The Legend of Nightfall

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Though a meaningless gesture, Nightfall followed the movement with his gaze. Since he had already agreed to pay for the round, Johastus’ money would, essentially, go into his own pocket. However, no good pigeon would ever point out such an advantage. "How could l refuse?" Nightfall fished in his pocket for a copper coin. By the time he pulled it free, Rivehn had arrived at the table.

  The slender swindler chose the seat directly opposite Nightfall, thrusting the chair backward between his legs and draping his arms, with cool indifference, over its back. "Couldn’t help overhearing. Can I get in?"

  The barmaid set three mugs of beer on the table then hurried off to serve the others.

  Nightfall glanced to Johastus, who shrugged. “Why not? Every stranger who joins the game makes my chances of paying less."

  In response to the statement, Nightfall nodded, noting how Johastus had taken the need to fake unfamiliarity with his partner to a transparent extreme. Stranger, indeed.

  Rivehn freed a coin of his own. "Why don’t we play it odd side pays? We all toss and catch, call out what we got, and the one that don’t match takes the tab."

  Nightfall pretended to consider, as if he had never heard of such a game. Outside of a barroom, he had not. "All right." He worked his coin between his first two fingers and thumb.

  Rivehn and Johastus also positioned. The skinny man counted. "One, two, three-toss!"

  The three men flipped up their coins together, caught them, and glanced into their own hands.

  "King’s head," Johastus announced.

  Nightfall also had Idinbal showing, but he knew their scam would work more quickly and efficiently if he gave the opposite response. "I have the reverse."

  "Reverse," Rivehn echoed.

  "Damn." Johastus thrust a fist into his pocket and headed toward the bar to pay the tab.

  Rivehn seized the moment. "Listen, the big fellow," he inclined his head toward Johastus, "he’s a merchant with more money than sense. I think we can relieve him of some of his . . . um . . . burden. You in?"

  "In?” Nightfall repeated, feigning ignorance of the street slang.

  "There’s a fortune in it if we work together." Rivehn kept his attention riveted on his companion at the bar, as if fearing he might return too soon.

  "A fortune?”

  "A fortune," Rivehn repeated. He tore his gaze away with apparent effort. "You in?"

  "In. I guess so. What do I have to do?”

  "Whatever side of the coin comes up for me, you say the opposite. I’ll do the same. I’ll collect the money. When it’s over, we meet at the main market gates and split the take."

  Nightfall geared his responses to other suckers he had seen caught up in this scam. He took note of the fact that the location Rivehn chose to meet him was on the opposite side of the city from the money-sharing place he usually went to reunite with Johastus. That seemed to confirm his suspicion that they still used the same site, though he could always follow to make certain. "What money?"

  Rivehn waved him silent. “Just follow my lead." He raised his voice to the normal conversational level as Johastus returned. ". . . always tastes sweeter when someone else buys it." He took a long gulp from the mug.

  Nightfall cradled his own drink.

  Johastus made a disgruntled noise, though in a good-natured fashion. He flung himself back into his seat and sipped at his beer.

  Rivehn laughed. "So long as we got something going here, why not try to win your money back?"

  Johastus lowered his mug, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his hand. "Depends. What are you suggesting?"

  Rivehn glanced casually at Nightfall. “We toss coins. This time, odd side wins, and we’ll play for the three tossed coins."

  Nightfall shrugged, followed by a nod to indicate that, although he found it an unusual gamble, he would play.

  "I’ve obviously got some talent for being the odd side." Johastus smiled. "Let’s bet."

  And they did. With Rivehn and Nightfall always claiming opposite tosses, Johastus could not help but match one of them every time. Occasionally, Rivehn allowed Johastus a win or a draw; but, as night faded into pre-dawn, the money had landed in three unequal piles. The smallest lay before Johastus, the largest at Rivehn’s hand.

  Nightfall kept count of the coins, especially as the stakes turned from copper to silver. He estimated a one hundred thirty-five silver total when Johastus finally hurled his "last" coin to Rivehn. "Obviously, I should have said my prayers this morning. I’m out of some god’s favor." He rose, snatched a fur wrap from a hook near the door, scooped up his meager pile, and headed out into the night without bothering with parting amenities.

  Rivehn kept his expression blank, giving Nightfall a conspiratorial wink. He gathered his own winnings into a bag, then unobtrusively started on Nightfall’s stack.

  "Hey," Nightfall whispered, reaching to protect his money.

  Rivehn shook his head stiffly, the gesture scarcely noticeable. "I need it all to split even. Remember where we meet. We’ll both take a long, slow route so no one follows." With a single gesture, he swept the last of the coins into the bag. "You can leave first and wait for me. It’ll seem suspicious if we go at the same time."

  The swindler counted on Nightfall’s greed and fear of the law proving stronger than his doubts about Rivehn’s honesty. To create a scene here would surely reveal the scam to all present and earn hostility from every man who had lost a copper to Nightfall since his arrival in Trillium. Nightfall could not quell all of his concerns, however. The scheme had all the classic features needed for success: simplicity, duplicity, and a sharing of blame such that he could not report the crime to authorities without admitting his own guilt. Soon, Rivehn and Johastus would gather to split their take from him, little knowing their pigeon had plans to rob them of their cash and his own. He would have to trail Rivehn to make certain the swindlers’ dividing site had not changed. Now that Rivehn had nearly all of his money, he could not afford to make a mistake.

  Nightfall headed out the door, trying to appear a bit too casual, for Rivehn’s benefit. Once outside, he sauntered into a nearby throughway then around to the back, where the exit from the inn rooms opened onto a cobbled road. Once there and alone, he scuttled toward an alley that would give him a reasonable view of both doors. He had taken only a few steps when the front panel swung open. Mally, the slave girl, scampered out. She froze for a moment in the doorway, moonlight plastering her shadow against the Thirsty Dolphin and fusing it with so many others.

  Nightfall watched her, curious.

  Mally glanced about furtively, pulling her thin, tattered dress close against the wind. "Sudian?” she called.

  Nightfall cursed silently.

  “Sudian, please. I need to talk. Please. I know you’re not far." She spun with the strange combination of grace and awkwardness that reminded him of Kelryn after too many shows and practices. Irritated by his new train of thought, he put it from his mind. Mally headed into the same throughway he had taken. "Sudian!” she shouted. "Sudian!"

  Nightfall weighed the benefits of his hiding place against the risk of her alerting guards, Rivehn, Johastus, and Prince Edward. He reversed direction, headed past the back exit, and caught her arm just in front of the rear doorway.

  Mally spun with a gasp. Up close, he could see that one eye had swollen shut and bruises marked her cheek and jaw in a line. Dried blood caked her nostrils. As she recognized him, relief softened her battered features. She hurled herself into his arms. "Oh, Sudian. Sudian, please. You have to get your master to buy me. You have to. Please."

  Nightfall felt dampness through his tunic and hoped it came from tears, not blood. “Look, Mally. I’ll talk to you later. As long as you want. I have to do something important now.”

  Mally’s grip tightened. Apparently, she had watched him from the back of the tavern for some time, waiting for her chance to catch him alone. Now that she had him, she would not let go so easily. "Please, Sudian. You’re my only
hope. You have to help."

  “Later, Mally.” Nightfall broke free of her grasp.

  "No!" She seized his legs, twining herself around him. "Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me." She sobbed, irrational with pain and fear. One of her hands glided up to stroke his thigh.

  Revolted as well as driven by urgency, Nightfall could not have responded to her caresses if he had wanted to do so. "Mally, let go. I’ll do what you asked. But if you don’t let go, my master won’t even have enough money to buy breakfast."

  The back exit slammed open, and Amadan stood framed in the archway. Face buried against Nightfall’s leg, Mally took no notice. Nightfall went still, realizing he had no words to explain the situation in which he found himself, even should Amadan give him the opportunity. The merchant shuffled toward them, eyes narrowed, mouth locked in a grim line.

  Nightfall had found himself in difficult situations before, but this was not a familiar one. As the demon, he would have ditched the slave in any way possible, even if it meant dumping her corpse to the cobbles. He would have run, a shadow quicker and more streetwise than any highborn man. Now, he froze, knowing whatever he did or said would reflect on the prince he had enslaved his soul to protect. No matter where or how fast he escaped, Amadan would know precisely where to find him. He doubted politeness would gain him much, but surely far more than insolent silence. And he needed Mally to realize the danger as well if he ever hoped to regain his freedom of movement. "Good eve, lord." He gave the most respectful bow possible with a woman latched onto his legs.

  Mally looked up, and her face went bloodless. Even the bruises seemed to lose all color. Sobbing, she crawled back toward her master across cobbles that had to hammer and tear her knees. She groveled at Amadan’s feet, and he ignored her, his attention fully on Nightfall.

  "What were you doing with my slave?”

  Nightfall considered the answer long and hard, finding no response that would not sound snide. Edward’s endless lessons on etiquette had taught him that silence would not meet the merchant’s approval either, so Nightfall chose humility rather than a direct answer. He lowered his head. "My deepest apologies, lord. I meant no harm." He rolled his eyes in time to see Amadan’s hand speeding toward him.

  The idea of allowing the merchant to hit him again rankled, but Nightfall knew etiquette demanded it. He could weather a slap if it ended the conflict quickly. As an added bonus, it might win Edward’s approval for himself and trouble for Amadan.

  Nightfall tilted his head to spare his face. The warning glint of metal in Amadan’s hand came too late. The merchant’s fingers slammed against the side of Nightfall’s head, weighted by solid steel. The hilt of a dagger, Nightfall guessed, before light exploded in his head. He never felt the fall, only found himself sprawled and dizzy on the cobbles, Mally’s scream ringing through his ears. He caught a spinning glimpse of Rivehn leaving the tavern, and need forced him to bull through the vertigo. He managed to stagger to his feet.

  Amadan’s kick cut Mally’s scream short, and the woman tumbled, whimpering, to the ground. The cruelty charged Nightfall to hatred. He would never take another blow from Amadan, and neither would any other. Though weak on his feet, he charged.

  Suddenly menaced, Amadan flung the dagger at Nightfall.

  The response came as little more than instinct. From the ease of long practice, Nightfall snatched the hilt from the air and rebounded it with deadly accuracy. The blade found its mark in the merchant’s throat, and combined momentum buried it deep. He collapsed, gurgling, unable to scream. His eyes remained widened, even in death.

  The back door opened.

  Nightfall faded into the shadows, prepared to kill or escape as it became necessary.

  Amadan’s other two slaves came partway through and stopped, gaping. Rooted in place, they kept the door wedged with their bodies.

  Nightfall knew Mally’s scream might soon bring more, and none of them could afford witnesses. "Move! Quickly. No one needs to know more than that he and you left before sunup." Nightfall directed, a bodiless voice from the darkness. He doubted slaves gathering their master’s possessions, no matter how hurriedly, would attract suspicion. Any who knew their master would see nothing amiss in the nervousness of these slaves at any time. Without another word, he scrambled after Rivehn, doubting he could find the swindler in the twisting maze of Trillium’s streets. He would have to hope Rivehn and Johastus had not changed their haunts. And that Amadan’s property would cling to their new freedom.

  Chapter 12

  Wolves and bats and beasts of night,

  Spirits black that flee the light,

  Cringed in fear when he arose-

  Darkness comes where Nightfall goes.

  —"The Legend of Nightfall"

  Nursery rhyme, st. 12

  Once located, laughing in their den, Rivehn and Johastus lost their easy fortune to Nightfall’s silent talent. Nightfall crept away unseen, richer by not only his own money but theirs as well; and his theft did not disrupt their mirth nor their mocking comments about his naiveté. Nightfall did not dally, gloat, or allow greed to drive him to foolishness. He simply took the two purses, equally full of the money they had won from him and one another in play, and headed surreptitiously back toward the Thirsty Dolphin.

  Sunrise lit the sky a dull orange and pewter, and a steady glow suffused Trillium’s many roadways. The oath-bond buzzed a steady, dizzying cadence, a warning either that Nightfall had slipped too close to forbidden persona or that he had left Edward alone too long. In defense, Nightfall funneled his mind and goal fully on returning to the inn, an action that should appease the magic whatever its particular source. Shadows and alleys kept him well-hidden from the few folk about at first light. He found them simple to avoid. Most concentrated on tasks they needed to complete before the city came fully to life: loading carts for market, organizing shops for business, or hauling buckets of water for morning rituals or cooking.

  By the time Nightfall arrived back at the stone and mortar building that served as Trillium’s rowdiest inn and tavern, he discovered a common room filled with travelers eating breakfast, including Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar who chatted with a small group of Trillians as he ate. The oath-bond abated enough to allow Nightfall other thought. Concern came first, that Edward would become too intrusive about his activities or punish him for not attending every need prior to his awakening. Nightfall knew he deserved the tongue-lashing, but he worried that another long, droning lesson might lull him to sleep, that lapse earning him two others. By its weight and his direct knowledge of the scam, he estimated that he now carried approximately two hundred silver. It seemed an unbelievable fortune, one he could not have attained on his own, at least not without falling fully into the demon guise. Still, he doubted Finndmer would accept the lesser amount as payment for the land as much as he felt certain Edward would not allow him another night of gambling. Somehow, he would need to make up the difference.

  Nightfall headed directly for Prince Edward’s table, trying to look suitably agitated and repentant. He made a show of directing his attention fully on his master, though he studied the others from the corner of his eye. He knew the best dressed of the men at a glance, a horse trader by the name of Gerbrant. Though aggressive when it came to sales, the merchant had always seemed reasonably honest. He enjoyed taking chances as much as any man, though I Nightfall had never known him to rig the odds or cheat a customer he liked. He did, however, tend to overlook the flaws in his own animals. The other two worked for him, and both had placed a few small bets the previous night in the tavern.

  Nightfall bowed, head low, looking appropriately humble. "Master, I’m sorry. I went out to . . . well, to . . . relieve myself. And I got to looking around and took a walk and lost track of time . . ."

  Edward waved his squire silent, then gestured at the only empty chair at the table. "No harm done, Sudian. Sit." Nightfall obeyed, still keeping his head down and attentive only to his master. A plate of fr
ied eggs and bread lay in front of the prince, steam carrying its fragrance to Nightfall’s nose. Though hungry, he did not know whether his stomach could stand food after a night of excitement and beer, though he had practiced caution and moderation. The implications of the evening maddened him. If anyone with authority connected him with Amadan’s death, they would undoubtedly hang him. Should Rivehn and Johastus have underground connections, Nightfall would again find himself endangered by the myriad connections that had once served as the closest things to friends. Even should he survive the oath-bond, his new freedom might buy him a life worse than the one he had had: a lowbom hunted by authorities and criminals alike. But this time, he could not hide behind disguises and aliases, his true appearance no longer a haven.

  Edward signaled one of the barmaids to bring Nightfall breakfast. "This is my squire, Sudian."

  Gerbrant acknowledged Nightfall with a preoccupied nod. His companions smiled, and one spoke before his employer. "I know Sudian well. And so does my copper." They both laughed.

  Nightfall glanced up, keeping his grin sheepish and avoiding Edward’s eyes. He hardly thought sharing a round of beer translated to "knowing well," but it fit the gibe.

  "Are you going to drop some money on the race?" the other asked. “You were quick enough for everything else."

  Nightfall crinkled his brow, confused by the question. "Race?"

  The prince looked from workers to squire, still obviously uncertain about their connection. He explained. “Gerbrant, has a fast horse. A longtime competitor challenged him to a race, and it’s happening this afternoon."

  The first worker spoke again. “Other fellow’s so underconfident, he beat up our jockey." He laughed inappropriately, adding quickly, "Didn’t work, though. Samma’s small, but he punches all right for a little one."

  "Got away with a few scrapes and bruises," the other finished. "We’ve kept him locked up safe since then. Got guards on Dash-that’s the horse-too."