The Legend of Nightfall

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Prince Edward accepted the response. "Very good.” He reined his horse, clambering from the saddle. As he landed, his knees buckled, and he crashed to the ground.

  Obviously not used to riding for hours. His own knees aching, Nightfall sprang from his bay, turning a laugh into a cough. He ran to Edward’s side, reaching out a hand to help the prince to his feet. "Master!" Despite the humor of the situation, he managed to sound concerned. "Are you hurt?"

  “No, no. I’m fine." Edward accepted Nightfall’s support, throwing his weight onto the smaller man as he rose. An abrupt increase in mass spared Nightfall a tumble, and he eased Prince Edward and twenty pounds of mail hauberk to his feet. "I just need to walk around a bit." He paced a careful circle, Nightfall hovering over his every step.

  Prince Edward whirled. Finding himself nearly on top of Nightfall, he back-stepped. "Sudian! I said I’m fine." He winced, the abrupt movement apparently sparking pain through overtaxed muscles. "Unload the horses and see what you can make for supper. I’ll start on the camp."

  Nightfall nodded, turning to obey, though he did not understand the division. If I unload the horses and cook, what does that leave as camp for him to start on? Though accustomed to action and pushing himself to the limit, Nightfall could feel his thighs and buttocks stiffening from the ride. Movement had worked the kinks from his knees. Though he still hurt from bruises and the familiar jab of healing ribs into his lung, he knew tomorrow morning would bring an aching agony of cramped muscles. Combat training or none, Ned is going to feel even worse. He stripped off the white horse’s bridle and unlaced its pack. Hefting the bundle, he staggered under its weight, managing a single step before the pack plummeted to the ground amid a muffled clamor of clothes and armor. Anticipating Edward’s rage at the manhandling of his personal effects, Nightfall glanced toward the prince who seemed too engrossed in freeing the spade from the top of the bay mare’s load to notice his squire’s mistake.

  Step one, lighten the load. Nightfall dragged the bundle aside, pitying the horses. He’s packed for a plague-damned army.

  Having obtained his spade, Edward set to work digging.

  Nightfall continued pulling pack after monstrous pack from the backs of the chestnut and his own bay. Discovering several weeks’ worth of rations, he selected the items that would not keep for travel: fresh meat, corn, onions, squash, and peas. He also found bread and honey. Unable to resist, he smeared a slice with honey and took a bite, the sweetness enhanced by hunger. Pawing through the packs, he searched for a pot.

  Edward set the spade aside, his ditch forming a shallow arc around the horses. He wiped his brow with the back of his fist. "How’s supper coming?"

  Caught with his mouth full, Nightfall chewed and swallowed hastily. "Just getting started, Master."

  “Are you eating already‘?"

  Prince Edward’s tone suggested surprise and displeasure. Still, Nightfall could not imagine that the prince wanted him to starve. "Yes.”

  Edward clambered from the ditch. "Don’t you know it’s impolite to eat before a superior‘?"

  No. In starvation situations, the rule made sense. But we’re carrying enough to feed every hungry family in Nemix and still have leftovers for the rats. Dedicated to his act, Nightfall covered. "Master, of course. I was just testing it for you."

  "Testing it?" Edward selected an ax from the piled supplies. "What do you mean, testing it?" "Making sure the honey was good, the bread fresh enough for you. Taking the first bite in case your enemies poisoned it."

  "Poisoned?" Edward looked aghast. "Poison? But I have no enemies?

  Nightfall passed the piece of honey bread. "Those are the worst kinds of enemies. The ones you don’t know you have."

  Prince Edward stared at the bread and its semicircular defect, crenellated with Nightfall’s teeth marks. “But my father’s own men packed this food. And it’s been on our person since then."

  "The second worst kind of enemies are the ones who can poison your supplies without you knowing it."

  Edward seemed to accept that. He took a bite, chewing with relish. "Best honey I’ve ever had."

  Nightfall nodded agreement. He had never eaten better; but he suspected that, in Ned’s case, hunger had more to do with the superlative than quality. Nightfall heaped another bread slice with honey for himself.

  Holding his food in one hand, Edward hefted the ax. "You keep working on unpacking and dinner. I’ll get started on the turf blocks and wooden stakes."

  Turf blocks? Wooden stakes? Nightfall had no idea what Prince Edward was proposing. Still, he grasped his own instructions, so he did not need to question. As night came, enwrapping them in darkness, he sent the horses to graze, built a campfire, and prepared a stew. He followed Edward by the thunk of his ax into wood, the discomforting crack of a trunk’s last supports breaking, and the swish and slam of lower trees and branches snapping beneath its fall. Then Edward hacked and shaped each trunk, over time acquiring a neat pile of stakes.

  Nightfall waited until the prince headed off to acquire another tree, swiping a handful of the fashioned timbers for firewood. The prince’s stamina after a full day’s ride surprised Nightfall. While the stew thickened, and the night darkened to pitch speckled with white stars, he sorted their gear into a tiny pile of necessities and useful items, a voluminous stack of extraneous niceties that had to go, and Edward’s personal items consisting mostly of battle armor and far too many clothes. Now equipped with daggers and sword, Nightfall ditched the chair dowel he had taken in Alyndar’s castle. He tossed the flammable items from the superfluous pile onto the fire. Then, he drew two logs near the flames to serve as seats.

  Ned’s stack of sharpened poles grew.

  Finally, running out of ways to amuse himself, Nightfall plucked wooden bowls and spoons from the useful pile, repacked the items according to his new system, and ladled stew into the dishes. “Master, supper’s ready."

  Prince Edward wandered over and sat on a log. The firelight glittered from beads of perspiration on his forehead, and sweat trickled along his nose. Exertion flushed his cheeks. Branches had gouged rents in his silks where they poked from beneath the hauberk. Evergreen needles decorated his hair, and he smelled of pine tar and bark. He accepted the stew bowl eagerly. Rising, he rolled his log away from the fire’s heat.

  Maintaining consistency, Nightfall took the first spoonful. Meat more tender than any he had ever tasted slid warmly into his pinched and rumbling gut. “It seems safe," he said with all seriousness.

  Prince Edward started to say something, presumably to mention that poisons did not act that quickly. Then, apparently recalling that he had just argued against the possibility of sabotage at all and too hungry to worry about details, he ate.

  For some time, dinner took precedence over conversation. Then, contentedly full, Nightfall pushed his first bowl aside while Prince Edward was still devouring his second helping. The squire stared at rows of lumber and the partially finished ditch, watching moonlight glimmer from the spade and the axe’s blade. Unable to contain curiosity any longer, he phrased the question as respectfully as he could manage. "Master, what are we going to do with the sticks?"

  Prince Edward stared at his squire as if Nightfall had asked the stupidest question ever uttered. "Build the camp, of course."

  Nightfall glanced from the logs around the roaring campfire to the horses contentedly grazing on leaves, brown vines and new, young grass shoots, to the neatly sorted packs. It was already the largest, most comfortable camp he had ever seen. "Forgive my ignorance, Master, but why do we need carved wood to build the camp?" The question of how long it would take seemed infinitely more important, but he saw no tactful way to ask it. Besides, the answer should become obvious once he understood the prince’s intentions. If Prince Edward planned another ride like yesterday, they would need more than half a night of rest.

  Prince Edward politely swallowed his mouthful of stew before replying. "For the fences and the palisade."


  Obviously, Nightfall’s surprise showed clearly, because Edward continued explaining.

  "I learned how to build a strong, defensive camp from my lessons. I’ll teach you."

  Nightfall suppressed a groan. I don’t believe this. Prince Silk Sheets is going to teach me how to sleep outside. Then realization struck him. His lessons. His history lessons. His "how to be a war general" lessons. By the Fathers crown, he’s building a pissing fortress! The image of a towering buttress filled his mind, along with the weeks of hard labor it would cost for two men to erect it. The picture threw him over the edge. No longer able to restrain his amusement, he broke into a raging torrent of laughter.

  "What’s so funny?"

  The somberness of the prince’s tone only tripled the humor. Nightfall howled.

  “What’s so funny," Edward demanded, his voice breaking as he started to chuckle himself. Within seconds, they were both laughing hard enough to burst. Every few moments, Edward caught his breath to ask the source of the laughter again, and each time the question began a new wave of mirth.

  Finally, they both sat, gasping, beneath the moonlight. A long time had passed since Nightfall had laughed except with cruel satisfaction in the wake of an enemy’s death. Despite the pain in his lungs and exhaustion, he felt good.

  The pause gave Edward the time he needed to fully regain his composure. "Sudian, why are we laughing?"

  At you, you ridiculous simpleton. We’re laughing at you. Nightfall passed up the straight line. "Master, we’re both overtired to giddiness. As much as it pains me to leave work undone, it might be best if we both got some sleep."

  "Without defenses? And let something attack us in the night?"

  Nightfall wondered what Prince Edward would think if he knew his squire was the most horrible and dangerous thing in the forest. "Master, what good are defenses if we’re too tired to fight?"

  Edward’s eyes narrowed. All humor left him. “Sudian, are you questioning me?”

  Nightfall stared, annoyed by the malice in his prince’s tone. "Master, are you asking me if I asked you a question?”

  Now Edward seemed startled. "I’m pointing out that you’re questioning my judgment.”

  "Is that a crime in Alyndar?"

  "Yes.” Edward retrieved his bowl of stew. "Well, no, not a crime actually." He gripped the bowl, fingers white with frustration. "It’s considered rude. You’re a servant. You can’t just run around questioning nobles’ judgments? “

  "Master, I don’t understand.” Nightfall adopted a wide-eyed innocent look. "My loyalty is to your welfare. If I see you making a decision I think might hurt you, I should say nothing?"

  The prince chewed another mouthful of stew, swallowing before replying. "You have to trust that I see things you don’t."

  "Master, I trust you. I trust you more than anyone." And if you believe that, you galley-clod, you’re even stupider and more naive than I thought.

  Edward softened. "Very well, Sudian. I appreciate your loyalty. And you do look tired. Why don’t you get some sleep. I’ll take first watch."

  "Master, thank you." Nightfall managed to turn his back before the smile overtook his face. Curling on his side in the clearing, he fell asleep almost instantly.

  A movement awakened Nightfall. He opened his eyes to the darkness of wee morning and an exhausted Prince Edward headed in his direction. Beyond the campfire, the prince had gathered at pile of pine needles to serve as a bed.

  "Ah, Sudian, you’re awake. It’s your turn to take watch. Can you handle it?"

  Nightfall sat up quickly, giving an enthusiastic gesture of respect. "Master, I’m alert and ready for anything.”

  "Very good." Prince Edward sprawled across his make-shift bed, turning his back to his squire.

  In thirty-four years, nothing has ever approached with-out waking me from the soundest sleep. Nightfall lowered his head, curling back into a ball on the ground. You could have spared yourself the watch. I ’m more wary in my sleep than you are awake. He waited until Prince Edward’s gentle snores wafted across the camp, memorized the normalcy of its sound and the layout of the clearing, then swiftly returned to sleep.

  Nightfall awakened to the numbing chill of sunrise. He sat up, curling a leg to his chest, and a soreness in his inner thighs and buttocks reminded him of yesterday’s ride. The pain brought a familiar satisfaction. In his years as Etan, the laborer, stiffness at sunrise always followed a day of noteworthy accomplishment. But, this morning it only means I’ve got a fool for a master; one who doesn’t know when to ride and when to rest.

  Nightfall sighed, glancing around the camp. The fire had burned to piled charcoal splattered with a few red coals. Prince Edward lay on his back beneath a blanket, with one arm thrown across his forehead. Nightfall had often heard that people looked innocent in sleep, and he found it fascinating to think that Edward could appear more guileless than he did awake. If he became any purer, I’d have to diaper him.

  Not quite ready to rise for the day, Nightfall stared between the trees. Early sunlight reddened the gaps between branches, filling the sky with waving patches of scarlet, green, and gray. He crouched, watching the colors change as the sun inched upward. The tatters of sky between needled branches diffused to pink.

  Oddly, of all his personae, it was Nightfall, himself, who liked to watch the dawn. He recalled nights in his childhood, when his mother or her client had barred him from the room, and he had hidden from the world and its dangers between the wheat stalks of a farmer’s field. He would awaken to sunrise creeping over a billowing sea of gold, mesmerized by the rainbow parade that preceded the sun. Legends spoke of the seven sisters on horseback towing the burning chariot across the sky, chasing night’s demons over the world’s edge and back into their hell. The young Nightfall would pretend that the twilight beauty was the sisters’ gift to him; that, one day, they would carry him across the horizon to a land where bowls of food sprang from the ground, where summer stayed all year round, and where the same man slept in a woman’s bed every night. The sisters would all be his mothers, playfully arguing over which loved him more, though he loved them all the same.

  The pinkness faded, intertwined with, then replaced by, a pale, blue-white expanse, back-lit by yellow. Standing, he chuckled faintly at the reverie. Back in the days when I was as unenlightened as my master. He glanced at Prince Edward, watching the youth twist in his sleep, tangling himself into the blankets. Shaking his head at the spectacle, Nightfall amended. No. I think I was born more worldly than he is now.

  Trotting to the pile of wooden stakes, he collected a handful and tossed them on the coals. Smoke poured from beneath one of the logs, then trickled into oblivion. Leaving the coals to smolder against fresh wood, Nightfall prepared a breakfast of bread, cheese, and fruit, leaving it in place for Edward’s awakening. Then, quietly sating his hunger on a slice of bread and a handful of winter berries, he finished preparing the packs for travel.

  The horses stood in a row, alternating head to tail, swatting flies on one another’s faces. Still disliking the beacon whiteness of Ned’s gelding, Nightfall considered driving it away. But that would mean piling its share of the load onto the other two, already overburdened, horses. He combed the tangles from his red-brown hair, then set to grooming the mounts.

  By the time Prince Edward awakened, all trace of dawn had left the sky. The fire flickered, orange and gold, over logs no longer recognizable as stakes. Nightfall had washed and shaven, the latter action taking the place of the ritual disguising that had grown so familiar over the years. He appreciated the time saved, though his face felt cold and his identity nakedly vulnerable. Despite years of perfecting his agility and sense of touch, he had only shaved a few times and appreciated the hand mirror he had taken from the palace. For clothing, the king had granted him only tunics, tabards, and breeks in Alyndar’s colors, apparently to remind him of his duty to Edward. As if this ceaseless grind of magic would let me forget.

  Edward disentangled himself
from the blankets. "Good morning, Sudian.” He sat up, his silks twisted, his yellow hair hanging limply into his eyes, and a pine cone stuck into the locks above one ear.

  Fighting laughter, Nightfall paused longer than decorum demanded. "Good morning, Master." He passed the brush and mirror. Surely, Edward carried toiletries of his own; as heavy as the prince’s pack had seemed, Nightfall wondered if he had dragged along an entire vanity table. Still, the squire knew his manners would lose to humor if the pine cone remained in place too long. "I’ve got breakfast ready. And the horses. When you’re ready to leave, I’ll tie up the gear."

  "Very good." Prince Edward accepted the objects, flipping errant strands back into place. The pine cone tumbled from its perch. Its touch made the prince jerk away with a suddenness that changed his expression from pleased to pained.

  Just noticed the riding soreness, Nightfall guessed. He moved to the fireside, stirring a green twig through the embers, watching the prince from the corner of his eyes for no better reason than amusement.

  In obvious discomfort, Edward lurched to his feet. Yet, though he moved with a painful slowness, he still managed to change into a fresh set of linens, replace his hauberk, and cover it with a woolen cloak without a single moan or complaint. Then, he wandered off toward the stream to wash.

  Nightfall folded the blanket, replacing it with Edward’s effects. He seized on the prince’s absence to examine his personal gear. Plates of armor sandwiched a collection of folded clothing and spare boots. A book lay protectively wrapped in a pair of linen britches. A sack held a matching brush and comb encrusted with tiny pearls, a vial of perfume, leather soap, and sword oil. A waterskin sloshed, smelling of an exotic wine unfamiliar to Nightfall. A tooled leather, drawstring purse held twenty or thirty silver coins, five years’ wages to a laborer.

  Nightfall closed the pack, securing everything except the pouch of silver which he left for Edward to carry on his person. Again, he sat by the fire just as the prince returned, clean and wet from the stream, his own morning ritual completed.