Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"I have them, Sire," Nightfall admitted, keeping the smirk of amusement from his face.

Rikard growled.

Not wishing to further enrage the king, Nightfall reached into his pocket and returned a misstamped gold coin, a writ from a Briggian merchant, and the king’s signet ring.

King Rikard’s face shifted through an array of reds to settle on a purple nearly as royal as Nightfall’s tabard. "It’s not too late to execute you," he hissed.

"Sudian!" Prince Edward called. He gestured to the bay with a jabbing flourish.

Nightfall smiled. "With all respect, Your Majesty. I think it just might be." He trotted toward the bay. Accustomed to fast mountings on bare-backed horses, he lowered his weight and leapt into the saddle without bothering to use a stirrup. He took the reins into callused fists.

Shortly, Pittan approached with the sword and half a dozen daggers.

Nightfall thought he heard the king swear.

Prince Edward Nargol perched upon his snow-white gelding, his head high, blond hair flying in the breeze of its movements. His beauty and regal bearing made him look like a living sculpture; only patches and rivulets of sweat mined the image. “… a chance to see the world! A chance to experience the lives of a thousand strangers. A chance to teach them…"

Riding at his side through evergreen forest, Nightfall let "The Legend of Nightfall" run endlessly through his mind, the familiar tedium of the nursery rhyme distracting him from Edward’s idealistic ramblings. As the day wore on, the white gelding had become docile with fatigue. Overburdened, Nightfall’s bay and the packhorse had begun to stumble, each misstep jarring pain through his healing wounds and further darkening his temper.

The stretches of sky visible between the trees dulled to pewter and lengthened as the forest became more sparse and clearings more plentiful. Hunger descended on Nightfall, tearing at his guts. Sleep, he thought. Sleep would feel almost as good as food. He became suddenly, intensely aware of Prince Edward’s stare upon him.

"… do you think, Sudian?" The prince shook back his sweat-tangled locks, his silks now damp and spotted with dirt and pine needles.

Having heard only the last four words, Nightfall answered the only question he could. "Yes, Master, I do."

Prince Edward accepted the response. "Very good.” He reined his horse, clambering from the saddle. As he landed, his knees buckled, and he crashed to the ground.

Obviously not used to riding for hours. His own knees aching, Nightfall sprang from his bay, turning a laugh into a cough. He ran to Edward’s side, reaching out a hand to help the prince to his feet. "Master!" Despite the humor of the situation, he managed to sound concerned. "Are you hurt?"

“No, no. I’m fine." Edward accepted Nightfall’s support, throwing his weight onto the smaller man as he rose. An abrupt increase in mass spared Nightfall a tumble, and he eased Prince Edward and twenty pounds of mail hauberk to his feet. "I just need to walk around a bit." He paced a careful circle, Nightfall hovering over his every step.

Prince Edward whirled. Finding himself nearly on top of Nightfall, he back-stepped. "Sudian! I said I’m fine." He winced, the abrupt movement apparently sparking pain through overtaxed muscles. "Unload the horses and see what you can make for supper. I’ll start on the camp."

Nightfall nodded, turning to obey, though he did not understand the division. If I unload the horses and cook, what does that leave as camp for him to start on? Though accustomed to action and pushing himself to the limit, Nightfall could feel his thighs and buttocks stiffening from the ride. Movement had worked the kinks from his knees. Though he still hurt from bruises and the familiar jab of healing ribs into his lung, he knew tomorrow morning would bring an aching agony of cramped muscles. Combat training or none, Ned is going to feel even worse. He stripped off the white horse’s bridle and unlaced its pack. Hefting the bundle, he staggered under its weight, managing a single step before the pack plummeted to the ground amid a muffled clamor of clothes and armor. Anticipating Edward’s rage at the manhandling of his personal effects, Nightfall glanced toward the prince who seemed too engrossed in freeing the spade from the top of the bay mare’s load to notice his squire’s mistake.

Step one, lighten the load. Nightfall dragged the bundle aside, pitying the horses. He’s packed for a plague-damned army.

Having obtained his spade, Edward set to work digging.

Nightfall continued pulling pack after monstrous pack from the backs of the chestnut and his own bay. Discovering several weeks’ worth of rations, he selected the items that would not keep for travel: fresh meat, corn, onions, squash, and peas. He also found bread and honey. Unable to resist, he smeared a slice with honey and took a bite, the sweetness enhanced by hunger. Pawing through the packs, he searched for a pot.

Edward set the spade aside, his ditch forming a shallow arc around the horses. He wiped his brow with the back of his fist. "How’s supper coming?"

Caught with his mouth full, Nightfall chewed and swallowed hastily. "Just getting started, Master."

“Are you eating already‘?"

Prince Edward’s tone suggested surprise and displeasure. Still, Nightfall could not imagine that the prince wanted him to starve. "Yes.”

Edward clambered from the ditch. "Don’t you know it’s impolite to eat before a superior‘?"

No. In starvation situations, the rule made sense. But we’re carrying enough to feed every hungry family in Nemix and still have leftovers for the rats. Dedicated to his act, Nightfall covered. "Master, of course. I was just testing it for you."

"Testing it?" Edward selected an ax from the piled supplies. "What do you mean, testing it?" "Making sure the honey was good, the bread fresh enough for you. Taking the first bite in case your enemies poisoned it."

"Poisoned?" Edward looked aghast. "Poison? But I have no enemies?

Nightfall passed the piece of honey bread. "Those are the worst kinds of enemies. The ones you don’t know you have."

Prince Edward stared at the bread and its semicircular defect, crenellated with Nightfall’s teeth marks. “But my father’s own men packed this food. And it’s been on our person since then."

"The second worst kind of enemies are the ones who can poison your supplies without you knowing it."

Edward seemed to accept that. He took a bite, chewing with relish. "Best honey I’ve ever had."

Nightfall nodded agreement. He had never eaten better; but he suspected that, in Ned’s case, hunger had more to do with the superlative than quality. Nightfall heaped another bread slice with honey for himself.

Holding his food in one hand, Edward hefted the ax. "You keep working on unpacking and dinner. I’ll get started on the turf blocks and wooden stakes."

Turf blocks? Wooden stakes? Nightfall had no idea what Prince Edward was proposing. Still, he grasped his own instructions, so he did not need to question. As night came, enwrapping them in darkness, he sent the horses to graze, built a campfire, and prepared a stew. He followed Edward by the thunk of his ax into wood, the discomforting crack of a trunk’s last supports breaking, and the swish and slam of lower trees and branches snapping beneath its fall. Then Edward hacked and shaped each trunk, over time acquiring a neat pile of stakes.

Nightfall waited until the prince headed off to acquire another tree, swiping a handful of the fashioned timbers for firewood. The prince’s stamina after a full day’s ride surprised Nightfall. While the stew thickened, and the night darkened to pitch speckled with white stars, he sorted their gear into a tiny pile of necessities and useful items, a voluminous stack of extraneous niceties that had to go, and Edward’s personal items consisting mostly of battle armor and far too many clothes. Now equipped with daggers and sword, Nightfall ditched the chair dowel he had taken in Alyndar’s castle. He tossed the flammable items from the superfluous pile onto the fire. Then, he drew two logs near the flames to serve as seats.