Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

By the time Nightfall returned, dismounted, and caught both riding horses by the bridles, he found a dripping Edward receiving the final directions to the one place in all Nemix from which he wanted to divert the prince: Grittmon’s Inn and Tavern. Though the closest place to rest and clean, Grittmon’s honest business was a front for a myriad of illegal rackets. In the locked back room, Nightfall had bought numerous pieces of information, received jobs and messages, and met a motley assortment of sociopaths and bodyguards. City guardsmen received their beer free at certain times, and were strangely absent at others. Once, paid directly by Grittmon, Nightfall had poisoned a rival criminal lord. The man had crumpled in plain sight of two dozen patrons. Yet the corpse had been disposed of without fuss; not even a whisper of the crime infiltrated the street gossip.

Prince Edward took the white gelding’s bridle from Nightfall, leading the horse down the roadway. "Come on, Sudian."

Nightfall trotted after, leading the bay and the chestnut. "Master, there’s a good inn down this way." He pointed in the opposite direction.

Edward did not break stride. "Thank you, Sudian, but there’s a closer one over here."

"But it’s not nearly as nice." Nightfall glared at the nearby spectators. With the action finished, they started to disperse. "And the food-"

"Food doesn’t matter." Edward tugged at his clinging undergarments irritably, his walk awkward. "Right now, I just want to wash and sleep."

And live until tomorrow. That’s important, too. "But, Master. Grittmon’s isn’t good enough for you."

"Sudian." Prince Edward swung around suddenly. "I’m covered with filth. I smell like a barn, and I saw the dawn before I fell asleep this morning. I couldn’t sleep for worrying, when you didn’t return, that I had sent my squire off to die." He turned back, continuing his march toward Grittmon’s Inn. "I’m getting a bath as soon as possible if I have to use a cow trough."

Last night he worried about me? Nightfall fell into shocked silence, too familiar with Ned’s sincerity to doubt the sentiment. The babe in the woods alone at night worried about the demon. I don’t believe this. Only two people in Nightfall’s life had ever seemed concerned for him. Kelryn’s betrayal negated her affection; surely her concern for him had been as fake as her love. And Dyfrin was the kind of friend that came once in a lifetime, if ever, the sort who not only worried for him but seemed to read his every mood. Suspicions raised, Nightfall tried to guess what Prince Edward wanted from him. I have little to offer except my service and loyalty. And he knows he already has those.

Prince Edward turned a corner, entering the business district. Citizens paced the walkways, laden with baskets of fruit and vegetables, laundry, or personal crafts. A cart approached from the opposite direction. Edward and Nightfall drew the horses aside to let it pass before continuing onward.

Soon, Grittmon’s stone and wood tavern came into sight, its green sign matching its cheerily painted trim. Smoke fluttered from the chimney. The odor of hay and manure wafted from the attached stables, liberally mixed with the pleasant, distinctive smell of horses.

Prince Edward stopped, smiling his relief. "Sudian, I’ll get the room. You take care of the horses, then head out to market and find a spade."

Gods! Not the damned spade thing again. Nightfall opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind. Arguing would only irritate Ned. Grittmon’s would not become dangerous until after sundown. In the meantime, he was free to handle his business with Kelryn while Edward tended to his personal hygiene.

Wanting to smooth Prince Edward’s transition to a world where he had to pay for his comforts, Nightfall seized the horses’ bridles and tugged them toward the stables. Drawn by the aroma of hay and water, the animals followed without much coaxing, trotting eagerly after Nightfall.

A stable boy in tattered, filthy homespun met him at the entrance. He wiped a runny nose on the back of his sleeve. “Can I help you, sir?"

"Here." Nightfall rummaged through the purse he had stolen from the steward, emerging with a silver coin. He offered it to the boy.

The child’s gaze locked on the silver, but his hands reached for the bridles instead. "You pay inside, sir."

"No, this is for you." Nightfall pressed the coin into the boy’s hand. "You’ll get two more if the horses and tack are well cared for and here when it’s time for us to leave."

The boy stared at the coin in his fist.

Nightfall unlashed his own pack as well as Prince Edward’s, letting them slide gently to the ground. "Any gear l leave with the horses is welcome to disappear." With that, he shouldered up the prince’s heavy pack and his lighter one, and chased after his master.

Nightfall caught sight of Prince Edward as he was entering Grittmon’s. A lean, handsome pickpocket named Myar caught the door as Edward stepped to the threshold, holding the panel for the prince’s entrance.

Always suspicious of politeness, especially from a thief, Nightfall watched Myar’s free hand dip into the prince’s pocket and deftly flick the purse from Edward’s possession to his own.

"Thank you," Edward said.

"My pleasure," Myar replied honestly.

Though crushed beneath the weight of Prince Edward’s armor and effects, Nightfall rushed to the door before Myar could let it swing shut. "Master, wait!” Aware the pickpocket would be more attuned to cunning movements than gross effrontery, Nightfall crashed into Myar with enough force to drive him against the door.

Breath rushed from Myar’s mouth in a startled cry. The packs teetered in Nightfall’s grip, but he still managed to reappropriate Edward’s purse, along with another in Myar’s possession, and slip both into his own pocket. “I’m sorry. I’m so sor1y." Nightfall fawned over the pickpocket, now dropping both packs in awkward apology. The heavy pack clanked onto Myar’s toe.

Myar bellowed in pain, half-staggering, half-hopping out the door. Wedged in the door frame, the packs kept the panel from closing, and Nightfall tripped after Myar, wringing his hands and ceaselessly berating his clumsiness. "I really am sorry. I didn’t mean-"

"Stupid!" Myar lashed a hand across Nightfall’s face with a suddenness that surprised even the squire. Stumbling backward, he tripped over the pack. He caught his balance naturally, then thinking better of a blatant display of grace, sprawled to the barroom floor. His cheeks felt on fire, more from rising rage than the force of the blow. Not since his mother’s death had anyone struck Nightfall, and it was all he could do to keep from leaping to his feet and jamming a dagger between the pickpocket’s ribs. Instead, he pretended grogginess, rolling to his hands and knees. He gained a strange view of the common room, a sea of table, chair, and human legs.

"Witless servant." Myar pursued, aiming a kick at Nightfall’s ribs. "Clumsy bastard."

Accustomed to acting, Nightfall kept his temper, cringing from the blow he knew must land. But Prince Edward stepped between them, seizing Myar’s, leg in mid-stroke with a quickness Nightfall would not have thought possible from one so inexperienced. "Don’t hit my squire! No one hits my squire. Not even I hit my squire." He tossed down the captured leg.

Nightfall had never seen Edward angry before, and the prince’s size and golden presence made him glad Edward chose not to hit his squire. It felt strange to let the prince protect him, yet it fit the act and he knew Edward was in little danger. Few thieves were killers and few killers thieves, and he knew Myar was no exception. Quietly, while all attention fixed on the exchange between Myar and Edward, Nightfall rose and slipped the purse back into the prince’s pocket.