Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Myar retreated, glaring at Nightfall around his master. "Yeah. Well, maybe if you did hit him, he wouldn’t be such an oaf." Spinning on his heel, Myar stormed off into the street.

Prince Edward turned, concern clearly etched on his features. "Are you hurt, Sudian?" He hefted his own pack, then took Nightfall’s in the other hand.

"No, Master. Thank you, Master. You are, as the gods told me in my dreams, the most wonderful of all masters. And I am proud to serve you." Nightfall reached to take the gear, but Edward did not relinquish it.

"And I’m honored to have you, Sudian." He fumbled through his purse, passing Nightfall a silver coin, blithely unaware he had not had possession of his money just moments ago. "I’ll take care of our things and the room. You get the spade."

I don’t believe this. We just had a double robbery, an assault, and a shouting match in a barroom doorway, and he’s still thinking about that damned spade. Nightfall accepted the silver, thinking it safer in his own pocket than Edward’s. With it, he could buy a gross of spades.

The oath-bond buzzed through Nightfall, and he examined the inn’s common room for evidence of danger. In broad daylight, few men patronized Grittmon’s; and, at the present time, every customer watched Prince Edward. Four men sat in the far corner, the cards in their fists temporarily forgotten for the action in the doorway. Nearer, a pair of leather-clad city guardsmen exchanged relieved glances, apparently pleased that the conflict had not flared into a fight. A plump, aging barmaid sprawled at a table near the card players, chewing kommi and studying Edward with a look that expressed interest and an attitude that revealed doubt. Windows in the walls on either side of the door gave a view of surrounding streets. An elaborate stairway at the farther end of the room led to a cat-walk. From previous experience, Nightfall knew that around the back side of the stairs, a door led into Grittmon’s private room.

Looks safe enough. It occurred to Nightfall to worry about Edward’s purse as well as his person, but he dismissed the thought. I can’t sew myself to his side. Maybe a robbery might give him a taste of reality. The thought made him smile. Ned’s innocence made life so simple for Nightfall, he hated the idea of corrupting it. Besides, he’s so cute when he’s being childishly noble. "I’ll be back shortly, Master." Turning, he strode from the bar onto Nemix’s streets.

The oath-bond quivered within Nightfall like-a chill. He paused, moving slowly to see if it worsened, not wanting to lose his soul over a missing spade. But the feeling remained constant, apparently just a warning that he had left the prince alone and not in the safest place. I’ll be back before dusk. I can’t be with him while he bathes, and no one who saw him work Myar will stand against him.

The oath-bond eased, apparently satisfied with the rationalization. Nightfall headed toward the Nemixian dance hall. Now, to take care of my own business.

Nightfall negotiated the streets and alleyways from habit, too familiar with his route to pay it any heed. Fully adopting his persona as Sudian, he brushed between the pedestrians with the nervous curiosity of a young, foreign servant. The act came naturally, from years of practice at playing roles, and he trusted the quiet, brooding portion of his mind that functioned, even in sleep, to alert him to any threat. It left him free to plot.

In my real appearance, I’m established as a naive and fiercely loyal squire. A perfect disguise. Yet a thought that should have pleased Nightfall made him frown instead. His own words rang false. There’s no costume more vulnerable and dangerous than one well-anchored and based on natural looks. If things go wrong, ditching Sudian would cost me my soul. And from now on, if caught, I always run the risk of being stripped down to the face too many people know as Sudian, Edward’s squire.

Nightfall wandered through the market square, his eyes seeing everything, but his mind filtering out the confused hubbub of merchants and patrons that bore him no threat. From recollection, he knew that the building that served as quarters for the dancers had no windows, only a pair of doors at either end of a long corridor. Two other means of entry came to mind. A chimney rose from the common room at one end of the hallway, but it would prove a tight and grimy portal; gaining access to it would require him to climb the building. In broad daylight, no less. If I got caught, it would be impossible to explain. The other entryway, the kitchen chute used for grocery deliveries seemed equally unsuitable. Too many people around this time of day. And, again, there would be no sensible alibi.

It was not the first time Nightfall had found a straight-forward, simple plan the most practical. His agility, training and weight-shifting skill seemed to work best with unexpected contingencies or after his scouting revealed useful details less practiced spies might miss. My best strategy, as Sudian, is to walk right in the front door and gather as much information about Kelryn’s patterns and protections as I can. Then, if I see a way to kill her and make it look accidental, my job is finished. If not, I’ll have to find a way to come back in the night. A comfortable familiarity pervaded the thought.

Suddenly, pain bore through Nightfall’s abdomen, sharp as embedded talons. Caught by surprise, he whirled before he realized that the agony came from within him. The movement splashed dizziness through his head, stealing his usual dexterity and pounding him to the walkway. Instinctively, he lowered his weight to minimize the fall. Then, feeling a hand on his arm, he restored his mass with a thought.

The oath-bond. Nightfall resisted the urge to concentrate on the benefactor who steadied him, aware he needed to appease the magic first. I won’t go out at night unless I ’m certain Ned is safe.

The pain eased only slightly. Vertigo still crippled Nightfall, and he let the stranger brace a solid proportion of his weight, fighting the urge to lessen it again.

"Are you well?" The unfamiliar male voice sounded distant through the buzzing in Nightfall’s ears.

Still concentrating on the oath-bond, he tried to guess what other condition of the magics he might stand on the verge of violating. Only one possibility presented itself. And if I go out to kill Kelryn at night, I won’t take the guise of Nightfall.

The oath-bond retreated further, and Nightfall ran with the thought. Nightfall is officially dead, and I can’t even raise the hint of a rumor that he’s still alive. Even at it didn’t violate my oath, it would be foolish.

The pain fell away. And though he had done nothing to recuperate, just the absence of the pain made him feel restive and alert. He riveted his attention on the man beside him.

Keen, dark eyes studied Nightfall from a face a few years older than his own. Light brown curls and a manicured beard framed tanned checks and an expression of concern. "Boy, are you well?"

Nightfall could not recall the last time anyone had called him “boy." Even knowing he looked far younger than his age, he believed he should have enough years to avoid the slur. It’s the livery. It’s the damned squire livery. And I’d better get used to it. Nightfall’s mind clicked naturally to the next step. Perhaps even take advantage of it. "I’m all right just a touch of vertigo." Logic told Nightfall that this man had simply happened along at the crucial moment, that if a youngster near himself had stumbled, he would have helped as well. Still, his mother’s drastic personality changes had given him cause to learn to judge mood and intention from distant glimpses and to catch the slightest cues that warned of an approaching transition. He had come to know from her face and posture when running to her arms would earn him a hug and when it would earn him a slap. And when taking the blow was preferable to fueling her anger by hiding or dodging.