The Legend of Nightfall

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Now Nightfall recognized the whole story, and it confirmed his lack of faith in human nature. The duke of Schiz had found a way to turn an incident into a godsend and a promiscuous daughter into a proper princess. It was not his daughter’s welfare, nor Edward’s impropriety, that bothered Duke Varsah. He had seen gold, land, and title; and he leapt for those with vigor. Marriage to a prince was not enough; he had set his sights on Prince Leyne Nargol of Alyndar. Annoyance churned through Nightfall. He had not noticed the oath-bond in some time; apparently the duke’s assurance of Edward’s safety had appeased it temporarily. Now, it rose with Nightfall’s anger, inadvertently fueling it. "No. Oh, no." He sprang to his feet. "You’re not using my master to win your daughter a kingdom."

  "You’re talking nonsense!" Varsah shouted. The guard edged between duke and squire. The other sentries blocked the exits, hands clenched around hilts or polearms.

  "My master will not take the blame for every thorn that pricked your daughter.”

  Varsah leapt to his feet, features purple, as if he planned to pummel his guest to death with his own hands. If the guard had not stood between them. Nightfall guessed things might have degenerated into a brawl; but the duke stopped short, still too far to hit. "Take him away! Just get him out of my sight!"

  Nightfall’s thoughts raced, assessing the layout and situation in an instant. He believed he could fight his way through, but not without casualties, possibly on both sides. If he failed, he either died or went on trial for murder in addition to insubordination. The former, he felt certain, would hold a more massive penalty. If he went willingly, they would almost certainly imprison him until Varsah calmed down enough to decide punishment or a representative from Alyndar discussed terms for the release of prince and squire. Although he never doubted Rikard would happily sacrifice him, Nightfall knew he could escape more easily and with less violence from the duke’s dungeon than his guard-surrounded meeting chamber. From the inside, he had a better chance of finding Edward, and Willafrida’s conscience might drive her down to check on him. She could find out where the duke had imprisoned the prince.

  Nightfall assumed a passive, submissive position, head low, arms away from his body and out-turned. He would not give them reason to use force on him, no matter the pleasure that might bring Duke Varsah. He would rather place them in the position of protecting him from the enraged noble than the other way. The irony soothed him.

  The guard in the room gestured Nightfall away from the furniture. When he obliged, sentries took a brisk formation around him. One stood in front of him, his back an eager target for a blade Nightfall would not draw. Another took a position behind their prisoner, and the remainder fell in at either side. As a unit, they marched out a different door than the one Nightfall had entered through and headed down a short corridor to a tower.

  Although Nightfall’s cooperation should have made the guardsmen lax, they seemed more edgy than comforted. He credited their attitude to the wild chase he had taken them on through the dungeon and opposite tower. He hoped the guard who had fallen down the steps had not been seriously injured, not from any sympathy for a stranger’s welfare but from the concern that the guards might avenge their fellow with brutality or Duke Varsah, if ever informed of the incident, might try to claim he had intentionally harmed the man. No official in Alyndar would doubt the duke’s accusations against Nightfall. Edward was another matter. He hoped it would take more than the physician’s examination to convince Rikard that his raving idealist of a son would rape any woman. If swayed, however, he would place the blame directly on Nightfall. Though he knew little about court law, Nightfall doubted Duke Varsah could really maneuver a wedding between his daughter and the elder prince. But the duke apparently believed so; and, for now, that was all that mattered.

  To Nightfall’s surprise, the contingent led him up, rather than down, the tower steps. His imagination brought images of his body tossed from the parapets or of a hidden torture chamber in the highest corner of the citadel. He pushed these ideas away. Whatever happened, he would find a way to handle it. He always had. Now, he felt sorry he had ever considered bringing Edward and Willafrida together. He would not wish a father-in-law like Varsah on anyone. Well, maybe Finndmer But he wouldn’t deserve Willafrida or a dukedom. Hell, he didn’t deserve the swamp land he sold me.

  Nightfall counted five landings when the upper cone of the tower steepled over his head, the rafters littered with frayed twigs and speckled with bird feces. One of the guards opened the door, and the other eight ushered their prisoner through it. It opened onto a room with a table surrounded by several chairs, and three doors broke the contour of the wall on the opposite side.

  "Together or separate," one man asked a broad-shouldered brunet who was obviously the leader.

  The large one considered for several moments. "Together, I guess. Better politics."

  A short, stocky guard with a crooked nose raised doubts. “Are you sure the duke wanted him brought here? The dungeon . . . ?"

  The leader shook his head. "Better politics. We can always move him later. It’s easier to increase than lighten sentence, once done."

  One of the sentries who had not spoken loosed a ring of keys from his belt and placed one into the lock of the central door. Nightfall studied it from habit, getting a feel for the general contour. He doubted he could relieve one of the guards of his colossal set of keys without the missing weight becoming obvious, but he did not believe the lock would prove all that difficult to pick anyway.

  The leader patted Nightfall’s clothes from neck to ankle, then checked each obvious pocket. By the time he finished, the guard had opened the door and the others had taken defensive but nonthreatening stances. The room contained simply crafted furniture, including a bed, nightstand, and a table that held bins for washing. Prince Edward stood, staring out a semicircular window at the town. He turned.

  "In,” the leader said to Nightfall.

  Nightfall could not imagine any room looking less like a jail cell. This chamber seemed more comfortable than most of the inn rooms they had shared over the past few months. He entered docilely, and the door swung shut behind him. The oath-bond died to a level just above baseline.

  "Sudian." Edward smiled, then his face furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

  "Great to see you again, too, Master," Nightfall good-naturedly belittled Edward’s greeting.

  "Well, of course I’m glad to see you." Edward moved to the center of the room. "I just don’t like the circumstances. I’m a prisoner, you know."

  Nightfall could think of no direct reply that wouldn’t sound either patronizing or inane. "They haven’t harmed you, have they, Master?"

  "Certainly not. They’ve taken fine care of me."

  Nightfall politely stepped around Edward to look out the window. The ground lay five floors below them. He poked his head through the hole, gauging the distance. He could fit through easily; Edward would have to wriggle and shove. The regular blockwork of the tower would make scaling it a routine effort for him, but he doubted Edward could manage it at all without equipment. He turned. "Let’s go."

  "Excuse me, Sudian?"

  "I’ll climb out through the window. Then I can get the grapple up here, and you can come down." Although he had deliberately purchased a lightweight grapple, he did not feel certain he could toss it five stories. He did believe he could climb partway and accomplish the throw from there, if necessary. At the worst, he could clamber back to the top and place the grapple in position.

  "You mean run? Escape?"

  Nightfall blinked, his intention surely obvious. "Well, yes, Master. Of course."

  Edward sat on the edge of the bed. "I can’t do that!"

  "You can’t?"

  “No."

  "Why not?"

  Edward entwined his fingers in his lap, his attention fixed on his hands. "I did something wrong. I’m imprisoned here until my father and the duke decide punishment."

  Nightfall froze, shocked. T
his complication he had never considered. “But you didn’t do anything to Willafrida."

  “I sneaked into her bedroom. That was wrong."

  "But . . .” Nightfall started and stopped. This line of discussion would get him nowhere. They needed to slip away before sunrise or else they would not have another chance until the following night. By that time, Duke Varsah could decide he wanted Nightfall executed or tortured and a note would be on its way to Alyndar. "But, Master. We can’t stay in one place." A good reason presented itself in an instant. "The Iceman will find us.” He paced, wringing his hands, trying to look as frightened and agitated as possible.

  Edward looked up. "He can’t find us here."

  "He will, Master. I’m sure of it. By morning, every gossip in town will have some story of what happened here. Ritworth will hear." He added in sudden afterthought. “And he can fly." He made a broad arc with his arm to indicate a swoop through the window. "And what about Kelryn? You promised to protect her, too."

  "Sudian, it’s all right. We’ll just explain to Duke Varsah, and he’ll protect us all."

  "No!" Nightfall spoke before he thought his reply through, but the obvious horror worked as well as any gauged response. "You promised, Master. You promised no one would know about my . . . my . . ." He whispered, honestly concerned someone might overhear. ". . . my curse."

  "You mean, birth-gift," Edward corrected.

  "The curse is Ritworth. And others like him. There’s no gift in that. Master, please. Please don’t make me beg."

  Edward studied his squire with sympathetic eyes. "All right," he said at last. "We go, but it’s against my better instincts. There’ll be long-term ramifications . . ."

  Nightfall was out the window before Prince Edward finished the sentence.

  Chapter 16

  A wizard hoped to slay the beast.

  He conjured up a poisoned feast.

  The demon fed him to the crows-

  Darkness comes where Nightfall goes.

  —"The Legend of Nightfall"

  Nursery rhyme, alternative verse

  Moonlight bathed the He-Ain’t-Here Tavern to a red glaze in darkness, and horses stomped and snorted in the paddock. Pressed against the pasture fence, Nightfall watched patrons come and go, identifying them in the open doorway by torchlight from the common room. Prince Edward crouched beside his squire, his huge figure, light-colored silks, and golden hair too obvious a target to Nightfall’s trained eye. Given his way, Nightfall would have had them ride as swiftly as possible to the joust. Abandoning Kelryn would have seemed a blessing, but he had yet to think of an argument that could bypass the prince’s current obsession and convince him to leave her behind. Until he did, he would not mention the possibility as it would only cast suspicion on his motives once an appropriate reason occurred to him.

  Silently, Nightfall cursed Edward’s persistence and the situation into which it trapped him. Logic told him allowing Edward into the tavern would prove too dangerous, and the rising tingle of the oath—bond confirmed his doubts. It made more sense for Nightfall to enter the tavern alone to collect their gear and a woman he would rather desert; yet caution would not allow him to leave the prince in an alley, alone and hunted, either. Snagged into a stalemate, Nightfall also realized the dangerous significance of time. The longer they tarried, the more likely Varsah’s men would recapture them.

  Becoming impatient, Edward pressed forward. “She’s inside, Sudian. Let’s go."

  Needing to delay, Nightfall blocked Edward with an outstretched arm. "Wait, Master." He took advantage of the sight of three men entering the tavern together. "Look there." He pointed to the strangers.

  Edward glanced in the indicated direction, unimpressed. "What, Sudian?"

  "Guards, Master. Probably hunting for us."

  Edward shook his head, dismissing the possibility. "They’re not guards. No mail and no uniforms."

  Nightfall kept his arm in place, blocking Edward’s path. "That’s a trick, Master. I’m certain. I saw most of the duke’s men. Those are guards.”

  Prince Edward stepped back into place, giving his squire the benefit of the doubt. "Off duty?"

  "Possible," Nightfall admitted. “But just as dangerous."

  Edward returned his attention to the door, though the men had already entered. "Why do you think guards would be going there now?"

  Nightfall kept his gaze on the tavern door. "Good place to hunt for us, don’t you think?"

  Edward shrugged. "Not necessarily."

  "And to get information of any type."

  Edward stiffened visibly. "Do you think Kelryn’s in trouble?"

  Nightfall pretended to consider, knowing immediately that he could only answer in the negative. "Master, they don’t know she’s with us. Even if someone tells them, she has nothing to do with your visit to Willafrida. They have no reason to hurt her." Nightfall seized the opportunity. "If we go to her now, Master, we may get her in trouble. If she doesn’t know what happened or where we’ve gone, there’s no excuse for Varsah to bother with her at all."

  Edward opened his mouth to protest, but no words emerged. He must have seen some common sense to Nightfall’s explanation, yet it did not sit well with his honor and need. "She’s still in danger from the sorcerer. We can’t just leave her."

  "Of course not, Master." Nightfall answered the second concern first. "We’ll come back for her. We can even send word from the joust. Money, too, if you think it necessary. After Varsah has given up on Kelryn having any information about us." He addressed Edward’s other point. "And the Iceman doesn’t want her. He’s after me."

  Edward dropped to his haunches, obviously still uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Kelryn. He crouched in a thoughtful hush for several moments. Then, obviously having made a decision, he pulled a stylus and a curl of parchment from his pocket. He started scribbling.

  Glancing about to ascertain that no one was nearby, Nightfall sat beside the prince. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

  "Making a note." Edward continued writing. “We can sneak it to Kelryn somehow. At least then she knows we didn’t strand her, and she can catch up to us later."

  Nightfall liked the idea of a note, though he would have it say something quite different. "Master, one problem."

  “‘Hmmm?” Edward continued writing.

  "Kelryn can’t read."

  Edward’s stylus stopped moving. He looked up. "She can’t?"

  "No, Master.” Nightfall simply told the truth.

  Shocked, Edward asked the obvious, though foolish, question. "Why not?"

  "Most commoners can’t, Master."

  "Oh." This was apparently not a matter he had considered before.

  "If she takes it to just anyone to read for her . . .” Nightfall trailed off, the complications of such a thing obvious.

  Edward looked stricken.

  Nightfall presented his plan then, certain Edward would be receptive to many ideas he would not have considered moments earlier. "Kelryn and I had a picture language." Again, he spoke honestly. They had invented ways to communicate with drawings or gestures. "I could write the note, and we could pay someone to deliver it to her. If anyone else looked at it, they couldn’t read it."

  Prince Edward handed over stylus and parchment eagerly.

  Nightfall broke off the part Edward had scrawled. It made little sense for him to use code if the note also contained written details.

  "Tell her we had to leave in a hurry and we tried to get her, but we couldn’t." The prince dictated excitedly. "Tell her we’re coming back for her. Oh, tell her where we’re going so she can follow us. And sign it from me." He pointed at the parchment. "With love.”

  Nightfall met Edward’s gaze directly, brows raised. Times like this reminded him his master was still an adolescent.

  Edward controlled his childish exuberance, his voice returning to its usual commanding timbre. "Did you get all that, Sudian?"

  "Yes, Master, I heard it all." Nightfall ign
ored the prince’s guidance, writing precisely what he pleased. He returned the stylus to Edward. "Now, I need to find a messenger." The obvious choice came to him at once. He glanced toward the tack house. "The stable boy should do. He could get our packs, too, without suspicion, I’ll be right back."

  Prince Edward craned to see the writing over Nightfall’s shoulder. He frowned at the two illustratives. "That says everything?”

  "Not everything, Master," Nightfall admitted. "I can’t write as much in code as free hand, but this has all the important points she needs to know." Like that we don’t want her around us any longer.

  “I’ll come with you." Edward rose.

  "It would be unwise, Master." Nightfall gestured the prince back down. "The guards will be watching for the two of us together. They won’t notice me so much if I’m alone."

  Edward nodded, though obviously not wholly comfortable with the situation. "Sudian, be careful."

  The warning seemed ludicrous; it was far more likely they would spot Edward. "I will." Nightfall slithered into the shadows. The oath-bond quivered awake, intensifying the farther he went from the concealed prince. Nightfall ignored it. He would not go far nor remain away long. Within a few paces, he came upon the tack house and pressed his back against it. He glanced toward their hiding place near the paddock. His trained eyes carved Edward’s outline from the surrounding darkness with an ease that discomforted him. He would have to work fast.

  Nightfall remained in place, studying the area in the moonlight briefly. Seeing no suspicious figures or movement, he opened the tack house door. First, he hauled down the gear for their horses, leaving it outside for later collection. Then, he approached the stable boy sleeping on piled straw in the corner. The youngster lay on his side, curled beneath a threadbare blanket, his breathing deep and slow.