Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Nightfall returned to his master pleased by his own cleverness. Edward had dismounted, though the horse still wore saddle and bridle, the reins looped in the prince’s hand. He talked with another man perched on a heavily-muscled palomino, its coat burnished and its mane cream white, unmarred by even single hairs of darker color. It stood motionless, four feet steadily braced and its ears cocked back and attentive to its rider. Nightfall focused on the stranger, drawn by the majesty of stance and appearance. The close-cropped blond hair made Edward’s longer locks seem unruly though they were well-brushed. The features were familiar, and the shrewd, brown eyes clinched the identity. He looked like an older version of Edward, except for the eyes that could only have come from King Rikard. Only then, Nightfall recognized the purple and silver patterning on the silks of man and horse, the too-familiar colors of Alyndar.

"Master, let me handle the horse." Nightfall reached to take the reins from Edward. He gave each prince a respectful half-bow.

Edward waited until Nightfall had a good hold on the leathers, then released his grip. "Sudian, this is my brother, Crown-prince Leyne."

Nightfall made a gesture of deferential respect with his free hand, allowing the elder prince to speak first.

Leyne obliged, his voice the same booming bass as his father’s. "Ah, yes. This is the fanatically loyal squire they’re still whispering about back in Alyndar." He studied Nightfall with a measuring gaze that seemed more curious and aloof than mistrustful. Nightfall would have bet all the money in his pocket that Leyne knew nothing about Rikard’s and Gilleran’s arrangement. "Four months and not quit yet. That is impressive." He winked at Edward to show he meant no offense.

Edward smiled tolerantly.

Nightfall took an immediate dislike to the crown prince of Alyndar. The things brothers could get away with saying to one another had never ceased to amaze him. Nightfall set to his work without a reply, stripping saddles and bridles from both horses and hobbling them to graze.

Leyne turned his attention back to Edward. "Best of luck, brother. It’s good to finally see you take some interest in competition. No matter how you fare, it’ll be good experience for future tourney.” He spun his horse and waved over one shoulder before heading back into the crowd.

Edward watched after his retreating brother, lips pursed and gaze longing. "I wish I could be more like him."

Cut your brain out. Bloat your self-regard. Nightfall kept the thought to himself. Finished with the horses, he set up camp swiftly. Edward continued to stare after his brother, looking nervously out of place amid the confident band of nobles and their entourages, nearly all of which consisted of more than just a single squire. Once he spread the sleeping blankets, prepared food, and arranged the packs protectively around their camp, Edward finally addressed him.

"How much do you know about armor and jousting weapons or getting horses ready for tourney?"

Nightfall saw no reason to lie. “Nothing, Master."

"Nothing," Edward repeated, clearly disappointed but not surprised. "Well, then, I’ll teach you. Leyne said the first round will be all tilting.”

Nightfall’s brow creased. "Tilting, Master?"

"Lance competitions from horseback.” Edward sighed, apparently realizing Nightfall had not exaggerated when he claimed to know nothing about the sport. "A good choice in some ways; you’ll need to learn everything at once." He considered his own words. “A bad choice for the same reason, I guess, depending on whether you learn better at once or gradually.” He gave Nightfall a questioning glance.

Nightfall shrugged. "Teach me whatever is needed. I’ll learn."

Edward nodded, obviously realizing the answer did not matter, nor would it change anything about the situation. “First, a trip to the weapons stock. The experienced ones will have brought equipment of their own, decorated and balanced to their liking. As late as we came, we’ll have to take whatever’s left of what the competition supplied, if anything. Otherwise, we’ll have to borrow."

Nightfall nodded to indicate he had heard, but he did not concern himself with the problem. Once a weapon met certain specifications, the biases of individual wielders made far less difference than most would think, at least to Nightfall’s mind. He preferred a perfectly balanced and tapered throwing knife, but he could fling a sharpened stick into a bullseye. Skill played a far greater role than tools, and he had watched Edward wield a spade like a sword with too much competence to believe minutiae would destroy his ability or sense of timing. "What about Prince Leyne’s lance? Wouldn’t he lend it to you?"

"He probably would." Though he answered in the affirmative, Edward shook his head. "I wouldn’t ask." Nightfall tendered his question cautiously, a repeat of Edward’s words. "You wouldn’t, Master?"

"It would be impolite. Leyne’s weapons are like his queen will be: long-sought, meticulously chosen, and not to be shared." The prince hesitated, obviously as discomfited by his own choice of words as the thought of borrowing from the brother he emulated. "Did you find out who I’ll fight first?"

"Sir Takruysse sol-Chiminyo." Nightfall gauged Edward’s reaction.

The prince swallowed hard, features paling. He managed a mild smile, with obvious effort. "They must trust me to do well in my first competition to give me an opponent who has placed high in so many."

Nightfall thought it best not to explain the true structure of the Tylantian bouts. It would only wreak further havoc on Edward’s already sagging morale. Instead, he selected words to fire up his master. “I’m not the only one who sees your prowess, Master. And the battle the Father gave you begins as well. Takruysse is from Mitano. And he keeps slaves."

Edward looked away, lost in thought. Only the tensing of his jaw gave away his mood.

"Which comes first, Master, lessons or lance-picking?”

Edward unclenched his teeth to answer. "Weapon first so we can make arrangements for borrowing, if need be, before nightfall."

Nightfall had long ago learned not to respond to the word-play on his name, although this time it seemed eerily appropriate.

Edward added apologetically. "I’m afraid we’ll probably have to practice donning and doffing armor several times tonight."

Nightfall suspected the exercise would prove a chore for both of them, but he did not mind. With knowledge of the proper technique would come an understanding of the competition’s weaknesses. Means to cheat, Nightfall felt certain, would come to him as well. He would only have to find ways to do so that would keep the judges, and Edward, ignorant.

Leyne’s name came up for the first of the five waves of competition and Edward’s for the second, which meant Edward needed to prepare while his brother fought. Word reached them quickly enough, however; and it scarcely seemed worth watching even had circumstances allowed. The crown prince had cleanly unseated his opponent on the first charge with an easy fluency that remained the talk of the spectators even as the second set of competitors paraded toward their assigned rings.

Nightfall had found his loophole in the form of raw-hide bindings that secured Edward’s legs to the saddle and his gauntlet to the pommel. Though not directly mentioned in the rules, Nightfall guessed his trick would prove unlawful and against propriety if anyone discovered it; he would see to it that no one did. He had secreted the straps as only a sneak-thief could and wet them to hardened strands he would need to cut when he unarmored Edward. They would not break. The same, he hoped, would not prove true of Takruysse’s cinch. Under cover of darkness, he had slipped past all of the Mitanoan’s slave sentries to work his trickery on the tack. It had taken finesse to weaken ties without tell-tale fraying and to just the right extent that it would not give while cinching onto the horse, even for a second tightening.