Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"No need." Prince Edward separated his horse from the others. He left the bay and chestnut together and held out the cart horse’s reins for Nightfall to take. "I’m glad we could help."

Nightfall set aside the melon, accepted the reins of cart horse and gelding, and steadied the white while Edward mounted. Once the prince found his place in the saddle, Nightfall walked the cart horse to its owner. He lowered his voice so Edward could not hear. "Are you taking these to market today?” He indicated the melons.

The farmer shook his head. "By the time I get there, it won’t be worth the unpacking time. There’s a little inn on the edge of town. It’s not well-known, so it’s a lot homier than the Thirsty Dolphin that most folks go to. I’ll stay there and recommend you do, too. It’s cheaper, quieter. Food’s better, and they’re real good at taking care of people’s things." He bit melon from rind.

Nightfall nodded absently, well-familiar with both of the mentioned inns, as well as a third on the farther side of town near the smaller market he needed to avoid. "Any chance you’ll take the road past the Dolphin on the way to market tomorrow?"

The farmer chewed and swallowed. "Could arrange it. Why?”

Nightfall avoided glancing toward Prince Edward, concerned the prince might gesture him away before he finished. "My master and I would consider ourselves repaid if you pretended you never met us before."

"That’s it?" The farmer studied him curiously, clearly hoping for an explanation, though he probably guessed he would not receive it.

"That’s it." Nightfall confirmed, mind clicking through the possibilities. When odd jobs had proven scarce, Dyfrin had earned his sustenance by entertaining with sleights of hand, bets, or minor scams that preyed always upon the greedy. From his fatherly friend, Nightfall had learned to cultivate opportunities where he found them. The more frequently the same con got used, the more likely the victim would recognize it, and Dyfrin had a way of turning every situation into a creative boon. Unfortunately, he also had a soft spot for those in need that Nightfall had never understood. Well-liked for his generosity, Dyfrin could have lived as a secure member of almost any city had he not so often become the quarry of those who took without appreciation or repayment. It had long occurred to Nightfall that he had proven one of Dyfrin’s latter projects, a child in need who had given little back, in verbal gratitude or wealth. Familiar guilt twinged through him at the thought, and he discovered a longing to see his old friend. The last he knew, Dyfrin had returned to their birth city, Keevain. The oath-bond would keep Nightfall from identifying himself, but he could still thank his partner anonymously. He owed the man that much and more.

"I’ll head for market first thing sunup." The farmer smiled, adding facetiously, "stranger." He took several more bites of winter melon, tossed the rind, and headed for his cart.

Nightfall picked up the broken melon the farmer had given him. He snapped off chunks, handing the best two to Prince Edward. Keeping two for himself, he mounted one-handed. They headed toward Trillium, Edward chatting about the farmer, Nightfall forcing himself to think like Dyfrin. He needed to earn his fortune quickly, before the prince explored too far. And, for all the times Nightfall had cursed Dyfrin’s impetuous and obsessive eye for nicety and detail, he wished he possessed it. No one could pick a victim or a friend like Dyfrin.

The road widened as Trillium came into sight, a massive cramping of buildings that stretched as far as Nightfall’s vision. Tents crowded the border, belonging to those who could not afford an inn room; and Nightfall knew that night would find many more sleeping on the unprotected ground. Five roads came together at the eastern edge of town, from the southern cities, from Keevain, Shisen and Tylantis, from Ivral and Grifnal, from the north, and from the city itself. Wagons jounced over well-worn pathways, most carrying early spring or perennial crops from local farmers. Merchants from the southern cities brought citrus fruits and hardier vegetables. From the Yortenese Peninsula came meat and fur, and the central countries imported milk, cheese, and woven cloth.

Nightfall knew the slave countries would import to the western side of town, bringing Hartrinian herbs, spices, and crafts in addition to their living wares. The sellers of mood-altering drugs and sexual perversion mostly based themselves directly out of Trillium, though a few sneaked their wares from other places beneath the guise of more legitimate goods. Cure-alls and beautifiers found a brisk market in Trillium as well. Desperation or impatience would lead the sickest and vainest to trust the miracle medicines of swindlers over the slower practicalities of Healers. Most of the panacea salesmen whom Nightfall knew made random, harmless concoctions, occasionally mixing in alcohol or hazing herbs for effect. He still remembered the justification one man had given Dyfrin: "That rash’ll go away anyway. By the Father, why shouldn’t my treatment take the credit?"

Despite the heavy penalties for illegality, the poison trade flourished in the black market; and Nightfall knew all the best places to purchase knives with reservoirs, arrows with painful barbs that did not pull free, and belts and boots with compartments or sheaths for blades. All trades thrived here, and visitors caught up in the glitter and searching for instant wealth fell easy victim to sucker bets and schemers. So long as he kept his tricks reasonably honest, Nightfall suspected he could win or lose big. But three hundred silvers? He shook his head at the enormity of the sum.

The rattle and bounce of the wagons they passed, as well as the shouted greetings between friends meeting at the town edge, sent the white gelding skittering so often its excitement merged into a constant dance. Prince Edward dismounted, which seemed just as well. If he got thrown in the cart traffic, he might suffer injury much more serious than a simple fall. "Sudian, we’ll have to build camp here."

Nightfall sprang from his bay, suspecting that towering over his master looked disrespectful. His mood sank at the prince’s words. No place would serve as a better central point than the Thirsty Dolphin when it came to finding bets and challenges as well as information. The word "build" applied to camp only worsened the situation. He pictured moats, palisades and wooden stake defenses hovering amidst the simple tents and bed rolls, and the image might have seemed humorous had the realization of a night of painstaking labor not accompanied it. "Master, there’s a wonderful inn in town."

“Sudian." Prince Edward glared at his squire. "I didn’t ask for a travelogue, I said we set camp here." A cart jostled by, metal chains in the bed clanking. The gelding lurched, all but tearing free of Edward’s grip.

Nightfall guessed at the reason for Edward’s insistence, and the prince’s pride annoyed as much as it impressed him. "Master, I apologize deeply for my boldness, but I am aware that we’re short of money.”

Edward’s glower deepened enough to almost make the young, friendly innocent look angered. How much of it was inspired by the horse and how much by his squire did not matter. The risk of his master’s disapproval and a tongue-lashing seemed little price to pay for a chance to spend his nights in an inn. And Nightfall already trusted the prince not to harm him physically, at least not without cause far more significant than this.

“I’ve been meaning to return this to you, Master." Nightfall pulled one of the silvers from his pocket. "You gave it to me in Nernix to buy the spade I never found." He met Edward’s displeasure with an expression of hopeful trust. "Master, I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping on hard ground with beds so near. At least you go to the inn. I’ll spare our money by staying here."