Mickey Zucker Reichert

by The Legend of Nightfall

  "I’m really sorry," the man repeated, again shuffling toward Nightfall.

  “Get away from me," Nightfall said, trying to sound indignant rather than frightened. He could still feel the place where the sorcerer had grabbed him, and it made him feel unclean in a way no plague-ridden beggar ever had. He fingered the tear in his linens with dismay, softening the demand. "Please. With all respect, lord, I think I was better balanced alone.” I have to presume he staged the fall to test me, because he wasn’t certain of what he felt. So it probably wasn’t the oath-bond. The idea soothed his raw-edged nerves. In that case, my allowing him to knock me down might well have convinced him he was mistaken. Dodging around his benefactor, Nightfall continued down the street, attuned to sounds of pursuing footsteps beneath the stomp, click, and chatter of other passersby, headed from the market square. He heard nothing to suggest the man had followed. The wary prickle at his back disappeared.

  With the immediate threat removed, Nightfall pushed the incident to the back of his mind. For now, he could do nothing but hope he had passed the sorcerer’s test and stay alert for future experiments or confrontations. He turned a corner, stealing a glance in the direction from which he had come. The stranger had turned and was now retreating back toward the market square.

  Relieved, Nightfall turned his concentration to the Nemixian dance hall. Just as quickly, doubts suffused him, wildly out of place in the mind of the night-stalking demon that had stolen the unstealable, swindled wise men, and shattered the sleep of the brave. Memory stole his composure, flinging him back to lazy summer Sundays spent meandering between stands, Kelryn’s presence a warm constant beside him, her laughter like music in his ear.

  Nightfall walked the last few blocks, haunted by images of that past, alternately mourning the potential eternity of love and happiness that Kelryn’s betrayal had mangled to nightmare and despising the woman who had stolen everything he could give her: trinkets, his loyalty, his dignity, and his life. For every act I did, I thought of how it might affect her. Everywhere I went, I looked for things that might please her. She meant everything to me, yet my love and myself meant nothing to her. Turning the v last corner, Nightfall approached the dancer’s quarters.

  The mid-afternoon sun sparkled from the polished brass hinges. Nightfall raised his fist to knock still with some trepidations, and that uncertainty bothered him. Since the first time, when he had raised a knife against his mother’s murderer, he had never felt a qualm about those he chose to kill. In all cases, he had deemed a client’s security or vengeance more sacred than the rights of the victim. Yet now that it came time to avenge his own life, reservations descended upon him.

  It’s the time of day, Nightfall guessed, at once aware that the need to work in broad daylight was only a contributing factor to his discomfort. Always before, he had performed his crimes at night and in the guise of Night- fall; but this would not be the first time he had used another persona for innocent, daytime scouting. He reviewed his rationalization for using a direct approach, but this failed to dispel his apprehension. The method was not what bothered him.

  It’s Kelryn. Nightfall shook with anger, missing the steadying composure that usually filled him before a kill. Gods! What is it about that traitor bitch that cripples me? He tossed the thought aside. Once he faced her, the strength would come. If it didn’t, he was dead.

  Nightfall rapped on the iron—bound wooden door.

  Several seconds passed in silence. Then, the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears, followed by the squeal of the door being opened. Cyriwan, the dance hall proprietor, studied Nightfall through the opening crack, his crusty, bearded face somber. “Can I help you?"

  "I’m looking for a woman." Cyriwan scratched at his beard, and dirt flaked to the floor. "Any woman in particular? Or just your general woman?"

  "I’m looking,” Nightfall said carefully, trying to see around Cyriwan without success, "for the most graceful dancer I’ve ever seen. She’s got short, white hair like this." He combed his mahogany locks into feathers with his fingers. “Small, hazel eyes, a straight nose with a flat tip, and a gorgeous body."

  "White hair?" Cyriwan squinted, glancing up and down Nightfall as if to identify his colors. All humor left him. "You mean Kelryn. And she don’t work here no more."

  Nightfall naturally fell into Cyriwan’s speech pattern. "She don’t‘?"

  “Good day." Cyriwan backed to close the door.

  "Wait." Nightfall edged forward, trying to look childishly eager, and scuffing a toe into the crack as if by accident. It had been decades since he had needed to do anything for his information except ask. "Why don’t she work here no more?"

  "There needs to be a reason‘?"

  "No, I don’t suppose so." Nightfall made contrived nervous gestures that placed his boot more solidly in the path of the door. "Is there one?"

  "Not this time." Cyriwan tried to pull the panel closed, but it struck Nightfall’s foot. The proprietor frowned.

  Nightfall shifted his weight, making certain the coins in his pocket clinked. As Sudian, it would seem odd to suggest a bribe, but he knew Cyriwan well enough to suspect that the proprietor would request one. "Where is she working now?”

  Cyriwan pressed his toe against Nightfall’s, calmly edging it away. “Who are you? And why do want to know?"

  "My name is Sudian. I saw her dance some time ago, and I can’t get her out of my mind. Please, I have to see her."

  Cyriwan shook his head. “I don’t know where she’s gone." Circumstance and the look on his face told Night- fall it was a blatant lie.

  Hastily, Nightfall removed his foot from the door, feigning self-conscious apology. The maneuver had bought him some time, but to carry it too far would arouse Cyriwan’s suspicions. Since the proprietor still had not brought up the topic of payment, Nightfall tried, aware Cyriwan could never resist a shiny coin. "Would it help if I gave you some money?" He pulled out a silver, displaying it in his palm in the manner of a man unused to buying his information.

  Cyriwan licked his lips. Sweat beaded his forehead, but he did not reach for the coin. "You could give me your money, and I’d take it. But I still couldn’t tell you where Kelryn’s at. I don’t know."

  You know, you slob. But I haven’t the faintest idea why you aren’t telling. The Cyriwan that Nightfall had known would have sold anyone for a handful of copper. It’s not ethics. Cyriwan wouldn’t know a moral it danced a jig around him, pounded him dizzy, then throttled him dead. Even Grittmon didn’t approve of the incident in his doorway, there’s no way word could have beaten me here. The only possibility is that someone who can keep tabs on this fool threatened his life or promised him huge sums of money for his silence. But why?

  Cyriwan continued to stare at the coin. "Perhaps I could interest you in another woman to take your mind off Kelryn? My girls are just dancers, but some of them do other things to earn a little spending money on the side." He winked. “If you know what I mean."

  Nightfall knew. But playing the part of the innocent, young squire, he hesitated in consideration. "I think so.”

  "That silver will buy you the name of one who does." Cyriwan reached for the coin.

  Though a silver should have bought him the name of every woman in Nemix who did, Nightfall allowed the proprietor to take it, then his arm, and lead him through the doorway. Cyriwan closed the panel behind him, taking Nightfall through his front office and into the familiar corridor lined with doors.

  Needing facts, and finding them more difficult to obtain than expected, Nightfall took a chance. "Since I can’t see Kelryn, do you think maybe I could . . ." He lowered his face abashedly. ". . . um . . . have . . ." He stumbled over the euphemism. ". . . the little redhead she kept talking to between performances?” He alluded to Kelryn’s roommate, Shiriel. If anyone might know where Kelryn’s gone, she would. And if I can get a look at the room, I should be able to tell if Kelryn’s things are still there.

  Cyriwan caught the descrip
tion. Again, he studied Nightfall.

  Nightfall tried to look embarrassed by the scrutiny. He avoided the proprietor’s piercing, dark gaze. His walk grew tight and awkward.

  Cyriwan’s lips twitched into the toothy, knowing grin of a man condescending to a child. "I can try. But it’ll cost you an extra silver to ask for some girl, specific."

  "Oh." Though he kept his head lowered, Nightfall memorized a hallway he already knew by heart. "Oh." He let thoughtful disappointment leech into his tone, followed by consideration.

  Cyriwan stopped before the fourth door on the left, awaiting an answer.

  Though he knew it was Kel1yn’s and Shirie1’s room, Nightfall shuffled past it at the same speed so as not to broadcast his knowledge. Now a half step beyond Cyriwan, he halted and turned to face the proprietor. "Well, my master did say I could spend my money any way I wanted."

  Cyriwan held out a hand laced with grime.

  Nightfall plucked another silver from the dwindling horde he had taken from the Alyndarian steward. Two silver for a copper’s worth of information. If that doesn’t convince him I’m an ignorant galley-clod, nothing will. Concealing the callused palms that years of labor as Etan had gained him, he dropped the coin into Cyriwan’s hovering fingers.

  The silver disappeared into Cyriwan’s fist like a meat scrap tossed to a starving dog. He knocked on the door.

  "Who is it?" Shiriel’s familiar alto drifted through the wood. Small and frail, she tended toward quiet shyness except when discussing a topic about which she held a strong opinion. Then, she could become passionately shrewd, strong—wi1led, and clever.

  "It’s me," Cyriwan answered gruffly. "I have someone with me."

  Nightfall shifted from foot to foot.

  A moment passed in silence. Then Shiriel opened the door. She wore a patched but flattering dress over her slight form, and her red hair fanned about her shoulders.

  "Shiriel, this is Sudian. He wants to discuss a business proposition with you.” Cyriwan nodded encouragingly, though whether at him or the woman, Nightfall could not tell.

  Shiriel looked Nightfall over.

  Nightfall held his breath. This would be Sudian’s first inspection by someone who had known Marak well.

  But Shiriel gave no sign of recognition. Apparently finding Nightfall adequate, she stepped back to let him enter.

  The cubicle beyond lay in comfortable disarray. A single pallet covered a rectangle of floor, its head against the middle of the far wall. To Nightfall’s left, a familiar night table and matching chair sported a jumble of cosmetics and clothing. All of the colors suited Shiriel. An open closet to his right held several outfits, including familiar dancing costumes, though none in Kelryn’s larger size.

  Shiriel closed the door. Turning to face the bed, she began unlacing her bodice.

  "Don’t do that." Nightfall placed a hand on Shiriel’s shoulder, and she felt coiled beneath his touch. Shiriel whirled, back-stepping until she stood against the pallet. The loosened fabric revealed the edge of each, tiny breast, "lf you’ve got something sleazy in mind, you can leave now. I don’t got to do this, you know. It’s just a way to make extra money."

  "How much do you charge?" Nightfall enjoyed a good session of sex as much as any man, but not when he was working. And not with Kelryn’s roommate. The idea made him ill.

  “Five coppers." Shiriel glared defiantly, her chest heaving and her demeanor stiff. The straight, red hair formed a cape about her shoulders, making her look more vulnerable.

  ”Here." Nightfall tossed her the last silver, leaving him only the one Prince Edward had given him and the coppers in Myar’s purse.

  Shiriel caught the coin in a small hand, bobbled it once, then studied it. Placing it into her cleavage, she gave her full attention to Nightfall. "What do you want? And I’m still not doing anything sleazy."

  "Tie that thing back up." Nightfall tried to look flustered. "I just want to talk.”

  "Talk?" Brow crinkled, Shiriel retied her bodice. "Talk about what?"

  Nightfall moved Shiriel’s undergarments from the chair to the table. Turning the chair to face her, he sat. "Another woman who works here, name Kelryn." As he moved, he caught a glimpse of an object he had missed on previous inspection. Among the vials and jars sat a too familiar glass figurine of a swan. Its neck stretched delicately upward, ending in a finely-shaped head. The wings were spread in a feathered detail Nightfall had never seen on a trinket, before or since he’d set eyes on this one nearly a year ago. Marak had discovered it displayed in a glassblower’s shop. It had cost him a week of dinners; but, at the time, it had seemed well worth the cost. Apparently, it meant nothing more to Kelryn than the life of the man who gave it to her. He had rehearsed the presentation, and the words returned to him now, ugly, empty, and hollow: "Finally, Kelryn, I’ve found a piece of art worthy of your beauty. But, even should this creature come alive, you would put its grace to shame."

  Shiriel’s eyes narrowed suddenly. "Kelryn don’t work here no more."

  Nightfall met Shiriel’s gaze, careful not to rivet on the swan. "That’s what the guy said." He pointed to the door to indicate Cyriwan. "Where does she work now?"

  "That depends."

  Now it was Nightfall’s turn to look confused. "Depends on what?"

  Shiriel shook her head, sending the fine locks into a shimmery dance. "Depends on why it’s worth a silver to you.”

  Nightfall sighed. He stared at a water spot on the ceiling, and a slight smile curled about features more primed for a glower. Thoughts of Kelryn made him savagely angry. But for now he feigned infatuation. "I watched her dance once. She’s the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Ever." He met Shiriel’s green eyes earnestly. "Please. I have to find her."

  Shiriel looked skeptical. Her drawn face took on a look of calculated doubt. "You don’t know, do you?"

  "Know what‘?" Nightfall added a note of concern to his curiosity. Idly, he fiddled with the disarray on Shiriel’s table.

  Shiriel leaned forward, lowering her voice. "I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. Kelryn has . . .” She dropped to a whisper. ". . . clap."

  Nightfall suppressed a laugh, inhaled a lungful of saliva, and coughed violently. Well, at least I spread that rumor thoroughly. The hoarseness of his voice only added to his sincerity. "That doesn’t matter; Shiriel, I love this woman. I have to see her.”

  Shiriel sat on the pallet with a sigh. She drew muscle- thick legs to her chest, staring at Nightfall. "You’re from Alyndar, right?"

  Nightfall nodded. Emblazoned with the country’s colors and in the prince’s service, he could hardly deny it. His hand drifted naturally toward the glass swan.

  "So what do you people want with Kelryn?"

  The question caught Nightfall off his guard. He blinked, his fingers closing over the figurine, his bewildered gaze diverting Shiriel’s attention from the action. "Us people? What people'? What are you talking about?"

  "Look." Shiriel went straight to the point. “Kelryn never did anything wrong in her life. She’s a damn good dancer and an honest one. She didn’t know."

  "I have no idea what you’re talking about." The expression of confusion on Nightfall’s face deepened. He slipped the swan into his pocket, drawing his whole per- son inward to mask the movement. "But you’re starting to scare me. Is Kelryn in some kind of trouble?"

  Shiriel seemed to take no notice of the theft. Her scrutiny of Nightfall’s face intensified. Apparently, she was trying to read his expression and his sincerity. "That murderer they killed up there a few weeks ago."

  "You mean Nightfall?" he supplied.

  Shiriel nodded briskly. “She called him Marak, but they said he was the same person. It’s no secret around here that she was his girlfriend.”

  Nightfall tried to look suitable agitated. "You’re lying! You have to be lying."

  “But she didn’t know he was a killer." Shiriel defended Kelryn. “She didn’t know she was seeing Nightfall. And, of course, she never comm
itted any c1imes." She wrung her hands, hugging her knees to her chest. “So, go away. Leave her alone."

  Nightfall met Shiriel’s intense expression with one of his own. "Have others from Alyndar come looking for her before me?"

  "No," Shiriel admitted. "You’re the first."

  Nightfall rolled his eyes in exasperation. He relaxed a bit, idly drumming his fingers on the single, narrow drawer in the front of the desk. "Do I look like a king’s executioner to you? A guard captain?" He spread his arms to emphasize his delicate frame.

  Shiriel’s scrutiny became intense. Suddenly, Nightfall regretted his bold plea for attention. A close look might give me away. Then again, I suppose this is one of the safer places to test the new “disguise."

  After a few moments, Shiriel sat back, still without recognition. "No," she admitted. "But you could still be one. Or you could be working for one."

  Nightfall snorted. He worked his fingers into the drawer, idly opening and closing it against his knuckles. He tried to sound like a youth in love. "Your loyalty is wonderful and makes sense to me. If I had the chance, I’d be just as protective of her. But Nightfall’s dead." Spoken aloud, the words sounded strange in his ears. "King Rikard has no use or interest in the man’s girlfriend. And even if he did, he’s a king. He’d have just sent over a bunch of guards and taken her, not some stumbling squire who can’t even keep his balance in the street." Removing one hand from the drawer, he fingered the hole in his britches.