Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Dread began as a gnawing in Nightfall’s gut, growing into a pain fed by his own concern as well as the oath-bond. The image of the horse’s head splintering near the swamp filled his mind’s eye and could not be suppressed. Ritworth’s spell had left gore in patterns no mortal weapon could have reaped. Patterns like the shutter and the window.

Agony swept over Nightfall, nearly paralyzing him. He glanced at Prince Edward and Kelryn, just in time to watch the main door swing closed. Too late. Nightfall knew that by the time he caught up, raced inside, and fought his way past the guards, anything could have happened. If the Iceman had squeezed through, Nightfall could do so as well. He might more easily assess the danger from the window than the door; surely whatever trap Ritworth might have set would 'spring so as to catch someone entering in a normal fashion. He just had to hope he could appraise the situation and remedy or warn in time. His fear washed cold at the realization that neither he nor Edward had carried obvious weaponry to dinner. The two remaining throwing daggers he had secreted on his person would have to suffice.

Nightfall crouched, gradually rising until he could just peer through the window. Across the room, the door remained closed. The dresser/table filled the corner nearest it. The largest pieces of the swan lay piled on its center, the splinters and shards around them. Beside it perched a glass decanter of a grayish, translucent liquid that he guessed might be a watery glue. The matching chair rested slightly askew, a dress folded neatly over its back. The bed lay flush with the wall to Nightfall’s right. To his left, he caught a poorly angled view of the inset closet, barely able to make out the edges of fabric from garments set within it. Nightfall frowned. Nothing seemed specifically out of place, which only made him more uncomfortable. Magical ambushes he would not necessarily see; and, if Ritworth wove his danger in the hallway, Nightfall might already be too late. He raised his head fully for a more direct view. At that moment, the door lock clicked open. Something inside the closet moved.

Standing outside the door to Kelryn’s chambers, Prince Edward could not recall having enjoyed a night more. Their conversation did not matter. Her attentiveness to his words and genuine interest had spurred his emotions as few other things could. Since his mother’s death, his every conversation seemed to elicit only servant-loyal boredom or disdain from his brother or father. Kelryn had attended his words with a brightness that revealed fascination, and he clung to her words just as tightly. And, always, the image of Kelryn’s smoothly rounded curves remained burned in his memory. He had never seen a woman naked before, except in art, and the painters and weavers had never captured the perfect reality of breasts and thighs. The mental picture drove Edward to the need to chisel the female form from marble, to capture the beauty no previous artisan had managed.

Kelryn jerked the key from the lock, pocketed it, and shoved the bolt aside. She turned to face Edward before opening the panel. "Thank you so much for the dinner and the company. Please tell Sudian good night for me, too."

"The company was my pleasure as well." Prince Edward pushed open the door to allow Kelryn access. It admitted a bar of light from candles in sconces in the hallway. Movement caught Edward’s attention at once. A man unfolded a long, lean frame from the closet inset, the sorcerer’s face sparking instant recognition.

"You’re dead, boy!" Ritworth’s arm arched, and he grumbled the familiar, sour syllables of his ice spell.

Prince Edward shoved Kelryn aside and grabbed for the chair, moving from the hips first as his fight instructor taught. In situations requiring instant evasion, that part of the body tended to lag. Still, he doubted he could outmaneuver magic. As quickly, Kelryn pulled a tie at her throat. Her dress dropped to the floor in a rumpled heap, revealing flimsy undergarments that somehow made her seem more naked than flesh alone.

Her maneuver obviously surprised Ritworth, who hesitated just long enough for Edward to seize and hurl the chair.

The sorcerer dodged and swore as he finished the casting. Magic swept the desktop, an unfocused slash of light that flung swan shards to the floor. The chair grazed Ritworth’s shoulder, staggering him, then crashed against the window with enough force to shatter both. Splinters and chunks rained, thunking to the floor amid the higher pitched slam and rattle of glass. From outside, a dagger whizzed by Ritworth’s chin. The hilt bounced from Kelryn’s arm, then it clattered to the hallway floor. Suddenly filled with ice, the decanter exploded, flinging slivers and triangles of glass. Kelryn screamed. A guard’s answering shout floated from down the hallway, and feet pounded the wooden floor, headed in their direction.

Kelryn shrieked again and again, exploding into a mindless, berserk panic that seemed all the more crazed for her calm diversion a moment earlier.

Though he noticed the change, Prince Edward did not waste time assessing damage. The sorcerer had come for him, and any attempt to console or aid Kelryn would only place her in the line of fire. The sooner he dispatched Ritworth, the safer they all became. He charged the Iceman, fragments of swan, decanter, and window crunching beneath his boots.

The sorcerer caught his balance just in time to notice the danger rushing down on him. He twisted, casting, the need to dodge stealing accuracy. Ice sprayed from his fingertips and sparkled like dust motes in the room’s center, a clean miss. Hoping to prevent the harsh vocalizations that seemed necessary for the spell, Edward drove a punch into the sorcerer’s throat that doubled him over. Seizing Ritworth’s neck in one hand and a leg in the other, he hurled the sorcerer toward the wall.

Ritworth sailed through the air, grunting guttural noises that were not quite words. He flapped. A hand’s breadth from the wall, he swerved abruptly, flying toward the broken window at a speed that sent him crashing through the last clinging shards of glass and wood. Just outside, he collided with a man, and both collapsed in a heap to the dirt. Edward ran to the window. As he peered through, blood splashed his face from the battle outside. He recoiled, wiping it from his eyes. By the time he looked again, Ritworth was soaring for the sky. Nightfall crouched amid a puddle of broken glass and ruptured shutters, shards sparkling in his red-brown hair. He clutched a dagger flecked with the sorcerer’s blood.

"Sudian?" Surprised by the presence of his squire, Prince Edward reached through the opening to give assistance.

A man spoke from the doorway. "What’s going on?"

Edward turned his head, arm still extended. A hefty guard waited just outside, wearing dance hall red and black livery, hand tensed on the hilt of his short sword.

Kelryn cowered in a corner, using her dress as a shield and sobbing uncontrollably. Blood trickled from her leg.

"Did this man hurt you‘?" The guard indicated the prince by inclining his head.

Widened eyes locked on the window through which Ritworth had disappeared, Kelryn shook her head. Relaxing slightly, she managed speech. "Prince Edward of Alyndar? Dear Father, no. He saved my life." She managed a smile for Edward that made him feel warm from chin to knees, though the obvious pain in her tone bothered him. "A stranger attacked us. A sorcerer. He fled through the window."

Nightfall chose that moment to crawl into the room, ignoring Edward’s proffered hand.

The guard stiffened, drawing his sword. "Is this the one?"

Kelryn stiffened, swiveling to look. At the sight of Nightfall, she breathed a relieved sigh. "Oh, no. That’s the prince’s squire. The sorcerer is gone, I hope." Her own assessment helped compose her. She donned her dress methodically. Limping to the desk, she studied the chaos of glass on its surface, then leaned against it without daring to sit.