Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Nightfall attempted to hide his interest in joining the contest behind loyalty. "My master lets me ride a horse that’s faster than any. I’ve run down lots of other horses with it." He finally looked directly at Edward again, trying to keep his demeanor proud. The bay he rode had much to recommend it for speed, stamina, and health, a true prince’s beast, better than Edward’s own in Nightfall’s mind. Though surely not the quickest in the world, and probably not even of the three, it should hold its own well enough. And Nightfall had already computed a way to more than even the odds.

Gerbrant laughed, finding Nightfall’s bragging ludicrous. "We’re not talking about horses with a bit of the quickness to them. Homrihn’s been talking up this running horse of his forever. Says it can cover the distance between Brigg and Trillium in the time it takes to think out the sights from here to there." A smug expression crossed his features. "You’re welcome enough to add your animal to the field if you got fifty silver to back up your claim about its speed."

Prince Edward visibly stiffened, though he gave no verbal warning. Gerbrant’s workers snickered.

"What’s the fifty silver for?" Nightfall feigned ignorance, though his speculation had, thus far, proven correct.

"That’s the stake." Gerbrant finally settled his gaze on Nightfall, though he stole a glance at Edward, presumably to read the prince’s reaction to his squire’s bold challenge, made freely without pause for permission. When the prince gave no indication that Nightfall’s words or actions had angered him, Gerbrant continued. "Homrihn and I each put up fifty against the other. You add fifty and get yourself a rider, you can compete."

Cued by Gerbrant’s behavior, Nightfall assumed the manner and tone of an excited child. “May I, Master? Please."

Prince Edward shifted uncomfortably in his seat, obviously torn between common sense and his squire’s fanatical faith in a horse. He lowered his voice so even Nightfall could scarcely hear. "Do you have the money?”

“And enough to cover meals and lodgings for a long time," Nightfall whispered in reply.

The prince pursed his lips, obviously impressed. "These men told me you had done well in the betting. I hadn’t realized how well.”

Only Nightfall recognized the understatement.

Edward shrugged, making his disapproval clear with gesture and tone, though his words did not match. "You may use the horse." Though he said nothing more, Nightfall read intention easily. The prince had grown concerned that success would give his squire an inflated and false confidence when it came to gambling. More than one good man had become a slave to the chance for fast money, even long after he lost all of his own and what he could steal, beg, or borrow. Nightfall felt certain that, once in private with his charge, he would receive a long lesson on the evils of gambling. He had played his last card. The horse race, like the swindler’s scam, had fallen into his lap; but careful planning, not serendipity would turn it from rout to profit. He had no choice except to win this race, one way or another. Edward would not knowingly allow him to wager again, and any attempt to bypass the prince would risk the trust he had gained as well as the consequences of the oath-bond.

The last thought stirred a buzz of quiescent magic, and Nightfall could not suppress a shiver. He was skirting its edges too often for comfort. "Thank you, Master. Thank you so much." Rattled, he nearly lost his act, and he forced his concentration back to the role of a squire eager to prove the worth of his master’s property.

Gerbrant watched the exchange in silence, apparently catching enough to assume Edward’s consent for, if not approval of, his squire’s participation in the race. He addressed his comments to the superior. "Lord, the horses will run on Adeseele’s oat field, just south of town. Weigh-in for riders is midday." He smiled. "You’re welcome to make side bets with me or anyone else, Prince Edward."

"Thank you,” Edward said.

Gerbrant shifted methodically, obviously waiting for more from the prince, presumably a wager made in the heat of the challenging moment. When none came, he pushed back his chair, stretched, and nodded a parting amenity. "Good day, lord and squire. You’ll understand if I don’t wish you luck."

"Good day," Edward returned.

Gerbrant headed from the common room, flanked by his helpers. As they retreated, the serving maid arrived with Nightfall’s breakfast. She set it before him and whisked back to her station.

Prince Edward kept his voice below the regular ebb and flow of conversation. His features crinkled with honest concern, and his pale eyes echoed the sentiment. "Sudian, I appreciate you finding a way to get money when we needed it. I confess I encouraged you when I probably shouldn’t have. Luck is a fickle mistress. It will become unfaithful too soon. When it does, I don’t want it to leave you so accustomed to winning that your mind sees nothing else."

Though painfully hungry, Nightfall gave Edward his full attention to indicate he viewed the situation as gravely as his master. “Master, thank you. Once the race is won, I’ll have enough silver to buy you what I’ve gambled for; and I won’t need any more wagers or games of chance."

Edward’s expression lapsed into one of surprise, and a strand of yellow hair fell across his forehead. The careless beauty of Prince Edward of Alyndar struck Nightfall; he seemed exactly the man women conjured in their fantasies. Though Nightfall held no interest in the looks of other men, he knew a sense of pride he could not quite explain for serving the epitome of female dreams. For the first time, he noticed the absence of the usual bitterness he had known in the presence of nobles born to wealth who flaunted their privileges like badges of honor and courage. He had scratched the surface of the prince’s ignorant naivete and found a potential wellspring of goodness beneath that matched the handsomeness of his external features. Unfortunately, it appeared that it might take a thousand men with a thousand spades to dig through the shell of guileless innocence he had built around himself since infancy. Should he become a ruler, he would prove kind to his people at the expense of his own safety and welfare. Soon enough, someone stronger and meaner would wrest authority from him unless he could find some person or group to advise and defend him.

Understanding came to Nightfall in a sudden rush. For now, he held that position, and the oath-bond bound him to perform it well. Could that have been King Rikard’s intention from the start? Could a king known as "the hammer-handed" foresee that even a cold-blooded killer’s false loyalty would become real in time? Did he send us out together in the hope that adversity would draw us closer; believing his headstrong and simple-hearted son would gain an ally nasty enough to keep even him out of trouble? The genius of such a strategy impressed Nightfall, but his heart would not allow him to believe that a father would waste time plotting such intricate strategies for the welfare of a son. No parent could give so much. Surely, his original thought, that Rikard had sent out his embarrassment to die, would prove the truth.

"You’ve worked this hard to buy something for me?" Edward’s voice shattered Nightfall’s train of thought, and it took unreasonably long to return to a conversation his mind had far outstripped. "I have everything I need. Why would you risk all and exhaust yourself for me?"

Nightfall lowered his head, seeking to reorient himself and find the proper words to answer at once. "I believe in you, Master, and all your good works. I’m buying something that can help you carry out all your Father-blessed plans." He looked up slightly, as if ashamed of the paltriness of his gift. "It’s only a small start, but it will grow."