The Legend of Nightfall

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Gilleran continued. "Both princes are headed toward their destiny: death in tourney. The king is getting older, and l stand next in line for the throne."

  Terror ground through Kelryn, lost in the wild maelstrom of fear already assaulting her. Bad enough she would surely die for no more reason than befriending victims of treason. She would never get the chance to warn the innocent prince and the loyal squire she loved.

  Ritworth’s lips pursed. "A convenient arrangement for you," he conceded. "But how does this concern me?"

  "A kingdom of souls. A quarter of the continent at my mercy." Gilleran’s tone created a grander picture than his words. "An endless pool from which to replenish my power as captured souls get used to decay. More spells than I could ever use myself. Some perhaps would prove more to your liking? A fair split would make us both the most powerful men in the world. Our talents and our armies could conquer any who dared stand before us. Ultimate power and every talent-soul our property. What more could any man want?"

  Ritworth glanced at Kelryn just as she scooped up the mud doll. If Gilleran spoke the truth about Edward heading toward the contests, Ritworth no longer needed whatever information Kelryn could give him. "Keep that, if you wish," he told her. "Its power is spent. Try to run, though, and you’re dead."

  Kelryn clutched the figure possessively. Though tight, her grip caused her no consequences, suggesting either that Ritworth had spoken honestly or only things he did to it could harm her. Better to chance killing myself than die in the agony he could inflict. Kelryn gradually winched her hand closed. The doll crumbled to dust, and no pain accompanied the breakage.

  Ritworth addressed Gilleran next. "It sounds like the perfect arrangement. Why would you want to share?"

  Gilleran shrugged. "There’s more here than I can handle by myself. It’s lonely having everything. Who better to split the riches with than someone who understands the hunger? Who better than someone with enough power to help defend it all?"

  Ritworth frowned in consideration, his interest obvious even to Kelryn, though she could not tell whether it stemmed from avarice or some mundane or magical ability of Gilleran to sway. She shivered, no longer pained, held in place only by Ritworth’s warning and her own incapacitating fear. She had always considered herself tougher than most, yet the images of sorcerous slaying hammered at her courage until it became lost beneath the terror.

  "Will you join me, Ahshir?" Gilleran pressed Ritworth for an answer. "Or do we battle now to the death? Your choice."

  Ritworth sighed, obviously torn. "How do I know I can trust you?"

  Gilleran smiled. "Watch." He walked to Kelryn. Once there, he addressed her. "Kelryn, pretty girl. We meet again." He held out a hand to assist her to stand.

  Kelryn shied away, all her desperate fear returning. “Get away from me, you murderer."

  Gilleran flashed a grin at Ritworth. "We’re old friends.” He turned back to Kelryn. "I can kill you as easily on the ground. In fact, more so. If you cooperate, I won’t harm you."

  He used a sincere tone that Kelryn had difficulty doubting. Then her mind filled with images of magical slashes that splattered blood and Gilleran’s laughter as he butchered the screaming man pinned beneath him. Tears blurred her vision. Avoiding his hand, she obediently stood. She could escape more easily on her feet.

  “This is how I bind my oaths." Gilleran made a broad, arching cut with his hand. Pausing, he mumbled a few guttural syllables. "Kelryn, this spell will hold us both to any promises we make. Here are the terms this time: If you find Prince Ned, you will tell him his loyal chancellor has handled the Iceman and he has nothing more to fear from sorcerers." He winked at Ritworth, as much, Kelryn suspected, to keep his attention on a potential enemy as to share the details of the spell. "You may say nothing negative about me within earshot of Edward, Leyne, or Rikard Nargol." He added with an evil smile.

  "But before you leave, you must kiss me like a lover."

  Revulsion restored Kelryn’s will to fight. "Beast! Demon! I’d rather eat feces than look at you."

  Gilleran retained his cool demeanor. "No need to flatter, Kelryn. I had already planned to give something in return. My promise to you: this time, at least, I’ll let you go unharmed and alive. And I will do what I can to see my companion does you no damage either."

  Ritworth raised his brows at this, obviously displeased.

  Gilleran finished, “However, should I meet you later under other circumstances, I retain the right to act as I feel prudent. Do you agree to these terms?"

  Kelryn hated every part of her situation, but most of all remaining in the presence of two sorcerers. She did not doubt the efficacy of the spell; she knew too little of magic not to believe the claims of those who practiced it. Gilleran had not made her promise anything malevolent. She could not warn Edward of danger, but she could still tell Nightfall everything and let him handle the prince. This time, she swore, she would compel her lover to listen. If she did not agree to Gilleran’s terms, she harbored no doubt the wizards would kill her in the most vile fashion they could devise. A kiss seemed little enough compared to what Gilleran might force upon her if she refused. "All right," she said carefully. “So long as your promise is included, I agree?

  Ritworth interrupted. "Is that wise? Letting her go, I mean. She’s a witness."

  "A witness?" Gilleran crinkled his brow. "Witness to what?"

  "She knows what we are."

  “No matter. She knew before. Sometimes the knowledge of others works to a man’s advantage, even when it doesn’t seem so. Trust me."

  “She heard your plan."

  "I’ve been with the king nearly two decades. He trusts me. No one would believe the tramp, especially when the story she tells varies in the presence of royalty."

  "Still . . .” Ritworth started.

  Gilleran shrugged off the argument. "If she gives me reason, I left us plenty of opportunity to kill her." He grinned at Kelryn with a corpse’s warmth. "I believe she’s a smart girl, aren’t you, Kelryn?"

  Kelryn kept her mouth closed. She would make no more promises for the sorcerer to seal with his magic.

  Gilleran muttered a few more words, accompanied by some finger movements. "Done," he said at length. He nodded at Kelryn. "You’re free now."

  Kelryn did not wait for a second invitation. She launched herself from the path to the woods, taking three running steps before pain slammed her low in the belly and she collapsed to the dirt again. Something sparked and crackled, like a fire inside her, driving her back toward the roadway and the sorcerer waiting there. She whimpered, nearly incapacitated by the pain, rolling to find some position that eased the agony tearing through her. By luck or instinct, she wriggled back the way she had come, and the lessening of the magic’s urging sent her crawling to Gilleran’s feet.

  "Forgot something, didn’t you?" Gilleran prodded her with a boot toe. Ritworth watched in silence.

  Understanding struck Kelryn then. She could not leave until she had administered the promised kiss. "You bastard," she managed, the oath-bond now only a prickle prodding her to her feet and to fulfill the promise. She stood, torn between need and loathing. She took a step toward him. Leaning over, she granted him a quick peck on the cheek that dulled the buzzing only slightly.

  "Ah, well, no wonder you’ve lost your lover if that’s the best you do for him." Gilleran reached for Kelryn.

  She cringed away, though it cost her a stab of pain.

  "Come now. I know you enjoy our company, but we can’t stand here all day. If the Iceman decided to kill you, I’m not certain I could move fast enough to stop him. I only promised I’d try, remember?"

  Kelryn chose the lesser of evils. Determined, she planted her lips on Gilleran’s, hating the perfumed smell of him and despising the taste of his lips. Her tongue touched his, and she gagged as much on the thought as the presence of his saliva. His hands explored her with fierce and shameless boldness, and it sickened her. The kiss lasted until the inner pain
disappeared, leaving only the nausea. She pulled away, trying to run. But her empty stomach roiled from the experience, and she heaved dry. Dizzy aftereffects dropped her to her knees.

  Gilleran laughed at her discomfort. "Do you see how I bind promises?"

  "Yes." Ritworth nodded. "I’m convinced. Now we kill her."

  Kelryn stiffened.

  "No." Gilleran stepped between Ritworth and Kelryn with a quickness that seemed uncharacteristic. “I’m every bit as tied to my oath as she to hers. Killing her would destroy my soul. And I can’t let you do it either."

  Ritworth relaxed, apparently satisfied by the answer to his little test. Although Gilleran’s claim proved nothing, his instantaneous loyalty to his oath, even before the partner he was trying to befriend, was convincing enough; and he had knowledge of the manner and workings of magic. “Very well, then," he said grudgingly, clearly still not comfortable about letting Kelryn go free.

  Through all the fright and discomfort, a memory surfaced in Kelryn’s mind, words Nightfall had used the same night he had revealed his foul past: "Accident is never reason enough to kill a man. There are better ways to handle mistakes than murdering innocent spectators." Clearly Gilleran had learned this lesson where Ritworth had not. For that, at least, he seemed the lesser evil. Though no longer the focus of attention, she rose cautiously and edged toward the forest. No one tried to stop her.

  "What do I have to do?" Ritworth prepared for the process.

  "Come here," Gilleran gestured Ritworth to stand in front of him, beneath an oak edging the roadway.

  Ritworth moved to the indicated place. Kelryn slipped into the woods, every instinct goading her to run. But, this time, she managed to keep enough presence of mind to remain hidden in the brush. The words the sorcerers exchanged could become vital to the safety of Edward and Nightfall. She peered between branches in time to see Gilleran make the broad, looping cut he had performed just before beginning the spell he had used to bind her. This time, however, he added a guttural phrase.

  Ritworth and Kelryn realized the significance at the same time. The maneuver had nothing to do with the oath-bond, nor had it when he cast the spell on her. Gilleran had set Ritworth up for other magic. Even as understanding dawned, sorcery cleaved a massive limb over Ritworth’s head, and it came crashing down upon him. Ritworth dodged aside, too late. The branch slammed him across the back hard enough to snap vertebrae and pinned him to the ground. Kelryn screamed, the sound lost beneath Ritworth’s louder screech of agony and Gilleran’s laughter.

  Now, nothing could keep Kelryn in place. She sprinted without thought or direction, dodging and ducking through trees and brush, ignoring brambles that clung to and tore her clothes and skin. At least four times she slammed into trees, once hard enough to send her sprawling, the wind knocked from her lungs. But every time she staggered onward. The Iceman’s shrill cries of agony prodded her like a burning brand, and her thoughts flashed back to the night in her room: The conversation interrupted by Gilleran’s sudden entrance. The wild charge that had grounded a gentle man who had become a friend in a matter of hours. The short struggle-futile. Gilleran’s magical slashes had carved deep, bleeding swathes as easily as he had cleaved the tree limb over Ritworth. The physical mutilation had seemed endless, the suffering cries spiraling her into a hysteria that would not leave her, night or day. If only she had not frozen. If only she could have saved Dyfrin.

  Kelryn ran until the sorcerer’s screams faded into the background swish, rattle, and bird calls of the forest. She charged through the woodlands until time, hunger, and exhaustion lost all meaning. Then, when she could run no more, she crumpled into a sobbing heap on the forest floor and prayed to the holy Father that she would someday find the strength to fight back.

  The road and forest became familiar to Nightfall and Prince Edward Nargol as they traveled eastward. After the first few days, they found themselves in the constant company of would-be spectators from every land. Nightfall appreciated the crowds. Their talk told him most of what he needed to know about the layout of the tourney fields, the specifics of the combat, and details about the competitors. Where eavesdropping fell short, he supplemented with innocent questions, usually gaining far more than the information he sought. More than seventy nobles and highborn had received invitations. The true tally, of course, would not come until they arrived. As Edward had proven, an invitation did not necessarily mean the invited one would choose to participate. The elimination setup also meant that Edward would not directly battle most of the others. In fact, simple computation of the chances, without assessing skill, suggested even odds that Edward would be eliminated in his first trial. Nightfall would see to it those numbers changed quickly.

  At night, they camped. While Nightfall prepared food and chatted with their many short-term companions, Edward pieced together outfits and horse decorations of rich purple to serve as their crest. He had had little choice when it came to colors; Nightfall’s clothes came only in Alyndarian purple and silver. Without time to create the symbol, they would have to temporize with a solid banner. Once the duchy was won, they could work out the details of a crest. This lapse seemed to worry Edward more than the contests themselves, but Nightfall guessed that had more to do with using it as an excuse to take his mind off the possibility of facing off with his brother. Nightfall found competition between the princes no concern at all. Surely, the officials would make efforts to keep brother from standing against brother; and, with any luck, Prince Leyne Nargol would lose early.

  Nightfall and Edward arrived at the walled city of Tylantis in the late morning, though a winding line of people blocked their view even of the ramparts. Mounted guards in Tylantis’ orange and bronze rode through the masses, stopping at intervals to question individuals or escort the highborn, their servants and families, to the head of the line. Within an hour, a stately guardsman in mail on a dappled horse approached Edward. "Good morning, good sir. Might I ask your name?"

  Not wishing to spend the remainder of his natural life waiting, Nightfall took his cue. "My master is Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar."

  The sentry seemed pleased by the name, apparently one he had been counseled to seek. Nightfall hoped that came from the competition, not some message sent by Schiz’ duke. He banished the paranoia. It would take time for Duke Varsah to notice them missing and figure out which direction they had taken. He would also need to decide whether or not to risk pitting duchy against kingdom by hunting a prince over an issue of manners.

  "Participating or spectating, noble sir?" the guard asked.

  "Participating," Edward replied.

  "Very good, sir." The guard glanced at the surrounding crowd. "Do you have retainers or family you wish me to attend?"

  "Only my squire." Edward indicated Nightfall with a sweep of his chin.

  "Come with me." The guard rode off, shoulders back and head raised, obviously preferring the duty of escorting players to herding disgruntled spectators. He led Prince Edward and Nightfall directly to the gates. "Just one moment please, Prince Edward." He dismounted, shouldering through a press of guards at the gateway. True to his word, he returned almost immediately. "Come with me, please." The guards stepped aside to leave a pathway into the city. With their guide at the lead, Edward and Nightfall rode between them.

  Though Nightfall once knew the city by heart, it looked nothing like he remembered. Every open area had merged, now covered with the retinues of knights, nobles, and highborn men of every description. Massive horses, groomed to a sheen, grazed while servants and slaves scurried to tend animals and masters. Some of the buildings and dwellings he remembered had disappeared to make room for the competition. In the middle, wooden fences marked off several rings where the combats would take place, each with its own portable wooden jousting wall inside the confines. Merchants thronged the periphery, offering everything from fresh cooked meals to "strength potions" that likely contained nothing more exotic than the local food. Though rare on the green, women a
bounded among the fringe elements, seeking husbands or quick money for a night of pleasure before the following day’s events.

  The guard found a relatively open space amid the jumble of participants. “You’re one of the last to arrive, Prince Edward. I’m sorry about the cramped quarters." Edward cheerily dismissed the need for apology. “I’ll let the officials know you’re here and see if I can find out who you’ll be fighting."

  "Thank you," Edward said.

  "Why don’t I go with you?" Nightfall added quickly. "I can bring the news back to my master and save you the time and trouble of returning."

  Edward nodded his agreement, obviously buying that Nightfall volunteered to assist an overburdened underling. In truth, Nightfall wanted a glimpse of the competitor list as well as some guidance as to how the system worked in order to calculate every opponent Edward might face. The knowledge would make cheating far simpler.

  "Thank you,” the guard said, though with far less enthusiasm than an offer to help should have elicited. Obviously, he preferred carrying information to nobles, a far more pleasant aspect of his job than the outside sorting he would have to return to that much sooner. Nevertheless, he accepted Nightfall’s presence without complaint. Together, they rode toward the central rings and a group of highborn elders conferring there.

  The guard pulled up before them. "This is the squire of Prince Edward Nargol."

  The men nodded, exchanging muttered comments and rummaging through lists. The guard threw Nightfall a good-bye gesture, then wove his way cautiously through the participants and back toward the gates. Nightfall dismounted and approached, unobtrusively reading one of the lists upside down. "Excuse me, sirs. The guard said you could tell me who my master would be fighting.”

  A heavyset, grizzled man with a short beard fielded the question. “Certainly. Just a moment." They conferred briefly, giving Nightfall a long look at the list while they used a stylus to cross out and shift names. From their exchange, Nightfall discovered they arranged the participants by anticipated ability then paired them, one from the bottom and one from the top of the list. That meant that the man most likely to win the entire competition fought the weakest opponent, the second fought the next weakest and so on. The strategy had sense to it not obvious on initial inspection. Though the first round of fighting would have little challenge or merit, the least competent fighters would become eliminated in the starting round, and each subsequent match should become more evenly matched and exciting. Once the pattern became established, it only remained to see where they ranked Prince Edward.