Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

“He told me." Kelryn dropped her hands to her sides. For the first time, her gaze softened and Nightfall found the beauty that had captivated him into a trust that, he believed, had ruined him as well. "Marak, he was born with a talent. Dyfrin was a mind-reader."

“A mind-reader." It was not Nightfall’s way to repeat things in stupefied horror, but realization left room for nothing else. A million, ancient questions died in mat moment, answered by a single pronouncement that should have seemed obvious. Dyfrin was a mind-reader. It explained everything, from his friend’s uncanny ability to select friends, enemies, and targets to his exceptional talent at consolation of even the worst kinds of pain. For an instant, Nightfall felt betrayed again. The friend whose judgment he had trusted implicitly, who had seemed loyal to the point of learning every nuance of action, expression, and behavior was a fraud.

Yet Nightfall dismissed the assessment as soon as he made it, regret hammering him at the vileness of the thought. The mind-reading did not matter, only Dyfrin’s decision to use that talent to aid, rather than harm, Nightfall. The applications for such a potent natal ability seemed endless. Dyfrin could have channeled his energies into finding the locations and protections of the world’s most valuable treasures. He could have scanned every wager, discovering who really had the goods. He could have won card games and scams until he owned more money and power than any king. The possibilities became an endless parade, halted abruptly by truth. Instead, Dyfrin had lived in squalor, using his talent to rescue children and adults whom others abandoned as hopeless. Dyfrin’s gift only made him all the more remarkable and generous, and it shocked Nightfall to realize that, with a similar gift to help him understand the ugliness behind the mask most people presented, Edward could have been a second Dyfrin.

Nightfall pushed aside that thought for ones more frightening, serious, and immediate. Suddenly, the other answers came, those so terrifying he could scarcely find voice to ask the questions. "Dyfrin’s dead, isn’t he?”

Kelryn lowered her head, eyes suddenly blurred by tears.

The description of Genevra, the Healer in Delfor, leapt suddenly back into Nightfall’s mind. "Dyfrin was the man the sorcerer killed in your room." Remembered pain from the Iceman’s attack made him cringe. Dyfrin had suffered more than any man should, and the idea suffused Nightfall with a pity that made him want to curl up in a ball and sob as well as a rage that drove him to vengeance and murder.

"I froze." Kelryn wept. "I cowered in a corner. I was so scared, I just couldn’t do anything."

Nightfall put the remainder together on his own. Chancellor Gilleran of Alyndar had killed Dyfrin with his ritual, ripping out the Keevainian’s soul for the mind-reading talent he coveted. He knew so much about Nightfall because he had read Kelryn’s mind afterward, leaving her alive as a means to gather more information about him should it become necessary. In Alyndar’s dungeon, Nightfall had believed Gilleran had a truth-detecting spell; but it was so much more. The idea of Dyfrin’s spirit writhing in agony inside a sorcerer made his stomach flop. He gagged on bile.

Kelryn fought her own war of conscience. "If I had just done something. Anything. Maybe I could have saved him."

Nightfall shook his head. "You could have done nothing but get yourself killed as well. And probably Genevra."

Kelryn drew her head back, obviously surprised by his knowledge of Genevra.

"I met her in Delfor," Nightfall explained. “She wanted you to know she was fine and well-protected.”

Kelryn smiled slightly at a bit of good news among so much bad. She met Nightfall’s gaze once more.

The hatred vanished, displaced by a grief tempered only by guilt. No longer confined, love filled the aching void. Nightfall felt as if he would drop dead where he stood if he did not hold Kelryn. He caught her in his arms, and she embraced him with equal fervor. "I’m sorry," he said, the apology seeming far from adequate.

Kelryn clung, apparently needing nothing more. "I love you. I always did. I always will."

Why? Nightfall wanted to scream. Why? It made no sense for a woman so perfect to care about one so unworthy, and he wondered why the holy Father had so blessed him when so many good people had so little. Yet, he knew he would not have long to enjoy his fortune. Within months, Gilleran seemed likely to add his soul to the collection. Nightfall would join Dyfrin one more time, in an agony that would end one way of two: with his soul and talent spent or, upon the sorcerer’s death, replaced by the eternal torment of the Father`s hell. Dyfrin, at least, Nightfall believed, would find paradise. Carefully, he unwound himself from Kelryn’s hold. “Kelryn, it would be better for both of us if we went our separate ways."

Kelryn jerked back, clearly stunned. "But I… We finally.. ." She concentrated on completing a thought. "You still don’t believe me?"

"I believe you," Nightfall assured. "And I truly am sorry for everything I put you through." He recalled the incident in Noshtillan’s eatery, and realization added another depth of honesty to his already forthright account. "If I ever hit you again, just kill me. I’ll let you. I promise."

"Don’t be absurd."

"I’m not joking. People who hit those they love don’t deserve the life the Father gave them."

"I agree." Kelryn kept her expression as somber as Nightfall’s, making it clear she would not allow him to hurt her again. "But at the time you slapped me, you hated me. And you had every reason to believe you should have done far worse.”

"But I shouldn’t have-"

Kelryn interrupted. "Drop it. Don’t dwell on it. One lapse doesn’t make you evil. Under the same circumstances, I probably would have hit you, too." She waved off a response. "We have more important things to talk about right now. Edward might be in danger.”

A nudge from the oath-bond turned Nightfall’s thoughts immediately to this new problem. "How do you mean?"

I Kelryn cocked her head, as if seeking permission to give him details. "The Iceman came to me to find you. He wound up in a fight with the sorcerer who killed Dyfrin."

"Gilleran," Nightfall said, suddenly recalling his glimpse of and search for the chancellor.

Kelryn continued the story. "He killed the Iceman.” She cringed, apparently at the image of the ritual. "But first he said some things that terrified me."

Nightfall contemplated the consequences of the stand-off. Gilleran’s power had doubled if he’d slaughtered Ritworth and added the Iceman’s spells to his repertoire. The thought sent a shiver through Nightfall. The killer freezing spell, flight, and the mud doll tortures had all become the property of an already too-powerful sorcerer. The situation seemed concerning enough, but Nightfall probed for the specifics of Kelryn’s worry. "What did he say?"

Kelryn ran a hand through her white locks, the movement stopped by a stick snarled into a tangle. "At the time, he was trying to win the Iceman’s trust, so he may have exaggerated or lied outright. I don’t know whether he meant any of it, but he claimed to be next in line for Alyndar’s throne. And he told us the princes would die in tourney."

"Die in tourney‘?" Nightfall spoke aloud as he considered. A few of the competitors had sustained minor injuries from practice weapons or falls from horses, but he had no reason to suspect that death during the nobles’ games occurred more often than rarely. The only way Gilleran could know such a thing was if he planned to arrange it, yet that idea had its flaws as well. If Gilleran planned to harm Edward or Leyne, why did he wait so long? Unless he had more faith in Edwards’s abilities than everyone else, he would have to believe he would arrive after the younger prince was already eliminated from competition. The oath-bond continued its steady, discomforting hum, apparently still uncertain whether the danger to Edward had become concrete or serious. As Kelryn said, Gilleran had been talking to impress Ritworth.