Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

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 Nightfall 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.

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.