The Legend of Nightfall

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Kelryn stiffened, swiveling to look. At the sight of Nightfall, she breathed a relieved sigh. "Oh, no. That’s the prince’s squire. The sorcerer is gone, I hope." Her own assessment helped compose her. She donned her dress methodically. Limping to the desk, she studied the chaos of glass on its surface, then leaned against it without daring to sit.

  The guard sheathed his weapon, looking nonplussed. Apparently, it bothered him that so much damage could occur before he responded to screaming. "Oh. Well. We’ll search around outside. See if we can find him. What’d he look like?"

  Kelryn gave a passable description; and, having seen the man twice now, Edward filled in the details. The guard exited, leaving Kelryn, Edward, and Nightfall alone.

  Nightfall shook out his cloak, and a shower of glass fragments tumbled to the floor to join the others. He brushed more from his hair with flicks of his hand.

  "There’s a broom in the closet,"’ Kelryn said. "Let me get it."

  “No." Edward went to Kelryn’s side. "You’re wounded. Sudian can take care of sweeping.” He glanced at Nightfall to indicate that, although he had spoken casually, he meant the words as a direct order. Leaving his squire to tend to the glass, Edward hefted Kelryn, laying her gently on the bed. "Where does it hurt?"

  Kelryn gathered the fabric of her dress to reveal her right thigh. The sight of the silk sliding along the fair skin gave Edward a pleasure that instantly channeled to guilt. He felt immoral enjoying the beauty of one in pain, especially when that injury came about because of an attack by his enemy. Soon, the dress lifted enough to reveal a blood-smeared, jagged gash in Kelryn’s flesh, surely caused by the destruction of the decanter by magic. Edward used a handkerchief to clean and tend the wound.

  Nightfall busied himself sweeping up every crumb and flake, pausing only to retrieve his thrown dagger.

  "I guess I won’t be dancing for a bit." Kelryn mused as Edward worked. "Did you know that man?"

  "I’m afraid I did," Edward replied honestly as he probed the injury for remaining pieces of glass. He did not miss his squire’s sudden, warning glance. As promised, he would not reveal Nightfall’s natal talent. "You’re right about him being a sorcerer, and he wants to kill us for some reason. I’m sorry I got you involved."

  "I’m involved?" All of Kelryn’s rabid terror returned in an instant. She curled into herself, eyes suddenly moist again.

  Edward blamed his ministrations for her discomfort and suffered as much for inflicting it. “I’m afraid we can’t chance that you are." He met Kelryn’s hazel eyes, deep and dark in the half-light. "I want you to stay with us. We can protect you until we’ve got him safely in the hands of guardsmen."

  Kelryn glanced at Nightfall, and a strange expression crossed her features briefly. She caught Edward’s hand, eyes skittish as a cornered deer’s. "I’d like that very much."

  Though her grip felt cold and clammy with sweat, Prince Edward enjoyed the contact.

  That night, Prince Edward arranged for them to sleep in shifts, but Nightfall did not bother to awaken the prince when his had ended. He could not sleep. In fact, the restlessness grew into an endless, driving need he could not identify to satisfy. He felt possessed by a thousand contrasting desires. Unidentifiable things in his core goaded him to slaughter Kelryn while the prince slept; others nearly as strong directed him to curl against her for comfort and warmth. Another part of him wanted to surrender to it all, to kill or abandon woman and prince and allow the oath-bond to have him. The same survival instinct that had kept him alive this long kicked in to fight the latter, but the others swirled through his mind in a dizzying chant. His mind told him to follow the course of necessity and patience, to work through the oath-bond and wait for the opportunity to serve his hatred without compromising Alyndar’s prince. Yet, Nightfall’s heart supported the opposite choice, the same that, as a child, had driven him to butcher the man who had killed his mother. The image of Kelryn blood-covered and screaming would not leave his thoughts, and the demon-force told him to dominate and torture, to let the death she deserved become the ultimate mercy.

  Nightfall recoiled from his thoughts, finding them as ugly as those that had made him despise Kelryn in the first place. Dyfrin had taught him to control that villainous rage that went beyond justice. "Kill enemies when you have to," the Keevainian had once said. "But do so with calm dispatch. Uncontrolled violence is doomed to failure, in its consequences as well as its actions. Emotion is the enemy of rationality and logic. When it becomes strong enough to guide your conduct, your life is no longer your own."

  Edward slept soundly through Nightfall’s considerations. Kelryn, however, grew fretful as night slipped toward its darkest hours. She rolled and whimpered in her sleep, apparently pursued by nightmares as disquieting as Nightfall’s thoughts. Occasionally, she cried out, wordless noises of fear that miraculously did not awaken Prince Edward. Distracted by her movement and vocalizations, Nightfall felt drowned beneath a sea of conflicting emotions; and the path of control and personal right seemed blurry as a distant mountain peak in fog. He had no idea what course of action would serve him best, and that loss of direction whipped him nearly to panic. He found himself contemplating how his actions would affect others as well, and the foreignness of this consideration only added to the turmoil.

  At length, Kelryn’s thrashing ceased. She cringed into a corner, like an infant in a womb; and her strangled sobs became comprehensible words. "No, no, no. No. Sorcerer. Blood. Pain." Her fists tightened, fingers blanching; and her tone changed from fearful to desperately angry. The intensity of emotion made him certain she was reliving trauma, not just dreaming. "He’s a vicious murderer. Kill him. Kill him. Oh, just kill him." She flopped to her other side, entreaties lapsing into silence.

  Nightfall’s heart quickened, all concentration driven from him. He could only guess at the reference and meaning, could only surmise that she wrestled with a past reality that filled her head when sleep emptied it of the mundane. His own name fit perfectly into the scene. He could imagine her battling scruples, first denying the sorcerer his identity from conscience, then recalling that the man she protected was an assassin who deserved to die. He wondered at what price she had finally sold him.

  That concept reawakened the uncertainties that had, so far, kept sleep at bay. One thing seemed certain. He needed to sort through the boil of idea and emotion assaulting him without Kelryn’s internal strife to disturb him. He needed to be alone.

  Pulling a cloak over his sleeping gown, Nightfall slipped across the room and out the inn room door. He had no specific idea where to go, though he maintained enough presence of mind to realize it could not be far. He suspected Ritworth would need time to ponder his failure as well as the gash Nightfall’s dagger had torn through his side and hip as he sailed through the window. Still, Nightfall would remain within watching distance of all entrances to the inn or Edward’s room.

  Nightfall padded down the empty corridor and the exit stairs. Many things about the previous night seemed as maddeningly illogical as his thoughts, and he tried to draw it all into one coherent explanation. Kelryn had honestly seemed happily surprised to see and recognize him, yet he had once believed in her love for him also. She could fool him as no one else had managed. He would have to draw his conclusions based on other things than the woman’s reactions. Her sleep-talk, at least, seemed more revealing.

  Nightfall pushed open the outer door. The late spring air, filled with the scents of flowers and new greenery, helped to clear his head. As the fog lifted, his senses became more attuned and he recognized the soft patter of irregular, trailing footsteps. He slunk into the shadows.

  Shortly, the door edged open. Apparently awakened by her own night-demons, Kelryn peered through, eyes scanning the stretches of pasture, trees, and roads between surrounding buildings. Nightfall waited only until she limped outside and closed the door quietly behind her. Then he seized one of her forearms, wrenching it against the small of her back, and wrapped his arm
around her throat. He pressed a dagger to her cheek. "Don’t make a sound."

  Kelryn choked off a scream with the help of pressure from Nightfall’s arm.

  "Haven’t you done me enough harm? What more do you want from me?” he demanded.

  Given their current position, the question seemed absurd. Kelryn rolled her gaze to Nightfall. “Marak, please. The last thing I would do is harm you. I love you."

  Unconsciously, Nightfall tightened his grip. Red rage washed his vision, and he waited for it to pass.

  Kelryn gasped. “You’re hurting me."

  "Consider it payback.” Despite his words, Nightfall loosened his grip slightly as the world came back into focus. "In the morning, you’re going to tell Edward you appreciate his protection, but you’d rather stay with relatives. Then you leave and call off your sorcerer."

  Kelryn cringed at the words. "My sorcerer?" The incredulity in her tone seemed impossible to feign. "My sorcerer? You can’t possibly believe I would choose the company of vicious killers."

  The words sounded ludicrous from one who had once had a serious relationship with the primary criminal of the continent. "You chose my company."

  Kelryn defended. "Before I knew who you were, I fell in love with you. Love defies logic. Besides, you never killed the innocent or killed without conscience the way sorcerers do. You liked to believe you were the demon everyone called you, but you never were. You never could be. That’s how I knew you wouldn’t carry through on your threat to butcher me."

  Kelryn’s assertion enraged Nightfall, placing in question even the persona he believed to be his own. The demon seed. The godless murderer. He had little choice but to prove her wrong. To do otherwise would deny his very existence. Nightfall jerked Kelryn’s arm, spinning her to the ground. He crouched over her, one knee planted against her chest and the dagger hovering at her windpipe. "I have no mercy for traitors. Don’t mention love again. You betrayed me. You sold me to a sorcerer for what? Gold? Power? A trinket?" Nightfall’s own words gave him pause. Wars of conscience did not end cheaply, and surely trapping the most hunted and hated criminal on the continent should have bought her something more than another dancing job and a dingy room in a Noshtillian hall. Nothing in her quarters had suggested a hidden fortune. Yet, it would not be the first time Nightfall had met a person whose wealth had come too easily, who had spent every copper within months.

  "What?" Kelryn stiffened beneath him, favoring her injured leg. "Marak, listen to me. I know how it looks-"

  Nightfall increased his weight so the pressure on her chest cut off her protestations. "Nothing more. I’m not going to listen to any more of your lies. If you won’t tell Edward you’re leaving, I’ll just kill you and tell him you slipped away in the night."

  Kelryn gasped for breath, squirming to free her lungs from his weight.

  Nightfall dropped his mass back to normal, still feeling torn by the maelstrom of emotions and possible tactics. He could no longer suppress the reality he had tried so hard to deny when circumstances had finally brought him face to face again with Kelryn. Through all the hardships, the promise of revenge had propelled him long after other reasons for struggle had failed. It had proven stronger even than the fiery instinct for survival that had kept him alive on the streets. Yet, when his chance had finally come, he had frozen like a child caught stealing his first copper. It seemed as if Dyfrin’s teachings had chosen that moment to come together at once, fully coherent from the surface to the core of their morality. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he could not have killed Kelryn at that time. Nor, he doubted, could he do so now. The thing that had paralyzed him in her quarters was love. The hatred for her had grown and flourished, yet the love he now despised as much would not leave him.

  Kelryn inhaled and exhaled several times before speaking. She kept her eyes fixed on his, measuring the effect of each word. "I would rather die by your hand than a sorcerer’s. I once saw a sorcerer at work. For all the rumors about you and despite your threats, I don’t think you could inflict worse."

  The recollection of Ritworth’s magical torture remained powerful enough to send a shudder through Nightfall. She had a point he could not deny. Though legend stated otherwise, he had kept his few killings, whether planned or in sudden self-defense, as quick and painless as possible. Still, it was not his way to reveal weakness either. "Don’t dare me to hurt you. You won’t like what you get." In spite of his words, he made no move toward violence.

  Kelryn did not flinch, her gaze remaining rock steady. "Do what you feel you must. I’ve always been direct with you, and I won’t stop now. The truth: I’m scared to death of that sorcerer. I was ready to fight at Ned’s side until I figured out what Ritworth was, then I froze like a helpless child. I can’t face him alone. I am going to accept Ned’s hospitality and guardianship. I swear to you, to the holy Father, to anything or deity you choose that I mean him and you no harm."

  Nightfall pursed his lips, trapped, uncertain of his next course of action. The oath-bond began a mild buzz that steadily grew. Feeling certain of Edward’s current security, Nightfall tried to analyze the reasons for the magic’s awakening. The problem, he believed, came of his vow to follow Edward’s word only except where it conflicted with his safety. Clearly, Edward wanted Kelryn present, and Nightfall no longer felt certain she posed a danger, at least not to the prince.

  Kelryn raised her brows, still sprawled on the ground. "Would you like that explanation now?" Though she offered, she seemed reluctant to give it, as if it might prove nearly as ugly as the truth Nightfall believed he already knew.

  “No.” All of Nightfall’s resentment returned instantly. Torn in a thousand different directions, he did not want more to consider now. Kelryn had betrayed him. There could be no other answer. She had had months to concoct a story, enough time to make it believable. He would not give her the tools to destroy him again; the love that unmanned him might also force him to believe. And that would give her the opportunity to betray him again. He had suffered that agony once and never more, "I’ll wait till you’re ready, then." Kelryn fidgeted, still seeking a comfortable position pinned beneath knee and dagger. Though she did not speak the words, her inflection implied: I’ll wait until we’re both ready.

  Grudgingly, Nightfall backed away, freeing Kelryn. "These are the ground rules. First, you don’t hurt Edward, talk, or direct him into any action that might make him harm himself, or allow or arrange for others to do so. Second, you do not address me unless absolutely necessary." He paused, trying to anticipate loopholes and other possible needs. "Third, keep your damn clothes on.”’

  Kelryn sat up carefully, rubbing at her neck. "I agree to all terms, so long as you allow me to change and bathe, at least in private. May the Father suffocate me in the deepest part of his underworld should I do anything against those rules."

  Nightfall did not wait for Kelryn to finish but slipped quietly into the night. At first, he just wanted to escape, to let the summer breezes clear his mind of a tangled lump of idea he had no patience to sort. A thought managed to trickle forward from the back of his mind, a memory of his discussion with Finndmer the Fence. He had already written off the money he had spent for swampland. As Nightfall, he could not have tolerated the deception, but Sudian had no reputation to protect. Petty vengeance had to give way before greater and more pressing needs. He had learned much from his discussion in the woodsman’s cottage, including that a man could become landed through marriage. Buying property had failed, and this new consideration moved in to take its place. Two of his five months had already passed, leaving him no closer to fulfilling the oath-bond than at the day of its casting.

  Nightfall recalled a night when the wind howled, flinging hail hard enough to sting welts across exposed flesh. He had huddled amid stored hay in a farmer’s loft, the warmth of animal presences rescuing him from a storm that had taken less experienced children and beggars permanently from the streets. He ate well, having stolen his meal from
one of the many feasts in honor of the firstborn child of the aging baron of Schiz. He remembered contemplating the irony beneath the sounds of hail hammering the roof and the soft conversations of other homeless who chose the barn as their refuge. He did not seek their company. Had those below discovered him, they would have attempted to take his food and found him far more competent at defending it than his age implied. The rich celebrated the birth of a child by gorging on and wasting food while the poor desperately hunted for scraps to sustain one more.

  Nightfall knew that serving Edward’s best interests meant more than just clinging to the prince’s side. He had an obligation to get the prince landed, and that would require more time gleaning information. He did not wholly trust Kelryn, but his emotions and the oath-bond goaded him to believe her three promises at least. It seemed unlikely that Ritworth would attack again so soon, wounded and fatigued from his ordeal. So far, Nightfall’s attempts to ply his usual sources of information had resulted in disaster: suspicion, deceit, and even outright violence. He could no longer count on the underground to supply him, but the knowledge he considered now did not require shady sources. Anyone with idle time to gossip might know what age the baron’s daughter had attained and whether she had already pledged herself to marriage. Nightfall’s memory suggested she and Edward would come close enough in years to raise no questions with their union, and he believed an event as huge as the wedding of a baron’s daughter would have reached his attention. Now, all he needed to do was discover the details and start the process.

  If only I could arrange for him to see her naked. Nightfall smiled at the thought, recalling Edward’s overreaction to Kelryn in her undergarments. He headed for the nearest bar.

  Prince Edward, Nightfall, and Kelryn rode quietly from Noshtillan the following morning. It seemed best to foil Ritworth as much as possible by moving as often as they could. So, Edward purchased a third horse, a handsome black. Its carriage and glossy coat suited the prince, and Nightfall approved of its color and training. Kelryn rode the chestnut; the paucity of supplies obviated the need for a pack horse. They strapped gear behind each saddle, and the spade rode atop the prince’s personals.