Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Nightfall disliked the pale riding horse at once. Like many animals chosen for beauty, it had few manners, and its beacon coloring and grandeur would preclude evasive actions and draw the eye of every highwayman. Might just as well paint "I’m wealthy; please rob me" across its side. Another thought surfaced. That’d actually be safer. Most bandits can’t read.

Several paces from the activity, King Rikard stood amid a half-dozen nobles. Beside him, Chancellor Gilleran watched the bustle with his arms folded across his chest, his face its usual empty mask. One broad-shouldered youth wore a mail hauberk and leather leggings beneath a meticulously pressed purple surcoat and a silver cape. A broad sword graced his belt. A helmet dangled from one gloved hand. Golden hair covered his head, sheening white, every lock neatly combed and tended. Round, pink cheeks betrayed him as a teenager, yet his thick frame bore no trace of adolescent gawkiness. Still, trained to notice subtleties, Nightfall recognized a mild tremor of excitement and an uncertainty to the youngster’s motions that would smooth with age and experience. Only the straight line of a healing scar across the prince’s face marred the picture. The other three nobles were strangers to Nightfall.

King Rikard glanced in Nightfall’s direction. A welcoming smile flashed across his features and disappeared before he turned to the youth in mail and said something Nightfall could not hear. King and prince looked toward him together. Breaking from the group, they headed in his direction. Rikard’s face held an expression of discomfort and warning.

Idly, Nightfall wondered whether the king anticipated trouble from Edward or himself and dismissed the thought as unimportant. Magic seemed to tingle and churn within him, as real as the shouted commands and scattered conversations around him. In the king’s presence, Nightfall had no choice but to endear himself to Prince Edward.

As the noblemen approached, Nightfall dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Later, he could search for loopholes in the oath-bond. For now, it seemed safest to s obey it to the letter, if only to convince the king.

King Rikard drew Edward to a halt before Nightfall. “Rise," the king said.

Nightfall obeyed, glancing into the prince’s eyes and finding them as clear and blue as a crystal lake. Righteous innocence fairly radiated from him.

Accustomed to winning stare-downs in seconds, Nightfall lowered his gaze respectfully before the prince could look away.

"Ned," Rikard’s voice boomed. "This is your squire, Sudian."

The crowd of servants and nobles lapsed into whispers. Acute of hearing and accustomed to the garbled syllables of varying dialects, the ill, and the aged, Nightfall managed to sift comments from the all but inaudible hubbub: "Who is he?" "Where’d he come from?" "Of course, he’s a stranger." "No one who knows Ned would squire to him, no matter how desperate…"

Nightfall dismissed the throng, remaining silent so that Prince Edward could speak first. He considered his next move, basing it on descriptions of Ned, the courtiers’ reactions, and his own brief but thorough appraisal of the man before him.

"Sudian." Edward studied his squire disinterestedly, obviously too accustomed to his stewards resigning to bother becoming attached to a servant. His gaze strayed back to the horses.

King Rikard relaxed, apparently pleased with the natural ease of the union.

But Nightfall saw a potential he could not resist exploiting. This prince is like a newborn puppy. If I can gain his trust, I’ve got a tool any con man would envy. He fell to one knee again with a crisp abruptness that seized the prince`s notice, as well as that of every other man in the courtyard. "Master, it will be the greatest honor of gods and men to serve you."

Every eye locked on Nightfall.

“Since I turned twelve, Master, I’ve had the same dream over and over." He rose, gaze distant, arm making a grandiose sweep that implied divine interference. "In the dream, the almighty Father tells me to seek a golden prince of great beauty and moral insight, and to serve him without fail to the depths of my soul and the end of my life.”

Quiet descended over the courtyard, interrupted only by the prancing gelding. The king looked startled.

"Master, I will see that your every need is met and that no harm comes to you. It would gladden me to throw myself before your dangers, to take your pain onto myself, even to trade my death for yours. Master, the gods themselves have sanctioned me as your squire. I will not disappoint them or you."

Nightfall locked a sincere expression on his face, glancing up to see the results of his fabrication. The king scowled in warning. His squinted eyes made it clear that he thought Nightfall was mocking the situation. The stunned crowd remained still and hushed, awaiting the prince’s reaction.

As Nightfall expected, Prince Edward delighted in the excessive performance and the compliments. He became stiffly earnest. "Sudian, your presence at my side will be welcome. Should your loyalty prove as fierce as your desire to give it, you will be handsomely rewarded." He raised a gloved hand.

Nightfall suppressed the urge to dodge the coming blow.

The prince clapped a firm hand to his squire’s shoulder with a force that ached through his healing bruises. Then, turning grandly, he headed toward the horses. "Pittan! Fetch Sudian the weapons and armor of his choice."

Caught gawking, the liveried servants scurried back to work.

King Rikard’s eyes had darkened to black. He cast a surreptitious glance in all directions before addressing Nightfall softly. "Very clever. Just don’t forget the terms of the oath."

"How could I, Sire?" Nightfall turned to confront an approaching servant, apparently Pittan. In fact, the conditions seemed to bum in his mind, presumably due to the nature of sorcery. He felt sure the magic would hold him to the intention as well as the letter of the agreement. At the time of casting, he had focused on the obedience aspects of the king’s decrees. Only later, as the provisions became a settled constant in his thoughts, did he realize that the more important condition was his vow not to allow harm to come to Ned. I’m bound to dive between the idiot and death, even if it means dying myself. A true death is preferable to the hell threatened by violating the oath-bond.

Pittan bowed to the king before addressing Nightfall. He explained, though everyone had heard Edward’s command. "Prince Ned asked me to find out what weapons and armor-"

Nightfall cut him off. "No armor. I’ll take a sword. Something sharp, but not too bulky. And as many well-balanced knives as you can spare."

Pittan gave Nightfall an odd look but did not question. He rushed toward the castle.

The discussion of weapons reminded Nightfall where he might find the finest daggers in Alyndar. A split second glance at King Rikard confirmed that the king carried three knives on his belt. Taking a natural half-step closer, Nightfall relieved, Rikard of the blades, pleased to discover they were the ones he, as Marak, had carried on Raven. Unable to resist the challenge, he acquired a few extra items from the king’s person.

As a grizzled servant lashed a spade to the top of the chestnut’s packs, Prince Edward clambered into the white charger’s saddle. "Sudian, mount up. That one’s yours." He pointed at the heavily laden bay mare that Nightfall had taken for a packhorse.

Nightfall took a step toward the horses, arrested by the king’s hand on his arm.

“Here,” the king whispered. "You might as well have these." His hand fell to his sword belt. "They’re unadorned, so no one could recognize…" He trailed off, his hand patting his hip. He stared at the place where the knives had hung.