Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"That’s not what I meant." Prince Edward leaned an elbow on his knee, burying his chin in his cupped palm. "Why are you comparing your lot to slavery? Do I treat you so badly?"

"Badly?" Nightfall adopted a stricken look. "Master, no servant has ever been happier. All servants and slaves should have a master as kind as you." He smiled. "And some probably do. As you say, there is good in every man."

"Good in every man," Edward repeated aloud as he considered the deeper implications. "Yes." At length, he shook his head. "I need to think a while. I’m just not ready to believe that people owning others is anything but evil. I don’t think I ever will be."

Nightfall seized on Edward’s introspection. "You’ve attended court. How do nobles react when they lose large amounts of something: power, money, land?"

"Not well," Edward admitted. "They always argue. More than one war has started that way."

"And if those same things get phased away slowly, one compromise at a time?"

"It’s happened. That’s how the peninsula came together under one king. Took longer than a century. No blood-shed."

Nightfall played his card. "So, if a leader gradually empowered the slaves… say, gave them a few rights or alternatives to slavery besides theft or fighting over crumbs in the streets. If slaves could choose their masters, that might encourage slavers to treat their charges better. Or make some minimal standards for slave care: fewer hours, shelter, and reasonable amounts of food…" Nightfall rambled with little coherency, never having needed to find solutions. Always before, he had simply survived, yet the knowledge he had inadvertently gathered along the way gave him a solid foundation for change. Though he told himself he was merely finding a way to cool Edward’s dangerous ardor, he could not help getting swept up in the excitement now that reasonable alternatives fell into consideration.

Edward sat quietly for several moments, staring at the ceiling, his only movement the drumming of his fingers against the pallet. "Sudian, thank you."

Nightfall cocked his head, trying to look suitably modest. "Thank me, Master?"

"For showing me how to translate book knowledge into strategy. For reminding me that words on a page mean little without reality, and that the tactics of war have application to conflict of every type."

The series of larger words at the end of Edward’s explanation confused Nightfall, but he caught the gist well enough. Before he could think of a humble reply, the prince swept him into an embrace.

Shocked nearly to panic by the contact, Nightfall struggled against the need to bully free. The sincere warmth of Edward’s embrace was unmistakable, as telling as the most tender of his mother’s moments, those occasional times when she convinced him she would never batter him again despite past promises and pain. Nightfall suppressed the natural feelings of caring and trust that always rose in the wake of another’s honest vulnerability and kinship, hating himself for what he saw as a weakness. He had opened himself once and might still pay with his soul. Every instinct told him to seize the moment, to find some use for the newfound depth of loyalty the prince felt toward him. Yet, the effort of keeping his own emotions in check occupied him fully. And it seemed so outside his nature, too like the frailty that had gotten him into trouble with Kelryn, that it maddened him.

Edward released Nightfall, but the same innocent fondness filled his expression and his eyes. He smiled. "There are customs and rules to the relationship between noble and squire that I won’t violate. But, when we’re alone, you may call me Ned."

Few things would have pleased Nightfall more than calling the prince "Ned" in the presence of King Rikard and his court. The oath-bond churned in warning, growing stronger in the moments it took him to formulate a reply that would rescue him from physical distress without hurting the prince’s feelings. The king had made it a part of the magical vow to always address Edward in this fashion. “Master, I could not."

Edward’s grin wilted.

As the oath-bond receded to its familiar baseline, Nightfall found his explanation. "I promised your father to help you get landed. Until that time, my job is not finished; and it would feel wrong to call you anything but Master."

The light returned to Prince Edward’s eyes, and a half-smile again bowed his lips. He shook his head wordlessly, clearly impressed by his faithful and, apparently, unpretentious squire. He rose and headed for the door. "Come, Sudian. We have an enemy to assess and plans to formulate.” One hand on the door latch, he turned. "You’ve come to this city before?"

"A few times, Master." A few meaning about nine thousand. Nightfall trailed Prince Edward, cursing himself for not finding an opening to mention the previous night of gambling before someone beat him to it. One way or another, it would come out over breakfast. "I can find areas more likely to have slavers." Though I won’t take you to any of them. An unpressured tour of the city might do them both good, and Nightfall had no intention of allowing Edward to get within city blocks of the slavers’ markets.

Prince and squire headed for the common room.

The day went well for Nightfall. He managed to keep Prince Edward from the seedier parts of Trillium and distract him with the glitter and bustle of the myriad markets. Edward delighted in educating Nightfall about Grifnalian goats, Tylantian hump-backed horses, Hartrinian courier doves, and southern plains’ lizards. The knowledge that came from books caught the bulk of the descriptions, but missed the odors, temperament, and general feel that reality had brought to Nightfall long ago. Though odd-looking and relatively slow, the hump-backed horses had endurance and an ability to travel far without sustenance. An ancient tale with obscure origins described a hump-back returning to Tylantis with a rider that had long before succumbed to thirst. Nightfall had seen Hartrinian sea doves, rare long-winged birds with a penchant for locating ships and returning to established roosts. Unlike pigeons, these birds would fly out with a message before returning with a reply. King Idinbal regularly used them to identify approaching vessels; and, given the circumstances of Marak’s arrest, King Rikard apparently had some of his own.

Every foreign fruit or vegetable caught Edward’s eye. Nightfall used the prince’s curiosity as an opening to explain his winnings. He admitted to only a fraction of his true profit, using most of what he mentioned to purchase samples of foods Edward had never before tasted. Apparently certain of his squire’s honesty, a concept Nightfall found amusing to the point of absurdity, Edward accepted gambling as innocent enough. Nightfall felt sure it would prove beneath the prince’s dignity to engage in such activity himself, but he would not begrudge Nightfall his simple pleasures so long as they did not interfere with his work or cost from Edward’s pocket. He made it ominously clear that Nightfall would pay, and pay well, if his debts fell beyond his means or harmed his master’s reputation. Nevertheless, Edward could not help but appreciate the time, food, and security having money regained them. He seemed disappointed when a sudden thunderstorm brought their sightseeing to a premature end at midday.

The morning’s camaraderie stretched well into the afternoon. Edward chose to study the book he had lugged with them since the start of their journey, leaving Nightfall the opportunity to catch up on sleep without having to worry about the safety of his master. He awakened in time for a late dinner. Then Edward slept, aware that Nightfall would spend the earliest morning hours with wagers, contests, and speculations. The rain pounded the roof and shuttered windows of the Thirsty Dolphin until nearly midnight, when Nightfall made his appearance in the common room. A few of the native Trillians had returned, accompanied by several newcomers, including two Nightfall knew too well. They sat on opposite sides of the tavern and never gave one another more than a casual glance. Fat Johastus had chosen a corner table where he sipped beer and soaked up the last bit of gravy from his dinner with a chunk of bread. His round, dimpled cheeks tinged red gave him a false aura of jolliness. The other man, Rivehn, could not have looked more different. His wan features seemed scrawny to the edge of illness, and his straw blond hair only added to the image of unhealthy pallor. Nightfall saw through their stranger act. As Balshaz, he had quietly watched them pull enough scams to know they were a team. As Nightfall, he had followed them to the alley behind the jeweler’s shop where they divided their spoils.