Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Nightfall turned the remark back on itself. "Surely then, sir, she would not lie."

Duke Varsah’s voice gained volume. "She’s a sweet girl. She might protect him out of kindness. Or embarrassment. The examination will tell the whole story. If Edward violated her, she becomes unweddable to any noble on the continent. Alyndar will need to marry her to one of theirs, and it won’t be to the rapscallion who violated her."

Now Nightfall recognized the whole story, and it confirmed his lack of faith in human nature. The duke of Schiz had found a way to turn an incident into a godsend and a promiscuous daughter into a proper princess. It was not his daughter’s welfare, nor Edward’s impropriety, that bothered Duke Varsah. He had seen gold, land, and title; and he leapt for those with vigor. Marriage to a prince was not enough; he had set his sights on Prince Leyne Nargol of Alyndar. Annoyance churned through Nightfall. He had not noticed the oath-bond in some time; apparently the duke’s assurance of Edward’s safety had appeased it temporarily. Now, it rose with Nightfall’s anger, inadvertently fueling it. "No. Oh, no." He sprang to his feet. "You’re not using my master to win your daughter a kingdom."

"You’re talking nonsense!" Varsah shouted. The guard edged between duke and squire. The other sentries blocked the exits, hands clenched around hilts or polearms.

"My master will not take the blame for every thorn that pricked your daughter.”

Varsah leapt to his feet, features purple, as if he planned to pummel his guest to death with his own hands. If the guard had not stood between them. Nightfall guessed things might have degenerated into a brawl; but the duke stopped short, still too far to hit. "Take him away! Just get him out of my sight!"

Nightfall’s thoughts raced, assessing the layout and situation in an instant. He believed he could fight his way through, but not without casualties, possibly on both sides. If he failed, he either died or went on trial for murder in addition to insubordination. The former, he felt certain, would hold a more massive penalty. If he went willingly, they would almost certainly imprison him until Varsah calmed down enough to decide punishment or a representative from Alyndar discussed terms for the release of prince and squire. Although he never doubted Rikard would happily sacrifice him, Nightfall knew he could escape more easily and with less violence from the duke’s dungeon than his guard-surrounded meeting chamber. From the inside, he had a better chance of finding Edward, and Willafrida’s conscience might drive her down to check on him. She could find out where the duke had imprisoned the prince.

Nightfall assumed a passive, submissive position, head low, arms away from his body and out-turned. He would not give them reason to use force on him, no matter the pleasure that might bring Duke Varsah. He would rather place them in the position of protecting him from the enraged noble than the other way. The irony soothed him.

The guard in the room gestured Nightfall away from the furniture. When he obliged, sentries took a brisk formation around him. One stood in front of him, his back an eager target for a blade Nightfall would not draw. Another took a position behind their prisoner, and the remainder fell in at either side. As a unit, they marched out a different door than the one Nightfall had entered through and headed down a short corridor to a tower.

Although Nightfall’s cooperation should have made the guardsmen lax, they seemed more edgy than comforted. He credited their attitude to the wild chase he had taken them on through the dungeon and opposite tower. He hoped the guard who had fallen down the steps had not been seriously injured, not from any sympathy for a stranger’s welfare but from the concern that the guards might avenge their fellow with brutality or Duke Varsah, if ever informed of the incident, might try to claim he had intentionally harmed the man. No official in Alyndar would doubt the duke’s accusations against Nightfall. Edward was another matter. He hoped it would take more than the physician’s examination to convince Rikard that his raving idealist of a son would rape any woman. If swayed, however, he would place the blame directly on Nightfall. Though he knew little about court law, Nightfall doubted Duke Varsah could really maneuver a wedding between his daughter and the elder prince. But the duke apparently believed so; and, for now, that was all that mattered.

To Nightfall’s surprise, the contingent led him up, rather than down, the tower steps. His imagination brought images of his body tossed from the parapets or of a hidden torture chamber in the highest corner of the citadel. He pushed these ideas away. Whatever happened, he would find a way to handle it. He always had. Now, he felt sorry he had ever considered bringing Edward and Willafrida together. He would not wish a father-in-law like Varsah on anyone. Well, maybe Finndmer But he wouldn’t deserve Willafrida or a dukedom. Hell, he didn’t deserve the swamp land he sold me.

Nightfall counted five landings when the upper cone of the tower steepled over his head, the rafters littered with frayed twigs and speckled with bird feces. One of the guards opened the door, and the other eight ushered their prisoner through it. It opened onto a room with a table surrounded by several chairs, and three doors broke the contour of the wall on the opposite side.

"Together or separate," one man asked a broad-shouldered brunet who was obviously the leader.

The large one considered for several moments. "Together, I guess. Better politics."

A short, stocky guard with a crooked nose raised doubts. “Are you sure the duke wanted him brought here? The dungeon…?"

The leader shook his head. "Better politics. We can always move him later. It’s easier to increase than lighten sentence, once done."

One of the sentries who had not spoken loosed a ring of keys from his belt and placed one into the lock of the central door. Nightfall studied it from habit, getting a feel for the general contour. He doubted he could relieve one of the guards of his colossal set of keys without the missing weight becoming obvious, but he did not believe the lock would prove all that difficult to pick anyway.

The leader patted Nightfall’s clothes from neck to ankle, then checked each obvious pocket. By the time he finished, the guard had opened the door and the others had taken defensive but nonthreatening stances. The room contained simply crafted furniture, including a bed, nightstand, and a table that held bins for washing. Prince Edward stood, staring out a semicircular window at the town. He turned.

"In,” the leader said to Nightfall.

Nightfall could not imagine any room looking less like a jail cell. This chamber seemed more comfortable than most of the inn rooms they had shared over the past few months. He entered docilely, and the door swung shut behind him. The oath-bond died to a level just above baseline.

"Sudian." Edward smiled, then his face furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Great to see you again, too, Master," Nightfall good-naturedly belittled Edward’s greeting.

"Well, of course I’m glad to see you." Edward moved to the center of the room. "I just don’t like the circumstances. I’m a prisoner, you know."

Nightfall could think of no direct reply that wouldn’t sound either patronizing or inane. "They haven’t harmed you, have they, Master?"

"Certainly not. They’ve taken fine care of me."

Nightfall politely stepped around Edward to look out the window. The ground lay five floors below them. He poked his head through the hole, gauging the distance. He could fit through easily; Edward would have to wriggle and shove. The regular blockwork of the tower would make scaling it a routine effort for him, but he doubted Edward could manage it at all without equipment. He turned. "Let’s go."