The Legend of Nightfall

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Nightfall dismounted, attaching both horses to the others. If any of the animals tried to escape now, it would have to drag all of the others, some backward or sideways. The dark brown tossed its head, unsettled by the closeness of strangers. Gradually, hunger took over, and all four settled into a grazing pattern. Nightfall assisted the farmer with gathering melons, silently counting as each piece of fruit found its place on the cart. Prince Edward finished his task, then perched upon one of the drawing tongues while the others finished their work. As the last of the undamaged winter melons fell into place, Nightfall tallied forty-eight. The farmer picked up one of the broken melons that had fallen with its open side up. He pulled off a chunk for himself and handed the remainder to Nightfall. "How can I possibly thank you?"

  "No need." Prince Edward separated his horse from the others. He left the bay and chestnut together and held out the cart horse’s reins for Nightfall to take. "I’m glad we could help."

  Nightfall set aside the melon, accepted the reins of cart horse and gelding, and steadied the white while Edward mounted. Once the prince found his place in the saddle, Nightfall walked the cart horse to its owner. He lowered his voice so Edward could not hear. "Are you taking these to market today?” He indicated the melons.

  The farmer shook his head. "By the time I get there, it won’t be worth the unpacking time. There’s a little inn on the edge of town. It’s not well-known, so it’s a lot homier than the Thirsty Dolphin that most folks go to. I’ll stay there and recommend you do, too. It’s cheaper, quieter. Food’s better, and they’re real good at taking care of people’s things." He bit melon from rind.

  Nightfall nodded absently, well-familiar with both of the mentioned inns, as well as a third on the farther side of town near the smaller market he needed to avoid. "Any chance you’ll take the road past the Dolphin on the way to market tomorrow?"

  The farmer chewed and swallowed. "Could arrange it. Why?”

  Nightfall avoided glancing toward Prince Edward, concerned the prince might gesture him away before he finished. "My master and I would consider ourselves repaid if you pretended you never met us before."

  "That’s it?" The farmer studied him curiously, clearly hoping for an explanation, though he probably guessed he would not receive it.

  "That’s it." Nightfall confirmed, mind clicking through the possibilities. When odd jobs had proven scarce, Dyfrin had earned his sustenance by entertaining with sleights of hand, bets, or minor scams that preyed always upon the greedy. From his fatherly friend, Nightfall had learned to cultivate opportunities where he found them. The more frequently the same con got used, the more likely the victim would recognize it, and Dyfrin had a way of turning every situation into a creative boon. Unfortunately, he also had a soft spot for those in need that Nightfall had never understood. Well-liked for his generosity, Dyfrin could have lived as a secure member of almost any city had he not so often become the quarry of those who took without appreciation or repayment. It had long occurred to Nightfall that he had proven one of Dyfrin’s latter projects, a child in need who had given little back, in verbal gratitude or wealth. Familiar guilt twinged through him at the thought, and he discovered a longing to see his old friend. The last he knew, Dyfrin had returned to their birth city, Keevain. The oath-bond would keep Nightfall from identifying himself, but he could still thank his partner anonymously. He owed the man that much and more.

  "I’ll head for market first thing sunup." The farmer smiled, adding facetiously, "stranger." He took several more bites of winter melon, tossed the rind, and headed for his cart.

  Nightfall picked up the broken melon the farmer had given him. He snapped off chunks, handing the best two to Prince Edward. Keeping two for himself, he mounted one-handed. They headed toward Trillium, Edward chatting about the farmer, Nightfall forcing himself to think like Dyfrin. He needed to earn his fortune quickly, before the prince explored too far. And, for all the times Nightfall had cursed Dyfrin’s impetuous and obsessive eye for nicety and detail, he wished he possessed it. No one could pick a victim or a friend like Dyfrin.

  The road widened as Trillium came into sight, a massive cramping of buildings that stretched as far as Nightfall’s vision. Tents crowded the border, belonging to those who could not afford an inn room; and Nightfall knew that night would find many more sleeping on the unprotected ground. Five roads came together at the eastern edge of town, from the southern cities, from Keevain, Shisen and Tylantis, from Ivral and Grifnal, from the north, and from the city itself. Wagons jounced over well-worn pathways, most carrying early spring or perennial crops from local farmers. Merchants from the southern cities brought citrus fruits and hardier vegetables. From the Yortenese Peninsula came meat and fur, and the central countries imported milk, cheese, and woven cloth.

  Nightfall knew the slave countries would import to the western side of town, bringing Hartrinian herbs, spices, and crafts in addition to their living wares. The sellers of mood-altering drugs and sexual perversion mostly based themselves directly out of Trillium, though a few sneaked their wares from other places beneath the guise of more legitimate goods. Cure-alls and beautifiers found a brisk market in Trillium as well. Desperation or impatience would lead the sickest and vainest to trust the miracle medicines of swindlers over the slower practicalities of Healers. Most of the panacea salesmen whom Nightfall knew made random, harmless concoctions, occasionally mixing in alcohol or hazing herbs for effect. He still remembered the justification one man had given Dyfrin: "That rash’ll go away anyway. By the Father, why shouldn’t my treatment take the credit?"

  Despite the heavy penalties for illegality, the poison trade flourished in the black market; and Nightfall knew all the best places to purchase knives with reservoirs, arrows with painful barbs that did not pull free, and belts and boots with compartments or sheaths for blades. All trades thrived here, and visitors caught up in the glitter and searching for instant wealth fell easy victim to sucker bets and schemers. So long as he kept his tricks reasonably honest, Nightfall suspected he could win or lose big. But three hundred silvers? He shook his head at the enormity of the sum.

  The rattle and bounce of the wagons they passed, as well as the shouted greetings between friends meeting at the town edge, sent the white gelding skittering so often its excitement merged into a constant dance. Prince Edward dismounted, which seemed just as well. If he got thrown in the cart traffic, he might suffer injury much more serious than a simple fall. "Sudian, we’ll have to build camp here."

  Nightfall sprang from his bay, suspecting that towering over his master looked disrespectful. His mood sank at the prince’s words. No place would serve as a better central point than the Thirsty Dolphin when it came to finding bets and challenges as well as information. The word "build" applied to camp only worsened the situation. He pictured moats, palisades and wooden stake defenses hovering amidst the simple tents and bed rolls, and the image might have seemed humorous had the realization of a night of painstaking labor not accompanied it. "Master, there’s a wonderful inn in town."

  “Sudian." Prince Edward glared at his squire. "I didn’t ask for a travelogue, I said we set camp here." A cart jostled by, metal chains in the bed clanking. The gelding lurched, all but tearing free of Edward’s grip.

  Nightfall guessed at the reason for Edward’s insistence, and the prince’s pride annoyed as much as it impressed him. "Master, I apologize deeply for my boldness, but I am aware that we’re short of money.”

  Edward’s glower deepened enough to almost make the young, friendly innocent look angered. How much of it was inspired by the horse and how much by his squire did not matter. The risk of his master’s disapproval and a tongue-lashing seemed little price to pay for a chance to spend his nights in an inn. And Nightfall already trusted the prince not to harm him physically, at least not without cause far more significant than this.

  “I’ve been meaning to return this to you, Master." Nightfall pulled one of the silvers from his pocket. "You gave it
to me in Nernix to buy the spade I never found." He met Edward’s displeasure with an expression of hopeful trust. "Master, I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping on hard ground with beds so near. At least you go to the inn. I’ll spare our money by staying here."

  The sacrifice, though insincere, softened Prince Edward at once. He accepted the coin, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. "Of course I’ll stay at the inn and you’ll stay by my side. This should buy us a week’s lodging for both or a half week with three meals included."

  Nightfall hesitated, uncertain how far necessity demanded he carry his shallow humility.

  The prince saved Nightfall the need. "If I go alone, who’ll taste my food for poison?" He grinned, clearly joking. Nightfall smiled back, pleased to discover the solemn visionary had a sense of humor. He did not know whether to feel glad or endangered that ignorance and lack of experience counted more for the prince’s foolishness than the inherent stupidity he had credited. Eventually, he believed, Edward could learn sarcasm. Then, watch out King Rikard and Alyndar. The idea of even this cunning vengeance seemed sweet, but Nightfall found the thought of educating Prince Edward intriguing as well. Time was telling that, once he gained some insight and abandoned the arbitrary traditions hammered into royalty from birth, Edward might prove a competent leader after all.

  "Let’s go." Prince Edward gave an abrupt jerk on the gelding’s lead rope that brooked no nonsense. The animal followed docilely, though its ears remained pricked like sentinels and it rolled its eyes to the whites. Nightfall handled chestnut and bay together, both alert but compliant. He took the lead as swiftly as propriety allowed, choosing a route to the Thirsty Dolphin that would not reveal the nearer and cheaper inn the farmer had mentioned. He kept to the main streets, dodging foot, cart, and horseback traffic, focusing on detail and letting his natural wariness absorb the familiar background bustle of Trillium. Edward trailed without question or complaint, his eyes flickering from sight to sight.

  Upon arrival at the stone and mortar inn, Prince Edward headed inside to tend to the room and payment while Nightfall took care of animals and packs. Juggling three horses became a nuisance even for Nightfall. Every slight movement of one caused an excessive opposite reaction of the others, and their pulls unbalanced him twice before he mentally doubled his weight to anchor. At the stable door, he took all three ropes into one hand. Precariously balanced, he raised a fist to knock.

  Without warning, the wooden door whipped open from the inside with swift, unnecessary force. A heavy-set, bearded Mitanoan in merchant silks huffed through the entrance, apparently oblivious to squire and horses standing directly in his path. He bashed into Nightfall, the sudden obstacle and all its extra mass staggering him. The gelding reared, ripped free, and charged for the barn entrance, churning road dirt over both men.

  The merchant roared at the insult.

  Nightfall dropped his weight to normal. "I’m so sorry, sir." You big, clumsy ass. "I didn’t see you."

  "Didn’t see me?" The merchant rose, and Nightfall read violence in his stance and expression. "Didn’t see me?"

  Anticipating a warning slap, Nightfall did not dodge. Better to let the man defuse his anger with a simple act of brutality than enrage him further. The Mitanoan’s fist crashed against Nightfall’s cheek hard enough to send him sprawling. "Stupid, snotty slave.” A boot toe slammed into Nightfall’s ribs. A second kick rushed for his gut. Nightfall twisted from its path, then curled back to catch the leg. Instinct took over. He wrenched at the captured limb, yanking the man to the ground. An instant later, Nightfall had a knife blade at the other’s windpipe. The control he had harnessed through years of playing various commoners was all that rescued the merchant from death.

  Outrage formed a tense mask on the man’s face. "The penalty for murder is stiff. You’ll die in slow agony."

  "Probably," Nightfall returned, not bothering to inform the merchant that, had Nightfall wanted to kill him, he would already be dead. "But think where you’ll be." Unobtrusively, he slipped the merchant’s purse from its pocket and into his own.

  A trickle of fear in the merchant’s eyes betrayed some false bluster.

  Nightfall sheathed the knife and rose. Bared steel would attract attention he did not need or want, and it would make him seem the aggressor. The white gelding stood just inside the barn, under the control of a stable boy who feigned disinterest in the proceedings outside. The bay and the chestnut dropped their heads to search for strands of grass between roadside and dwellings.

  The man scurried beyond reach, but he did not let the matter drop. "You’ll be beaten soundly for this, maybe killed. I’ll see to that. Who’s your master, slave?"

  Through the open doorway, Nightfall saw the stable boy curl his fists impotently. He had gained an ally more, he guessed, from a common enemy than any bond of friendship. “First, sir . . ." He gave the title the same disdainful pronunciation as the man had given slave, ". . . do you see a collar here?" He flicked his fingers across his own neck in an unmistakable throat-slitting gesture. There is no slavery in the north. It’d do you well to remember that. Second, my master is Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar. Call me slave to him, and you might face worse than what you got." He flashed a toothy smile. “He’s bigger. Third, sir you can tell him what you wish, but the bruise on my face will prove far more telling than the one to your damned pride." He snatched up the bay’s lead rope, then the chestnut’s, and headed for the stable.

  The merchant stammered, but he did not try to interfere physically again. He stormed toward the Thirsty Dolphin.

  By the time Nightfall hauled his charges inside, the stable boy had already stripped the tack from the errant gelding and shut the horse into a stall. Taking the bay’s lead rope, the youngster hauled off saddle and bridle, then led it to the next stall. He gestured for Nightfall to place the chestnut in the one beyond it. After adding pack, saddle, and leading halter to the pile, Nightfall did so. Only then, he examined his helpmate. He looked to be twelve or thirteen, reasonably well-proportioned and sized for his age. Black hair hung in a straight curtain down his neck, and uncombed bangs fell into his eyes. Beneath the left cheek, an angry area of redness and swelling indicated that he had taken a recent blow.

  Nightfall guessed its source at once. "Did he hit you, too?"

  The boy turned away, tugging open a small door built into the white’s stall. He nodded, without meeting Nightfall’s gaze. "Some of the ones from west is like that. They think ’cause slavery’s legal here they can treat everyone what works for board instead of money like they’s owned." He hefted Edward’s saddle, dragging it to the compartment. He lugged it inside, then closed and locked the door. Finally, he met Nightfall’s gaze with pale green eyes. "Thanks." He explained. "For what you done out there." He waved toward where the confrontation had occurred. "I know you didn’t do it for me, but it sure guv me some joy."

  Nightfall moved the other two saddles near their respective stalls.

  “You don’t gotta help, sir. Your horse’ll get special treatment just for what you done already."

  "I insist." Nightfall paused, one hand on the compartment built into the bay’s stall. The work seemed simple enough and the time away from Edward a pleasure. It gave him something to do while his anger faded. Besides, he was beginning to understand Dyfrin’s obsessive insistence on helping others and the favors that attitude garnered in return. Many treated stable boys as nonexistent, though they saw and heard much of significance. At the least, it would ascertain good care for the horses and assistance should a fast escape become necessary. Placing a hand in his pocket, he counted the merchant’s coins through the fabric of his purse. Money and its relative value remained consistent throughout the kingdoms. Only the pictures inscribed on the surfaces varied. He identified two silvers and seven coppers. “Here." At first, Nightfall thought to hand over the coppers, but he would need smaller change to get the betting started. Instead, he offered a silver.

  The boy stared at th
e coin, wide-eyed. Then, apparently concerned Nightfall might take it back, he snatched it from the squire’s fingers. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

  Hardly pays for the dignity the bastard stole from either of us, but it’ll have to do. Nightfall responded to the gratitude with a nod and helped the boy stow saddles and bridles. "My name’s Sudian. Right now, the title ‘sir’ doesn’t seem like much of a compliment.”

  “Mine’s Benner Morik. Let me know what I can do for you and your master." He rummaged beneath a pile of rags and pulled out a handful of leafy, translucent stems. Taking one, he crushed it, rubbing the pulp onto the bay’s neck.

  Nightfall recognized the boy’s surname. It tied him into a network of cousins splashed through the town as menial laborers, tavern waitresses and merchant’s helpers. The boy’s abstraction interested him more. "What are you doing?"

  The boy beamed, clearly glad to finally earn the favor Nightfall had shown him. "This is for special customers only. Keeps flies away."

  “Really?" Nightfall had never heard of such a thing before. He reached out for a stem, and Benner obliged him. It felt tough and stringy, though the stem held plenty of juice. He sniffed at it. It had no odor. “How’s it work?"

  "Don’t know," the boy admitted. "But it works real good.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Thought about rubbing rotten melons all over that sir’s horse to bring flies, ’ceptin’ it’d be cruel to torture the animal for its owner’s nastiness."

  Nightfall agreed, though he gave the conversation only half his attention. "Its lot’s probably bad enough? He glanced at the stem in his hand. "Do you mind if I keep this?"

  "Go ’head. Just don’t go showin’ it to ever’one, if you don’t mind. Otherwise, I’s gonna be spending ever’ moment of my life rubbin’ horses, and l ain’t gonna get nothin’ else done."

  "Our secret," Nightfall consented happily. The fewer people who knew about the fly repellent, the more useful it became to him. He lifted the packs.