Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Once at the base of the stairs, Nightfall navigated the corridors to Alyndar’s Great Hall from memory. The walk turned his thoughts from Kelryn to considerations about the king’s motivation for meeting with him. Many possibilities filled his mind, from benign to ridiculous. He discarded all but the most plausible. It made sense that King Rikard would choose to listen to Nightfall’s version of the events of the past several months as being nearer reality than Edward’s. Yet, it seemed to Nightfall that propriety must dictate Rikard discuss matters with his son first. More likely, King Rikard he longer found a need for Nightfall’s services. Reality had stolen enough of Edward’s naive exuberance to allow normal tutors to work with him, and Rikard could no longer give all his direction to his elder son. Kings tended to dispose of what no longer aided or amused them.

Nightfall’s steps slowed at the realization, but he did not falter. This time, running and hiding would not save him. The oath-bond would take him in either instance. At least, if he reasoned with Rikard, he might have a small chance to rescue life as well as soul. At the worst, he trusted his ability to incite enough to believe he could goad king or guards to kill him before the oath-bond took him.

Four sentries with spears and swords stood in front of the massive door that opened onto the courtroom of King Rikard the Hammer-handed. These stepped aside as Nightfall approached. One addressed him. “Sudian, Edward’s squire?"

Nightfall nodded, though he suspected the question came from routine formality. Surely, every guard in Alyndar had learned his description.

"The king has been expecting you." The sentry emphasized the word "has" to indicate a long, impatient wait. He pushed the door ajar.

Nightfall bobbed his head to indicate understanding. Without wasting more time with words, he pressed inside the courtroom and trotted briskly down the carpeted pathway between rows of benches and toward the high-backed chair that served as Rickard’s throne. To Nightfall’s relief, the chancellor’s chair beside the seated king stood empty. The spectators’ benches held no people. The only other occupants of the chamber were a dozen attentive guardsmen spread along walls festooned with paintings and tapestries. Volkmier, the competent, red-haired chief of prison guards who had threatened Nightfall after his fall from the parapets, held a position near the front of the room at the king’s left hand.

Nightfall took his cues from Rikard and Volkmier. The king sat with rigid alertness, his gray-flecked brown curls in mild disarray and his fur-trimmed robe wrinkled. Nightfall suspected the lapses in demeanor had less to do with slovenliness than an unwillingness to steal time or regard from more important matters. The dark eyes told all, hard with a steely gleam that offered no kindness or mercy. Clearly, he had not called Nightfall only to request news of the past months.

Volkmier’s stance seemed as unyielding as Rikard’s expression, though Nightfall guessed he echoed the king’s mood from duty or concern rather than any suspicions of his own. Kelryn had seen through his disguise, but she had known him as no one else but Dyfrin could. Surely, if King Rikard told anyone about the oath-bond, he would select a chief among his guards; but Nightfall felt certain Gilleran would convince him to keep the arrangement fully secret. Even without the sorcerer’s input, it seemed foolish to discuss such a dangerous matter with anyone.

Nightfall stopped the proper distance from the king, knelt, and bowed his head to his chest. He remained in position, waiting for Rikard to speak. His other senses kept him keenly aware of every movement of king or guards, though he did not bother to focus. A sudden attempt to harm or kill him seemed the least of his worries now.

After a period that seemed excessive to Nightfall, Rikard spoke, but he addressed the guards rather than the man he had summoned. "Away with all of you. I wish to talk with Sudian alone."

Nightfall held his pose, listening to the hiss of movement and the gentle, scarcely audible rattle of mail under tunics. Heavy footfalls tracked the far side of the rows of benches then came together to approach the door. One by one, the sentries filed from the room. Yet, Nightfall could tell, without vision, that Volkmier still had not obeyed.

King Rikard waited until the door clicked closed before addressing his chief prison guard. "Alone, Volkmier."

Now, Nightfall heard the swish of fabric as Volkmier obviously made some grand gesture of respect. “Sire. I will not leave you unprotected.”

Nightfall could not help smiling at the familiar words, glad his position hid his expression from the others.

King Rikard sounded annoyed and impatient. ‘“I’m in no danger from Sudian. Go."

Volkmier only repeated. “Sire, I will not leave you unprotected.”

"It is not a request. It is an order."

"And I am loyal to your orders, Sire. Most so to the one that I will not leave you unguarded among men I do not know. Sire, I will not leave you unprotected.”

Only concern for his own fate kept Nightfall from laughing at the irony. He remained still, not even bothering to sneak a look at the insistent guardian. He could judge mood and intention well enough by tone alone.

"Very well," King Rikard said at length, sounding much like his youngest son. "Stay, then, but do not listen. Words spoken in private must remain so." Finally, he addressed Nightfall. “Sudian, guard your tongue."

Nightfall rose and raised his head, an action allowed by the king’s acknowledgment. He guessed that the king intended that he say nothing in Volkmier’s presence that would reveal his persona or the oath-bond, but the warning seemed unnecessary. The first he could not do as a condition of the magic; the second disclosure would do him more harm than good. He recalled the captain’s warning from the parapets, the honest rage behind the vow still vivid: "If you give me the slightest excuse, I’ll shoot you dead and revel in it."

King Rikard shifted, as if to flex every colossal muscle on his warrior’s frame. He riveted his gaze on Nightfall’s face. "Did you kill my son?"

Nightfall stared, frankly stunned. This question he had not anticipated in any version of his speculation. "What?" Surprise shocked amenity from him, and a long while passed in quiet before he added, "Sire."

Volkmier’s eyes and nostrils widened. As commanded, he feigned deafness in that he took no action nor made any comment.

Rikard repeated, "Did you kill my son?"

"Your son, Sire? Prince Leyne Nargol?" The suggestion seemed too ludicrous to contemplate.

The king became relentless, though patient. “Yes. You killed him, didn’t you?” The tone was flat, indicative of a rage so massive there could be no containment.

Nightfall knew he could say nothing King Rikard would believe. Guilty or innocent, he had no choice but to deny the allegation; yet he harbored no hope that he might be trusted. "No." He met the eyes of guard and king with level honesty. “Sire, you know I couldn’t have."

King Rikard rose. He spun suddenly, hands clenched, back to Nightfall. At last, it seemed, anger had driven him even beyond speech.

Nightfall waited patiently beneath Volkmier’s ceaseless scrutiny.

The king knelt, fishing something from behind his seat that clanged as he moved it. He tossed several objects to the floor: first the torn, brown and green cinch strap that had belonged to Sir Takruysse, then four pieces of two different sparring swords. As each item struck the wood with a clatter, he studied Nightfall’s reaction to them.

Nightfall raised his brows slightly, eyes tracing every movement. The display told him much he did not like, though it did not surprise him. Only one man could have learned of his tricks in such detail and would gather the physical evidence, one who could read his mind.