The Winter Knights (14 page)

And there, perched upon them, were the roosting prowlgrins themselves.

The great hall thronged with grooms, ostlers and farriers, byre-gillies and stable-hands, all hurrying about their business. Some were pushing wheelbarrows of straw; some were lugging buckets of water, or offal, or the dark, pungent grease that was used to massage the creatures’ joints. Some were leading their prowlgrins outside for their daily exercise. Some were mucking out. Everywhere there was feverish activity, endless coming and going and unfamiliar noises.

The squires stumbled across the hay-strewn floor in a daze, unable to take it all in. Some way in front of him, Quint noticed Vilnix's lip curl with disgust as a stable-hand brushed past, a gently steaming offal bucket in his hand.

‘Halt!’

The low, expressionless voice rang out again. The squires snapped out of their daze and quickly formed a line, backs straight and eyes front. From beside a roost pillar, the tall angular figure of Fenviel Vendix, Hall Master of Grey Cloud, stepped out. His small eyes narrowed as he surveyed the squires, one by one, stopping when he came to Phin.

His mouth set into a thin line and his eyebrows furrowed as he eyed the squire's untidy turban for a moment. Then he pointed his long riding crop at Phin's rapidly reddening face and slashed the air.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Phin, snatching at the turban. ‘At once, sir.’

He unwound it and held it out. Fenviel's eyes glittered, and for one horrible moment Quint thought he was about to strike his friend with the crop.

Beside him, Vilnix sniggered, and instantly Fenviel turned his gaze on him. Vilnix straightened up and wiped the smile from his face. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead as the hall master approached and stared intently into the squire's face. For a moment there was utter silence. Then, from above, there came a strange mewling cry. Fenviel turned from Vilnix, whose knees were now trembling, and pointed his riding crop at the roost pillar.

‘Climb!’ he barked.

The order seemed to cut through the tension and the squires sprang to life, climbing the roost pillar in groups. Up on one of the branches, a smiling groom greeted them and motioned for them to spread out around him.

‘Welcome, Squires,’ the gnokgoblin smiled and looked them up and down. ‘For many of you, your time in the Hall of Grey Cloud will be the most rewarding part of your training. For others, the most arduous.’

The squires listened to him closely.

‘For here,’ the gnokgoblin went on, tapping the side of his head, ‘it is not enough to rely on this. You must use
this
.’ He placed his hand on his chest. ‘Your heart.’

Quint found himself nodding. To his left, Vilnix tutted impatiently.

‘Now, if you look down at the nests,’ the gnokgoblin told them, ‘you'll find your new charges waiting to greet you.’

Quint looked down at his feet. There, nestling in a cradle of compacted straw that hung down from the branch on which he stood, was a prowlgrin egg. It was soft and jelly-like. Inside it, just visible through the translucent membrane, was the blurry shape of an infant prowlgrin. The small creature let out a muffled cry and, with its tiny claws, began scratching and scraping at the egg-case from within. Quint gasped and kneeled down to take a closer look.

Along the branch, all the other squires did the same, looks of wonder and amazement on their faces as they examined the nests at their own feet – all, that is, except Vilnix, who leaned down awkwardly and regarded the hatching egg with shock and disgust. Suddenly, one by one, the egg sacs burst with a gentle popping sound and the tiny prowlgrin pups leaped free and high into the air.

‘Catch!’ came Fenviel's barked command from below.

With his heart in his mouth, Quint stuck out both arms as his pup sailed up over his head.

‘Oof!’

A moment later, he let out a sharp breath – a mixture of relief and wonder – as the prowlgrin pup landed with extraordinary poise and delicacy on an outstretched arm, and its tiny yet powerful legs gripped on tightly as if it were a branch.

‘Amazing!’ gasped Phin.

‘Incredible!’ ‘Awesome!’ the other squires, their newly-hatched charges clinging to their arms, all agreed.

‘Not so tight!’ Vilnix rasped at the glistening pup gripping his arm. ‘You filthy little beast.’

Quint stared at his own prowlgrin pup in awe. Its fur was damp and sticky and its eyes were still closed, but its balance was perfect. And as it shifted its grip with its powerful toes, it let out thin mewling cries. Quint smiled with delight and was about to tickle it under its chin when the pup's huge eyes snapped open. Instantly its gaze focused on Quint's, and the pair of them stared at one another in rapt wonder.

‘You're beautiful,’ Quint breathed, ‘aren't you, boy? Now what shall I call you?’

‘No names!’ came Fenviel's barked order from behind him.

Startled, Quint jumped, and the prowlgrin gave out a sharp yelp.

‘No, sir. Sorry, sir,’ he mumbled.

‘Right, young squires,’ said the gnokgoblin groom cheerfully. ‘Clean them up, like so …’

He grabbed a handful of straw and began rubbing the prowlgrin pup on the squire's arm next to him. Quint and the others followed suit with their own pups, and soon the branch was filled with the sound of tiny prowl-grin purrs.

‘Then give them some morsels … Just a little, mind …’ He dangled a fromp giblet above the pup, who gave a tiny leap and snatched it from his fingers. ‘Take a handful from the offal bucket,’ commanded the groom, ‘and pass it along.’

‘Good boy,’ smiled Quint as his pup gobbled down the bloody scraps. ‘Good boy!’

The prowlgrin pup licked its lips and settled down on his arm. Down the line, he could hear Vilnix complaining.

‘This is disgusting … I think I'm going to be sick.’

Fenviel fixed him with one of his terrifying stares and Vilnix quickly shut his mouth.

‘Introduce the pups to the branch!’ commanded the groom. He demonstrated by kneeling and allowing the prowlgrin on his arm to hop off, onto the roosting branch, where it settled down sleepily.

The squires all did as they were told, with Vilnix giving an audible sigh of relief as his prowlgrin let go of his arm.

‘They will need feeding every hour, day and night, for the next three weeks,’ announced the groom with a rueful smile. ‘So I suggest you snatch what sleep you can, and work together! You'll find offal buckets and arm protectors below.’

Fenviel Vendix strode across the branch and permitted himself a small smile as he began to climb down the roost pillar.

‘Good luck!’ he barked.

As the weeks passed, Quint often thought back to that first morning in the Hall of Grey Cloud. It had all seemed so chaotic then. Yet, the longer he remained there, the more he realized that beneath the apparent disorder, the prowlgrin stables were highly organized and meticulously run.

For a start, he discovered that the prowlgrins were not allowed to perch in any old place. Each one of them – old and young, large and small – was assigned a special spot on a specific roost pillar.

The half-dozen pillars to the left of the hall, for instance, were home to those prowlgrins that were kept for work purposes – riding, carrying, pulling, transporting – with the roost pillar on the extreme left reserved for the finest, strongest male beasts which had been selected for breeding. Further to the right, where he and the other squires were busy raising their pups, were the brood-prowlgrin roosts.

It was here that the pregnant females laid their eggs in nests carefully constructed from straw chewed over and over in their great mouths. Their task over, they retreated to the upper branches and sat – purring and grumbling – while their pups were fussed over and fed by Quint and his companions.

‘In the wild,’ said Tuggel, the gnokgoblin groom, ‘the young fend for themselves as soon as they hatch. But here in the hall’ - he laughed cheerfully as Vilnix scowled - ‘they've got you lovely young squires to mother them!’

The first three weeks had been the hardest, with none of the squires getting anywhere near enough sleep. Phin and Quint had shared their tasks, taking it in turns to muck out and do the feeding, and had managed well. Now their pups were half-grown, young, sleek and powerful. Quint would spend hours every day, brushing and currying the young creature until its bright orange fur gleamed like burnished copper. He filed its claws, polished its teeth, oiled its paws and rubbed herbal liniments into its joints.

‘You'll be a knight's prowlgrin one day, won't you, boy?’ Quint cooed as he combed the growing fringe of fur beneath its chin. The pup gazed back at him with its big yellow eyes, mewling and purringcontentedly.

‘The biggest, strongest and most magnificent prowlgrin of all in the knights’ roost pillar!’

Quint gazed across at the grand roost pillar situated at the centre of the Hall of Grey Cloud. It was in its thick, jutting branches that the thirteen mighty ‘stormchaser’ prowlgrins perched – each one the chosen mount of a knight academic-in-waiting. Unlike the lesser prowlgrins in the other roost pillars, these prowlgrins had names – Felvix, Borix, Demquix … They had all been trained with one aim in mind – to travel with their masters to the Twilight Woods on stormchasing quests.

Along the branch from where Phin and Quint's pups were roosting, Vilnix was doing less well. His pup was a sad, thin creature with rheumy eyes and patchy fur. Quint suspected that if it wasn't for Vilnix's neglect, the pup would have been as fit and healthy as their own. But, true to form, Vilnix was having none of it.

‘It's not my fault,’ he'd storm. ‘The stupid creature won't feed properly! Besides, how am I meant to look after it all on my own? You lot help each other … It's not fair.’

It was true, Quint realized. The other squires had teamed up and helped each other. The thing was, Vilnix was so unpleasant and rude, nobody had wanted to work with him. Now he seemed to sleep half the time and often forgot to feed the poor animal. Quint had taken pity on it and, whenever he could, would haul an extra bucket of offal up to the branch to feed Vilnix's pup.

It was on just such an occasion when it happened.

Three months had passed and Quint awoke in his dormitory sleeping closet, his back aching and his arms sore from stablework. He didn't need the dawn gong to wake him up any longer. No matter how tired he felt, just the thought of the pup waiting for him was all he needed to send him hurrying to the Hall of Grey Cloud.

But on that particular morning, the moment he had climbed the roost pillar and stepped onto the branch, he knew that something was wrong.

The prowlgrin pups were skittish and agitated, and above them the brood-prowlgrins were whinnying and snorting. Quint struggled along the branch with two laden offal buckets. The first, he hooked onto the branch at the feet of his prowlgrin pup, who bent down and guzzled greedily at the bucket's contents. He was about to hook the second offal bucket for Phin's pup when his gaze wandered along the branch.

There, slumped on its side, its breathing coming in laboured bursts, was Vilnix's pup. It looked terrible, its eyes sunk deep into its sockets and its ribs showing. Quint approached and kneeled down, and stroked the poor creature's patchy fur.