Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Then, fearing that Edward might hand him a waterskin and picturing himself kneeling in filth on a well-traveled road with the hated horse sneezing mucus the length of his hair, he added, "A lot of water."

“Very well." Edward gestured Nightfall to his bay. The cloak hid dirt specks and travel stains well enough. Aside from a smear of mud across one cheek, the prince appeared fresh and ready for court.

Nightfall scurried onto his saddle, and they continued toward the village. The children disappeared into the distance, replaced by others equally young and busy. Field gave way to field, a long parade of squares discernible only by the remnants of their previous crops. Occasionally, a battered fence enclosed a section where a farmer allowed his workhorses to graze on stalks and stems left after the harvest. They passed three cottages, patched piecemeal after damage from wind, rain, and time. “Storage sheds," Prince Edward called them, until Nightfall corrected the misconception. Even then, the prince seemed unconvinced until they rode by a woman cradling an infant on the front porch of the tiniest of the dwellings.

As the clustered buildings of Delfor drew closer, Nightfall noticed a crowd at the junction of road with village. A few strides further, his sharp gaze discerned the group: all men and all dressed in the uniform of the overlord’s guards. They wore dark blue breeks and tunics under the tabards of lavender and white that symbolized holdings under the King of Alyndar on the Yortenese Peninsula. Members of the overlord’s army on the edge of town? Why? Nightfall’s alertness clicked up a notch, and his thoughts sped. Looking for someone. Us? The oath-bond buzzed within him, clearly taking its cue from his considerations. The idea seemed nonsense. He doubted the battle in Grittmon’s Tavern would pique the interest of the overlord. If guards became involved in such a thing, they would be Nemixian or Alyndarian policing forces.

Prince Edward seemed not to notice the strange welcome, though whether because of lack of vigilance or unfamiliarity with Delfor’s quiet norm, Nightfall did not know. A noble’s survival did not depend upon physical alertness as Nightfall’s had since infancy. His mind gave him no answer to the presence of the guardsmen, so he had little choice but to assume it had nothing to do with himself. Soon enough, he would know.

As the trio of horses drew to the town limits, a pair of guards sorted themselves from the other four and blocked the path. As they recognized Alyndar’s royal colors on prince and squire, their manners went from bored to efficient. The two in front snapped to attention, hands low but away from sword hilts. The taller of the two, a curly-haired, lipless blond spoke. "Fine morning, lord. Have you come for-”

The blond’s companion, a stout brunet with a neck as wide as Nightfall’s thigh, nudged the other into silence. "Obviously they came to see the Healer." His gaze settled on the bandage encasing Nightfall’s hand. He bowed. "Did you plan to stay the night as well, lord?…" He trailed off with deliberate caution, seeking a name and title.

Unaccustomed to formality, Nightfall missed his cue, especially with his mind worrying other concerns. Healer? He had spent longer than a month in travel or imprisoned in Alyndar. The previous month he had been ship-bound as Marak. Prior to that, he had spent some time in the far south, on the Xaxonese Peninsula. He had heard nothing of a Healer in Delfor or elsewhere warranting a contingent of guards. As of the last harvest, no such person had existed in Delfor.

Suddenly, Nightfall became acutely aware that every eye, including Edward’s, was centered on him. He guessed he was expected to say something, but he had no clue as to what that might be.

Prince Edward came to Nightfall’s rescue. "Forgive my squire. He was badly injured protecting me, and pain seems to have addled his manners. The services of your Healer would be appreciated, and we will stay the night. Sudian, announce us, please.”

Nightfall cursed himself mentally. Slipping back into his fawning squire act, he glanced at the soldiers sheepishly. "Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar. The most magnificent master a squire could have. The gods-"

Edward silenced Nightfall with an embarrassed wave. "That’s enough, Sudian."

The guards shifted restively, hiding smiles of amusement behind cupped hands or distracting gestures. The blond who had spoken first addressed the prince. "Delfor is honored by your presence, young Prince. We’re a modest village. Our inn is small but at your service, the third building on the left down the main thoroughfare. Once you’ve settled, someone will come to escort your squire to the Healer. Will that accommodate, noble Sir?”

"Very well. Thank you," Edward said.

The guards stepped aside, and prince and squire rode into a farm hamlet that Nightfall scarcely recognized. Delfor had changed much since the last harvest. The shops, dwellings, and meeting hall seemed the same, but a new structure rose from the center of town near the community fountain. The once quiet streets held meandering beggars that Nightfall had come to associate only with richer cities and trading centers. The guards, usually completely absent, had become a constant and conspicuously obvious presence. He recognized an occasional citizen lost amidst the strangers.

As Edward and Nightfall entered the village, the beggars shifted toward them in a mass. As they moved, it became obvious that every one suffered from an injury or disease. Rheumy-eyed elders mingled with scraggly, limping youths. Several coughed globs of bloody phlegm on the packed roadway, and the odor of alcohol, filth, and disease stirred nausea even through Nightfall. The prince’s face looked green.

Prince Edward, meet the downtrodden you champion. Nightfall took some amusement from the situation, though the oath-bond churned, intensifying the sickness raised by the reek of so many scrofulous and unwashed. Each had a sad tale to shout over the others, and Nightfall caught only snatches as each vied for their attention. "… six children starving… once a baron’s adviser… lost my leg fighting for the king and the glory of… simple man in need…" The sad stories continued, every one ending with a desperate plea for money to pay for healing self or family. The white gelding quivered, nervousness stiffening its every movement.

Prince Edward’s expression went from shocked to horrified to sympathetic. Though swaying with dizziness and obviously struggling against vomiting, he handed out six silver coins before Nightfall could think to stop him. Cries of “bless you, lord" rose above the laments, the success of a few only fueling the others. The crowd of beggars in the roadway seemed to triple in an instant. Hands pawed at prince, squire, and travel packs, smearing filth and disease. The oath-bond shrilled a warning, the pain becoming an agony that usurped all other wounds.

Brutally, Nightfall kicked and slapped at the nearest beggars, but his efforts only sent them all scurrying to Prince Edward instead. Cloth tore as the beggars clawed through the chestnut’s pack, spilling foodstuffs and utensils to the roadway. Guards came at a run from all directions, their shouts lost beneath the pleading hubbub, dispersing the most peripheral of the beggars with violence. Nightfall drew a throwing knife, slapping the side of the blade across the rump of Edward’s gelding hard enough to sting.

Pained and blind to its attacker, the white horse exploded into panicked frenzy. It reared and jumped, pink hooves cleaving the crowd. Several sprang out of the way, fatigue or injuries momentarily forgotten. Two stumbled, collapsing beneath the flailing hooves.

The oath-bond screamed through Nightfall, making new thought impossible and nearly crippling him from action. He concentrated on rescuing Edward, hauling him from the crazed steed and onto his own bay just as the gelding started a berserk bucking. Beggars dove for safety. The prince’s bulk and momentum sent Nightfall careening from the saddle. Too late, he thought to increase his weight, landing hard on the roadway nearly beneath the mare’s feet. He rolled aside, ducking to avoid the crazed gelding and the shying mare, vision filled with flying hooves, black and pink. From a corner of his eye, he also noticed that Edward’s purse lay on the roadway; the scattered coins disappeared into scabby hands as they fell.