"Tintauri´s Squire (Part III)"

"Tintauri´s Squire (Part III)"

by;fernand jiro marantal

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 restless 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. Her horse skittered and tossed its head, still unnerved. "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 own restless 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.
The tabard, crimson-spattered and tattered, was naturally ruined. Tal didn't so much take it off as peel it off the mail piece by piece, letting each one drop on Sir Tintauri’s floor. "Don't know who chose white to start with," the winterknight remarked at one point, but Tal's mind was too set on other things, grimmer things like where the blood had come from, to come up with a suitable response. 


The lacing on Sir Tintauri's mail leggings had been rather inexpertly knotted by whoever had helped him dress that morning, but luckily sweat had dampened the knots and made them easier to loosen. Tal knelt gingerly before the knight, reaching around his legs to pull each tie free until one legging and then the other dropped down to hit the floor. 


"Small request," said Sir Tintauri. "Don't do that again, even if I do have heavy boots on." 


Then he knelt down so Tal could roll his mail shirt up and over his head. That was the theory, at least. It was a heavy, heavy shirt. Tal wrestled and strained, pulling and tugging until every knuckle was throbbing. 


"Don't pull!" exclaimed the winterknight somewhere underneath all the iron. "Roll!"


So Tal rolled. The mail shirt finally did come off, dropping on the floor with a jingling thump, scattered with fine white filaments of Sir Tintauri's hair. 


"Suboptimal," Sir Tintauri pronounced, rubbing at his scalp. "Let's make sure you clean it better than you remove it. There's a barrel of sand outside for the purpose." 


Tal nodded, dragging the shirt across the floor with the leggings. 


The winterknight started to strip off his reeking underjerkin. "Wait a moment. This will need cleaning too, though I don’t mind if you do that part tomorrow. Oh, and go heat some water at the bathhouse - I think I've finally reached my limit." 


The glare of white skin under Sir Tintauri's jerkin was startling. Tal looked directly down at the floor to take the thing, standing as far back as possible to reach out for it. 


The winterknight laughed, and suddenly Tal felt even more anxious, heart hammering. A few moments later, the weight of the knight's leather trews was draped over the arm that still clutched the jerkin. 


"You're a girl, aren't you, Tal?" asked Sir Tintauri casually. 


Tal's mouth went dry. "Please don't tease me, my lord. I'm trying my best to be brave ... but S-sir ... Sir Madaire ..." 


"I'm not talking about how you take Madaire's silly little games. I'm talking about a very feminine shriek the other night, and very shapely little ankles. And now that I look more carefully, a rather soft jaw-line for a boy." 


"My lord, I'm not the strongest or boldest youth in Narraine, but -"


"Oh, dear." Sir Tintauri let out one of his odd, sweeping laughs, but a short one. Tal heard him walk over to the wardrobe. "There's an easy way to settle this, but do you really want to make me embarrass you?" 


Tal closed her eyes, covering her face with a hand. 


"I didn't think so," said the winterknight. "You haven't done badly up to now, you know. Though Madaire would've found out sooner or later - and still will, I might add." 


"I'm begging you, my lord," said Tal in a low voice, hearing the rustle of cloth as the knight began to dress, "please don't let him get to me." 


"Let? Where's the let? I can't watch you every hour of the day. Madaire's a very, very resourceful little creep when he wants to be." 


"Are there no ladies' quarters in the castle?" she pleaded. "Couldn't I squire for one of the Queen's female knights?" 


"No-one, brother or sister of mine, is going to swap squires with me any time soon," snorted Sir Tintauri. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you're rather hopeless. In any case, they'd still have you sleeping out in the hall where the bad men lurk." 


"Then what about the Queen?" Tal opened her eyes, turning a pleading look towards the knight, who had just begun to tie the belt of a blue robe about his waist. "Perhaps if I went to the Queen and begged for some other duty - her messenger, her jester, anything! Where does the Queen sleep?" 


"You're hardly likely to get anything from the Queen." 


"Please!" Tal fell on her knees, letting the tears flow. "Where does she sleep?" 


Another laugh, almost delighted. "Sleep? She doesn't. She floats on the river's surface, only opening her jaws to snap swimmers in half." 


Tal hid her face again, her shoulders trembling as she wept. 


"Why are you here?" asked Sir Tintauri. "Your father told the Queen he was submitting his son and heir to her mercy. Or is the Lord of Narraine even your father?" 


"He is my father," Tal replied through sobs. "He knew that the Queen would demand my brother as a hostage soon. But my brother is beautiful - glorious - and Narraine couldn't stand to lose him. Nor could my father. So I came in his place." 


Sir Tintauri shook his white head, laughing yet again. "An heir so glorious he sent his sister to suffer and likely die in his place. That's quite a country. I thought I remembered the men of Narraine being rather brave when I fought them." 


"They are the bravest in the world," whispered Tal. "No-one dares what they dare." 
"They obviously don't mind in the least the thought of being called a pack of utter cowards," Sir Tintauri replied cheerfully. "Perhaps there's something in what you're saying." 


Tal raised her head and pleading face one last time as she heard him walk by again, stooping to recover his abandoned armour. "My lord, I call on your honour as a knight. Please help me, I beg you! Help me gain an audience with your Queen. Tell me where she lives in the keep, or where I can find her through the day -"


"You've met my liege lady," the winterknight replied cryptically. "I think that should tell you all you need to know about my 'honour as a knight' and my answer. Quite apart from the fact that you should be hiding from my Queen - she'll be very, very angry with Narraine if she finds out, you realise - I promise you now that there is nothing you could say to make her help you." 
"Let me try. Please, Sir Tintauri. I've no alternative." 
"The Queen is not an alternative," he answered, his ever-amused eyes going suddenly narrow. "You're nothing to her. You're a shape and a sound and she'll look at you without seeing you. If you're useful, you'll live; if you're not useful, she won't kill you - no, she'll make you useful, because unlike her husband, she is merciful."


The last word hung in the air a moment. Sir Tintauri's lips had peeled back from his teeth, half wolfish smile, half wolfish snarl. 


"I will not take you to the Queen," he said at last, stooping and then rising with his stained mail shirt. "Your courageous father and brother have sent you away to this, I'm afraid. Either go to Madaire of your own accord and have it over with - perhaps he'll get tired of you quicker that way - or kill yourself. It's happened before. I'll help you if that's what you want." 
"Are you such a monster?" asked Tal, voice trembling. "Is that really your only answer for me?" 
Sir Tintauri gave one of his crooked grins. "We're all monsters here, my dear. Quite literally. But at least we're not your own flesh and blood." 


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. 

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