Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Nightfall froze in place but not quickly enough to keep his eyes from flicking suddenly to Edward. "I’ve got the horses all loaded and ready to go." He added swiftly, "Master."

"Go?" Prince Edward fixed his squire with a harsh stare."Go? We’re not going anywhere. There’s so much work that needs doing here." He made abroad gesture like a dancer at a grand recital.

The implications of that decision came in a wild rush. We could stay here for months. Years. And not accomplish much more than assisting a farmer or two with spring planting and harvest. The thought brought a reemergence of the oath-bond, a dull ache that seemed to span Nightfall’s body. “But, Master, we’ve lost our money. How long can we impose on the innkeeper’s hospitality?”

Nightfall knew the overlord, not the owner of the inn had paid for their stay so far; but he guessed it would grind on Edward’s conscience more to believe he burdened a working man.

Edward continued his meal. "We’ll work. We’ll make our money the way the citizens do."

And won’t it surprise you to learn that sitting around looking pretty and preaching morality to men with broken backs doesn’t pay? Not to mention there’s almost no coinage in a village this small. Nightfall had no patience for explaining apprenticeships or barter. "Master, forgive my ignorance, but I don’t understand. How will working in Delfor get you landed?"

"Landed?" Prince Edward expelled a deep-throated laugh. "Of what significance is one man’s landing when so many others live in poverty and sin? Landing is my father’s goal. The divine Father has other plans for me. He wants me to elevate the downtrodden. He wants me to give every man and woman the life in freedom he intended. He wants me to rescue the enslaved and champion the meek." Caught up in his own grandeur, Prince Edward rose. "The Father lives within every man, a loving presence who guards his children and his flocks. By his sanction, l will see to it that everyone walks proud in the Father’s shadow!" His last words echoed through the Delforian common room.

The innkeeper leaned over his counter, a smile of amusement breaking the contours of a face pocked by weather and prior disease. The serving maid stared unabashedly. The three Ivralians applauded.

Apparently not recognizing the Ivralians’ sarcasm, Prince Edward executed a stiff head bow that acknowledged their "appreciation." Nightfall despised direct attention, and the Ivralians’ performance embarrassed him in the prince’s stead. He kept his voice low but still managed to convey having become swept up in the fervor. "Then away to the south we go!"

"South?" Edward paused, the glowing excitement of his features gradually replaced by wrinkles of curiosity. "Away to the south?"

"Slave country, Master."

"Slave country," Edward repeated with such concentration Nightfall half expected him to tack on the "master" as well. "We can always come back here, but there’re grander matters to hand. Sudian, prepare the horses."

Grabbing the last of his bread, Nightfall scurried to obey a command he had fulfilled an hour previously. He did not dare to smile. For now, he had achieved his goal, but it had only opened the potential for a million more massive problems in the south. How do I land a noble who doesn’t care to be landed? Nightfall scoured his mind for sources between Delfor and Trillium who might give him the answer.

Nightfall suffered the consequences of whipping Prince Edward to a moralistic frenzy on the southward ride from Delfor. From the moment city limits turned to alternating squares of farm field, Edward ranted philosophy until Nightfall thought his ears would take flight of his head to escape the repetition. Soon, fertile crop lands gave way to the more familiar forest, and Nightfall welcomed the change. The trees provided cover that even the prince’s loud voice could not fully ruin. The trunks scattered sound, and most bandits had only scant experience with following bouncing echoes. Once they left the main road to camp, Nightfall doubted anyone would bother them, even should they have anything besides horses, tack, and clothing worth stealing.

Gradually, litany gave way to more normal discussions about weather and supplies. Prince Edward did not mention his missing money, though whether from ignorance, bland indifference to its loss, or because he did not see it as his squire’s concern, Nightfall could not guess. Nobles’ relationships with servants seemed distant and rampant with strange customs and manners he had no interest in trying to understand. At least the oath-bond-inspired need to fling his person between Edward and danger had kindled some loyalty in return. The prince forgave or explained away many of Nightfall’s improprieties.

They set up camp in a clearing strewn with a damp carpet of leaves. Mushrooms poked their caps through the mulch, some like wrinkled umbrellas, some like plates, and others orange and white domes towering over tiny stalks. From long habit, Nightfall visually sorted edible from poisonous, smashing a patch of toadstools with the chestnut’s pack. With the horses set to graze and bedding spread, the prince and his squire enjoyed a sparse meal of jerky and mushrooms. The silence seemed heavy after Edward’s cheerful, if tedious, lecturing. Nightfall concentrated on the crackle of the flames and the distant noises of animals in the brush. An occasional fox call whirred through the night, and the polecats screeched at intervals, sounding much like human babies.

Nightfall needed information. Soon enough, he would find a source he trusted. In the meantime, he had little choice but to use what he had. He sat up straight in front of the fire, shadow striping the ground behind him. "Master, how do you get landed?"

Edward turned his head, expression open, obviously surprised. Clearly, it was one of those things gentry seemed to know at birth and assumed others did as well. "I’ll have to perform some grand and heroic deed so noble that a king chooses to knight me and grant land."

Nightfall considered, trying to sort his confusion as much as possible before interrogating Edward again. It made no sense for a prince to become knighted. Why trade a higher title for one lower? The answer dawned slowly. Because he’s a prince of Alyndar, and he’s certainly not getting his property from King Rikard. He’ll need a title in the kingdom where he’s landed. Nightfall knew boundaries well; awareness of where one man’s jurisdiction began and another’s ended had helped him evade pursuit on more than one occasion. Alyndar’s kingdom borders had remained relatively stable for centuries. The rulers in Shisen and Ivral waffled between war and peace. Kings Jolund and Idinbal seemed constantly in dispute over the southern triple cities, and Trillium had been occupied by Shisen, Hartrin, and Ivral on various occasions. Still, Edward’s claim did not gibe with Nightfall’s observations. Many who seemed to have no grasp of heroism owned territory; several bore titles other than knight and some had been born to their nobility in other kingdoms than their land.

After a brief pause, Prince Edward clarified his statement, though he still addressed none of Nightfall’s doubts and questions. "I could oust a threat: a crazed wolf mangling citizens, a plague of rats, an army…"

… an assassin terrorizing the king and his family. The idea, and its subsequent arrangement, entered Nightfall’s mind for only a moment before inciting agony from the oath-bond. Pain doubled him over, and he gasped desperately for air. His thoughts scurried for the cure. No terror. No assassin. Nightfall is dead. The magic receded, the abrupt change from torture to ache so sudden he had to fight down the contents of his stomach.

"Sudian? Sudian!" Edward knelt at Nightfall’s side, steadying him with broad, strong hands. "Are you well?"