Tintauri's Squire - Part 1
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Tal jumped up from the bench, shivering, as the great door-hinges suddenly squawked and the door rattled open, echoing in the narrow hall. The wet, rank stink of horse and hound came first, followed by a man whose white-haired head brushed the doorframe as he strode in.
"Are ...?" began Tal, voice breaking as he glanced over. He had a face like a statue, a guardian statue, impersonally threatening and lifeless. His eyes were the same unseeing grey.
"Are you Sir Tintauri?" Tal tried again.
"No," said the man, and then a damp, musky weight blocked out the world for a moment. He had tossed Tal his cloak. "Hang that up."
Clean, sharp footsteps strode away as Tal tried to fight out from under the heavy furs. A short laugh came from the direction of the doorway, and when the cloak finally fell away, Tal saw another pale man approaching with a faint smile on his lips. He had the same snowy hair and grey eyes as the first, but looked everything the first had not - young, bright, almost soft. He was a perfect youth frozen in ice, beautiful forever.
"There's no talking to Scadamain, I'm afraid," said the young man with a cool laugh. "He has the personality and the sense of humour of a rock. Don't go near Auridine either - darling little bitch will bite your head off. Possibly literally."
Tal didn't know what to say. Nothing seemed the safest option.
"When did you get here, lad?" asked the beautiful knight.
"This morning," Tal replied in a tiny voice. "M-my father sent me ... to the Queen. I'm going to be here a long ... a long time, I think."
"Well, let's hope so," came the reply. "The life of a hostage is often rather compli- oh, what's this? Tears? You poor lad."
The knight smiled again, pulling off a riding glove, and forestalled Tal's efforts to scrub at the tears by brushing them away himself. His hands were long-fingered and white, like a maid's. "I'll take care of you. Don't you worry about that."
"The Queen s-said I was to serve as your squire ... while I'm here," said Tal, unable to check the fresh tears that here brought forth - here, here, frozen here, far from home. Memories of the Queen's voice and laugh were still cold like ice inside, slow to melt. The black-on-white of her colourless skin and raven-dark hair still branded Tal's eyes like the afterimage from staring into a light.
"My lady's often thoughtful like that," replied the knight. "You'll see. Come and let's get you warm, yes? Poor little boy. You're still shivering."
"Thank you, sir ..."
"Madaire, my dear brother vulture, do you never take a day to rest?"
The beautiful white knight turned his head, and so did Tal, as a third voice called from the doorway.
It was, of course, another winterknight, pale as all the rest. He did not have the strong build of the first or the beauty of the second; there was more of a carelessness about his appearance, loose posture and wild white hair.
"You were actually less than an utter bore on the hunt, Tintauri," replied the fairer knight with a martyred little sigh. "Don't go spoiling it now."
Sir Tintauri gave a twisted smile without reply, shoving the door closed with his shoulder, shutting out the drizzle and light from the outside. The smell of horse and dog and man became worse.
"Sir Tintauri?" asked Tal, looking uncertainly from one knight to the other. "The Queen ... she said I was to be your squire ..."
"Never mind Tintauri," said Sir Madaire, putting a hand on Tal's shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Honestly, if you try serving any period of time as his squire, you'll soon die of boredom. Or any number of other things, of course. You've heard of him, haven't you, lad?"
"I don't know much about foreign places," replied Tal, clutching the heavy, stale weight of Sir Scadamain's cloak a little tighter. "I've never been more than a mile away from home before ..."
"The Queen said you're to serve me?" the slightly more distant voice of Sir Tintauri asked, a puzzled or amused little lilt in it. "Wait - you're one of those noble definitely-a-guest-and-not-a-hostages?"
Sir Madaire gave another little sigh. "Does it matter, Corpseraker? - That’s what they all call him, lad. The Corpseraker. - Look, don't bother yourself with it. You wouldn't have the faintest idea what to do with anything with a pulse. I've had squires and guests before."
"Yes, we know you've had squires before," replied Sir Tintauri, laughing a brief, thin little laugh. "Many squires and many guests. Don't get in a flap - I couldn't care less. If you want to explain it to the Queen, explain it to the Queen."
The winterknight started walking down the hall, shrugging off his cloak and shaking his hair out of his face as he went.
"Wait!" exclaimed Tal. "The Queen ... she might be angry at me ..."
"The Queen's a very noble and reasonable lady," Sir Madaire replied soothingly with another squeeze of the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll explain everything to her. Tintauri's not really good with people if they're upright at the time - she knows that."
"You're very kind, my lord," Tal replied, bobbing in a sort of bow, "and I'm very grateful to you, but she ... but she ..."
"Scares you," surmised Sir Tintauri further down the hall, chuckling again.
Sir Madaire smiled and nodded. "Don't be scared, my lad. She looks fearsome, but she's as gentle with a lamb with those she loves. No doubt she'll come to love you, too - an earnest, sweet young thing like you."
Tal looked down at Sir Scadamain's cloak rather than Sir Madaire's wide grey eyes. "I'm very sorry, my lord, but I think ... I think I should obey her very carefully. At least at first. She ... said so." 'Said' was not quite the word for something spoken like an absolute truth, as if she had already looked into the future and knew she would be obeyed.
"Well," said Sir Madaire, with a little sigh of irritation, "don't say I didn't warn you. Perhaps you'll be about long enough for us to discuss this again."
He turned away, still all grace and measure, and glid past Sir Tintauri in the hall. Sir Tintauri laughed as the other winterknight passed, another crooked little grin on his thin lips.
Tal approached Sir Tintauri cautiously as Sir Madaire left without a word through the far door.
"Isn't that Scadamain's?" asked the knight, glancing at the cloak Tal was wringing in both hands. "I wouldn't try wearing it, if I were you. He wouldn't like it. Here, hang mine up as well."
Catching the second cloak more ably than the first, Tal hurried over to the pegs on the wall and wrestled the furs up into place. "My name's Tal, my lord."
"Good," replied Sir Tintauri. It was a bit unclear whether he referred to the fact that Tal had a name, or the hanging of the cloaks. "Now, I'm a bit tired after all that riding today, so I'll see you in the evening."
"But Sir Tintauri ... what should I do until then? And where should I be sleeping?"
"Not a clue," the knight replied with another short little laugh. "I know where you shouldn't be sleeping. Actually, if I were you, I'd find somewhere tucked up out of the open. Don't let you-know-who know where!"
"My lord!"
But Sir Tintauri had already opened the far door, and although he turned to give Tal an unexplained little wink after that last cry, he left the hall without saying another word.
Tal jumped up from the bench, shivering, as the great door-hinges suddenly squawked and the door rattled open, echoing in the narrow hall. The wet, rank stink of horse and hound came first, followed by a man whose white-haired head brushed the doorframe as he strode in.
"Are ...?" began Tal, voice breaking as he glanced over. He had a face like a statue, a guardian statue, impersonally threatening and lifeless. His eyes were the same unseeing grey.
"Are you Sir Tintauri?" Tal tried again.
"No," said the man, and then a damp, musky weight blocked out the world for a moment. He had tossed Tal his cloak. "Hang that up."
Clean, sharp footsteps strode away as Tal tried to fight out from under the heavy furs. A short laugh came from the direction of the doorway, and when the cloak finally fell away, Tal saw another pale man approaching with a faint smile on his lips. He had the same snowy hair and grey eyes as the first, but looked everything the first had not - young, bright, almost soft. He was a perfect youth frozen in ice, beautiful forever.
"There's no talking to Scadamain, I'm afraid," said the young man with a cool laugh. "He has the personality and the sense of humour of a rock. Don't go near Auridine either - darling little bitch will bite your head off. Possibly literally."
Tal didn't know what to say. Nothing seemed the safest option.
"When did you get here, lad?" asked the beautiful knight.
"This morning," Tal replied in a tiny voice. "M-my father sent me ... to the Queen. I'm going to be here a long ... a long time, I think."
"Well, let's hope so," came the reply. "The life of a hostage is often rather compli- oh, what's this? Tears? You poor lad."
The knight smiled again, pulling off a riding glove, and forestalled Tal's efforts to scrub at the tears by brushing them away himself. His hands were long-fingered and white, like a maid's. "I'll take care of you. Don't you worry about that."
"The Queen s-said I was to serve as your squire ... while I'm here," said Tal, unable to check the fresh tears that here brought forth - here, here, frozen here, far from home. Memories of the Queen's voice and laugh were still cold like ice inside, slow to melt. The black-on-white of her colourless skin and raven-dark hair still branded Tal's eyes like the afterimage from staring into a light.
"My lady's often thoughtful like that," replied the knight. "You'll see. Come and let's get you warm, yes? Poor little boy. You're still shivering."
"Thank you, sir ..."
"Madaire, my dear brother vulture, do you never take a day to rest?"
The beautiful white knight turned his head, and so did Tal, as a third voice called from the doorway.
It was, of course, another winterknight, pale as all the rest. He did not have the strong build of the first or the beauty of the second; there was more of a carelessness about his appearance, loose posture and wild white hair.
"You were actually less than an utter bore on the hunt, Tintauri," replied the fairer knight with a martyred little sigh. "Don't go spoiling it now."
Sir Tintauri gave a twisted smile without reply, shoving the door closed with his shoulder, shutting out the drizzle and light from the outside. The smell of horse and dog and man became worse.
"Sir Tintauri?" asked Tal, looking uncertainly from one knight to the other. "The Queen ... she said I was to be your squire ..."
"Never mind Tintauri," said Sir Madaire, putting a hand on Tal's shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Honestly, if you try serving any period of time as his squire, you'll soon die of boredom. Or any number of other things, of course. You've heard of him, haven't you, lad?"
"I don't know much about foreign places," replied Tal, clutching the heavy, stale weight of Sir Scadamain's cloak a little tighter. "I've never been more than a mile away from home before ..."
"The Queen said you're to serve me?" the slightly more distant voice of Sir Tintauri asked, a puzzled or amused little lilt in it. "Wait - you're one of those noble definitely-a-guest-and-not-a-hostages?"
Sir Madaire gave another little sigh. "Does it matter, Corpseraker? - That’s what they all call him, lad. The Corpseraker. - Look, don't bother yourself with it. You wouldn't have the faintest idea what to do with anything with a pulse. I've had squires and guests before."
"Yes, we know you've had squires before," replied Sir Tintauri, laughing a brief, thin little laugh. "Many squires and many guests. Don't get in a flap - I couldn't care less. If you want to explain it to the Queen, explain it to the Queen."
The winterknight started walking down the hall, shrugging off his cloak and shaking his hair out of his face as he went.
"Wait!" exclaimed Tal. "The Queen ... she might be angry at me ..."
"The Queen's a very noble and reasonable lady," Sir Madaire replied soothingly with another squeeze of the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll explain everything to her. Tintauri's not really good with people if they're upright at the time - she knows that."
"You're very kind, my lord," Tal replied, bobbing in a sort of bow, "and I'm very grateful to you, but she ... but she ..."
"Scares you," surmised Sir Tintauri further down the hall, chuckling again.
Sir Madaire smiled and nodded. "Don't be scared, my lad. She looks fearsome, but she's as gentle with a lamb with those she loves. No doubt she'll come to love you, too - an earnest, sweet young thing like you."
Tal looked down at Sir Scadamain's cloak rather than Sir Madaire's wide grey eyes. "I'm very sorry, my lord, but I think ... I think I should obey her very carefully. At least at first. She ... said so." 'Said' was not quite the word for something spoken like an absolute truth, as if she had already looked into the future and knew she would be obeyed.
"Well," said Sir Madaire, with a little sigh of irritation, "don't say I didn't warn you. Perhaps you'll be about long enough for us to discuss this again."
He turned away, still all grace and measure, and glid past Sir Tintauri in the hall. Sir Tintauri laughed as the other winterknight passed, another crooked little grin on his thin lips.
Tal approached Sir Tintauri cautiously as Sir Madaire left without a word through the far door.
"Isn't that Scadamain's?" asked the knight, glancing at the cloak Tal was wringing in both hands. "I wouldn't try wearing it, if I were you. He wouldn't like it. Here, hang mine up as well."
Catching the second cloak more ably than the first, Tal hurried over to the pegs on the wall and wrestled the furs up into place. "My name's Tal, my lord."
"Good," replied Sir Tintauri. It was a bit unclear whether he referred to the fact that Tal had a name, or the hanging of the cloaks. "Now, I'm a bit tired after all that riding today, so I'll see you in the evening."
"But Sir Tintauri ... what should I do until then? And where should I be sleeping?"
"Not a clue," the knight replied with another short little laugh. "I know where you shouldn't be sleeping. Actually, if I were you, I'd find somewhere tucked up out of the open. Don't let you-know-who know where!"
"My lord!"
But Sir Tintauri had already opened the far door, and although he turned to give Tal an unexplained little wink after that last cry, he left the hall without saying another word.