Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Prince Edward refused to miss the competition between Leyne and Sander, so Nightfall armored him up early so he did not need to rush to prepare for his own match. It bothered Nightfall that Edward would tire himself before the fight by wearing what felt like a ton of metal for longer than necessary, but it did not seem a major problem. Whoever he faced from the previous battle would also have worn his armor over the same period of time. Nightfall turned his attention to the competitors.

Leyne stepped into the ring first, with his usual confident grace. He faced the crowd with an artistic salute that set off a wild round of cheering. Sander entered soon after, a huge brunet with restless eyes. Nightfall could sense a nervousness that seemed only natural when pitted against the man favored to win the contests; but, when he faced Leyne Nargol directly, he stiffened with grim resolve.

"Begin match," the judge called.

The spectators pressed toward the ring, nearly crushing Edward, Nightfall, and Kelryn to the rail.

Leyne made the first attack, a controlled sweep for Sander’s midsection that the overlord’s son easily blocked. Caution stole all time and chance for riposte. As Sander repositioned for defense, Leyne jabbed for his neck. Sander parried with his sword. Leyne turned his offense into a broad, low slash that Sander caught on his shield. Obviously intimidated, Sander concentrated on defense while Leyne took leisurely pokes, prods, and cuts designed as much to measure his opponent as to win.

Then, suddenly, Sander’s style of combat changed. Spurred by realization that he could not win without attacking, or by simple determination, he drove in with a series of hard, overhand strikes at Leyne’s helmet. The prince raised his shield, repositioning it effortlessly to catch every wild cut.

Nightfall scanned the crowd at least as often as the fight, seeking Gilleran amid the jumble of spectators who fit every racial description on the continent. He kept track of the fight by the ringing slam of Sander’s sword hammering Leyne’s shield in a frenzy, a desperate move that would require a lucky opening to succeed. Yet, Nightfall guessed, it had probably won contests and wars in the past. Unpredictable attacks became difficult to fend, and the need for speed and concentration left Leyne little time for riposte.

Studying the spectators, Nightfall located a few familiar faces and crests, mostly those whom Edward had or might have battled in the ring. Others slept in nearby camps or had become known to him under different circumstances while he was in other guises. Leyne’s two retainers held positions on the opposite rail, recognizable by the purple and silver livery that had become too familiar to Nightfall. He saw no sign of Gilleran, and that frustrated rather than soothed him. Biding his time, Nightfall guessed. Waiting to get Leyne and Edward in the ring together. It seemed the most obvious plan, yet Nightfall would not anchor all his wariness on that one battle.

As part of his inspection, Nightfall glanced upward. The sky seemed diffusely gray, impossible to discern clouds from the general background of slate. A movement caught his eye, and he jerked his head in its direction. Gilleran floated silently toward the ring, flying over the heads of the masses whose every eye remained locked on the contestants in the arena. Clearly, he had begun his flight well beyond sight of witnesses, quietly drifting forward, trusting the natural proclivity of people to look in any direction but up as well as the distraction of final tourney. His arm arched in abrupt and deliberate threat.

The oath-bond turned into a savage shrill of alarm that tore agony and nausea through Nightfall. Instinctively, he placed his person between Edward and any spell Gilleran might have thrown. As he moved, he drew and flung a dagger, hilt first, focusing on the need to only distract and not damage. Harming Gilleran would violate the oath-bond.

The magic struck first, creating a shimmering curtain in the path of Leyne’s shield that Nightfall might not have noticed had he not witnessed the casting. The oath-bond’s warning died as Nightfall realized Edward had not been Gilleran’s target. Sander’s sword slammed down toward Leyne’s helmet. Leyne’s shield shifted toward it, entered the magicked area, and slowed to an agonizing crawl. Horror filled both combatants’ eyes. Then, a massive sword stroke that should have been easily fended crashed against Leyne’s helmet. The metal caved in, joints separating, and the prince collapsed to the dirt. An instant later, Nightfall’s dagger embedded itself in Gilleran’s left cheek.

The gasps of the crowd drowned Gilleran’s scream. He plummeted into an uncontrolled dive. The oath-bond boiled through Nightfall with a vengeance that sprawled him, helpless, to the ground. This time, he felt certain, it was over. He did not bother to fight it with action, just lay as still as his twitching muscles would allow, hoping the crowd would trample him to death before the sorcery claimed his soul. He had not intended to hurt Gilleran, only to stop the deadly magics that might have slaughtered his charge. But old habits died hard, and he had long practiced how to hit, not miss. His eyes showed him a blur of humans frozen in place by shock and terror. Gilleran managed to catch himself, spinning in midair and zipping off toward town. Within moments, he disappeared amid the grayness.

Apparently, the oath-bond accepted the accidental nature of the injury. It withdrew with an agonizing slowness intended, Nightfall guessed, to remind him how narrowly he had escaped its punishment. He promised it he would not attack an official of Alyndar again, in any fashion, and it mercifully dropped further, leaving only a dull ache that hammered him from head to toes. He managed to clamber to his feet, gulping great lungfuls of air, feeling as if he had run for hours with his windpipe squeezed closed.

Only then, Nightfall realized someone held and steadied him. He glanced at his benefactor and found himself staring into Kelryn’s worried face. "Are you all right?”

Nightfall did not waste breath on an answer. His gaze swept the area and he saw no sign of Prince Edward. Sudden panic seized him. "Where’s… Master?" he forced from his air-starved chest.

In answer, Kelryn pointed toward the ring.

Nightfall spun about so suddenly that dizziness blanked his mind briefly. When the buzzing and spots receded, he saw Edward in the arena tending to his brother along with two other men Nightfall hoped were Healers. Sander sat amid the judges, his helmet off and his face pale as a corpse. Nightfall scanned the skies and crowd for Gilleran but found no sign of the sorcerer.

“What happened?" Kelryn whispered.

"No-win. Did something shouldn’t," Nightfall explained in as few words as possible. "Leyne bad?"

Kelryn shrugged to indicate no one had announced his condition yet. Nightfall dared to hope his dagger might have saved the crown prince’s life. Probably, Gilleran had planned to get close to Leyne using his title and position, then would have extinguished any life remaining. Now, Nightfall moved cautiously toward the arena, alert to the possibility of Gilleran’s return. He took Kelryn’s arm to drag her along with him and hissed directly in her ear, "Keep on your guard for the sorcerer." The oath-bond’s warning tingle seemed painless in the wake of its previous spearing agony, but Nightfall took its cue. He had vowed not only to keep from harming Alyndarian officials, but also that he would not cause or allow others to do so. If Kelryn attacked Gilleran, he would have no choice but to defend the sorcerer against her.

The idea stoked rage that burned with the intensity, if not the pain, of the oath-bond. He knew he lived only by the mercy of the magic, a clemency that he believed came not from any humanlike kindness from the oath-bond but from his own ability to rationalize his actions quickly and without guilt. Luck and unbreakable habit had allowed him to accidentally stab the sorcerer he had vowed with his soul not to harm. He could only hope that wound would prove fatal and Leyne’s would not. The last thought brought a realization that thrilled him. Even if Leyne survived, his injury would eliminate him from the contest. Prince Edward had only one more opponent to best to become a duke in Shisenian territory, and Sander seemed shaken enough by the accident not to require Nightfall’s assistance to lose.