"Oh." Prince Edward fingered the tightening scab on his face. Pinched creases appeared around his eyes. "That’s slave land." His voice filled with accusation. "Did you ever keep slaves?”
Despite his composure, the question took Nightfall aback. "Me? Keep slaves? I was lucky not to be one." He regained his respectful demeanor. Not wanting to talk about a past he would rather forget, Nightfall channeled the questions back toward subjects he knew Edward could not resist. Restoring Edward’s attention to vast and vague principles would also direct him away from chasing unidentified highwaymen. “Master, I understand that slavery is cruel. Forgive the question, but why do you hold this cause so important?" Nightfall watched trees glide past on either side of the dusty roadway, knowing the threatening rain would soon turn the path to mud.
"Alyndar doesn’t have slavery. And, surely, you’ve never been kept."
Prince Edward grimaced, pale eyes blazing. “Anyone can champion a cause that’s hurt him in the past or one that makes his own life richer or easier." His gelding snagged a leafy branch, tearing it free. The wood swung from its mouth as it chewed. "Every time my father makes a law or proposal, every noble has to consider how it will help him, forgetting that the Father and the lesser gods want us to help one another the way He helps us all." Edward leaned across the horse’s neck and untangled the limb from its bit. “Every life has equal value in the gods’ eyes. There are no commoners on a baron’s council. Who would speak for the slaves if I didn’t‘?"
"I don’t know, Master." Nightfall had to admit that Prince Edward had a point, albeit a childishly uninformed one. Beaten and worked, yes. But, at least, the slaves get fed, clothed, and sheltered. Let free, they’d starve or die at the hands of stranger survivors on the streets.
The clouds bunched tighter, blotting evening into shadow.
"Holy beard of the Father!" Edward drew up his gelding.
Nightfall had never heard Edward blaspheme before. Alarmed, he followed the prince’s gaze to the chestnut packhorse. "What’s wrong, Master?"
"The spade." Edward clambered down from his saddle and headed for the packhorse. "The spade is missing.”
For the last ten leagues, at least. Respectfully, Nightfall dismounted also, trailing Prince Edward to the chestnut. For lack of anything better to say, he made a general noise of dismay.
Edward examined the packs and the ropes, then the place at the top where the spade should sit.
Nightfall held his breath, waiting for the prince to notice the numerous and sundry other missing items.
"Sudian, these knots are barely tight. We’re lucky we didn’t lose everything.”
Lightning flashed a zigzag path across the sky, followed by the raw boom of thunder.
Luck, Nightfall thought, is a matter of opinion. "I’m sorry, Master. They must have worked loose while we rode.” The first raindrops fell like cold pinpoints against Nightfall’s scalp.
Prince Edward hauled down the chestnut’s packs. "I don’t believe this carelessness!" He whirled on Nightfall. "From now on, you’re going to have to check the ties every time we stop. For now, there’s only one thing to do."
Push on to Nemix before we get drenched. Nightfall nodded his agreement.
“You’re going to go back and find that spade." Edward dragged the heaviest pack toward a clearing beneath intertwined branches that blocked undergrowth and light. It would shield him from the rain as well.
Go back? Nightfall’s jaw sagged. For several moments he could not speak. This time, no clever lies could save him, and annoyance got the best of him. "Master, Nemix is just ahead. If we push on, we could reach it tonight. Surely they have spades. Don’t you think it would be wiser to spend a dry night there?”
Prince Edward dropped the pack. “Sudian! I don’t like your tone . . .”
And I don’t like your person, but you don’t see me sending you out in the rain to find a heavy tool we don’t need. Wisely, Nightfall chose stony silence.
". . . and we already talked about questioning me. Don’t. You got careless, and it cost us the spade." He placed his hands on his hips as rain dropped from the heavens in a sudden barrage, drumming onto the umbrella of leaves. "Accident or not, you need to learn from it. That’s one of the reasons you’re with me, you know; and I intend to be a good teacher."
Surprised, Nightfall found himself without a reply. Is that what you were told? You’re supposed to teach me? Teach me what? How to preach? How to infuriate my own relatives into sending me off on a fool’s mission? How to build a camp for two using moats, palisades, and wooden stake defenses?
Apparently accepting Nightfall’s silence as acquiescence, Prince Edward continued. "I’ll set up the camp while you’re gone."
Visions of a warm inn room and ale floated from Nightfall’s mind, leaving an aching aggravation in its wake. Thinking it better in his current mood to leave Edward and spend some time alone, Nightfall unfastened the pack from his mare and lowered it to the ground. Springing into the saddle, he headed back the way they had come. Even thieves are smart enough to stay in from the rain. Ned is safe from everyone but himself. He kicked the bay toward the open pathway. The horse shied from the pelting rain then, at Nightfall’s urging, lowered its head and braved the storm.
Once beyond Prince Edward’s hearing, Nightfall muttered a string of frustrated obscenities. He hunched into himself, trying to protect his face and chest from the damp. The wind turned each patch of wet clothing into icy misery, and the horse snorted its dissatisfaction with every step. I brought it on myself. Nightfall saw neither means nor reason to place the blame elsewhere. I knew he’d eventually notice some items missing, but I figured he’d learn we didn’t need them, not send me back on this stupid errand.
Quickly soaked, Nightfall ceased to care about the rain. Water trickled from his hair, down the neck of his tunic, the wetter areas now warmer than the damp ones that the wind could easily dry. It came to him that he had become angry beyond reason. I ’m losing the character of Sudian, and I should appreciate the chance to be free of that moron for a bit. Rankelle’s only a few more strides down the side road, and I won’t even need to pass the thieves’ den again.
Knowing himself well, Nightfall searched for the cause of his instability and discovered it near the surface of his thoughts. Kelryn. He knew he would find her in the dance hall in Nemix, and the idea of her twirling and capering as if nothing had changed stoked his imitation into fury. Marak is dead, murdered by her betrayal. Yet, for her, life simply goes on. He pictured her giggling in the arms of a young punk. The image would not come, and resentment faded with the failure. Whether I like it or not, Kelryn’s got better taste than that. He sincerely believed that, despite the fact that she had been courted by the most notorious criminal in Nemix. Now, he envisioned her with a handsome, young courtier, anger freshly piqued by a picture that came easily. He recognized jealousy as the cause of the annoyance, and that flared his mood back to rage. Maybe this time, she’ll only take his money instead of his freedom and his life.
Despite bitter thoughts, Nightfall could not help remembering small details: the way the dance hall lights sparked from hair white as an elder’s, the time he had rasped the skin from his knuckles while sharpening a dagger and she had dabbed at and bandaged the wound with a caring that could not have been feigned, the way just looking at her had sparked the need to protect her from the world’s ugliness and pain. She betrayed me. Rage died, replaced by a grief that hollowed him to the core. I will kill her. The pronouncement brought the familiar calm that accompanied a finished and irrevocable decision.
Nightfall headed toward Rankelle, aware the steward’s stolen coins would buy him good food, beer, and a warm night of rest. Thanks for the lesson, Ned. I feel wiser already.
Nightfall returned late in the morning to find Prince Edward slumped over his pack. Alarmed, Nightfall crouched, gaze scanning the clearing for enemies or movement. A pile of partially burnt sticks lay heaped in the center, all that remained
of a poorly fashioned campfire. A sagging lean-to graced the opposite side of the meadow. Near it, the horses grazed on leaves and vines.
The previous night, while surrounded by inn walls, spiced food, and ale, Nightfall had briefly considered staying in Rankelle. Then, the oath-bond had torn through his guts with a pain that doubled him, as if to split his physical body apart and scrape the soul from the deepest part of his being. He had stumbled from the tavern to vomit, vowing to return to Prince Edward, until the agony subsided. Now, the magic tingled, but he suffered none of the previous night’s pain. If Edward is dead, at least the bond doesn’t hold me responsible.
Seeing no signs of a struggle and hearing nothing to indicate nearby interlopers, Nightfall approached the prince. As he came closer, he could tell Edward was breathing deeply and regularly, and he saw no evidence of wounds. A book lay pinned beneath Edward’s arm, its opened pages crinkled. Nightfall studied the words, upside-down and partially blocked by Edward’s sleeve: ". . . for smaller camps, the great armies . . ."
Nightfall stopped reading. Quietly, he walked to the lean-to. Finding the other packs protected by the canvas roof, he set to work preparing breakfast and getting ready for another day of travel. I wonder how long he stayed awake trying to build the fortress this time? Nightfall shook his head. Much as I hate to admit it, the young fool means well. And I have to give him credit for stamina. For a pampered prince, he handles pain and work better than I ever expected. Finished with the food and packs, Nightfall rearranged the wood into an efficient pattern, placed the frog candle stolen from the steward amid the sticks, and lit it with the steward’s tinderbox. As the wax melted, the fire roared to life.
Nightfall turned his attention to Prince Edward, sprawled over his pack, muscled limbs still and hair covering his face like a golden veil. He sleeps like a dead man. And, in these parts, there’s a fine gap between sleeping like one and becoming one. "Master?" he called tentatively.
When Prince Edward did not respond, Nightfall came directly beside him. "Master!"
Edward did not stir.
Nightfall prodded Edward’s belly with the toe of one boot. "Master, wake up."
Edward made a raucous noise, then dropped back to sleep.
Oh, for the sake of the gods. Exasperated, Nightfall backed away. He hefted a rock, studied Edward, then wisely exchanged the stone for a pine cone. Lobbing it in a gentle arc, he let it fall onto the prince’s face.
Prince Edward jerked, opened his eyes, and sat up. He scratched at the cheek where the pine cone had landed, then traced the route of the object from his face to where it lay in the grass. He looked up into the tree that must have dropped it, frowning.
Nightfall thought it best to distract Edward before his sleep-numbed mind worked through the realization that pine cones do not fall in the spring. "Master, breakfast is ready."
"Sudian." The prince rose with a swiftness that had to aggravate sinews cramped from his awkward position as well as the riding soreness. "How long have you been back?"
"Not long." Nightfall simulated the clumsiness that accompanies fatigue. "I retraced our steps as far as l could."
"And?” Prince Edward covered a yawn, his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. His gaze found and locked on the crumpled book.
"I didn’t find the spade.”
Edward scooped the book into his lap, watching Nightfall grimly.
"I think a bear must have eaten it, Master."
“A bear?" Prince Edward studied Nightfall dubiously, as if to figure out whether he was being mocked. "Bears eat meat."
Nightfall kept a sincere expression on his face. "I’ve seen them chew branches and eat berries, Master. I thought they might eat spade handles, too."
Thoughtfully, Edward smoothed the wrinkled page, then leafed through, presumably seeking details about the eating habits of bears.
Nightfall turned back to the fire to hide his jaded grin. I’ll bet nobles can’t shit without looking up how some great king or general used to do it. Gathering the first of the packs, he headed for the horses, his thoughts shifting toward the coming journey. Nemix by midday. And either Kelryn or I won’t live to see the dawn.
* * *
Prince Edward Nargol and Nightfall reached the city of Nemix in late morning. Mud sucked at the horses’ hooves, and the white gelding pranced around puddles, spooking the packhorse behind it. Edward steadied it with weight shifts and tugs on the reins, but even he seemed to be wearying of the constant struggle with a poorly trained horse.
Cottages lined Nemix’ earthen roadways, unevenly spaced and diversely built; obviously, homes had been squeezed between existing dwellings as the city grew. Stone walkways fringed the streets, and people whisked about their business on these, avoiding the rain-muddied paths. A few stopped to stare at the radiant, if tired, prince and his single escort in Alyndar’s colors. Travelers came often to the city, bearing trade goods or wearing weapons and odd clothing; but royalty was scarce anywhere. And, though he displayed no sigil and rode with no armies, Ned’s beauty and bearing proclaimed his nobility as surely as if he had announced it.
Nightfall traversed the familiar roadways with trepidation. Riding through Marak’s city as Sudian felt wrong, like invading a rival’s territory or committing a crime in the name of honest Balshaz instead of Nightfall. The feeling was compounded by Prince Edward’s tendency to keep heading toward the scummier side of town, despite Nightfall’s subtle attempts to change direction.
At length, tired of riding in zigzags, Prince Edward drew up before a cottage. A woman chased a pig from the doorway with a broom, and the squealing animal disrupted a flock of chickens pecking seeds between stones in the walkway. The birds erupted into a flapping, clucking disarray. Startled, Prince Edward’s horse whipped into a rear, twisting in midair to bolt back the way it had come.
For an instant, Edward teetered. Then, his arms flailed the air, and he fell gracelessly into a puddle. Breath hissed between his teeth. Mud splattered his silks and turned the white horse into a spotted parody.
"Master, are you hurt?" Playing the dedicated squire, Nightfall leapt from his saddle and rushed to Edward’s side.
The pattern of the pedestrians slowed as they paused to stare at the grounded prince. Attention of any kind unsettled Nightfall, and he could not help feeling embarrassed for Ned.
"I’m fine." Edward lunged to his feet. "Catch Snow, Sudian."
Nightfall blinked, trying to figure out if the prince’s phrase was some new form of dismissal. "Catch snow, Master?"
"Catch Snow!" Edward repeated, making an abrupt gesture toward the white gelding trotting toward the border. "Before he gets away."
The horse. He’s named a damned horse. Nightfall sprang onto his bay and dug his heels into its ribs. The mare whipped into a gallop, charging after the fleeing gelding. Citizens drew up along both sides of the roadway, meticulously avoiding the street.
The gelding broke into a run as the mare pulled up alongside it, but not quickly enough. Nightfall inched ahead, then twisted the mare into a sudden turn that blocked the white’s escape. The gelding pulled up suddenly, reversed direction toward Ned, then dropped to a walk.
By the time Nightfall returned, dismounted, and caught both riding horses by the bridles, he found a dripping Edward receiving the final directions to the one place in all Nemix from which he wanted to divert the prince: Grittmon’s Inn and Tavern. Though the closest place to rest and clean, Grittmon’s honest business was a front for a myriad of illegal rackets. In the locked back room, Nightfall had bought numerous pieces of information, received jobs and messages, and met a motley assortment of sociopaths and bodyguards. City guardsmen received their beer free at certain times, and were strangely absent at others. Once, paid directly by Grittmon, Nightfall had poisoned a rival criminal lord. The man had crumpled in plain sight of two dozen patrons. Yet the corpse had been disposed of without fuss; not even a whisper of the crime infiltrated the street gossip.
Prince Edward took
the white gelding’s bridle from Nightfall, leading the horse down the roadway. "Come on, Sudian."
Nightfall trotted after, leading the bay and the chestnut. "Master, there’s a good inn down this way." He pointed in the opposite direction.
Edward did not break stride. "Thank you, Sudian, but there’s a closer one over here."
"But it’s not nearly as nice." Nightfall glared at the nearby spectators. With the action finished, they started to disperse. "And the food—"
"Food doesn’t matter." Edward tugged at his clinging undergarments irritably, his walk awkward. "Right now, I just want to wash and sleep."
And live until tomorrow. That’s important, too. "But, Master. Grittmon’s isn’t good enough for you."
"Sudian." Prince Edward swung around suddenly. "I’m covered with filth. I smell like a barn, and I saw the dawn before I fell asleep this morning. I couldn’t sleep for worrying, when you didn’t return, that I had sent my squire off to die." He turned back, continuing his march toward Grittmon’s Inn. "I’m getting a bath as soon as possible if I have to use a cow trough."
Last night he worried about me? Nightfall fell into shocked silence, too familiar with Ned’s sincerity to doubt the sentiment. The babe in the woods alone at night worried about the demon. I don’t believe this. Only two people in Nightfall’s life had ever seemed concerned for him. Kelryn’s betrayal negated her affection; surely her concern for him had been as fake as her love. And Dyfrin was the kind of friend that came once in a lifetime, if ever, the sort who not only worried for him but seemed to read his every mood. Suspicions raised, Nightfall tried to guess what Prince Edward wanted from him. I have little to offer except my service and loyalty. And he knows he already has those.
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