[Amanaduial the archer]

Peace and quiet reigned throughout the stables of Umbar, the long building completely quiet save for the quiet, contented sounds of horses moving in their stables, the sounds of their hooves muffled by the straw laid down beneath their hooves. But apart from these gentle sounds, nothing moved in the musty, mid-afternoon air...

One of the stable doors edged open very slightly, still on its bolt from outside, just opening enough to disturb a few dust motes from above it so they floated lazily down from their perch on top, clear and fine in the sunlight lancing through one high window. Five long, slim fingers appeared at the crack and folded over, and above them one sharp, dark eye. Said eye danced quickly and carefully around the stable and then, when the owner was apparently satisfied, both the eye and the fingers withdrew, and the sound of a bolt being withdrawn filtered into the stable. Callath breathed a sigh of relief; he had been missing for nearly two hours now, and Garth, if he'd managed to get out of bed and down to the stables and, once there, had managed to remain concious long enough to notice the stable-boy's absence, he would have been furious.

"Looking for someone in there, Callath?"

Callath's sigh of relief froze half way through it's passage and, although he didn't actually jump, the stable-boy couldn't help his fingers twitching sharply once and clenching...in the door. Withdrawing his squashed digits and turning, Callath didn't allow his face to register that he'd caught his fingers in the door. In front of him stood a rather thick set, bull-necked individual, two or three inches shorter than Callath in height, with a face a colour that, under the curling moustache, could be described kindly as 'puce'. In his hands he held a short, fixed whip which he was bending slowly and menacingly into a U-shape.

"Horse-master Garth." Callath nodded politely, wondering how he was going to talk himself out of it this time. He had used up all the usual excuses and, bearing in mind Garth seemed to have selected him as being the ideal candidate to clear out the paddock every time he could find an excuse this month, he would have to choose his words very carefully.

"Mr Harres," Garth's tone was heavily sarcastic as he continued to bend the whip. "So good of you to join us. May I ask where you were that merited your attentiomn over our lowly stables?!" By the end of this sentence Garth's voice was basically a shout through gritted teeth.

Callath opened his mouth, then stopped, lips fixed as if about to say something, one finger frozen in mid-air. "I was-"

"Rubbish excuse, don't believe yer," Garth growled. "How'd you get wet then?"

Callath slipped a glance down at the knees or his dark trousers. His high, leather boots had stopped his legs from getting wet mostly, and his shirt and tunic had dried on the way, but there was still a persistent patch just above his boots which was slightly darker. He started on his excuse. "Funny thing that, what I was-"

"And why can I smell women's perfume off you?"

Mystery to me... Callath thought, genuinely puzzled, then remembered Adeline. "Oh, I was-"

"Another rubbish excuse, boy, you're on paddock duty for the rest of the day, the shovel and bucket are in the far field where Heral left them. I'll be checking tonight - there are a coupla new horses due." With that curt note, said almost in one breath, Garth strode off, leaving a bemused Callath glaring after him. His conversations with the Horse-master tended to do something like this - he was pretty sure it wasn't actually necessary for him to say anything, or in fact be there at all.

Turning away, Callath squinted against the sun to the 'far field' as it was called - two long fields away - then began to trudge towards it. Today was going to be a very long day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Bye, Cal."

As Callath turned into the stable, he waved briefly, grinning at the other boy who had called, just leaving for the night. "See you tomorrow, Haril."

He was the last one left there, but, thank providence, he had finished his duties for the day, although he smelt none the better for it. It was for days like this that Callath reserved a spare set of clothes in the loft above the stables, where the food was kept, out of the reach of the stable-dogs and most of the rats. Climbing the slanted ladder up to the loft, the boy hummed idly under his breath, switching to whistling part way through as he changed his clothes quickly.

As he was just straightening his collar are doing up the final buttons on his tunic, Callath heard a gasp below him and a fierce knocking on the doors. Looking down sharply, the stable boy heard the bolt slide open roughly as if drawn by clumsy, shaking fingers (the door wasn't yet properly locked up with the padlocks), before it swung open. For a second, as he slid quickly down the stairs, Callath saw Devon framed against the dying sunlight, panting as if he had run a long way, before his friend shut the door hard, causing several of the horses to snort and shuffle restlessly, sensing the fear.

Callath supported his friend steadily, sitting him down on one of the lower rungs. The boy looked as if he had seen a ghost, his eyes dark and wide.

"Gods, Devon, but you gave me a shock there. What on earth's wrong with you?"

[ November 02, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]