Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Nightfall walked the last few blocks, haunted by images of that past, alternately mourning the potential eternity of love and happiness that Kelryn’s betrayal had mangled to nightmare and despising the woman who had stolen everything he could give her: trinkets, his loyalty, his dignity, and his life. For every act I did, I thought of how it might affect her. Everywhere I went, I looked for things that might please her. She meant everything to me, yet my love and myself meant nothing to her. Turning the v last corner, Nightfall approached the dancer’s quarters.

The mid-afternoon sun sparkled from the polished brass hinges. Nightfall raised his fist to knock still with some trepidations, and that uncertainty bothered him. Since the first time, when he had raised a knife against his mother’s murderer, he had never felt a qualm about those he chose to kill. In all cases, he had deemed a client’s security or vengeance more sacred than the rights of the victim. Yet now that it came time to avenge his own life, reservations descended upon him.

It’s the time of day, Nightfall guessed, at once aware that the need to work in broad daylight was only a contributing factor to his discomfort. Always before, he had performed his crimes at night and in the guise of Night- fall; but this would not be the first time he had used another persona for innocent, daytime scouting. He reviewed his rationalization for using a direct approach, but this failed to dispel his apprehension. The method was not what bothered him.

It’s Kelryn. Nightfall shook with anger, missing the steadying composure that usually filled him before a kill. Gods! What is it about that traitor bitch that cripples me? He tossed the thought aside. Once he faced her, the strength would come. If it didn’t, he was dead.

Nightfall rapped on the iron-bound wooden door.

Several seconds passed in silence. Then, the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears, followed by the squeal of the door being opened. Cyriwan, the dance hall proprietor, studied Nightfall through the opening crack, his crusty, bearded face somber. “Can I help you?"

"I’m looking for a woman." Cyriwan scratched at his beard, and dirt flaked to the floor. "Any woman in particular? Or just your general woman?"

"I’m looking,” Nightfall said carefully, trying to see around Cyriwan without success, "for the most graceful dancer I’ve ever seen. She’s got short, white hair like this." He combed his mahogany locks into feathers with his fingers. “Small, hazel eyes, a straight nose with a flat tip, and a gorgeous body."

"White hair?" Cyriwan squinted, glancing up and down Nightfall as if to identify his colors. All humor left him. "You mean Kelryn. And she don’t work here no more."

Nightfall naturally fell into Cyriwan’s speech pattern. "She don’t‘?"

“Good day." Cyriwan backed to close the door.

"Wait." Nightfall edged forward, trying to look childishly eager, and scuffing a toe into the crack as if by accident. It had been decades since he had needed to do anything for his information except ask. "Why don’t she work here no more?"

"There needs to be a reason‘?"

"No, I don’t suppose so." Nightfall made contrived nervous gestures that placed his boot more solidly in the path of the door. "Is there one?"

"Not this time." Cyriwan tried to pull the panel closed, but it struck Nightfall’s foot. The proprietor frowned.

Nightfall shifted his weight, making certain the coins in his pocket clinked. As Sudian, it would seem odd to suggest a bribe, but he knew Cyriwan well enough to suspect that the proprietor would request one. "Where is she working now?”

Cyriwan pressed his toe against Nightfall’s, calmly edging it away. “Who are you? And why do want to know?"

"My name is Sudian. I saw her dance some time ago, and I can’t get her out of my mind. Please, I have to see her."

Cyriwan shook his head. “I don’t know where she’s gone." Circumstance and the look on his face told Night- fall it was a blatant lie.

Hastily, Nightfall removed his foot from the door, feigning self-conscious apology. The maneuver had bought him some time, but to carry it too far would arouse Cyriwan’s suspicions. Since the proprietor still had not brought up the topic of payment, Nightfall tried, aware Cyriwan could never resist a shiny coin. "Would it help if I gave you some money?" He pulled out a silver, displaying it in his palm in the manner of a man unused to buying his information.

Cyriwan licked his lips. Sweat beaded his forehead, but he did not reach for the coin. "You could give me your money, and I’d take it. But I still couldn’t tell you where Kelryn’s at. I don’t know."

You know, you slob. But I haven’t the faintest idea why you aren’t telling. The Cyriwan that Nightfall had known would have sold anyone for a handful of copper. It’s not ethics. Cyriwan wouldn’t know a moral it danced a jig around him, pounded him dizzy, then throttled him dead. Even Grittmon didn’t approve of the incident in his doorway, there’s no way word could have beaten me here. The only possibility is that someone who can keep tabs on this fool threatened his life or promised him huge sums of money for his silence. But why?

Cyriwan continued to stare at the coin. "Perhaps I could interest you in another woman to take your mind off Kelryn? My girls are just dancers, but some of them do other things to earn a little spending money on the side." He winked. “If you know what I mean."

Nightfall knew. But playing the part of the innocent, young squire, he hesitated in consideration. "I think so.”

"That silver will buy you the name of one who does." Cyriwan reached for the coin.

Though a silver should have bought him the name of every woman in Nemix who did, Nightfall allowed the proprietor to take it, then his arm, and lead him through the doorway. Cyriwan closed the panel behind him, taking Nightfall through his front office and into the familiar corridor lined with doors.

Needing facts, and finding them more difficult to obtain than expected, Nightfall took a chance. "Since I can’t see Kelryn, do you think maybe I could…" He lowered his face abashedly. "… um. .. have…" He stumbled over the euphemism. "… the little redhead she kept talking to between performances?” He alluded to Kelryn’s roommate, Shiriel. If anyone might know where Kelryn’s gone, she would. And if I can get a look at the room, I should be able to tell if Kelryn’s things are still there.

Cyriwan caught the description. Again, he studied Nightfall.

Nightfall tried to look embarrassed by the scrutiny. He avoided the proprietor’s piercing, dark gaze. His walk grew tight and awkward.

Cyriwan’s lips twitched into the toothy, knowing grin of a man condescending to a child. "I can try. But it’ll cost you an extra silver to ask for some girl, specific."

"Oh." Though he kept his head lowered, Nightfall memorized a hallway he already knew by heart. "Oh." He let thoughtful disappointment leech into his tone, followed by consideration.

Cyriwan stopped before the fourth door on the left, awaiting an answer.

Though he knew it was Kel1yn’s and Shirie1’s room, Nightfall shuffled past it at the same speed so as not to broadcast his knowledge. Now a half step beyond Cyriwan, he halted and turned to face the proprietor. "Well, my master did say I could spend my money any way I wanted."

Cyriwan held out a hand laced with grime.

Nightfall plucked another silver from the dwindling horde he had taken from the Alyndarian steward. Two silver for a copper’s worth of information. If that doesn’t convince him I’m an ignorant galley-clod, nothing will. Concealing the callused palms that years of labor as Etan had gained him, he dropped the coin into Cyriwan’s hovering fingers.