Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

An evening spent landing the Healer slipped into a fitful night of plotting and rage. Kelryn’s scheme appalled even Nightfall; beguiling innocents to an agony beyond death seemed leagues more evil than all his crimes together. He had stolen to survive and murdered from necessity, and every kingdom reviled him as a hellish and remorseless demon. Yet, Kelryn continued her dance, seducing young men as fodder for hunters who preyed on pain and souls. Women like Genevra appreciated her gentle sweetness and men her grace, never knowing that both hid a cruelty that revolted Nightfall himself. And even I fell for her act.

The latter thought intrigued as well as sickened. Nightfall had always prided himself on reading others motivations and seeing through their chosen shrouds. Yet he could not deny that he had bought into Kelryn’s tender concern for him as completely and easily as any of her lambish victims. He had approached the relationship as he did all others, with paranoid caution. She had won him over with a candor and intimate sincerity that had penetrated defenses more solid and sturdy than any fortress. Even now, knowing what he did, Nightfall could not shake memories of her smile and the glitter in her dark eyes that told him she truly loved him, without conditions, and that her devotion would outlast eternity. Now Nightfall wondered how many others that game of hers had snared.

Nightfall rolled silently, his caution more habit than necessity. Prince Edward’s snores had continued uninterrupted even through the clatter of a stack of dinner dishes dropped in the common room below and a heated argument between a serving woman and a cleaning boy over a copper piece. Nightfall’s anger degenerated into sorrow. Me in love. The idea seemed more ludicrous than the rumor that he heard all pleas for murder whispered on the wind. That alone should have cued me to her deceit. A few women had sought out Nightfall in the darkest, ugliest corners of the universe. These, he discovered, wanted notoriety after finding no glory of their own. Somehow, sleeping with the demon or, better, carrying his baby would bring them the attention they craved and change, if not raise, their station. He had never raped a woman, nor even slept with one in Nightfall’s guise, yet at least three claimed their offspring as his. But love? Never. How could any woman love what even my mother could not?

Undoing the past had become an unproductive pastime that Nightfall believed he had long abandoned. He pushed away thoughts of his shortcomings as a child, the common sense that had failed him when it came to what his mother had called "following gods" instead of falling prey to the "demon’s influence." In the end, the demon had done him better. Nightfall stared at the Delforian wall, the wood scarred by gouges and dents from carelessly flung gear. He had worked with many thieves, informants, and killers without so much as a twinge of conscience; and he wondered why Kelryn’s scam bothered him so much. A good swindler, when cheated by a better one, soon learned to turn his thoughts toward education rather than vengeance. He understood that women used flirtation as a weapon because few things disarmed a man more completely. But there were unwritten laws even among killers and thieves, ones that the sane fell into without need for understanding them or even knowing of their existence. A competent hoax relied on the greed of its victim. Thieves gravitated to the rich who could better afford their crime; it made little sense to risk freedom or life for a single worn copper. No assassin Nightfall knew chose victims indiscriminately. Usually, they found themselves hunting others of their ilk, slayers on either side of the law. And therein lay the root of Nightfall’s aversion. Kelryn sacrificed innocents to creatures more terrible than any mythical demon, committing them to an eternal torment that made the gods’ hell seem benign.

On the inn room floor, Nightfall flopped into a new position, finding it no more comfortable than any of the dozen others. This time, however, he found sleep.

The morning dawned in quiet glory, unusually cool for spring. Nightfall awakened as the first sun rays crept past the window, and he set to work at once. Anticipation of the prince’s wants reinforced the image of attentive squire with a steadfast devotion to duty and also kept him from the need to chatter mindlessly. By the time Prince Edward joined him in the common room, he had reclaimed their now-clean clothing and prepared the horses for travel.

Aside from the inn staff, only three other people had appeared for breakfast, a trio of well-armed Ivralian men, minor nobility who had arrived in Delfor the same night as Edward and his squire. From conversation overheard, Nightfall discovered they headed for Mezzin for some sort of special martial training. They talked loudly, assuming rugged postures to impress the farmers, but Nightfall doubted they posed the prince any threat. Beneath their need for peasants’ adulation, they seemed reasonably mannered.

"Good morning, Sudian." Edward greeted his squire with a broad grin.

Nightfall rose from his seat at a corner table, straightening another chair for the prince. He waited for Edward to take the proffered seat before returning to his own. "Good morning, Master."

Prince Edward immediately raised the conversation from the previous night, though they had already taken it beyond its natural conclusion into the realm of extraneous repetition. "Fine work that Healer does. I hope we never have need of her services again, but it’s good to know she’s here.”

"Yes, Master. It is." Nightfall gave the expected response, though it seemed unnecessary as well as nonsensical. His casual discussion with the guards on his return to the inn had revealed that, had the beggars not mobbed Edward, the prince probably could not have afforded the healing, even on the allowance his father had granted him. That idea triggered one more sobering. We’ve got a total of four silvers, including the one he gave me for the spade in Nemix, along with six coppers remaining from what I took from Myar. That’s supposed to last months. The amount sounded huge to Nightfall. He and his mother had lived on far less for years, yet they had not needed inn rooms, washed silk, horses, or gratuities for information. And neither of us treated money like spit. Still, Nightfall took some solace from the fact that he carried backup wealth in the form of the sea captain’s sapphire and the Alyndarian steward’s wedding rings. If needed, he would have to find a way to use those that did not require an implausible or embarrassing explanation to Prince Edward.

A serving maid arrived, setting warm, buttered bread and bowls of cornmeal in front of Prince Edward and Nightfall. She also left them each a spoon and a cup of milk.

"Thank you," Nightfall said.

The woman smiled, then whisked back toward the kitchen.

Prince Edward stirred bread through the meal. "It’s good to see the farmers getting something special to balance their hard work."

Nightfall had lost the thread of the conversation. “Something special, Master?"

"I mean the Healer."

Nightfall thought it best not to tell the prince that Genevra’s services existed for the overlord, his men, and wealthy travelers. No farmer he knew could afford her services. Mouth full, he measured the expectation of a prompt answer against manners and decided to chew and swallow before responding. "Yes, Master. It’s good."

"Today, we’ll start looking around and talking to people." The prince explained between bites. "In order to help those people, we’ll have to find out what they need."