The nobles split to their respective rings, and the audience drew in as close to the roped off areas as they dared. Nightfall rode to the sidelines with Takruysse’s slave, the horses shielding them from the hordes. The two combatants split, riding to opposite sides of the arena. The crowd went silent. The slave tensed and loosened his fists, eyes locked on his master, clearly intent on the outcome.
Nightfall initiated conversation. “Your master must treat you well.”
The slave tore his gaze from the baron’s bastard reluctantly. "Not really." He smiled. "But if he rules a duchy in the east, I’m a free man. There’s no slavery in Tylantis."
Nightfall nodded his understanding, glad Edward could not overhear. Better the prince did not consider the possibility that his losing might grant some slaves freedom, at least not unless consolation became necessary. Before he could reply directly, the slave’s attention snapped back to the contest. The horses charged toward one another on opposite sides of the low, central wall.
Edward held his lance in position securely, his shield raised to take whatever blow Takruysse delivered. He seemed anxious, an unsettling contrast to Takruysse’s staunch resolve. The two raced toward one another. Nightfall stared, not allowing himself the luxury of a blink. He needed to remain alert to anything that the impact might reveal or that the judges or Takruysse might call a foul. His eyes stung by the time lances met shields with a thunderous crash, the weapons tearing a line of sparks along metal shields. The collision proved too much for the damaged cinch. It snapped, dumping saddle and rider over the horse’s rump. Edward rode past, barely budged, cautiously reining his horse.
The slave swore viciously under his breath, and they both rode to meet their masters. Takruysse rose, eyes wide and mouth open, as if he could not fathom how he had wound up in the dirt. The slave assisted his master dutifully. One judge came to Edward’s side and the other spoke to Takruysse. The baron’s bastard shrugged, speaking too low for Nightfall to hear. The judge at his side made a gesture to the other to indicate no challenge. With a nod, the one near Edward spoke. "The winner of round one, Edward Nargol younger prince of Alyndar." Sparse applause and whispers accompanied the pronouncement. Takruysse had gained a following from his appearances in previous games. Edward had only the secret love many hold for any underdog and the steadfast squire who rushed to his side and covertly removed illegal restraints.
First round won. Five to go. Nightfall knew the process would grow harder as the numbers became whittled. His frauds would have to become more subtle as the crowds and judges paid closer attention. As winning lent confidence and the duchy became more than distant dream, losers would become quicker to dispute judgments, right or wrong.
Edward chattered softly at Nightfall as they rode around the finishing competitions in the other arenas. “I can’t believe I actually won. Lance has never been my best weapon . . ." He broke off as they rounded the last of the rings where a dispute had ensued, drawing the attention of competitors as well as spectators, including Prince Leyne.
The knight who had called the foul explained. "He hit my horse. That’s against the rules."
The not-yet-proclaimed winner pleaded his case. "If it’s deliberate, it’s against the rules. I just swung a bit wide. I grazed it by accident."
The judges nodded, glancing from one to the other and whispering between themselves. A hum stretched through the crowd as each moderated the dispute in his own mind. From what Nightfall could hear, most believed the victor should keep his win. The judges seemed uncertain, deliberating for moments that passed like hours to the competitors. If they upheld the win, the knight of lesser ability would continue in the contests, at least according to the lists. That made the claim of foul hold more weight than if the stakes stood the other way.
Clearly, Prince Leyne did not agree with the masses. He addressed the "winner" directly. "Usually, Darxmin. An accidental strike would not count against an honest man. But that same so-called accident won a match for you in Grifnal last month and in Mezzin last year. The judges should know that also."
Darxmin glared momentarily at Prince Leyne, but he did not deny or defend the charge.
Edward nodded slightly, his expression grave, his eyes round with reverence at his brother’s knowledge and memory. Nightfall watched without obvious expression, wondering what advantage Leyne gained by overturning the victory.
The judges pondered several moments longer. Then, the eldest spoke, “Retire to your corners to prepare. This match will be fought again."
Applause followed the announcement of what seemed a fair compromise, even to Nightfall. It did not impugn either man’s honor and would assure an honest contest. Intentionally or by accident, Darxmin would not hit the other horse again.
Leyne threw his brother a stiff, acknowledging salute, then rode off into the crowd.
Edward and Nightfall continued toward their camp, the prince smiling quietly. "Honest, capable, forthright, and bold. To what more could any noble aspire?"
Uncertain of the question, Nightfall had no response. "Yes, Master," he replied as seemed expected.
"I wish I could be more like my brother."
Not again. "Like Leyne, Master?"
Edward swiveled his head to study his squire. "Well, yes. Who else did you think I was talking about before?"
Nightfall thought it best not to say he had assumed Edward spoke in general terms. “You’re wonderful as you are. Why would you want to change?"
They pulled up at the camp. Nightfall dismounted, removing the bridle so his bay could graze without danger of looping a foot through the reins. Swiftly, he went to Edward’s side to assist his dismount in armor.
"As always, I appreciate your loyalty, Sudian. But how can a man not model himself after one as exemplary as Leyne Nargol?"
Nightfall chose not to answer, instead seeking the real motivations behind Leyne’s action while he meticulously removed the armor as he had been taught only the day before, beginning with the gauntlets so Edward could use his hands. "Does his highness not like Darxmin?"
"They’re friends."
"How about the other knight?"
"Sir Trettram? Leyne knows him, too. They’ve lost contests to one another." Edward assisted Nightfall, painstakingly piling the armor to avoid further scratching or dirtying it.
This news fell outside Nightfall’s experience with human nature. It made more sense for Leyne to side with the man who would prove no match for him later in the contests. He explored other possibilities, trying to force the picture into his view of reality. He worked on the theory that Leyne might side with the man whose style of fighting he knew better. "He’s stood against Trettram more often then, Master?"
"No, actually, Darxmin’s been a part of the competitions longer. He’s just not a particularly good warrior, at least compared to most gentry."
Nightfall let the thoughts settle while he removed the last of Edward’s protections from the padding beneath it. Curiosity goaded him to delve further into Leyne’s motivation, but propriety would not allow it.
Edward extended the conversation to its natural conclusion. "His honor won’t let him tolerate dishonesty, so he speaks out. His interference makes things better. I try to do that, too, but I always wind up in trouble because of it."
The comments brought understanding to Nightfall in two forms. First, he conceded that Leyne might actually have mediated the situation fairly rather than tried to rig it in his favor. Second, he realized just how much Edward Nargol tried to imitate his brother and just how miserably he had failed. The situation intrigued Nightfall. He had never had a sibling. Although he respected Dyfrin more than any person on the continent, it had never occurred to him to mimic his friend’s morality or actions, only to occasionally follow the advice when it suited him. He had to be what his bloodline made him, not a copy of Dyfrin. Yet, Nightfall realized, bloodline had given Edward and Leyne the same potential.
Prince Edward changed into his regular clothes while Ni
ghtfall inspected and polished tack and armor. Edward obtained the meal from one of the many vendors, and Nightfall packed away gear to protect it from damage or theft, appreciating the reprieve from cooking. He ate well, reawakening the charade of testing Edward’s portion for poison. With a duchy at stake, Nightfall doubted most of the other participants would prove as truly "noble" as Crown-prince Leyne. In fact, he had not forgotten his own vial of shartha petals tucked away in a pocket. In any but tremendous doses, it would only cause cramps and vomiting; and he had no intention of killing anyone.
After the meal, Edward wandered to the rings to watch the remaining matches, though whether as entertainment, for technique, or to judge the competition, Nightfall did not care. He napped, preparing for another sleepless night of rigging contests.
Chapter 17
A gambler bet the tales were lies
And scorned the wisdom of the wise.
The odds were not the ones he chose-
Darkness comes where Nightfall goes.
—"The Legend of Nightfall"
Nursery rhyme, alternative verse
The rising and falling roar of milling crowds, merchants hawking wares, and the shouts and applause of the spectators did not awaken Nightfall; but a closer noise did. The last round of tilting had scarcely finished when a horse violated the mental boundary Nightfall’s mind considered camp. Instantly fully alert, he leapt to his feet, instinctively positioning himself between Edward and the threat. He found himself facing Prince Leyne mounted on his palomino charger. The beauty of horse and rider gave them the appearance of a grand, golden statue draped in purple and silver. The identification did not allow Nightfall to relax. He still mistrusted the elder prince.
Leyne laughed. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle anyone."
Edward looked up from where he sat near their gear, reading, clearly unstartled. “‘No harm done." He closed the book, careful not to bend pages, placed it on his pack, and rose.
Leyne swung down from his horse, passing the reins to Nightfall, obviously accustomed to instant responses to his needs. Nightfall accepted the responsibility without reluctance or comment, playing his role. He admired the horse, a highly-worked and -muscled gelding that seemed as obedient and calm as it was beautiful. Stories abounded about knight’s horses, and most peasants and stable hands believed them ingrained to one owner. Dozens of tales circulated about well-intentioned stable boys stomped to death by war-horses taught to kill any man but their masters who touched them. Clearly, either highborn disseminated the stories to discourage thieves or Leyne used a different beast for war than tourney.
"Congratulations." Leyne approached his brother. "I never thought of lance as one of your better weapons, and you bested a worthy opponent."
Nightfall listened for some grain of accusation or challenge in Leyne’s voice and did not find it. The sentiment seemed heartfelt, the elder prince genuinely happy for and complimentary of his younger brother.
Edward fairly beamed. His blue eyes sparkled, and the corners of his lips bowed slightly upward. However, he maintained his dignity. “Thank you, brother. I’m pleased."
Nightfall watched and judged openly, not bothering to hide his protectiveness from either prince. Physically or emotionally, he would defend Edward’s well-being.
Leyne smiled, either at Edward’s innocent joy or Nightfall’s overcaution. "They’ve posted the next round. You’re fighting Astin of Ivral, the baron’s first son. It doesn’t seem like you to pick double swords, so he must have gotten choice of weapon."
Nightfall had always considered Edward huge; however, Leyne dwarfed him for sheer muscle mass. Nightfall guessed the elder prince outweighed Nightfall, at his baseline, by double or more. With the addition of armor, the golden gelding carried an impressive burden that explained its bulk as well.
"Double swords?" Edward’s words seemed more repetition than question, but Leyne explained as if the latter were true.
"Long swords. One in each hand."
"No shields, then."
Leyne smiled to show he meant no malice. "Not unless you intend to hold it in your teeth." He clapped an encouraging hand to Edward’s shoulder. "An unusual choice certainly, but not one you’re altogether inexperienced with."
Edward smiled, but it was strained.
"You’ll do fine. The strangeness of the weapon will draw attention to the match. Win or lose, if you put up a good fight, you’ll be long remembered for it. And I can’t see you giving any less. You handled Captain Rahtayne and me well enough."
Edward’s grin wilted into sobriety. “With two of the best swordsmen in the country pounding on me whenever I did something wrong at practice, how could I not learn defense? But I don’t think I ever scored a strike against our teacher or you. War or contest, nothing was ever won without offense.”
Leyne shrugged. "You’ll do fine. If you expect to win every contest you enter, especially the first, you’ll be forever disappointed. Pride yourself on a competent defense. If you stand long against Astin, you’ll gain a reputation and a following.” He glanced at Nightfall with a smile not returned, then brought his attention back to Edward. "Do you have two sparring swords?"
Edward shook his head. "Not even one."
"Long swords will go fast, and you’re going to need two, preferably ones that balance well together. Why don’t I pick some good ones for you?”
"Thank you. Give me just a moment, and I’ll come with you. I appreciate your help." Edward made it clear he trusted his brother’s eye implicitly. Nightfall felt certain Edward would follow Leyne’s intuition even over the feel of the weapons in his own hand.
“You stay and relax. You’ve earned it." Leyne gestured Edward to remain in place and headed back to his horse. He took the reins from Nightfall. "I’ll just take your squire with me if you don’t mind."
Nightfall stiffened, certain Leyne had not arranged the situation as casually as it seemed. He scrambled for an excuse that would not insult royalty.
Prince Edward did not make it any easier. "Certainly. Take Sudian along. Between the two of you, you probably know me better than me.”
Nightfall played his only card. "Master, I’d rather not leave you alone among so many strangers.”
Edward dismissed the concern with a wave. "Nonsense, Sudian. I’m safe with this crowd. Mount up and go with Leyne."
Nightfall hesitated, weighing concern against propriety. Seeing advantages to discovering why Leyne wanted him alone, he raised no further objections. If the elder prince tried to harm him, he could defend himself well enough. Pain accompanied the thought; the oath-bond leapt to attention and slid into a crescendo of alarm. Recognizing the offending idea, Nightfall carefully reconstructed his thoughts to indicate he would not consider hurting Leyne or any other in the hierarchy of Alyndar. He would only run from conflict. Satisfied, the oath-bond settled. Nightfall placed the bridle on his bay, then sprang aboard without bothering with a saddle. Leyne mounted his palomino.
The two men rode in silence toward the central area where the extra blunted weapons lay piled. Once there, Leyne began his dismount. Before he could reach the ground, Nightfall vaulted down and caught both sets of reins. The prince muttered something incomprehensible either in thanks or impressed appreciation. He picked through the weapons without asking or, apparently, expecting any assistance. This pleased Nightfall well enough. Even from a distance, he could tell Leyne gave at least a reasonable effort to make good selections, tossing aside many for color, construction, or balance. Whatever his intention, it did not seem to involve sabotaging Edward’s chances with bad tools. That consideration, however, when coupled with the knowledge that Edward had a strong defense gave Nightfall the answer to how to rig the contest.
At length, Leyne settled on two practice swords. He carried these to a small Tylantian standing nearby, apparently the one in charge of the weapons. They exchanged words Nightfall did not hear, although he caught Edward’s name among them and guessed Leyne had explained h
is purpose for taking two. The Tylantian wrapped the swords in cloth. Leyne balanced them on the palomino’s rump, binding them to the back of his saddle with twine. He mounted. Nightfall passed the prince his reins, then leapt aboard his bay.
"This way," Leyne guided Nightfall away from the main affair, through the circling line of merchants and hangers-on, to the base of the outer Tylantian wall. Finding a quiet, grassy place, he pulled up his horse and dismounted. This time, he removed the bridle to allow the palomino to graze. He dropped the head-tack to the ground.
Nightfall followed suit. He waited, allowing the noble to speak first as Edward had taught him, though the urge to question Leyne’s true motivations burned strongly.
Prince Leyne’s dark eyes seemed to bore into Nightfall’s blue-black ones. "I didn’t bring you along to select weapons."
That being self-evident, Nightfall responded only with a nod of acknowledgment. Though mistrust goaded him to spar for dominance, if only with eye contact; he used the head movement as a way to politely avert his gaze instead. There was far more at stake here than a war of egos. To antagonize might cause a battle the oath-bond would make him helpless to fight.
"I brought you to offer you this." Leyne put a hand in his pocket and enclosed something in a meaty fist. "Here.”
Obediently, Nightfall outstretched his hand to take the unseen offering. Leyne dumped half a dozen gold coins into his palm.
Nightfall could not recall the last time he had seen gold, let alone six coins at once. Though surprised, he allowed his features to reveal no reaction other than confusion. He squinted, brow crinkling. "What’s this for, noble sir?" He looked up, unable to keep from meeting Leyne’s stare again.
Leyne held the cold eyes with his own, his mood intense, obviously judging every word and movement. "It’s yours if you leave my brother’s service."
Nightfall’s dislike for Leyne turned to frank hatred. In response, he flung the gold at his feet, stomping each precious coin into the dirt. He met Leyne’s eyes again, this time hoping the ferocity of his infamous glare stung. He did not bother with words, certain his actions had spoken loudly enough.
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