Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"Fine, Master," Nightfall wheezed, seized by a mixture of frustration and anger. He felt like a helpless prisoner, as kept as any slave by a magic that would, in time, claim his soul as well. He wondered if that same incapacitating pain would always accompany the shreds of spirit Gilleran claimed from him or only when the sorcerer chose to use Nightfall’s natal gift. The consideration threw him over the edge. He rose, pulling free of Edward, and staggered past the clearing to vomit as far from the camp as possible. Fear raged to fury. The oath-bond constrained him too tightly to create a situation that might get Edward his land. That, he guessed, had been the intention. The king gets his son killed without doing the deed himself and rids the world of a demon. The sorcerer gets my soul. The perfect arrangement. And yet, Nightfall still saw flaws in the plan. Again, simpler arrangements could have achieved the same results. They could have executed me and sent Ned out with some bumbling squire. Left on his own on foreign soil, the prince would surely enrage the wrong person and wind up dead.

Nightfall considered the possibilities again as the oath-bond waned to its normal tingle. It occurred to him that King Rikard might prove his better when it came to clever strategy. Alone, Prince Edward would have lost all his money in Grittmon’s Inn, but his life would not have become endangered. He probably would have returned home for money or given up his quest. Perhaps the king realized that his innocent younger son needed an experienced traveler to get him even beyond the borders of Alyndar. Perhaps he trusted Nightfall to drag the boy to the nasty and dangerous haunts that the prince could never have found alone. Perhaps he just figured I’d get so frustrated with the colts abrasive innocence I’d just kill him quickly and have done with it all. These thoughts charged Nightfall to determined rage. I’ll get him landed, all right. And once I do, I ’m free. Then the demon will exact his own payment.

An image of Dyfrin came to Nightfall’s pain-dulled defenses like a fever dream. His mouth pressed to a grim line beneath a small nose and a shock of sandy hair. "Vengeance serves no master. Its rage steals even the most ingrained judgment, and it consumes the one it claims to serve." But, for now at least, the promise of revenge seemed more attractive than giving in to despair.

Prince Edward crashed through the brush to stop at Nightfall’s side. "Do I need to take you back to the Healer?"

Nightfall shook his head, dispelling the fierce reverie, the idea of returning to Delfor intolerable. "No, thank you, Master. She only heals wounds. She couldn’t help with this?

“What is this? What can I do?"

Edward’s sincere concern seemed nonsensical. Why does he care? Damn it, why does he have to care so much? “I must have gotten a bad mushroom in with the others." He tried to turn the devotion back in the proper direction. "Oh, Master, what if I poisoned you, too?"

"Poisoned? Don’t be ridiculous, Sudian. I feel fine." Prince Edward assisted his squire to stand, though he no longer needed the help. He led Nightfall back to the clearing and pressed him down onto the thicker pile of blankets.

The prince’s strength surprised Nightfall. He did not resist physically, continuing to pretend to feel the weak shakiness that he had suffered only too honestly before. "Master, this is your bed."

"Mine, yours, what does it matter?" Edward’s eyes glistened with welling tears. "Get some sleep."

Nightfall closed his eyes, but sleep would not come. He had wanted the prince to trust him implicitly, yet he had never anticipated the protective concern that accompanied that trust. As much as he hated the idea, he could not help liking Alyndar’s prince.

Prince Edward and Nightfall followed the woodland path just off the Klaimer shoreline. Two weeks’ journey along the coastal bend brought them within a half day’s ride of the city of Trillium. This time, they straggled off the path westward to camp in a ragged cove well-hidden from wind, wave, and bandits. Nightfall knew the haven well. He had used it as a bolt hole as well as a temporary shelter. It gave him access to city, ocean, and forest near a grove of walnut trees and berry copses that attracted prey of many kinds. A cabin in this area of plentiful food housed a hermit named Finndmer whom Nightfall knew well. The grizzled loner logged for construction lumber and firewood that he sold in Trillium. He also hauled in loads of walnuts and berries, or hunted depending on the season. These pursuits paid for his necessities; but his other escapades covered the women and the niceties that made a two-story cottage, plain from the outside, a veritable palace within. Many times, Nightfall had pitted his glare against the older man’s bulk and experience; and the other had always cracked first.

Finndmer served as the area fence for merchandise, his location just beyond the continent’s largest city enviable. Whatever a man’s need, Finndmer knew where to find the goods or information, if he could not supply them himself. However, caution kept him mostly silent around those he did not know and trust. Sudian did not seem the best character for breaching a hard-headed thug’s defenses, but Nightfall knew better than to even consider using a disguise. Just the vague thought churned the oath-bond to a pain that reminded him vividly of its danger.

Nightfall waited until Prince Edward settled for the night, his snores forming a duet with their own echoes. Bellies filled with grass, two of the horses lay on the cove stone, forelegs tucked beneath their chests. The packhorse remained standing, head contentedly bowed. The prince’s safety seemed sure. In Nightfall’s years of using the cove, he had never once seen evidence that anyone else knew of its existence. Any major threat would cause the horses to panic, and their banging and cries would carry through the woodland hush.

Nightfall slipped from the camp. Waves slammed the cliffs with a whooshing sound that turned to a gulping suck as water siphoned back from between the rocks. Moonlight drew glittering crests on every ripple, and stars speckled the night sky. Nightfall took the looping path back to the main road. It was easy enough to access the cove; the zigzagging back-tracks had proven no difficulty even for the horses. Nightfall attributed the success of his hiding place more to people’s natural tendency to choose woodlands over rocks for camping and to spiral in the other direction when coming to look upon the sea. Most people timed their travels to arrive in Trillium rather than camp so near its borders, and Nightfall suspected that same feature as the reason for the location of Finndmer’s cottage.

Nightfall pushed through a press of spring growth to the main road, using natural landmarks to orient. A few strides toward Trillium, he found the crude path of ruts from Finndmer’s wood-laden cart. He approached with caution, aware that anyone might come to see Finndmer. Nighttime only made it more likely that a visitor might choose to slaughter a small stranger to keep his whereabouts a secret. Though Nightfall had few doubts he could hold his own against such an attack, it seemed wiser to avoid confrontation. As much as possible, he wanted to play the selflessly faithful squire and avoid the need to justify his wandering to Prince Edward or to anyone else.

The crushed stems smelled of new growth and dampness. Nightfall followed a curve in the trail, and Finndmer’s cottage suddenly became visible through the trees, a hulking shadow etched against leafy branches. Nightfall paused, scanning the surrounding clearing for movement. A pyramid of logs filled a corner of the yard, the cart beside it stacked to overflowing. A few logs had spilled to the ground near its wheels. A horse rested in a split rail corral, sprawled like a dog on its side. Night stole color vision, and Nightfall could tell only that it bore a dark color from ears to tail, interrupted by white patterns on the nose and feet. It seemed strange to see a horse in its position, but he knew from experience that secure livestock often slept in such a fashion.