The legend of Nightfall

Chapter 11

By the time Nightfall collected his money and rushed back to the inn room, Prince Edward had only just awakened. The prince lay on his back, eyes repeatedly whipping open then drooping shut as he attempted to come fully awake and start the day. He seemed to take no notice of Nightfall’s silent entrance. Playing dutiful squire, Nightfall levered through the drawers, choosing clean silks for his master and unrumpled silver and purple for himself. In Trillium, they would have no trouble finding a washerwoman to clean and press their clothing, though Nightfall would see to it that the process of hiring took time. Focusing the prince on the mundane would leave less chance for idealistic, inciting lectures to slavers and their charges.

As Edward finally won the battle against his sagging eyelids, he spoke. "Good morning, Sudian."

"Good morning, Master." Nightfall turned to sorting wrinkled and dirty from passable, the day’s wear already chosen.

Edward sat, and the blankets fell into a jumble across his legs. “Are you ready for a productive day?"

Nightfall did not like the sound of that. He looked over, a pair of breeks dangling from his hand. "Productive, Master," he asked, careful to phrase the words like a statement rather than a question.

“Slaves to liberate. People to educate." Edward shoved aside the blankets. "The Almighty Father’s word to spread. He has given us this day, and we will use it for him."

Nightfall tossed the breeks onto the dirty pile, mind racing for a distraction. He would need several more days of betting to accumulate the necessary capital to buy land. If Edward insisted on preaching at slavers, they would need luck just to survive until the evening. He failed to find a long enough list of occupying tasks to keep Alyndar’s youngest prince reined, but he did manage to put together words from his lessons on war. He quoted Sharfrindaro, one of Edward’s favorite generals: "The battle doesn’t start until first scouting is done. Strategy without knowledge is doomed to failure."

Edward corrected the inaccuracies: "The war does not begin until advanced surveillance is completed? He considered. "Why bring that up now?"

“Well, Master." Nightfall twisted his words to build points rather than questions. The need to concentrate on presentation had the additional effect of making him sound more eloquent than usual. "It seems wise to consider the words of those we admire before taking on a battle no one else has dared to fight."

Prince Edward reached for the clothing Nightfall had chosen for him, dragging it up beside him on the pallet. “You mean we should study the ways and patterns of slaves and those who keep them before executing the Father’s will."

Nightfall shrugged, returning to his sorting. "I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just guessing at your plans."

Apparently, Nightfall had found a positive combination of proposition and modesty, because Edward considered longer as he shed his sleeping gown and flipped his breeks over his feet. "I hadn’t thought of the matter exactly as a war," he admitted. "It’s not as if there’s killing involved." He winced, apparently reconsidering the incident Nightfall had heard about in Alyndar in which Edward had accidentally taken a Hartrinian slave master’s life. "And there are no sides. Once they understand the pain and wrongness of their actions, men who keep slaves will gladly free them."

And kings will gladly give their castles to the homeless. Nightfall hoped the events of the last few days had given Edward an inkling of reality. At least, I should try to educate the romantic, guileless dizzard while I have him thinking for a change. "If we could gather every man who has owned or thought of owning slaves, I’m certain your silver tongue could carry the truth to them as it has to me. But to bring the message to each, one by one, seems a task that will outlast our lifetime.”

Prince Edward rose, breeks only halfway in place. The binding cloth spoiled his regal pose, and his partial nakedness stole dignity from his bearing. "I would consider it an honor to live and die serving the Father in this manner.”

"And I would consider it an honor to live and die serving you." Nightfall exchanged his own tunic from the previous night for the cleaner one he had selected. Alyndar’s purple and silver had grown tediously familiar. “But I’ve done only part of my job if I deflect a knife from killing you that then stabs your foot. Each slave freed may be a victory. But can we really claim success for rescuing three if we could have used the same time and effort for ninety-five?” Nightfall mulled a strategy he had raised and discarded some time ago. Once, he had thought of slaying a king’s enemies one by one, crediting the purge to Prince Edward and, thus, earning his master title and land. He had dismissed the possibility because the sequential murders might require him to become too much Nightfall. He had also abandoned the tactic of encouraging the prince to go on a similar spree based on honorable dueling. First, no matter how competent the prince-or Nightfall’s unobtrusive cheating-the odds would catch up to him in time. Nightfall spoke the second reason aloud. "It would take an eternity to defeat an army, or a cause, man by man."

Edward adjusted his breeks. He pulled on his tunic, belted it, then added the calf-length over-tunic, its neck and hem decorated with threaded patterns in silver and gold. “Sudian, I’m the scholar of war. You’re coming dangerously close to questioning my judgment.”

Finished dressing, Nightfall met Edward’s gaze directly, seized with a sudden urge to grab the naive prince by the throat and shake him until sense jarred loose from the cobwebbed corners of his brain. Instead, he funneled his frustration and belligerence into words. "Master, I would question directly if I thought it would serve your cause and lessen the harm to you. I would rather die for the impropriety than let any hurt befall you." Nightfall kept his hands free and his attention alert, hoping Edward would translate this to the significance of his point. "Even good people, like your father and brother, do not see the Father’s light when the best of all men presents it to them. People like Amadan care only about making their own lives easier. Do you think you can convince him, and others like him, to give up their slaves?”

"There is good in everyone. With the right words, may the Father give them to me, I will convince him."

Nightfall cursed Prince Edward’s boundless innocence and faith.

Then the prince added another point that made Nightfall wonder if experience had not begun to crack the shell of idealistic ignorance. "If I cannot convince him, then I will buy and free his slaves myself."

Nightfall had already found the flaw. Paying Amadan for his slaves would only grant the Hartrinian the money to purchase more. In the name of right, the prince would pay an exorbitant sum, and Amadan would wind up with more slaves to brutalize than before the sale. Nightfall swerved with the argument. "There’s another thing to consider.” He continued to hold Edward’s gaze. "I mentioned the possibility of freedom to one of his slaves last night. She refused it."

Edward’s eyes crunched closed, and his jaw wilted. Though he clearly trusted his squire, he found the incident too impossible not to question. "A misunderstanding, surely."

Nightfall shrugged and returned to sorting. "You’ve heard the story of the Hartrinian twins and the tiger." He knew the honest prince would deny the assumption, having no way of knowing Nightfall had made up the title and the story on the spur of the moment.

"No," Edward admitted. "Which book is it in?"

Having little knowledge of books of any kind, Nightfall covered neatly. "It’s not in any book as far as I know. It’s the story of how Hartrin became slave territory, and people down this way have been telling it to their children since the whole thing happened." He glanced at Edward again. "Would you like me to tell it?”

The prince nodded absently, obviously still puzzling over how he could have missed hearing such an important tale.

Nightfall created an answer to the unspoken query. “It’s not the sort of story I think nobility likes much. It’s about a set of twin princes, the first royal offspring of a king, whose name I never knew, though the boys were called Ursid and Brionfra. A slight woman, narrow in the hips, the queen seemed incapable of birthing her children. She labored longer than a day, until it appeared certain she would die along with her offspring. Then, at last, a Healer came who believed he could take the children another way. He sliced open her womb from above and hauled the babies from their exhausted mother."

Edward listened raptly.

Nightfall had never considered himself much of a storyteller, but he continued, not wholly decided on the course of the tale. "Yet, though he saved all three lives, the Healer had done one thing wrong. In his haste, he had pulled Ursid out first, though Brionfra, with his little head jammed in the birth canal, was nature’s choice for elder prince. Ursid became the heir, Brionfra cheated of his birthright.”

"Not cheated." Edward cut in. "Not really.”

Nightfall shrugged. "It seemed that way to him, and that’s really all that matters here. Brionfra spent most of his life trying to regain the authority he had lost through accident of birth. He surrounded himself with servants, gradually increasing their dependence on and debt to him until they became the slaves we know now."

Prince Edward shuddered, as if the words, by themselves, caused him pain.

"The king and other nobles saw the following Brionfra had gained, the work it saved him, and the authority he possessed. Impressed, they gathered slaves of their own. Most, as Brionfra’s, began as servants. Others, particularly women, came as debts collected. More than one father sold his daughter for money he either could not gather or could not part with. Still more came as war spoils; those who could not be cowed used to fight one another as entertainment.”

Prince Edward’s eyes sparkled with the driving need that had become too familiar to Nightfall. He rose and paced, working off the energy injustice inspired.

Nightfall eased up on the detail, afraid to lose his point by firing up the prince too much. "Ursid hated what his twin had started. Believing slavery evil, he set out one day to free them all. So, while his family slept, he gathered the kept-ones. Those chained were unbound. Those imprisoned were freed. Ursid rallied them all together and spoke of creating a new city of free men and women. He released the most vicious of the fighting slaves last…”

Nightfall paused dramatically. "The wild man’s last act was to kill Ursid, elder prince of Hartrin.”

Edward stopped in mid-pace, whirling to face his squire. "This is a true story?"

Nightfall nodded. "Details become obscured or embellished as tales get passed. But this event is recorded in history." Nightfall hoped Edward’s books contained some tidbit that could be interpreted to substantiate his claim. "Like the animal they named him, the slave enjoyed the slaughter that had been his lot."

"What happened to the others?" Edward asked the obvious question.

"They scattered, of course. Out of fear the fighting slave might kill them, too. Or that they might get in trouble for escaping."

"Or to keep their freedom."

"Of course. But that seemed less likely. Within one moon cycle, three quarters of the slaves returned, begging forgiveness."

Edward continued to stare. "They came back? Why?"

Nightfall plucked at his sleeve, feeling disloyal for the lie. He tried to quell his discomfort with the knowledge that his story might bring some enlightenment to the prince, might save them both from wasted time, ridicule, and violence. "Guaranteed food and reasonable shelter. A place to call home and a daily routine that did not rely on becoming the toughest person on the streets." He met Edward’s soft, blue eyes. "Loyalty. That, I understand.”

A pink tinge further softened Edward’s young features. He mulled the words in silence.

“Master." Nightfall delivered a blow he doubted Edward could fend. "Even if the law came down from Alyndar that all servants who did not go would officially become slaves, I would not leave you." Not without having my soul ripped from my body and tortured through eternity.

The prince’s lips pinched, and he seemed torn between tears and rage. "That could never happen. My father would never make such a decree."

Nightfall said nothing. The unlikelihood of the proclamation did not dilute the sentiment much.

"You’re paid for your work."

"I’ve already told you I’m not.”

"You will be when we return to Alyndar."

I "I will not accept it if you offer."

Prince Edward again took a seat on his pallet, all fire draining from him. "Why are doing this to me?"

Nightfall wished he could take pleasure from the prince’s discomfort, but he could not help thinking of his master as a fellow victim. Now that Edward showed some signs of acting with his head instead of his heart, Nightfall found a new respect. "Because you’re good and noble. Because the Father believes in you, and I can do no less."

"That’s not what I meant." Prince Edward leaned an elbow on his knee, burying his chin in his cupped palm. "Why are you comparing your lot to slavery? Do I treat you so badly?"

"Badly?" Nightfall adopted a stricken look. "Master, no servant has ever been happier. All servants and slaves should have a master as kind as you." He smiled. "And some probably do. As you say, there is good in every man."

"Good in every man," Edward repeated aloud as he considered the deeper implications. "Yes." At length, he shook his head. "I need to think a while. I’m just not ready to believe that people owning others is anything but evil. I don’t think I ever will be."

Nightfall seized on Edward’s introspection. "You’ve attended court. How do nobles react when they lose large amounts of something: power, money, land?"

"Not well," Edward admitted. "They always argue. More than one war has started that way."

"And if those same things get phased away slowly, one compromise at a time?"

"It’s happened. That’s how the peninsula came together under one king. Took longer than a century. No blood-shed."

Nightfall played his card. "So, if a leader gradually empowered the slaves… say, gave them a few rights or alternatives to slavery besides theft or fighting over crumbs in the streets. If slaves could choose their masters, that might encourage slavers to treat their charges better. Or make some minimal standards for slave care: fewer hours, shelter, and reasonable amounts of food…" Nightfall rambled with little coherency, never having needed to find solutions. Always before, he had simply survived, yet the knowledge he had inadvertently gathered along the way gave him a solid foundation for change. Though he told himself he was merely finding a way to cool Edward’s dangerous ardor, he could not help getting swept up in the excitement now that reasonable alternatives fell into consideration.

Edward sat quietly for several moments, staring at the ceiling, his only movement the drumming of his fingers against the pallet. "Sudian, thank you."

Nightfall cocked his head, trying to look suitably modest. "Thank me, Master?"

"For showing me how to translate book knowledge into strategy. For reminding me that words on a page mean little without reality, and that the tactics of war have application to conflict of every type."

The series of larger words at the end of Edward’s explanation confused Nightfall, but he caught the gist well enough. Before he could think of a humble reply, the prince swept him into an embrace.

Shocked nearly to panic by the contact, Nightfall struggled against the need to bully free. The sincere warmth of Edward’s embrace was unmistakable, as telling as the most tender of his mother’s moments, those occasional times when she convinced him she would never batter him again despite past promises and pain. Nightfall suppressed the natural feelings of caring and trust that always rose in the wake of another’s honest vulnerability and kinship, hating himself for what he saw as a weakness. He had opened himself once and might still pay with his soul. Every instinct told him to seize the moment, to find some use for the newfound depth of loyalty the prince felt toward him. Yet, the effort of keeping his own emotions in check occupied him fully. And it seemed so outside his nature, too like the frailty that had gotten him into trouble with Kelryn, that it maddened him.

Edward released Nightfall, but the same innocent fondness filled his expression and his eyes. He smiled. "There are customs and rules to the relationship between noble and squire that I won’t violate. But, when we’re alone, you may call me Ned."

Few things would have pleased Nightfall more than calling the prince "Ned" in the presence of King Rikard and his court. The oath-bond churned in warning, growing stronger in the moments it took him to formulate a reply that would rescue him from physical distress without hurting the prince’s feelings. The king had made it a part of the magical vow to always address Edward in this fashion. “Master, I could not."

Edward’s grin wilted.

As the oath-bond receded to its familiar baseline, Nightfall found his explanation. "I promised your father to help you get landed. Until that time, my job is not finished; and it would feel wrong to call you anything but Master."

The light returned to Prince Edward’s eyes, and a half-smile again bowed his lips. He shook his head wordlessly, clearly impressed by his faithful and, apparently, unpretentious squire. He rose and headed for the door. "Come, Sudian. We have an enemy to assess and plans to formulate.” One hand on the door latch, he turned. "You’ve come to this city before?"

"A few times, Master." A few meaning about nine thousand. Nightfall trailed Prince Edward, cursing himself for not finding an opening to mention the previous night of gambling before someone beat him to it. One way or another, it would come out over breakfast. "I can find areas more likely to have slavers." Though I won’t take you to any of them. An unpressured tour of the city might do them both good, and Nightfall had no intention of allowing Edward to get within city blocks of the slavers’ markets.

Prince and squire headed for the common room.

The day went well for Nightfall. He managed to keep Prince Edward from the seedier parts of Trillium and distract him with the glitter and bustle of the myriad markets. Edward delighted in educating Nightfall about Grifnalian goats, Tylantian hump-backed horses, Hartrinian courier doves, and southern plains’ lizards. The knowledge that came from books caught the bulk of the descriptions, but missed the odors, temperament, and general feel that reality had brought to Nightfall long ago. Though odd-looking and relatively slow, the hump-backed horses had endurance and an ability to travel far without sustenance. An ancient tale with obscure origins described a hump-back returning to Tylantis with a rider that had long before succumbed to thirst. Nightfall had seen Hartrinian sea doves, rare long-winged birds with a penchant for locating ships and returning to established roosts. Unlike pigeons, these birds would fly out with a message before returning with a reply. King Idinbal regularly used them to identify approaching vessels; and, given the circumstances of Marak’s arrest, King Rikard apparently had some of his own.

Every foreign fruit or vegetable caught Edward’s eye. Nightfall used the prince’s curiosity as an opening to explain his winnings. He admitted to only a fraction of his true profit, using most of what he mentioned to purchase samples of foods Edward had never before tasted. Apparently certain of his squire’s honesty, a concept Nightfall found amusing to the point of absurdity, Edward accepted gambling as innocent enough. Nightfall felt sure it would prove beneath the prince’s dignity to engage in such activity himself, but he would not begrudge Nightfall his simple pleasures so long as they did not interfere with his work or cost from Edward’s pocket. He made it ominously clear that Nightfall would pay, and pay well, if his debts fell beyond his means or harmed his master’s reputation. Nevertheless, Edward could not help but appreciate the time, food, and security having money regained them. He seemed disappointed when a sudden thunderstorm brought their sightseeing to a premature end at midday.

The morning’s camaraderie stretched well into the afternoon. Edward chose to study the book he had lugged with them since the start of their journey, leaving Nightfall the opportunity to catch up on sleep without having to worry about the safety of his master. He awakened in time for a late dinner. Then Edward slept, aware that Nightfall would spend the earliest morning hours with wagers, contests, and speculations. The rain pounded the roof and shuttered windows of the Thirsty Dolphin until nearly midnight, when Nightfall made his appearance in the common room. A few of the native Trillians had returned, accompanied by several newcomers, including two Nightfall knew too well. They sat on opposite sides of the tavern and never gave one another more than a casual glance. Fat Johastus had chosen a corner table where he sipped beer and soaked up the last bit of gravy from his dinner with a chunk of bread. His round, dimpled cheeks tinged red gave him a false aura of jolliness. The other man, Rivehn, could not have looked more different. His wan features seemed scrawny to the edge of illness, and his straw blond hair only added to the image of unhealthy pallor. Nightfall saw through their stranger act. As Balshaz, he had quietly watched them pull enough scams to know they were a team. As Nightfall, he had followed them to the alley behind the jeweler’s shop where they divided their spoils.

Nightfall recognized no other schemers, pleased that his winnings the previous night had seemed innocent enough not to draw too much attention. He would need to perform well tonight before his luck became too suspect or his nightly outings interfered with his charge. He knew he could never win the two hundred sixty silver he needed in a single night, but he would make a few strides in that direction. Hopefully, another money-making strategy would come to him, one that did not place himself or Edward at significant risk.

In addition to the Trillians, Nightfall discovered a few travelers. Most of these he recognized, at least in a general way, from his time in their countries or as merchants in this or other markets. He intentionally geared his wagers toward the ones he knew carried money, choosing trivia or actions at which they felt confident of their expertise. Where he could, he "divined" information about others whom he knew when in other personae, details of which a stranger from Alyndar could not possibly have knowledge. He explained this talent with a trail of deductions based on mannerisms, characteristics, or movement that fascinated his victims. He tossed darts or target daggers against a few who fancied themselves competent, careful to keep his maneuvers simple and to lose occasionally enough not to scare away his marks. Side wagers sprang up, for and against him, keeping the money flowing from hand to hand and the excitement for the games high. Nightfall took careful note of the partners, noting that Johastus bet contrary to him rarely, but always made a production of it when he did. Consistently, Rivehn wagered with him, winning well along the way.

Nightfall found it difficult not to approve of the strategy. He would not condemn a man for recognizing and riding with a winner, but he knew them both too well to relax. They had something more in the works, he felt certain. Greed would not allow them to remain satisfied with gradual wealth. Eventually, they would try something massive and ugly, and Nightfall hoped he would not get caught off-guard by the attempt.

At length, Nightfall took his first break from the game, flopping into a seat around an empty table and waving the bartender to supply a round of beers to the participants. Johastus squeezed his bulk into a nearby chair that could scarcely contain him, scooting it up to the table. "Toss you for the tab."

The comment seemed nonsensical. Nightfall pulled himself up to a position more befitting conversation. "Excuse me, sir?"

Johastus opened a meaty hand, and a standard copper coin of the Xaxonese Peninsula rolled from his fist. Moist from his grip, it reflected the torchlight in patches. It rocked along its edges, then fell flat, revealing the side with the country name, Hartrin, and the origin of the engraving, baron’s mint. “I pitch my coin. You pitch yours. The first one who gets Idinbal’s face up buys the round." He levered a fingernail under one side of the coin, flipping it to the image of the Hartrinian king.

Nightfall studied the coin, scarcely daring to believe Johastus and Rivehn appeared to have chosen one of the oldest and most artless scams in existence. He had not only seen it performed many times, he had watched these two carry it out without a hitch. Still, though his mind told him the sequence of events to come, no method of foiling the scheme accompanied it. Scams that persisted did so because they worked, and Nightfall had never seen this one fail. He opened his mouth to decline, and a new idea awakened. Behind every successful swindle lay a victim whose greed exceeded his intelligence, and over-confidence only sweetened the pot. If he could find some way to turn the scam back on its operators, he doubted he could find a more ideal target. So far, he risked nothing. The two would see to it the first coin toss fell in his favor. "So I can either pay for this round, like I planned; or I can take a fair chance on you paying for me."

Johastus nodded. "Right."

From the corner of his eye, Nightfall noticed Rivehn casually threading through the patrons toward them.

Nightfall showed the appropriate amount of suspicion, "What do you get out of this?"

Johastus raised and lowered his massive shoulders. "I’ve lost a fortune betting against you already. I might as well play one directly. At least, if I lose this time, I feel like my money’s going to a good cause.” He made a grand gesture to indicate every man in the bar.

Though a meaningless gesture, Nightfall followed the movement with his gaze. Since he had already agreed to pay for the round, Johastus’ money would, essentially, go into his own pocket. However, no good pigeon would ever point out such an advantage. "How could l refuse?" Nightfall fished in his pocket for a copper coin. By the time he pulled it free, Rivehn had arrived at the table.

The slender swindler chose the seat directly opposite Nightfall, thrusting the chair backward between his legs and draping his arms, with cool indifference, over its back. "Couldn’t help overhearing. Can I get in?"

The barmaid set three mugs of beer on the table then hurried off to serve the others.

Nightfall glanced to Johastus, who shrugged. “Why not? Every stranger who joins the game makes my chances of paying less."

In response to the statement, Nightfall nodded, noting how Johastus had taken the need to fake unfamiliarity with his partner to a transparent extreme. Stranger, indeed.

Rivehn freed a coin of his own. "Why don’t we play it odd side pays? We all toss and catch, call out what we got, and the one that don’t match takes the tab."

Nightfall pretended to consider, as if he had never heard of such a game. Outside of a barroom, he had not. "All right." He worked his coin between his first two fingers and thumb.

Rivehn and Johastus also positioned. The skinny man counted. "One, two, three-toss!"

The three men flipped up their coins together, caught them, and glanced into their own hands.

"King’s head," Johastus announced.

Nightfall also had Idinbal showing, but he knew their scam would work more quickly and efficiently if he gave the opposite response. "I have the reverse."

"Reverse," Rivehn echoed.

"Damn." Johastus thrust a fist into his pocket and headed toward the bar to pay the tab.

Rivehn seized the moment. "Listen, the big fellow," he inclined his head toward Johastus, "he’s a merchant with more money than sense. I think we can relieve him of some of his… um… burden. You in?"

"In?” Nightfall repeated, feigning ignorance of the street slang.

"There’s a fortune in it if we work together." Rivehn kept his attention riveted on his companion at the bar, as if fearing he might return too soon.

"A fortune?”

"A fortune," Rivehn repeated. He tore his gaze away with apparent effort. "You in?"

"In. I guess so. What do I have to do?”

"Whatever side of the coin comes up for me, you say the opposite. I’ll do the same. I’ll collect the money. When it’s over, we meet at the main market gates and split the take."

Nightfall geared his responses to other suckers he had seen caught up in this scam. He took note of the fact that the location Rivehn chose to meet him was on the opposite side of the city from the money-sharing place he usually went to reunite with Johastus. That seemed to confirm his suspicion that they still used the same site, though he could always follow to make certain. "What money?"

Rivehn waved him silent. “Just follow my lead." He raised his voice to the normal conversational level as Johastus returned. "… always tastes sweeter when someone else buys it." He took a long gulp from the mug.

Nightfall cradled his own drink.

Johastus made a disgruntled noise, though in a good-natured fashion. He flung himself back into his seat and sipped at his beer.

Rivehn laughed. "So long as we got something going here, why not try to win your money back?"

Johastus lowered his mug, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his hand. "Depends. What are you suggesting?"

Rivehn glanced casually at Nightfall. “We toss coins. This time, odd side wins, and we’ll play for the three tossed coins."

Nightfall shrugged, followed by a nod to indicate that, although he found it an unusual gamble, he would play.

"I’ve obviously got some talent for being the odd side." Johastus smiled. "Let’s bet."

And they did. With Rivehn and Nightfall always claiming opposite tosses, Johastus could not help but match one of them every time. Occasionally, Rivehn allowed Johastus a win or a draw; but, as night faded into pre-dawn, the money had landed in three unequal piles. The smallest lay before Johastus, the largest at Rivehn’s hand.

Nightfall kept count of the coins, especially as the stakes turned from copper to silver. He estimated a one hundred thirty-five silver total when Johastus finally hurled his "last" coin to Rivehn. "Obviously, I should have said my prayers this morning. I’m out of some god’s favor." He rose, snatched a fur wrap from a hook near the door, scooped up his meager pile, and headed out into the night without bothering with parting amenities.

Rivehn kept his expression blank, giving Nightfall a conspiratorial wink. He gathered his own winnings into a bag, then unobtrusively started on Nightfall’s stack.

"Hey," Nightfall whispered, reaching to protect his money.

Rivehn shook his head stiffly, the gesture scarcely noticeable. "I need it all to split even. Remember where we meet. We’ll both take a long, slow route so no one follows." With a single gesture, he swept the last of the coins into the bag. "You can leave first and wait for me. It’ll seem suspicious if we go at the same time."

The swindler counted on Nightfall’s greed and fear of the law proving stronger than his doubts about Rivehn’s honesty. To create a scene here would surely reveal the scam to all present and earn hostility from every man who had lost a copper to Nightfall since his arrival in Trillium. Nightfall could not quell all of his concerns, however. The scheme had all the classic features needed for success: simplicity, duplicity, and a sharing of blame such that he could not report the crime to authorities without admitting his own guilt. Soon, Rivehn and Johastus would gather to split their take from him, little knowing their pigeon had plans to rob them of their cash and his own. He would have to trail Rivehn to make certain the swindlers’ dividing site had not changed. Now that Rivehn had nearly all of his money, he could not afford to make a mistake.

Nightfall headed out the door, trying to appear a bit too casual, for Rivehn’s benefit. Once outside, he sauntered into a nearby throughway then around to the back, where the exit from the inn rooms opened onto a cobbled road. Once there and alone, he scuttled toward an alley that would give him a reasonable view of both doors. He had taken only a few steps when the front panel swung open. Mally, the slave girl, scampered out. She froze for a moment in the doorway, moonlight plastering her shadow against the Thirsty Dolphin and fusing it with so many others.

Nightfall watched her, curious.

Mally glanced about furtively, pulling her thin, tattered dress close against the wind. "Sudian?” she called.

Nightfall cursed silently.

“Sudian, please. I need to talk. Please. I know you’re not far." She spun with the strange combination of grace and awkwardness that reminded him of Kelryn after too many shows and practices. Irritated by his new train of thought, he put it from his mind. Mally headed into the same throughway he had taken. "Sudian!” she shouted. "Sudian!"

Nightfall weighed the benefits of his hiding place against the risk of her alerting guards, Rivehn, Johastus, and Prince Edward. He reversed direction, headed past the back exit, and caught her arm just in front of the rear doorway.

Mally spun with a gasp. Up close, he could see that one eye had swollen shut and bruises marked her cheek and jaw in a line. Dried blood caked her nostrils. As she recognized him, relief softened her battered features. She hurled herself into his arms. "Oh, Sudian. Sudian, please. You have to get your master to buy me. You have to. Please."

Nightfall felt dampness through his tunic and hoped it came from tears, not blood. “Look, Mally. I’ll talk to you later. As long as you want. I have to do something important now.”

Mally’s grip tightened. Apparently, she had watched him from the back of the tavern for some time, waiting for her chance to catch him alone. Now that she had him, she would not let go so easily. "Please, Sudian. You’re my only hope. You have to help."

“Later, Mally.” Nightfall broke free of her grasp.

"No!" She seized his legs, twining herself around him. "Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me." She sobbed, irrational with pain and fear. One of her hands glided up to stroke his thigh.

Revolted as well as driven by urgency, Nightfall could not have responded to her caresses if he had wanted to do so. "Mally, let go. I’ll do what you asked. But if you don’t let go, my master won’t even have enough money to buy breakfast."

The back exit slammed open, and Amadan stood framed in the archway. Face buried against Nightfall’s leg, Mally took no notice. Nightfall went still, realizing he had no words to explain the situation in which he found himself, even should Amadan give him the opportunity. The merchant shuffled toward them, eyes narrowed, mouth locked in a grim line.

Nightfall had found himself in difficult situations before, but this was not a familiar one. As the demon, he would have ditched the slave in any way possible, even if it meant dumping her corpse to the cobbles. He would have run, a shadow quicker and more streetwise than any highborn man. Now, he froze, knowing whatever he did or said would reflect on the prince he had enslaved his soul to protect. No matter where or how fast he escaped, Amadan would know precisely where to find him. He doubted politeness would gain him much, but surely far more than insolent silence. And he needed Mally to realize the danger as well if he ever hoped to regain his freedom of movement. "Good eve, lord." He gave the most respectful bow possible with a woman latched onto his legs.

Mally looked up, and her face went bloodless. Even the bruises seemed to lose all color. Sobbing, she crawled back toward her master across cobbles that had to hammer and tear her knees. She groveled at Amadan’s feet, and he ignored her, his attention fully on Nightfall.

"What were you doing with my slave?”

Nightfall considered the answer long and hard, finding no response that would not sound snide. Edward’s endless lessons on etiquette had taught him that silence would not meet the merchant’s approval either, so Nightfall chose humility rather than a direct answer. He lowered his head. "My deepest apologies, lord. I meant no harm." He rolled his eyes in time to see Amadan’s hand speeding toward him.

The idea of allowing the merchant to hit him again rankled, but Nightfall knew etiquette demanded it. He could weather a slap if it ended the conflict quickly. As an added bonus, it might win Edward’s approval for himself and trouble for Amadan.

Nightfall tilted his head to spare his face. The warning glint of metal in Amadan’s hand came too late. The merchant’s fingers slammed against the side of Nightfall’s head, weighted by solid steel. The hilt of a dagger, Nightfall guessed, before light exploded in his head. He never felt the fall, only found himself sprawled and dizzy on the cobbles, Mally’s scream ringing through his ears. He caught a spinning glimpse of Rivehn leaving the tavern, and need forced him to bull through the vertigo. He managed to stagger to his feet.

Amadan’s kick cut Mally’s scream short, and the woman tumbled, whimpering, to the ground. The cruelty charged Nightfall to hatred. He would never take another blow from Amadan, and neither would any other. Though weak on his feet, he charged.

Suddenly menaced, Amadan flung the dagger at Nightfall.

The response came as little more than instinct. From the ease of long practice, Nightfall snatched the hilt from the air and rebounded it with deadly accuracy. The blade found its mark in the merchant’s throat, and combined momentum buried it deep. He collapsed, gurgling, unable to scream. His eyes remained widened, even in death.

The back door opened.

Nightfall faded into the shadows, prepared to kill or escape as it became necessary.

Amadan’s other two slaves came partway through and stopped, gaping. Rooted in place, they kept the door wedged with their bodies.

Nightfall knew Mally’s scream might soon bring more, and none of them could afford witnesses. "Move! Quickly. No one needs to know more than that he and you left before sunup." Nightfall directed, a bodiless voice from the darkness. He doubted slaves gathering their master’s possessions, no matter how hurriedly, would attract suspicion. Any who knew their master would see nothing amiss in the nervousness of these slaves at any time. Without another word, he scrambled after Rivehn, doubting he could find the swindler in the twisting maze of Trillium’s streets. He would have to hope Rivehn and Johastus had not changed their haunts. And that Amadan’s property would cling to their new freedom.