Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

King Rikard produced one more item, a battered, bloodstained work of steel and leather that had once formed a helmet, the one Leyne had worn in the final tourney. Now Nightfall could see that someone had thinned the crown to a half or quarter thickness which explained why Sander’s single blow had proven fatal. Rikard’s voice sounded choked and uncharacteristically feeble. “Do you know these things, Sudian?”

Nightfall saw no advantage to lying. "Yes, I do, Sire." Gilleran’s intention and purpose seemed abundantly clear. Like so many others, he had easily copied Nightfall’s methods, using the similarities to ascertain guilt. It only remained for the sorcerer to devise some explanation of how Nightfall had escaped the constraints of the oath-bond in order to murder the crown prince of Alyndar. King Rikard clearly expected clarification, so Nightfall supplied it. "Sire, I admit I rigged the cinch strap and the swords. In my situation, I believe most men would have done the same. But my later attempts to cheat failed, and my master won every contest from that time without my help." He met the shrewd, dark eyes with an expression at least as somber. "Sire, your younger son has more ability than you or he or anyone gives him credit for."

Volkmier fidgeted, obviously troubled.

Nightfall hoped the guard was responding to the confessions of fraud rather than his own words. His time with Edward suggested that royalty despised any comments that put their past judgments about anything in doubt. "As a ruler, there’s nothing wrong with Prince Edward Nargol that age, a few confrontations with reality, and some lessons from his father couldn’t fix."

King Rikard’s eyes narrowed, but he remained too preoccupied to take offense from Nightfall’s speech… yet. "You’re avoiding the question."

Nightfall fell silent, expression open with uncertainty. "The question of the helmet?"

"Yes."

"Sire, I had nothing to do with it."

The king said nothing, only stared with a look that encouraged Nightfall to continue.

Nightfall shrugged. "There’s nothing more to say, Sire. Even had I need or reason, you know I could not have harmed Prince Leyne in any way."

King Rikard relented slightly. "I don’t believe you intended to kill him, only to eliminate him as competition for Ned.”

Nightfall saw no cause for arguing the point. "Your Majesty, I can’t deny that I considered ways to give my master an advantage, even over his brother. But I never touched that helmet."

"No one else had cause to do so, aside from Prince Sander, whose honor I would not disparage."

"Nor I, Sire." Nightfall would not shuffle guilt onto an innocent, no matter how obvious a target. He kept his gaze steady, knowing few things bespoke guilt as completely as restless eyes. "I didn’t survive this long by painting myself bullseye yellow and writing ‘I’m guilty’ on my forehead nor am I foolish enough to skirt the edges of magic that could-”

The king made a sudden, cutting gesture that hushed Nightfall. Clearly he had said more than Rikard wanted Volkmier to know.

Nightfall continued more carefully. "Sire, when you consider the goal as murdering Leyne rather than winning the tourney, the list of suspects becomes much longer. Whenever the answer seems too obvious, look to the source of your information.”

"I’ve heard enough!" King Rikard kicked the helmet, sending it skittering across the floor. It crashed against the wall, now riddled with new dents. “You’re a killer, and I was an old fool to trust you near either of my sons."

Volkmier tensed, awaiting a direct command.

Nightfall instinctively mimicked his actions for the same reason. When no edict followed, he broke the excessive quiet that followed the king’s display of violence. "Sire, if you truly believed I murdered Leyne, you wouldn’t have called me in to ask. You would only have meted punishment.”

King Rikard’s face purpled. “Don’t gainsay my motives. Who in the Father’s blackest, coldest, empty hell do you think you are?"

Nightfall dodged the question, preferring to finish the meeting before anger drove the king to irrational action.

"Sire, am I under arrest?"

"I haven’t decided yet." King Rikard studied the assortment of ruined objects on the floor.

"Then, Sire, perhaps I can make your choice simpler.” Nightfall turned his gaze to Volkmier, meeting sharp green eyes beneath a fringe of red bangs. He had faced off with the chief prison guard twice now, neither an experience he wished to repeat. "I perceive danger to Prince Edward here. If anyone tries to keep me from him, I’ll have no choice but to fight my way free in any way I can. You may lose a guard or two. At best, I’ll get the quick, painless death that seems the most I can hope for at the moment." He glanced back at Rikard who had retaken his seat, obviously calmer. "If you free me, you know precisely where to find me if you change your mind."

Volkmier prodded for his next course of action. "Sire?"

King Rikard scrutinized Nightfall as if to memorize every detail. He lingered longest on the eyes, and Nightfall met him stare for stare. He had told only the truth, boldly forthright, and nothing about his story could or would vary in the future. "Dismissed, Sudian."

Volkmier frowned, maintaining the verbal distance he had promised but obviously confused by his king’s choice. "Sire?"

King Rikard addressed his guard, switching to an unrelated matter to emphasize the finality of his order. "Volkmier, send someone to tell Edward I’ll meet him in the North Tower chapel right away." He turned some of his aggravation inappropriately on his captain. "I need some time alone with my son. I presume you’ll trust me with Ned and won’t force yourself on us."

Nightfall turned and headed from the Great Hall of Alyndar without looking back.

King Rikard watched Nightfall leave, sensing rather than seeing Volkmier’s alert presence still poised to protect him. Guilt knifed through his belly, and he regretted the annoyance his own befuddlement caused him to channel against one of his most loyal servants, one into whose hands he had placed the defense and defenders of Alyndar. In no mood for apologies and intolerant of displays of affection, he expressed his regret in the form of including Volkmier in his considerations. "What do you think?"

Volkmier paused, apparently trying to divine the purpose of the question. "At your request, Sire, I heard nothing."

Rikard dismissed his previous order with a wave. "Surely you have an opinion about Edward’s squire."

The guard’s chief hesitated longer. Then, he spoke his mind, surely realizing his relationship with Alyndar’s king had gone far beyond the testing stage. "I have many opinions about him."

The king raised his brows, sincerely interested. He trusted Volkmier’s wisdom as well as his physical competence, though never so much as he had Leyne’s. "Speak your mind.”

Volkmier assessed Nightfall. "No simple peasant’s son, that one, Sire. He has a nimbleness and quickness about him that suggests an acrobat, juggler, or dancer. Or perhaps a sailor." He shook his head. “But then, too, he has a vigilance that seems innate. I’ve only ever seen that about a fighting man, though he doesn’t appear to have the strength or size of a warrior." Volkmier put all of his clues together. "If I had to guess, Sire, I’d say a farm boy. An animal farm. The type that’d use his off-time to slip into the pastures to ride stallions and bulls for sport."

King Rikard wearied of the taboo he had created. "You may speak freely with me about the events that transpired here today. What do you think of what he said?"

Volkmier relaxed along with the conversation. His stance returned to attentive normal, freed of the rigidness he had adopted for Nightfall. "I believe him, Sire."