Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

The silver disappeared into Cyriwan’s fist like a meat scrap tossed to a starving dog. He knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Shiriel’s familiar alto drifted through the wood. Small and frail, she tended toward quiet shyness except when discussing a topic about which she held a strong opinion. Then, she could become passionately shrewd, strong-wi1led, and clever.

"It’s me," Cyriwan answered gruffly. "I have someone with me."

Nightfall shifted from foot to foot.

A moment passed in silence. Then Shiriel opened the door. She wore a patched but flattering dress over her slight form, and her red hair fanned about her shoulders.

"Shiriel, this is Sudian. He wants to discuss a business proposition with you.” Cyriwan nodded encouragingly, though whether at him or the woman, Nightfall could not tell.

Shiriel looked Nightfall over.

Nightfall held his breath. This would be Sudian’s first inspection by someone who had known Marak well.

But Shiriel gave no sign of recognition. Apparently finding Nightfall adequate, she stepped back to let him enter.

The cubicle beyond lay in comfortable disarray. A single pallet covered a rectangle of floor, its head against the middle of the far wall. To Nightfall’s left, a familiar night table and matching chair sported a jumble of cosmetics and clothing. All of the colors suited Shiriel. An open closet to his right held several outfits, including familiar dancing costumes, though none in Kelryn’s larger size.

Shiriel closed the door. Turning to face the bed, she began unlacing her bodice.

"Don’t do that." Nightfall placed a hand on Shiriel’s shoulder, and she felt coiled beneath his touch. Shiriel whirled, back-stepping until she stood against the pallet. The loosened fabric revealed the edge of each, tiny breast, "lf you’ve got something sleazy in mind, you can leave now. I don’t got to do this, you know. It’s just a way to make extra money."

"How much do you charge?" Nightfall enjoyed a good session of sex as much as any man, but not when he was working. And not with Kelryn’s roommate. The idea made him ill.

“Five coppers." Shiriel glared defiantly, her chest heaving and her demeanor stiff. The straight, red hair formed a cape about her shoulders, making her look more vulnerable.

”Here." Nightfall tossed her the last silver, leaving him only the one Prince Edward had given him and the coppers in Myar’s purse.

Shiriel caught the coin in a small hand, bobbled it once, then studied it. Placing it into her cleavage, she gave her full attention to Nightfall. "What do you want? And I’m still not doing anything sleazy."

"Tie that thing back up." Nightfall tried to look flustered. "I just want to talk.”

"Talk?" Brow crinkled, Shiriel retied her bodice. "Talk about what?"

Nightfall moved Shiriel’s undergarments from the chair to the table. Turning the chair to face her, he sat. "Another woman who works here, name Kelryn." As he moved, he caught a glimpse of an object he had missed on previous inspection. Among the vials and jars sat a too familiar glass figurine of a swan. Its neck stretched delicately upward, ending in a finely-shaped head. The wings were spread in a feathered detail Nightfall had never seen on a trinket, before or since he’d set eyes on this one nearly a year ago. Marak had discovered it displayed in a glassblower’s shop. It had cost him a week of dinners; but, at the time, it had seemed well worth the cost. Apparently, it meant nothing more to Kelryn than the life of the man who gave it to her. He had rehearsed the presentation, and the words returned to him now, ugly, empty, and hollow: "Finally, Kelryn, I’ve found a piece of art worthy of your beauty. But, even should this creature come alive, you would put its grace to shame."

Shiriel’s eyes narrowed suddenly. "Kelryn don’t work here no more."

Nightfall met Shiriel’s gaze, careful not to rivet on the swan. "That’s what the guy said." He pointed to the door to indicate Cyriwan. "Where does she work now?"

"That depends."

Now it was Nightfall’s turn to look confused. "Depends on what?"

Shiriel shook her head, sending the fine locks into a shimmery dance. "Depends on why it’s worth a silver to you.”

Nightfall sighed. He stared at a water spot on the ceiling, and a slight smile curled about features more primed for a glower. Thoughts of Kelryn made him savagely angry. But for now he feigned infatuation. "I watched her dance once. She’s the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Ever." He met Shiriel’s green eyes earnestly. "Please. I have to find her."

Shiriel looked skeptical. Her drawn face took on a look of calculated doubt. "You don’t know, do you?"

"Know what‘?" Nightfall added a note of concern to his curiosity. Idly, he fiddled with the disarray on Shiriel’s table.

Shiriel leaned forward, lowering her voice. "I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. Kelryn has…” She dropped to a whisper. "… clap."

Nightfall suppressed a laugh, inhaled a lungful of saliva, and coughed violently. Well, at least I spread that rumor thoroughly. The hoarseness of his voice only added to his sincerity. "That doesn’t matter; Shiriel, I love this woman. I have to see her.”

Shiriel sat on the pallet with a sigh. She drew muscle- thick legs to her chest, staring at Nightfall. "You’re from Alyndar, right?"

Nightfall nodded. Emblazoned with the country’s colors and in the prince’s service, he could hardly deny it. His hand drifted naturally toward the glass swan.

"So what do you people want with Kelryn?"

The question caught Nightfall off his guard. He blinked, his fingers closing over the figurine, his bewildered gaze diverting Shiriel’s attention from the action. "Us people? What people'? What are you talking about?"

"Look." Shiriel went straight to the point. “Kelryn never did anything wrong in her life. She’s a damn good dancer and an honest one. She didn’t know."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about." The expression of confusion on Nightfall’s face deepened. He slipped the swan into his pocket, drawing his whole per- son inward to mask the movement. "But you’re starting to scare me. Is Kelryn in some kind of trouble?"

Shiriel seemed to take no notice of the theft. Her scrutiny of Nightfall’s face intensified. Apparently, she was trying to read his expression and his sincerity. "That murderer they killed up there a few weeks ago."

"You mean Nightfall?" he supplied.

Shiriel nodded briskly. “She called him Marak, but they said he was the same person. It’s no secret around here that she was his girlfriend.”

Nightfall tried to look suitable agitated. "You’re lying! You have to be lying."

“But she didn’t know he was a killer." Shiriel defended Kelryn. “She didn’t know she was seeing Nightfall. And, of course, she never committed any c1imes." She wrung her hands, hugging her knees to her chest. “So, go away. Leave her alone."

Nightfall met Shiriel’s intense expression with one of his own. "Have others from Alyndar come looking for her before me?"

"No," Shiriel admitted. "You’re the first."

Nightfall rolled his eyes in exasperation. He relaxed a bit, idly drumming his fingers on the single, narrow drawer in the front of the desk. "Do I look like a king’s executioner to you? A guard captain?" He spread his arms to emphasize his delicate frame.

Shiriel’s scrutiny became intense. Suddenly, Nightfall regretted his bold plea for attention. A close look might give me away. Then again, I suppose this is one of the safer places to test the new “disguise."

After a few moments, Shiriel sat back, still without recognition. "No," she admitted. "But you could still be one. Or you could be working for one."

Nightfall snorted. He worked his fingers into the drawer, idly opening and closing it against his knuckles. He tried to sound like a youth in love. "Your loyalty is wonderful and makes sense to me. If I had the chance, I’d be just as protective of her. But Nightfall’s dead." Spoken aloud, the words sounded strange in his ears. "King Rikard has no use or interest in the man’s girlfriend. And even if he did, he’s a king. He’d have just sent over a bunch of guards and taken her, not some stumbling squire who can’t even keep his balance in the street." Removing one hand from the drawer, he fingered the hole in his britches.