Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"No one," Nightfall admitted. "He watched me closely enough to figure it out on his own." He tossed the loop, missing the horse by a hand’s breadth. In response, the mare resumed her struggles, battering at the mud with hooves exhausted from the fight. He wound the rope back for another try.

"It doesn’t matter, you know." Edward continued his search for the returning sorcerer. "Servant or equal, I’m not going to abandon you when the next sorcerer comes either."

"Thank you, Master; but your life has to come first. If I thought others would come, I’d leave you." Nightfall threw the lasso again. It landed just in front of the animal’s ears and around the back of her head, and he coaxed it to slide along her nose. His own loyalty made sense. He little understood Edward’s, however. Any other noble would have sacrificed his squire to preserve himself without need for a moment’s consideration. Why did he come back? What does he hope to gain from me? "At the least, sorcerers have to compete too much to discuss their quarry with one another. We may see the Iceman again, but I don’t think others will attack."

{The rope jerked into place around the horse’s neck.

Edward considered. "Now that I know, what is this talent of yours?"

Nightfall concentrated on the rope, believing the prince had earned the right to know but hedged by the memory of Kelryn’s betrayal. "It helps me ride horses," he said, not quite lying. He tugged at the rope, aware he did not have the strength to pull the beast free himself yet wowing better than to request the aid of his master.

Prince Edward came over to help anyway.

He feeds on elders and children,

On soldiers, kings, and beggarmen.

He never stops and never slows Darkness comes where Nightfall goes.

– "The Legend of Nightfall"

Nursery rhyme, st. 13

A multicolored wash of dancers frolicked through the muted lantern light of Noshtillan’s stage, their many and varied steps weaving into beautiful patterns of flash and movement. Prince Edward and Nightfall sat on one of the scattered benches, a crate just taller than knee-height supporting their drinks, its weathered wood still tainted by the mixture of spices it once held. It was not the best of the furniture in the performance room of Noshtillan’s dance hall. The central, more populous area contained some real tables and larger crates, but concern drove Nightfall to keep their backs against the wall and away from windows. He doubted the self-proclaimed Iceman would attack them in a crowd, even in a place where propriety and law deemed they remain unarmed; but paranoia would not allow him to drop his guard for a second.

Prince Edward and Nightfall had traveled as swiftly as the pack horse and the mud-caked mare could carry them, Nightfall surrendering the superior mount and his sword to his master. Ritworth had not bothered them on the journey, perhaps as shaken as his victim by the failed assassination. More likely, Nightfall suspected, the sorcerer was biding his time, waiting to catch his quarry in another indefensible position.

Nightfall had no intention of allowing himself to become vulnerable ever again. This excessive alertness had wrested sleep from him when they arrived in Noshtillan in the wee morning hours. Sheer exhaustion had eventually stolen consciousness from him, a dream-gorged slumber filled with chases, threats, and embarrassments. Even then, every sound had jarred him awake, and he harbored vague recollections of some dank corner of his mind processing and dismissing each normal city noise. He had sneaked his daggers, well-hidden, into the dance hall, preferring to risk arrest over being cornered without defenses.

Nightfall had mentioned the dance hall in the hope of discovering whether or not Kelryn still lived and, if so, where she had gone. He had not expected Edward to jump so enthusiastically on the idea, his verbalized intention to find an activity to soothe both of their jitters. The attention Edward lavished on the show revealed another motive, unconscious or just unspoken. Edward’s manners made him appear older and his innocence far younger. Yet, when it came to women, he seemed every bit the eighteen-year-old male he was.

Nightfall remained still, hiding nervousness behind a casual aloofness broken only by an unconscious fondling of the glass swan through the folds of his pocket. Though irrational, he could not wholly suppress a superstitious belief that its presence might draw the woman who had previously owned it. Once a token of his love, it had become a symbol of his hatred and need for vengeance.

The current show ended, and male and female dancers exited the stage. Prince Edward sipped his beer. "Wonderful, wasn’t it?"

Nightfall could not recall the last time his master had remained quietly awake so long. "Yes, wonderful.” He watched as the serving girls rearranged the stage lanterns, bunching them toward the center. Experience told him the more erotic dancing would start now, progressing from suggestive to pornographic by evening’s end. He smiled, suspecting Edward would now see a display unfamiliar to him, one he would likely enjoy if he did not become too flustered to watch. He savored the opportunity to see his sometimes tyrannical master transformed into a squirming teen. Nightfall vowed to observe closely for more reason than entertainment. If anyone would know of Kelryn’s whereabouts, these girls would prove the best informants.

The music began, a sultry and original song performed by a three-man band at the far side of the stage. Four girls clad in silky dresses slunk onto the stage from the sidelines, their movements sinuous. Prince Edward stared, the beer in his hand forgotten, his gaze leaping from one to the next in a dazzled circle. Nightfall froze, his eyes riveted on only one, the last to enter. He recognized the body first, outlined in perfect detail against the shimmering, clinging fabric. He knew every muscle and curve too well not to recognize Kelryn. The short white locks and plain features only clinched her identity. Kelryn. Nightfall might have remained stuck in Charseusan blue-green swamp mud for all he managed to move. Emotion came next, in a frenzied rush that left him breathless. Attraction rose, unbidden, beaten down by a rush of rage and hatred that made his entire body feel on fire. The beer churned in his gut, and he was glad that they had not yet eaten dinner. As it was, the last remnants of their morning meal sat like lead.

Nightfall found himself aimlessly rubbing the swan through the fabric of his pocket and forced his hand still.

He stood. "Excuse me for a few moments, please, Master."

Without taking his eyes from the performance, Edward nodded.

Nightfall hurried from the room, not bothering to detail his intentions further, glad for the distraction that made a no explanation necessary. Probably, Edward would assume he’d left to relieve himself.

Once through the double doors of the performance chamber, Nightfall entered the main corridor, glancing right and left to judge the location of the dancers’ rooms as well as get a general feel for the layout. Dance hall workers wore red shirts and pantaloons or dresses with black trim, making them easy to spot amid the rabble. Most of the milling folk in the corridor consisted of men who knew when the style of showmanship changed, now headed into the hall. The others seemed mostly family groups, leaving for the same reason. Nightfall blended into the latter, his sharp gaze discerning a guard stopping people who meandered down either hallway rather than directly outside or into the spectators’ area.

Perhaps because Nightfall believed Prince Edward wholly secure in a crowded public place, the oath-bond remained passive at its tingling routine. Afraid to stir it, Nightfall reminded himself repeatedly that he intended no specific, Nightfall-like action, only minor spying and climbing. As much as he wished to reveal himself before slaughtering the woman who had betrayed him, to let her fear and understand her mistake, he knew he could not do so. Never before had he wanted to draw attention to his work in any way. The straightforward simplicity of Nightfall’s crimes had made them easy to copy, thus causing many more than he committed to become attributed to him and making him seem to be in many places at once. Those things had much to do with the demon’s name with which the masses had burdened him. Yet, this once, he wanted the satisfaction of a victim’s understanding. He wanted revenge.