letting out a deep, slow lungful of air, steeling herself. Then she opened Sir Tintauri's door.
"My lord? Are you awake?"
No answer. But she could not hear the sough and sigh of a dreamer's breath.
"My lord?"
"What is it?" his voice finally asked from the darkness, thick with sleep.
"I don't ... I'm afraid of meeting Sir Madaire. Not tonight. May I spend at least this night in your room?"
"I'm not your daddy," he replied with the same tired burr. "Thank the Divine."
"Please, my lord. I won't ask anything of you again - just one night. I ..." She paused. "I'll ... lie with you, even."
"I don't want you, little girl," came the murmur. "I'm not Madaire. Let me sleep."
"My lord, I beg you - only this, only this ..."
"Hells! Come in, close the door and let me sleep!"
Relief washed over Tal. She stepped inside at once and pulled the door closed behind her, shutting the outside outside.
It was cool and oddly light inside Sir Tintauri's chamber. The curtains were not drawn - there were none on the windows, she realised, nor shutters - and the waxing moon blazed through one narrow window, a brilliant white streak across the room. The knight lay on his back in the half-shadows just beyond the reach of the moonlight, half-tangled in his sheets, his new-washed hair even wilder after its bath.
Tal approached the bed quietly, looking down at him for a moment, and reached into her shirt, below the tight wrap that bound flat her breasts.
"I don't want you, I said," Sir Tintauri muttered, one grey eye opening half a slit as she bent low. "Go sleep by the window."
"I only want to give you a mark of my gratitude, my lord," Tal replied.
Then she withdrew her dagger, and stabbed him.
Tintauri's eyes flared wide, but she could already tell that she had struck slightly awry in the darkness. One of his hands flew up and locked around her wrist, but she broke the hold with a sharp wrench and twist, twirling gracefully out of the way as he snatched at her again.
She left the dagger embedded there in his sternum, giving it up for lost, and reached for the other tucked beneath her shirt. Even tightly bound, it had cut at her skin all this time, but the wound now was well worth it.
"You sneaky little bitch," exclaimed the winterknight, voice strained and impressed all at once, and rattling with moisture. Perhaps she'd found a lung, then. He rose from the bed, one hand clutched around the hilt of the dagger in his chest. "You are quick!"
"I'm not quick, Queen's Dog," she replied scornfully. "I'm the fastest. I'm Taleth Cometfall, daughter of Caul the Wallbreaker, lord of the unbroken Narraine - and if I can't kill your mistress I'll just have to settle for a few of her favourite hounds!"
"My word," Tintauri replied, giving another crooked smile. "You play the terrified child very well, squire. Very well."
"I wish I could say it was an act every time, Corpseraker. But I'm human, and I have all the usual weaknesses - and strengths - associated with my humanity." She gave a hard smile, matching his smirk eye to eye. "You wouldn't know about that."
"No." The winterknight pulled the knife out of his chest, and the dark blood poured down his robe in the moonlight. "I wouldn't."
He lunged at her, bloody steel leading in a flying slice - but she was quick, she was the fastest, and she dodged aside on nimble feet, proud of how they had recovered from the eerie spider-poison. He was one of the winter bitch's demons, not human enough to die as easy as her other foes, but she had hurt him badly and he was slow. He would weaken more as he bled. He would slow further. And she would kill him.
Then the wolf Madaire. A full slice of the throat this time - worth the risk - and then a smile into the final flare of his cold, hungry eyes.
Perhaps then she would die. But she was determined to take at least those two with her.
Tal felt her mouth pulling up in a smile again. She lashed at Tintauri with a feint at his stomach and then a slash at his face, missing by a width shorter than one of his pale eyelashes. The winterknight retaliated, coming at her again with a trim double-step and snatching at her knife-arm while he cut at her own face, but she dodged the cut and warded the grab with another slash of her own. This time she cut him, too - more dark blood down his arm.
Tintauri backed away for a moment, his breath already rattling hard, pressing one bloody hand to the dark, sodden wound at his chest again.
"Sweet Divine," he forced out, smiling loosely around each gasp. "The possums in our woods ... those are the Narraine ..."
"I told you," replied Tal, unsmiling herself. "No-one dares what we dare."
He lunged at her again while she was still speaking, knife flashing and biting with a speed that should not still have belonged to one so wounded, but again she dodged, feigning a slip on the floor and grabbing at his knife arm when he swooped. After only a moment's struggle she knew she could not take his weapon - his grip was like death - but while they stood at those quarters she closed her fist and jabbed a hard punch at his middle.
He reeled back with a strangled cry, and this time she followed him with a swift step, kicking him again - harder - in the middle. He went down on the sticky floor, half-curling, cloth whispering against the stone as he writhed.
Tal was Narraine and no fool. She stood and watched him first, waiting until the bloody froth collecting on his lips convinced her it was no act.
"Wait," he choked as she knelt, snatching the knife from his now-unresisting hand. "My lady ..."
"Now you call me lady?" asked Tal with a contemptuous snort.
He laughed, or tried to. The air coughed and bubbled deep in his chest. "I will take you," he said, making visible effort to breathe more shallowly, "to my lady ... the Queen ..."
"I don't believe you, Queen's Dog," she replied evenly. "What winterknight would do that?"
"Me ..."
"Why?"
"I ... remember ..." He struggled over the longer word. "Snow ... night ... no ... feeling ... no thought ... and then ... me ..."
"And?"
"I ... won't ... go back."
"I think you will, Corpseraker. I think you're dying."
He coughed, a thick, wet sound, as if the Divines were giving omen of the same, but shook his head at the same time. "Not yet."
Tal rested back on her haunches for a moment, still watching the winterknight like a hawk, and considered her options. She didn't trust him. Of course she didn't trust him. Was it worth trading at least one last sure kill - Madaire - for possible treachery? She had come at first to kill the Queen, with the blessings and tears of her family, who must still be praying for her success in the woods outside these unholy walls.
She made up her mind. Personal revenge was a selfish choice over the needs of her people. And even if Tintauri tricked her, she had at least killed him - the Corpseraker, who would have raised the bodies of faithful Narraine and used them against their own in the battle to come.
"Let's go see your Queen," Tal told the knight, taking one bloody arm to help him rise.
Tal crouched against the wall by Sir Tintauri's door that night, weighing all her options together carefully. She thought of her home and her beloved family with a wistful sadness for a while, knowing that she would not see them again. It was a fact now. There had only been a little hope before, true, but even that was gone as present matters stood.
She would fight as long as she could, but she knew in her heart she wouldn't be strong enough to prevail for long afterwards.
There was no alternative. Sir Tintauri had spoken. The Queen was no alternative.
Tal rose, drawing in and letting out a deep, slow lungful of air, steeling herself. Then she opened Sir Tintauri's door.
"My lord? Are you awake?"
No answer. But she could not hear the sough and sigh of a dreamer's breath.
"My lord?"
"What is it?" his voice finally asked from the darkness, thick with sleep.
"I don't ... I'm afraid of meeting Sir Madaire. Not tonight. May I spend at least this night in your room?"
"I'm not your daddy," he replied with the same tired burr. "Thank the Divine."
"Please, my lord. I won't ask anything of you again - just one night. I ..." She paused. "I'll ... lie with you, even."
"I don't want you, little girl," came the murmur. "I'm not Madaire. Let me sleep."
"My lord, I beg you - only this, only this ..."
"Hells! Come in, close the door and let me sleep!"
Relief washed over Tal. She stepped inside at once and pulled the door closed behind her, shutting the outside outside.
It was cool and oddly light inside Sir Tintauri's chamber. The curtains were not drawn - there were none on the windows, she realised, nor shutters - and the waxing moon blazed through one narrow window, a brilliant white streak across the room. The knight lay on his back in the half-shadows just beyond the reach of the moonlight, half-tangled in his sheets, his new-washed hair even wilder after its bath.
Tal approached the bed quietly, looking down at him for a moment, and reached into her shirt, below the tight wrap that bound flat her breasts.
"I don't want you, I said," Sir Tintauri muttered, one grey eye opening half a slit as she bent low. "Go sleep by the window."
"I only want to give you a mark of my gratitude, my lord," Tal replied.
Then she withdrew her dagger, and stabbed him.
Tintauri's eyes flared wide, but she could already tell that she had struck slightly awry in the darkness. One of his hands flew up and locked around her wrist, but she broke the hold with a sharp wrench and twist, twirling gracefully out of the way as he snatched at her again.
She left the dagger embedded there in his sternum, giving it up for lost, and reached for the other tucked beneath her shirt. Even tightly bound, it had cut at her skin all this time, but the wound now was well worth it.
"You sneaky little bitch," exclaimed the winterknight, voice strained and impressed all at once, and rattling with moisture. Perhaps she'd found a lung, then. He rose from the bed, one hand clutched around the hilt of the dagger in his chest. "You are quick!"
"I'm not quick, Queen's Dog," she replied scornfully. "I'm the fastest. I'm Taleth Cometfall, daughter of Caul the Wallbreaker, lord of the unbroken Narraine - and if I can't kill your mistress I'll just have to settle for a few of her favourite hounds!"
"My word," Tintauri replied, giving another crooked smile. "You play the terrified child very well, squire. Very well."
"I wish I could say it was an act every time, Corpseraker. But I'm human, and I have all the usual weaknesses - and strengths - associated with my humanity." She gave a hard smile, matching his smirk eye to eye. "You wouldn't know about that."
"No." The winterknight pulled the knife out of his chest, and the dark blood poured down his robe in the moonlight. "I wouldn't."
He lunged at her, bloody steel leading in a flying slice - but she was quick, she was the fastest, and she dodged aside on nimble feet, proud of how they had recovered from the eerie spider-poison. He was one of the winter bitch's demons, not human enough to die as easy as her other foes, but she had hurt him badly and he was slow. He would weaken more as he bled. He would slow further. And she would kill him.
Then the wolf Madaire. A full slice of the throat this time - worth the risk - and then a smile into the final flare of his cold, hungry eyes.
Perhaps then she would die. But she was determined to take at least those two with her.
Tal felt her mouth pulling up in a smile again. She lashed at Tintauri with a feint at his stomach and then a slash at his face, missing by a width shorter than one of his pale eyelashes. The winterknight retaliated, coming at her again with a trim double-step and snatching at her knife-arm while he cut at her own face, but she dodged the cut and warded the grab with another slash of her own. This time she cut him, too - more dark blood down his arm.
Tintauri backed away for a moment, his breath already rattling hard, pressing one bloody hand to the dark, sodden wound at his chest again.
"Sweet Divine," he forced out, smiling loosely around each gasp. "The possums in our woods ... those are the Narraine ..."
"I told you," replied Tal, unsmiling herself. "No-one dares what we dare."
He lunged at her again while she was still speaking, knife flashing and biting with a speed that should not still have belonged to one so wounded, but again she dodged, feigning a slip on the floor and grabbing at his knife arm when he swooped. After only a moment's struggle she knew she could not take his weapon - his grip was like death - but while they stood at those quarters she closed her fist and jabbed a hard punch at his middle.
He reeled back with a strangled cry, and this time she followed him with a swift step, kicking him again - harder - in the middle. He went down on the sticky floor, half-curling, cloth whispering against the stone as he writhed.
Tal was Narraine and no fool. She stood and watched him first, waiting until the bloody froth collecting on his lips convinced her it was no act.
"Wait," he choked as she knelt, snatching the knife from his now-unresisting hand. "My lady ..."
"Now you call me lady?" asked Tal with a contemptuous snort.
He laughed, or tried to. The air coughed and bubbled deep in his chest. "I will take you," he said, making visible effort to breathe more shallowly, "to my lady ... the Queen ..."
"I don't believe you, Queen's Dog," she replied evenly. "What winterknight would do that?"
"Me ..."
"Why?"
"I ... remember ..." He struggled over the longer word. "Snow ... night ... no ... feeling ... no thought ... and then ... me ..."
"And?"
"I ... won't ... go back."
"I think you will, Corpseraker. I think you're dying."
He coughed, a thick, wet sound, as if the Divines were giving omen of the same, but shook his head at the same time. "Not yet."
Tal rested back on her haunches for a moment, still watching the winterknight like a hawk, and considered her options. She didn't trust him. Of course she didn't trust him. Was it worth trading at least one last sure kill - Madaire - for possible treachery? She had come at first to kill the Queen, with the blessings and tears of her family, who must still be praying for her success in the woods outside these unholy walls.
She made up her mind. Personal revenge was a selfish choice over the needs of her people. And even if Tintauri tricked her, she had at least killed him - the Corpseraker, who would have raised the bodies of faithful Narraine and used them against their own in the battle to come.
"Let's go see your Queen," Tal told the knight, taking one bloody arm to help him rise.