Mickey Reichert: The legend of Nightfall

The image of Kelryn superimposed itself over Dyfrin, strengthening until the vision of the man disappeared, wholly replaced. She betrayed me. I can’t believe the bitch betrayed me. Agony trickled through Nightfall’s chest, overriding physical pain. Finally, I dared to trust someone, and she betrayed me. Grief melted into outrage, then flared to fury. I should have trusted my instincts instead of my heart. Hatred warped the picture, and Kelryn’s features disappeared from his thoughts. She’s taught me a lesson I won’t forget. And when I get free of here, I’ll teach her a lesson she won’t be alive to forget.

Footfalls clicked down the stone hallway of Alyndar’s prison, seizing Nightfall’s attention. Vengeance could wait. For now, escape must take precedence. He concentrated on the noise, recognizing the clang of keys and the faint rustle of mail links. Guards.

As the noises drew closer, Nightfall sifted out two separate pairs of boot falls. Quietly, he kicked the chains and fetters into the darkest corner of his cell and restored his weight. Moving into the dappled shadows toward the center, he put his hands behind his back and pressed his legs together as if still held in place at the ankles.

Voices wafted to Nightfall, becoming louder as the guards’ approach hushed the hissed exchanges of the other prisoners “… hold him back while I open the locks."

"No problem. This is one killer I ain’t letting near that door till we’ve got a good hold."

The conversation dropped off as the guards came into sight from the gloom of the corridor. They wore long chain shirts, belted at the waist, and wool dyed lavender and gray peeked between the rings. The taller one, a narrow-faced blond, clutched a clip of keys. The other was a solid man with handsome features and a fluffy ball of black hair that seemed to perch atop his head. They stopped just outside Nightfall’s cell.

Nightfall rose with feigned awkwardness, simulating shackles. He kept his hands poised, crossed against the hollow of his spine. A burr knotted into his beard scratched his throat; and, from long practice, he resisted the natural urge to dislodge it.

The dark-haired guard drew his long sword and angled it for a stab between the bars. "Stand where you are, Nightfall. You move, you die.”

Nightfall went still, assessing the two men in front of him. Both held the wary stances of seasoned warriors, their muscles taut from combat training. He felt confident he could best either with speed, and equally certain they would prove stronger and more skilled with weapons. His weight-shifting ability obviated the need to develop power in order to climb, and few of his thefts involved heavy objects. For killing, he relied more on surprise and aim than thrust and parry. He glanced from one guard to the other, trying to look nervous while he assessed them. Each carried a long sword. The telltale bulge of a dagger displaced the smooth line of the blonds’ boot. "I told your people before. My name is Marak."

"Save it for the torturer." The shorter guard made an abbreviated jab with his blade.

The taller one separated a key from its mates and thrust it into the lock. He twisted. The mechanism gave with a click.

"Torturer‘?" Nightfall shrank away, his fear not completely an act. "What do you mean, torturer? What’s the charge?"

The blond let the key fall and selected another, fitting it into the second lock.

The other guard answered over the snap of its opening. "What’s the charge?" An incredulous half-smile spread across his lips. "The charges, if I remember correctly, include forty-seven acts of grand theft, nineteen murders, two counts of treason, one assault, and more than eight hundred and fifty misdemeanors. And that’s just in Alyndar."

The number of killings sounded high, the robberies low, and Nightfall doubted he had assaulted anyone without finishing the deed. Yet, otherwise, the charges seemed appropriate. He continued the conversation to keep the guards watching his face so they would not notice the missing fetters. "That’s impossible. I’ve never been to Alyndar in my life. You’re mistaking me for someone else… "

The blond exchanged his key for another, working on the last lock. He snorted. "First time I ever heard that defense. How about you, Rylinat?"

Rylinat laughed merrily, as if his companion had actually said something funny.

"Ready?" The blond hooked the key clip over his belt.

Rylinat nodded. Sheathing his sword, he back-stepped, leaving room for the door. It swung open with a squeal of rusted hinges, and the two guards scissored toward Nightfall, alert to his every movement. "It’ll go easier if you cooperate.” A slight quaver in the smaller guard’s voice revealed apprehension. Apparently, the legends had affected even him. "Come here."

Nightfall remained in the shadows, pleased that the guards’ discomfort kept them focused on his face and arms. He kept his features slack, trying to appear innocent and scared. Hesitantly, feigning the awkward shuffle of shackles, he edged toward the guards.

Rylinat caught Nightfall’s right arm, the companion his left. Nightfall kept his fingers laced together to prevent the guards from pulling his unmanacled hands apart. Docilely, he allowed them to lead him, in small steps, from the cage and into a dark tunnel of hallway.

Nightfall’s mind kicked into memory, retracing his route to the cage. To the right, the long corridor led to a moss-slicked stairway which spiraled upward to a wooden door. Once through it, he would be free. Only one other barrier stood in his way, a gate that spanned from hallway floor to ceiling like a cold, steel web. His gaze strayed to the key clip at the guard’s belt, the answer to the door locks.

Rylinat traced Nightfall’s attention. Too late, the thief realized his mistake. The guard’s stare slid past his companion’s waist to the floor and the shackles missing from Nightfall’s ankles. He opened his mouth to speak.

Instantly, Nightfall jerked, trebling his weight.

The blond stumbled. Thrown askew, Rylinat loosed a startled cry in place of the warning he had planned. He scrambled for balance, losing his hold on Nightfall’s arm, nails raking his prisoner’s naked shoulder. The sword on his left hip bumped Nightfall’s thigh.

Nightfall seized Rylinat’s hilt. He drew, twisting for momentum. As the blade rattled free, he spun, slashing open the blonds’ neck.

Impact quivered through Nightfall’s hands and flung the blond guard to the floor. Blood splashed Nightfall’s cheek. He whirled back to Rylinat, whipping the blade in a blind strike at the place the guard had stood.

Rylinat leapt back, pawing at his empty sheath, the sword nicking his tunic and sending the links into a rattling dance. "Here!" he screamed. "Nightfall’s free!”

Shouts of encouragement rose from scraggly prisoners in the other cages.

Nightfall swore, knowing the noise would draw the attention of any sentry who had not already responded to Rylinat’s shout. He let the sword sag, leaving space for the unarmed guard to retreat. He’s already alerted the others. Speed is more important than silencing him now.

But Rylinat rushed Nightfall, apparently trusting his superior size and training, unable to know Nightfall now weighed as much as a boulder.

As the guard bore down on him, Nightfall sprang backward, flicking up the sword.

Too late, Rylinat tried to swerve. His own momentum carried him onto the sword, impaling him to the hilt. He crashed into Nightfall, meeting resistance as solid as the granite wall. Shock crossed his features. Then his mouth gaped open, emitting agonized screams. He slid to the floor, smearing blood across Nightfall’s torso.

Nightfall cursed his own incompetence. Now that he had killed the guards, escape was no longer a matter of timing; it had become instant necessity. And Rylinat’s shrieks had turned a difficult evasion into an impossible one. Ignoring the writhing guard, Nightfall shifted his attention to the motionless blond. Grabbing the keys and the boot knife, he dodged around Rylinat and ran for the exit.