The Legend of Nightfall

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Nightfall wondered if argumentativeness, for Aoscurit, was a side effect of feeling ill from poison petals, though it did not matter. Whether an unrelated or associated symptom, it would only serve to further wear him down.

  Waiting patiently at the inner railing, practice polearm in hand, Edward discussed the matter with his squire. "Maybe l should withdraw and choose a different weapon.”

  Nightfall frowned, leaning against the wooden framework to keep their conversation private. "It’s too late, Master. The judges already approved your choice. Besides, you won the flag toss, not him. He can’t get his pick every time, Master. It’s not fair for him to expect otherwise.”

  Prince Edward watched the ranting display in center ring with distress. "But it doesn’t really matter to me what weapon we use. And it obviously matters very much to him.”

  Though Nightfall did not care about the weapon, he preferred Edward used the one with which he felt most comfortable. Even with cramps and nausea, Aoscurit might prove the better using his own favorite arms. "Trust me, Master. It’s an insult to you for him to insist his choice is superior. Injury always follows insult. And how will he learn sacrifice and honor if others give in to his tantrums? Let him rave."

  Apparently resigned at last, Aoscurit hefted his pole, stepping into position. He seemed slightly more awkward than Edward, and Nightfall attributed this to the poison although smaller size or inexperience could have explained it as well.

  “Begin," the judge said.

  Prince Edward remained in place, giving Aoscurit ample opportunity and space for the first attack. The knight obliged, charging, the poleax horizontal. As he closed, he whipped the butt end up in an obvious feint. He snapped the polearm back, spinning the metal end toward Edward’s helm. Edward caught the attack toward the butt end of his pole, allowing the momentum to help drive his strike for Aoscurit’s abdomen. The practice weight slammed against armor, driving the knight off his feet. He crashed to the ground. Edward finished the movement, ending with the butt end of his polearm against Aoscurit’s throat.

  "End,” the same judge said.

  Edward removed his weapon and backed away.

  Aoscurit sat up, ripped off his helmet, and hurled it to the ground. He shook his head at the judge to indicate no challenge of foul. He had already lost his only possible claim.

  The judge raised his hand to Edward. "The winner, Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar."

  This time, the crowd cheered.

  Nightfall glanced about, surprised to discover other contests had not yet finished despite the lengthy argument that had delayed their own. Prince Leyne’s palomino was just winding its way from a nearby ring, a lance couched against its withers. His smile revealed his victory, and he swiveled his head to catch a glimpse of Edward’s contest, now finished. He rode to Nightfall. "How’d Edward do?"

  "My master won." Nightfall adopted the look of a child whose greatest wish had come true. "And you?"

  "I won, too," Leyne replied matter-of-factly. "Perhaps we will stand against one another after all. If he needs me, you know where to find me."

  Nightfall nodded. "Yes, Sire." He did not know the precise location of Leyne’s camp, but he could find it easily enough with a short search.

  Leyne rode away.

  Soon after, Prince Edward emerged from the ring victorious, and Nightfall stepped up to meet him.

  Nightfall set out to find Okraniah that evening, threading through the masses of camped nobles as if on a simple food-buying mission for his master. He took special care to pass Aoscurit’s area, seeking some indication that he intended to cause trouble. But the knight had, apparently, raised all the objections he would before the match. His slaves diligently polished and packed his gear except for one who huddled near a ragged tent, arm clamped to his abdomen, reeking of stomach contents.

  Nightfall bustled past, but not before the realization and irony struck him. Aoscurit had not eaten the poisoned food. Either he had given it to this slave or he had thrown it away and this man had plucked it from the garbage. In either case, Edward had fought a fair battle. Realization extended naturally from the conclusion: Edward had bested Aoscurit without Nightfall’s assistance. And he had done it well and quickly.

  As Nightfall trotted from camps to periphery, he considered the implications. If Edward had bested one of the continent’s finest, he was clearly more competent than Nightfall, Leyne, the judges, or even Edward himself had credited. How could that happen? Haw could every man misjudge so completely? Nightfall discovered the answer with the barest amount of thought. That Edward had never entered a contest before seemed only half the answer. The rest came more slowly. Since childhood, Edward had practiced with, aspired to, and been compared only to Leyne Nargol, the warrior ranked the best on the continent, at least in tourney. Age and experience gave Leyne other advantages as well. In such a situation, how could any man seem more than mediocre, to himself or to others? He recalled Leyne’s own words: "He’s better than he believes. He’s just used to sparring with or watching me."

  Nightfall edged through the ring of camp-followers, ignoring the goading cries of merchants and the women’s quiet displays of thighs or breast valleys. His obvious livery made him a small target for merchandise, and he slipped past and into the city with relative ease. Once past the hangers-on, he found Tylantis much more as he remembered it. Narrow streets wound between cottages, shops, and pastures, constructed before horse and cart traffic became common. As he headed north and east, the byways thinned further, hemmed by drafty homes and crumbling, ancient warehouses that blocked the sun. Grimy, snot-nosed children peeked at him from alleyways or through crevices in cottages that appeared abandoned.

  Nightfall discovered Okraniah headed, with two younger women, toward the contests. All three wore hand-made dresses that clung at breasts, hips, and waists and ended short at the thighs. Okraniah kept her red-brown hair cut femininely short with a curl in the front that gave her an air of sultry innocence. Long lashes bowed from her large, dark eyes. The three headed toward him.

  Nightfall leaned against the wall casually, waiting until the women approached. He kept his face and his colors in shadow, preferring that no reports of his presence find their way back to the tourney. The cut of his clothes would reveal him as a servant, which should satisfy them that he was not a local thief or danger.

  From habit, they assessed him as they passed, the strangers with only a passing glance. Okraniah granted a flirtatious smile. Having played the game longer, she realized that nobles’ servants often carried money or made arrangements for their masters.

  Using only a brisk movement of his head, Nightfall summoned Okraniah. She said something to the others, who looked briefly back at Nightfall then continued walking.

  Okraniah wandered to Nightfall. "What can I do for you, sir?"

  Nightfall smiled. He pulled two silver and one of the gold coins from his pocket, sorting through them with a finger.

  Okraniah glanced quickly, then stared as she recognized the gold.

  Nightfall plucked out the gold and passed a silver. "There’s a knight whose symbol is a walking bear, named Sir Gondol. Spend the night with him . . . and the morning. See to it he sleeps too late for the contests, and the last coin becomes yours, too." He handed her the second silver. "You never spoke with me."

  Okraniah nodded agreement. Taking the money, she headed toward the fighting grounds.

  Nightfall slipped quietly into the darkness. Tonight, at least, he would sleep.

  * * *

  Sir Gondol had chosen a sword and shield combination the previous night, and Nightfall methodically prepared Prince Edward for the match. With practice, armor found its proper positioning more easily; and Edward seemed comfortable with the classic weaponry, though he had not selected it. Nor, Nightfall believed, would he have to use it. He had seen Gondol and Okraniah arm in arm the previous night, and the woman had never failed him at any task in the past.

  Nightfall had just finished
with preparations when Okraniah threaded through the crowd. She feigned interest in a nearby noble while Edward faced her. As soon as he looked away, she made a subtle wave at Nightfall.

  Sudden alarm washed through Nightfall. Only six participants remained, and King Jolund had abandoned the paraded entrances and repetitive lectures to allow each match to occur singly. That way, everyone could watch, and it would delay the final round until evening. Edward and Gondol had drawn the earliest position. It seemed simple enough for Okraniah to delay the knight until just past daybreak, long enough to force him to forfeit the match. Yet, apparently, something had gone wrong.

  Nightfall handed Edward his shield. "Excuse me a moment please, Master.”

  Edward studied his shield, scrubbing at a dull spot that Nightfall knew from the previous evening would not respond to polishing. He nodded his consent.

  Nightfall strode to Okraniah and pulled her aside. "What’s wrong?"

  Okraniah took Nightfall’s hand, surreptitiously returning his coins. "I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry. Here’s your money back."

  "What?" Nightfall made no attempt to take the silver, openly or in secret. She would never have considered defying Nightfall when she had known she worked for him. He had not expected his Sudian persona to win the same obedience, but he had believed his money would make up for the difference.

  "I’m sorry. I tried my best." Okraniah looked genuinely regretful, her already big eyes looking huge. "Gondol has some woman he’s promised to. He was ready to forget her early on, but guilt got the better of him late last night."

  Damn. Nightfall shook his head.

  Okraniah sighed, a sad smile bending the corners of her mouth. "I’m sorry."

  Nightfall met her gaze. She looked away quickly, dark eyes disappointed, though he did not ponder whether from personal failure or loss of payment. It did not matter. Either way, Edward would have to win or lose this contest by skill, and all of Nightfall’s trickery might come to nothing. Ignorantly, Okraniah might have sold out the demon’s soul for love. Nevertheless, he let her keep the silver. That would buy her silence, even from Gondol. Turning on his heel, he headed back to Prince Edward.

  Nightfall had only traveled half the distance when Edward waved him in impatiently. "Hurry, Sudian. We wouldn’t want to be late."

  Nightfall trotted to Edward’s side, helping him strap on the swordbelt since the gauntlets did not allow delicate adjustments of buckle and leathers. They rushed to the center ring to find that Gondol and his entourage had beaten them there. The knight stood in the center, facing the entrance, his squire and two retainers hemmed against the railing. Nightfall left Edward at the entrance then took his position beside the walking bear standard, wishing he had room to pace. He had no one to blame except himself; experience had taught him to trust no one, and he should have found some means to handle this match that did not rely on another.

  Nightfall studied the competitors with a detail that made his eyes water. The armor made it difficult to judge size, but he knew from prior observation that the two seemed nearly evenly matched for weight. Age had given Gondol a paunch; yet, though not as well-defined, his musculature seemed as developed as Edward’s own. The hazel eyes seemed alert and ready, measuring the prince with a scrutiny that nearly matched Nightfall’s intensity. He held the sword in a relaxed position, halfway between attack and defense, and with a composure that indicated assurance as well as skill.

  Prince Edward also held an appropriate stance, though wholly defensive. He crouched, legs parted for balance, and leading with his left side.

  "Begin," one of the judges said.

  Gondol charged without hesitation. Edward remained in place. Gondol’s high stroke arched down on Edward, blocked by the shield. Edward riposted with a chest-height blow that Gondol fended. Both men bore in for the attack, hammering at one an0ther’s defenses until the arena rang with the sound of steel smiting steel. They exchanged blow for blow, either occasionally sneaking in an extra offense while the other closed his defenses. Nightfall cringed at every attack while the spectators applauded, shouted, or chanted at every movement. Although Gondol had drawn a more massive following over his career, Edward’s recent devotees retained loyalty to the underdog princeling who, in their minds, never should have survived the first round.

  Nightfall ogled every motion, discovering a discomforting trend. Gondol’s attacks came closer to a mark than Edward’s, and he seemed more competent when it came to dodging shield defenses. Twice, he managed to jab through openings to strike armor, but the judges considered neither a killing blow. In the same amount of time, Edward met only Gondol’s shield or sword. As fatigue made them sloppy, the knight seemed likely to deliver a winning stroke first.

  But the battle continued, long past the time Nightfall believed he could have managed to support the armor, let alone exchange sword sweeps. The audience seemed a wild wave of indecipherable sound, loving the length of the combat as much as any specific blow.

  Gondol thrust beneath Edward’s shield. The prince recoiled far enough to save his armor, then lunged in with a high feint. Gondol raised his shield, momentarily blocking his own vision. The instant he did, Edward drove in with his off-hand, catching the rim of Gondol’s shield on his own. Edward swept his shield, dragging Gondol’s along in a movement that opened the knight’s defenses while closing his own. The prince whipped in with an upstroke that would have torn Gondol belly to throat if not for the armor.

  "End match."

  Nightfall could scarcely hear the judge beneath the screaming crowd, but the combatants apparently did. They separated while one of the judges approached Gondol and carried on a short conversation. The knight sheathed his sword and shook his head.

  The judge raised his hands, and the audience fell to silence. "Match winner and first contestant for the three man finals: Younger Prince Edward Nargol from Alyndar."

  Edwards’s followers cheered. Even Gondol’s people applauded politely, although the squire and retainers rushed to aid their knight without comment. Nightfall leapt the rail, reaching Edward first for the shortcut. Taking the shield and removing the gauntlets, he fell into Edward’s joyous embrace, truly sharing the excitement for the first time. The exhilaration that came with honestly winning a contest against a superior warrior seemed electrifying.

  With a parting salute to Sir Gondol, Edward left the ring with his squire. "Let’s hurry and get this equipment off. I want to watch the others and see what I’m up against.” His own words brought a somberness that seemed uncharacteristic in the wake of his joy. Nightfall guessed the prince had just remembered he would almost certainly come against Leyne in the finals. That contest he had no delusions of winning.

  Nightfall believed it might suit Edward better not to observe Leyne’s competition. It would only whittle at the confidence he had gained only after four consecutive wins against higher ranked competitors. However, he saw little means to delay Edward. Those in charge would drag out the festivities as long as possible so that money continued to flow into the city. Few would leave this near the final match. The later the contest lasted, the more meals the nobles and spectators would buy for themselves and their retainers.

  As Nightfall headed back to camp with Edward, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure moving through the crowd. His mind recognized it at once, the way a rabbit knows an owl from nothing more than shadow. Gilleran. Nightfall jerked his head around to look again, certain he must have imagined the sorcerer’s figure and movement on another man. He saw nothing but a retreating form, richly dressed in breeks and cape. The neutral brown hair could have belonged to any man. Still, Nightfall caught himself shivering from a combination of rage and fear.

  Apparently, Edward detected the change in his squire. “Are you all right, Sudian?"

  “Fine, Master." Nightfall redirected his attention seeking some excuse to follow the other now and ascertain his identification; but he knew he would think of no reason to leave Edward bundled in armor. He wou
ld tend the prince first, as swiftly as Edward had vocalized. Once he had Edward safely in front of the contests, he could hunt down the sorcerer himself.

  The armor removal and packing left both men impatient. As the last piece fell into place, Edward gestured to the arena. "Let’s go. Quickly."

  Now, Nightfall finally found his tongue. "Master, if you don’t mind, I’ll stay and guard our belongings.”

  Prince Edward glanced back at the camp, obviously reluctant to waste time in discussion. "That’s not necessary."

  "Nevertheless, I’d feel more comfortable. Do you mind, Master?"

  Prince Edward shifted his attention from central contest to squire and back. Then, apparently more interested in spectating than arguing, he shrugged. "Very well. But if you change your mind, join me at any time." With a brisk wave, he darted toward the masses.

  The oath-bond scarcely responded to Edward’s leaving. Taking its cues from Nightfall, as always, the magic found its caster the more pervasive threat.

  Nightfall rushed to track down Chancellor Gilleran of Alyndar.

  Chapter 18

  Six princes fought him in the night,

  Their fortress of unequaled might.

  ‘Twas gone before the sun arose-

  Darkness comes where Nightfall goes.

  —"The Legend of Nightfall"

  Nursery rhyme, alternative verse

  Nightfall scurried across the tourney grounds, his boots leaving no mark in pastureland already trampled to mud by the crowds. The sorcerer could find no better hiding place than amid the hundreds of spectators intent upon Leyne’s contest against Prince Irbo of Hartrin. However, Nightfall guessed that Gilleran had arrived for other reasons than to watch. If he came to harm Nightfall, he would likely do so in a place where few witnesses could observe or interfere, especially if he planned to perform his evil ritual. More likely, the wizard simply intended to sabotage Edward’s chance to become landed, thereby obtaining the same results without effort. If Nightfall read the intention correctly, Gilleran would not act until the younger prince once again took the ring.