Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"May I buy your drink, good Prince?" the man said, his dress revealing high station short of nobility.

Prince Edward found his thoughts difficult to focus. "Excuse me?"

"May I buy your drink?" he repeated.

The request confused Edward. "Well, I suppose so. If you wish." He set down the mug. "But wouldn’t you rather have one of your own?"

The man stared, as taken aback as the prince. "Are you Prince Edward Nargol from Alyndar?"

"I am."

"Noble sir, my name is Amadan Vanardin’s son. I’m a merchant. Is it all right if I join you?" He gestured at a chair.

"Certainly."

Amadan sat. “And I’d like to pay for your drink for you, sir. Would you mind?"

"Mind? Certainly not." Edward found the request odd, but he appreciated it. No one had ever offered to finance his beer before. “What a nice thing to do. Thank you."

Amadan gestured at a barmaid, then returned to the conversation. "How’s the beer, sir?"

"Lousy," the prince admitted. "But it did take the edge from my hunger while I’m waiting for dinner."

"Then it served some purpose, at least." The merchant smiled to indicate a joke, but his hands moved constantly from flat on the tabletop to clasped to his lap, as if he could not figure out where to place them.

Prince Edward could not fathom a man so nervous in his presence. He grinned back, trying to place the other at ease.

A barmaid hastened over, dress fluttering, long dark hair in disarray. Though harried, she still managed a smile for the attractive, young prince. "Is this the gentleman you were waiting for, noble sir?"

Edward thought he sensed disappointment or displeasure in her tone; but, as that made no sense, he dismissed it. "No. He’ll be along soon."

She turned her attention to Amadan, and all of the breezy friendliness left her. "What can I get for you, sir?”

“Beer," Amadan said, then glanced at Edward. "Do you need another?"

Edward shook his head without bothering to assess how much of his drink remained. It would be impolite to impose on this stranger’s generosity.

The barmaid spun on her heel, striding back into the crowd.

Amadan replaced his hands on the table, tapping them. He wore two silver rings on one finger, the inner one loose, and these rang together with every movement. "I need to talk about a sl…" He caught himself, "… a servant of yours."

"A servant of mine? Sudian?"

"He’s a servant, lord. I didn’t ask his name."

“I have only one servant here." Edward sipped his beer. "Go on."

Amadan’s gaze dodged Edward’s. "I don’t know how to tell you this, except to just tell you." Now, he met the prince’s soft, blue eyes. "Lord, your servant threw me down on the ground, held a knife to my throat, and threatened my life."

Edward could not have been more surprised had the merchant told him his squire had sprouted wings and flown to the moon. Confusion kept emotion at bay.

"Sudian?"

The merchant stared, mouth a grim line. Clearly, he had expected more reaction. "He named you as his master. And he wore your colors."

Prince Edward needed confirmation of what he believed he had misheard. "Sudian threw you on the ground, held a knife to your throat, and threatened to kill you?"

"Yes, lord."

The next question followed naturally. "What did you do to him?”

Amadan blinked, now looking as bewildered as Edward felt. Then, apparently believing he had misunderstood the intention of the question, he twisted it to cover consequences rather than motivation. "I hit him, of course, lord. As I would punish any impertinent slave. But certainly not hard enough to make up for-"

Rage boiled up in Edward. "You hit him?" He slammed his mug to the tabletop. Beer sloshed over his fist. "You hit my squire! How dare you hit my squire!"

"I don’t believe this!" Amadan leapt to his feet. "Your slave tries to murder gentry, and you’re yelling at me?"

Edward kept his head low, trying to control his temper, the memory of the dead slaver still as fresh a reminder as the scar the whip had left on his face. “That is the second and last time you refer to my squire, or any servant of Alyndar, as a slave." He flicked his gaze up to the merchant without moving his head. "Sudian’s been with me a long time." Even as he said the words, the prince realized that he had misspoken. Little longer than a month had passed since the squire had joined him in the courtyard. It only seemed long because of Sudian’s fierce loyalty and all that had happened since leaving Alyndar. "He wouldn’t harm anyone unless he saw them as a threat to me."

Amadan seized the back of his chair and leaned toward Edward. "Lord, if he thinks I’m such a threat to you, why isn’t he here now defending you?"

"Then he saw you as a threat to him. It’s one and the same to his thinking.” He quoted Nightfall. "You see, if he’s dead, he can’t protect me."

"A threat to him?" The merchant resumed shouting. "He’s a servant, by the great Father’s beard! Of course I’m a threat to him. If one of my slaves did what he did, I’d have them publicly flogged to death."

The idea shuddered horror through Edward, and he cringed at the image of every lash. He despised the thought of any person owning another, but the idea of one so brutal doing so enraged him to the edge of violence. His hand blanched on the mug. He had vowed to free the slaves, and this seemed as good a place as any to start. "Are these slaves of yours here?"

Amadan made a vague gesture into the crowded barroom. "All three, lord."

"How much would it cost to buy them from you?"

Amadan stared, clearly surprised and ruffled by the diversion. "I didn’t bring them to sell, Lord. It’s easy enough to buy some of your own. What I want to know is…" He leaned closer, gray eyes boring into Edward’s blue, "… how are you going to punish that snotty, little bastard who doesn’t know his place?"

The insults shoved Edward over the edge. Control lost, he rose, his massive shadow spanning the table. "I’m going to tell the ‘snotty, little bastard’ that the next time a merchant brutalizes him, he shouldn’t threaten to kill him." His voice deepened, gaze unwavering. “He should just kill him.”

"You’re joking."

“Hit my squire again and find out if I’m joking." Having spoken his piece, Edward retook his seat, seeking the self-control he had lost in the Hartrinian camp in Alyndar… and now once again. As much as he wanted to free the man’s slaves, he had no intention of murdering anyone to do so. The god-given right to dignity extended to slavers as well as to slaves, to evil as well as to good. Edward wished slaves and masters could trade places one day each week, to see the world from the other side every time they raised a whip. Then, he guessed, every man would feel as strongly about freedom and self-respect as he did. "Now, how much would it cost to purchase your slaves?"

Amadan curled his lower lip, his face a study in hostility. "More than you’ll ever have." He whirled, storming deeper into the common room.

As Prince Edward watched Amadan go, he noticed for the first time that the conversations at every nearby table had ceased. The eyes that did not follow the blustering merchant fixed directly on Edward. He smiled politely, noticing that each patron glanced away when their gazes met, embarrassed to be caught staring. Gradually, the dull hum of conversation resumed at its normal background volume. Nevertheless, Edward noticed when Amadan returned to his table and his slaves. In a bold display obviously intended for the prince, he grabbed the one female of the three by the hair and a breast, jerked back her head, and planted a sloppy kiss directly on her mouth. She quivered but did not resist.

The sight left Edward cold even to the cultivated allure of the barflies and prostitutes for the rest of the night. Tears filled his eyes, and he cried for the pain of those three and so many others.