The legend of Nightfall

Chapter 18

Nightfall scurried across the tourney grounds, his boots leaving no mark in pastureland already trampled to mud by the crowds. The sorcerer could find no better hiding place than amid the hundreds of spectators intent upon Leyne’s contest against Prince Irbo of Hartrin. However, Nightfall guessed that Gilleran had arrived for other reasons than to watch. If he came to harm Nightfall, he would likely do so in a place where few witnesses could observe or interfere, especially if he planned to perform his evil ritual. More likely, the wizard simply intended to sabotage Edward’s chance to become landed, thereby obtaining the same results without effort. If Nightfall read the intention correctly, Gilleran would not act until the younger prince once again took the ring.

Caught up in his search for a specific man, Nightfall was startled by a movement to his left. He spun faster than appropriate amid so many strangers and found himself face to face with Kelryn. Her white hair formed a knotted, disheveled mane, spotted with leaves and entwined with twigs. Her hazel eyes bore a wild glint of determination.

Anger welled up in Nightfall, liberally sprinkled with annoyance. He started to turn away.

Kelryn seized his arm. "Listen to me."

Nightfall shook off her hand. He headed toward the periphery at a brisk walk.

Despite her limp, Kelryn caught him easily. She hustled to his side then stepped directly in front of him so suddenly he had to stop to keep from trampling her. He did so from instinct, wishing in the following moment that he had managed to keep moving. Instead, he stared directly into her eyes, focusing the same murderous rage into that glare that had quailed so many.

Kelryn did not back down. Her soft, green-brown eyes remained fixed on his and did not skitter away. For the first time, Nightfall had met a person more desperate than himself. "You’re going to listen to me."

"No." Nightfall took a backward step, but the eyes fascinated him. He would not look away first; he never had. Yet if he did not, he would have little choice but to hear. Every sense told him they stood alone, far enough from packing nobles and screaming spectators to go unnoticed and unheard. Nevertheless, he kept his voice low. "I’ll kill you."

"I don’t care."

Nightfall grabbed both of Kelryn’s-forearms, shaking just forcefully enough to show her he meant no bluff. The gesture broke the war of wills as well. "Are you deaf or just stupid? I will kill you."

"Kill me, then, if you must. I don’t care anymore. Just hear my story first."

"No."

"Ned may be in danger."

"I can protect the prince."

"The way you protected Dyfrin?" Kelryn fairly spat the words at Nightfall.

The question seemed nonsensical and frightening at once. Nightfall had never declared himself his friend’s defender; yet duty had little to do with the ice that seemed suddenly to clog his veins. “Dyfrin? What about Dyfrin?" The thought of his mentor in danger made him rabid, concerned enough to listen to Kelryn this once. It occurred to him that she might have used the name only because she felt certain it would fully seize his attention. Yet, he had never mentioned the Keevainian to her by name.

Kelryn bit her lip, holding something back. "Dyfrin came to me several months ago. He talked about you, mostly, asked me to take good care of you. He believed I would."

"He was wrong," Nightfall returned, not daring to believe Dyfrin had been taken in so easily. Always before, he had read people with an accuracy that seemed almost miraculous, a talent Nightfall had envied.

"Dyfrin wrong about someone?” Kelryn’s statement echoed Nightfall’s thoughts closely enough to send a chill through him. "It would have been the first time." She raised her brows, eyes still locked on Nightfall’s and without a hint of guilt or doubt. "Dyfrin seemed to read emotion as easily as expression. He always knew your problems, your thoughts, your moods. He always knew what to say to fix the pain."

Nightfall released Kelryn, as haunted by the constant use of past tense to refer to Dyfrin as by her ability to describe events and ideas she could know nothing about. He wanted to walk away, to make Kelryn believe she had all her facts wrong. But for all the hatred he harbored for this woman, he had to listen for Dyfrin’s sake. Clearly, she knew things she should not, and that truth could hurt him worse than any betrayal. It could harm Dyfrin. "How could you know that?"

“He told me." Kelryn dropped her hands to her sides. For the first time, her gaze softened and Nightfall found the beauty that had captivated him into a trust that, he believed, had ruined him as well. "Marak, he was born with a talent. Dyfrin was a mind-reader."

“A mind-reader." It was not Nightfall’s way to repeat things in stupefied horror, but realization left room for nothing else. A million, ancient questions died in mat moment, answered by a single pronouncement that should have seemed obvious. Dyfrin was a mind-reader. It explained everything, from his friend’s uncanny ability to select friends, enemies, and targets to his exceptional talent at consolation of even the worst kinds of pain. For an instant, Nightfall felt betrayed again. The friend whose judgment he had trusted implicitly, who had seemed loyal to the point of learning every nuance of action, expression, and behavior was a fraud.

Yet Nightfall dismissed the assessment as soon as he made it, regret hammering him at the vileness of the thought. The mind-reading did not matter, only Dyfrin’s decision to use that talent to aid, rather than harm, Nightfall. The applications for such a potent natal ability seemed endless. Dyfrin could have channeled his energies into finding the locations and protections of the world’s most valuable treasures. He could have scanned every wager, discovering who really had the goods. He could have won card games and scams until he owned more money and power than any king. The possibilities became an endless parade, halted abruptly by truth. Instead, Dyfrin had lived in squalor, using his talent to rescue children and adults whom others abandoned as hopeless. Dyfrin’s gift only made him all the more remarkable and generous, and it shocked Nightfall to realize that, with a similar gift to help him understand the ugliness behind the mask most people presented, Edward could have been a second Dyfrin.

Nightfall pushed aside that thought for ones more frightening, serious, and immediate. Suddenly, the other answers came, those so terrifying he could scarcely find voice to ask the questions. "Dyfrin’s dead, isn’t he?”

Kelryn lowered her head, eyes suddenly blurred by tears.

The description of Genevra, the Healer in Delfor, leapt suddenly back into Nightfall’s mind. "Dyfrin was the man the sorcerer killed in your room." Remembered pain from the Iceman’s attack made him cringe. Dyfrin had suffered more than any man should, and the idea suffused Nightfall with a pity that made him want to curl up in a ball and sob as well as a rage that drove him to vengeance and murder.

"I froze." Kelryn wept. "I cowered in a corner. I was so scared, I just couldn’t do anything."

Nightfall put the remainder together on his own. Chancellor Gilleran of Alyndar had killed Dyfrin with his ritual, ripping out the Keevainian’s soul for the mind-reading talent he coveted. He knew so much about Nightfall because he had read Kelryn’s mind afterward, leaving her alive as a means to gather more information about him should it become necessary. In Alyndar’s dungeon, Nightfall had believed Gilleran had a truth-detecting spell; but it was so much more. The idea of Dyfrin’s spirit writhing in agony inside a sorcerer made his stomach flop. He gagged on bile.

Kelryn fought her own war of conscience. "If I had just done something. Anything. Maybe I could have saved him."

Nightfall shook his head. "You could have done nothing but get yourself killed as well. And probably Genevra."

Kelryn drew her head back, obviously surprised by his knowledge of Genevra.

"I met her in Delfor," Nightfall explained. “She wanted you to know she was fine and well-protected.”

Kelryn smiled slightly at a bit of good news among so much bad. She met Nightfall’s gaze once more.

The hatred vanished, displaced by a grief tempered only by guilt. No longer confined, love filled the aching void. Nightfall felt as if he would drop dead where he stood if he did not hold Kelryn. He caught her in his arms, and she embraced him with equal fervor. "I’m sorry," he said, the apology seeming far from adequate.

Kelryn clung, apparently needing nothing more. "I love you. I always did. I always will."

Why? Nightfall wanted to scream. Why? It made no sense for a woman so perfect to care about one so unworthy, and he wondered why the holy Father had so blessed him when so many good people had so little. Yet, he knew he would not have long to enjoy his fortune. Within months, Gilleran seemed likely to add his soul to the collection. Nightfall would join Dyfrin one more time, in an agony that would end one way of two: with his soul and talent spent or, upon the sorcerer’s death, replaced by the eternal torment of the Father`s hell. Dyfrin, at least, Nightfall believed, would find paradise. Carefully, he unwound himself from Kelryn’s hold. “Kelryn, it would be better for both of us if we went our separate ways."

Kelryn jerked back, clearly stunned. "But I… We finally.. ." She concentrated on completing a thought. "You still don’t believe me?"

"I believe you," Nightfall assured. "And I truly am sorry for everything I put you through." He recalled the incident in Noshtillan’s eatery, and realization added another depth of honesty to his already forthright account. "If I ever hit you again, just kill me. I’ll let you. I promise."

"Don’t be absurd."

"I’m not joking. People who hit those they love don’t deserve the life the Father gave them."

"I agree." Kelryn kept her expression as somber as Nightfall’s, making it clear she would not allow him to hurt her again. "But at the time you slapped me, you hated me. And you had every reason to believe you should have done far worse.”

"But I shouldn’t have-"

Kelryn interrupted. "Drop it. Don’t dwell on it. One lapse doesn’t make you evil. Under the same circumstances, I probably would have hit you, too." She waved off a response. "We have more important things to talk about right now. Edward might be in danger.”

A nudge from the oath-bond turned Nightfall’s thoughts immediately to this new problem. "How do you mean?"

I Kelryn cocked her head, as if seeking permission to give him details. "The Iceman came to me to find you. He wound up in a fight with the sorcerer who killed Dyfrin."

"Gilleran," Nightfall said, suddenly recalling his glimpse of and search for the chancellor.

Kelryn continued the story. "He killed the Iceman.” She cringed, apparently at the image of the ritual. "But first he said some things that terrified me."

Nightfall contemplated the consequences of the stand-off. Gilleran’s power had doubled if he’d slaughtered Ritworth and added the Iceman’s spells to his repertoire. The thought sent a shiver through Nightfall. The killer freezing spell, flight, and the mud doll tortures had all become the property of an already too-powerful sorcerer. The situation seemed concerning enough, but Nightfall probed for the specifics of Kelryn’s worry. "What did he say?"

Kelryn ran a hand through her white locks, the movement stopped by a stick snarled into a tangle. "At the time, he was trying to win the Iceman’s trust, so he may have exaggerated or lied outright. I don’t know whether he meant any of it, but he claimed to be next in line for Alyndar’s throne. And he told us the princes would die in tourney."

"Die in tourney‘?" Nightfall spoke aloud as he considered. A few of the competitors had sustained minor injuries from practice weapons or falls from horses, but he had no reason to suspect that death during the nobles’ games occurred more often than rarely. The only way Gilleran could know such a thing was if he planned to arrange it, yet that idea had its flaws as well. If Gilleran planned to harm Edward or Leyne, why did he wait so long? Unless he had more faith in Edwards’s abilities than everyone else, he would have to believe he would arrive after the younger prince was already eliminated from competition. The oath-bond continued its steady, discomforting hum, apparently still uncertain whether the danger to Edward had become concrete or serious. As Kelryn said, Gilleran had been talking to impress Ritworth.

“Die in tourney. That’s what he said." Her gaze followed a spectator hurrying toward a private corner near the gates. A roar from the crowd indicated the end of the current match. "You should also know I’m bound to say nothing negative about Gilleran that Ned or his relatives might overhear, and I have to tell him he’s safe from sorcerers now. Ritworth is dead."

"Bound?"

"Magically bound."

"Aah.” Nightfall knew that spell too well.

"So you’ll have to warn Ned.”

Nightfall saw the difficulty Kelryn missed. "I tell Prince Edward what you saw and heard, then he asks you about it and you have to deny the danger." He shook his head. "He’ll think I made the whole thing up."

"I’ll tell him about the magical binding." Kelryn cringed, apparently in response to some prodding from her own oath-bond. "Or you could tell him about it."

Needing to protect his own apparent loyalty, Nightfall thought it better that Prince Edward know nothing of oath-bonding. "Bad idea."

Kelryn sighed in obvious frustration. "What do you suggest?"

"We don’t put the prince in the position of choosing between our allegiance and that of a chancellor he’s probably known and trusted since birth. We handle Gilleran on our own."

Kelryn looked stricken.

Nightfall amended. "Or I handle him. It’s just as well that you don’t get involved any more than you already have." The oath-bond intensified, rising and falling in sickening waves of warning.

Kelryn bit her lower lip, obviously struggling with words. "Marak, I know you’ve done many things no one else would dare. But it’ll take more than one man, even one with your reputation, to handle a threat like Gilleran."

Nightfall shrugged, trying to look unaffected though he felt like a landlubber riding the deck in a sea gale. The oath-bond would keep him from harming any official of Alyndar, including the sorcerer. That complicated the matter to the boundary of impossibility. "I think you should leave while you still can."

"No." Kelryn seized Nightfall’s hand. “I won’t lose you a second time. Not without a fight. I’ve frozen twice when it came to helping others stand against Gilleran. Not again. He’s an evil that needs destroying.”

Nightfall considered. He would prefer that Kelryn fled to safety. Barring that, however, he might need her to battle a sorcerer he could not harm by his own vow. "Very well, then. Let the hunt begin."

Kelryn and Nightfall had not located Chancellor Gilleran by the time the last match before the finals ended and Edward headed back toward camp. As the cheers and applause thundered across the pasture, they rushed back to camp to meet Edward, trying to look casual.

Many neighbors returned first, discussing winning maneuvers with a detail that told Nightfall more than he ever needed to know. Leyne had bested Hartrin’s Prince Irbo after a lengthy bout with maces and shields. An overlord’s son from Grifnal, named Sander, would face each Nargol in the upcoming finals. No matter the end results, three matches would be fought, with sword and shield. Each contestant would engage in single combat with the other two, no matter the outcome of the first match. Therefore, even should Sander best one of the princes, Leyne and Edward would fight. The victor of the duchy would have to win both of his matches. Nightfall considered the logistics. Obviously, only one contestant could possibly win two battles. The difficulty would come if each won one and lost the other. Yet, Nightfall suspected, such a circumstance would not upset any official or spectator, only prolong the excitement to the following day.

Shortly, Edward returned, expression somber as he considered the upcoming competition and, Nightfall guessed, the need to stand against his brother. As he drew closer, his gaze fell on Kelryn and a light sparked through his blue eyes. His stern look brightened into a delighted smile. "Kelryn!" He swept her into a joyful embrace.

Nightfall watched placidly, wishing the happy reunion looked a bit more friendly and less sensual. Now that he and Kelryn had renewed their relationship, the concern he held for her closeness with Edward withered to simple jealousy. The two made a spectacularly good-looking couple, and the affection they held for one another seemed obvious, at least to him.

"Kelryn, I’m so glad you found us. I’ve been worried about you.” Edward’s expression changed to one of regret. "We had to leave quickly, a misunderstanding with the duke."

Peering around Edward, Kelryn flashed Nightfall an interested look that suggested she would expect a full explanation later.

Edward continued, oblivious to the exchange. "You got Sudian’s note, I presume."

Kelryn rescued Nightfall from his alibi. "I got it. I came straight here. It took me longer on foot, and I ran into some trouble.”

Prince Edward disengaged to study Kelryn’s features. "Bandits?" Nightfall could not see his face, but his voice indicated horror at the possibility that highwaymen had ambushed Kelryn while alone.

"No." Kelryn gave Nightfall an uncomfortable glance. "The Iceman. Your chancellor arrived just in time, though, and dispatched him. He told me to tell you you had nothing more to fear from sorcerers."

"Good old Gilleran." Edward brushed hair from Kelryn’s cheek. "Always there to remind me there’re kindly sorcerers as well as the bad ones."

Kelryn said nothing.

Nightfall rolled his eyes at the naive innocence to which he had grown accustomed. Kelryn had spoken her piece. Now, he hoped, her oath-bond would cease to control her.

Edward took Kelryn’s hand and steered her to his blanket. He gestured her to sit.

Kelryn obeyed.

Nightfall aided Edward, who would not brag. "You came just in time. My master made the finals. If he bests two more opponents, he becomes the duke."

"Really? Congratulations.” Kelryn smiled so prettily that Edward blushed.

"Now, Sudian. I’m just glad to make it this far." Edward glanced at Kelryn apologetically. "It’s not likely I’ll get any further, but you still might want to watch. My opponents are worthy."

“He’ll do tine." Nightfall politely contradicted. “He’s just a bit anxious because he has to fight his older brother.”

Edward turned his squire a pointed glare, clearly prepared to lecture about the rudeness of emphasizing a master’s weakness.

"Oh, dear." Kelryn sounded appropriately sympathetic. “That would be difficult.”

Basking in Kelryn’s attentive compassion, Edward forgave his squire and ran with the situation. “Leyne’s a tremendous jouster with any weapon."

Kelryn smiled again. “Leyne didn’t save my life with a chair."

Prince Edward returned the grin.

Nightfall had stomached enough of their exchange, so full of insidious romance and compliments. "I’ll get your armor and weapon ready for this afternoon."

"No hurry." Edward did not take his eyes from Kelryn. “I drew out of the first match. It’s Leyne and Sander. For now, we’re probably all hungry. Why don’t you see what you can scrounge in the way of food?"

"Yes, Master." Nightfall trotted off to make purchases from vendors he trusted, taking a long route in the hope of locating Chancellor Gilleran amid the crowd. But the intermission left spectators and competitors milling in random patterns that made a coherent search impossible. He returned to Prince Edward and Kelryn with a reasonable dinner, not having caught so much as a glimpse of the sorcerer and with little idea of how to finish rigging the contests. Anything he did now would require a finesse he was not in the mental state to concoct and which could have serious repercussions for Edward. At least, the duke of Schiz seemed to have made the right decision in regard to pursuit, and Nightfall drew scant comfort from it. If Edward won, Nightfall guessed, the problem would rematerialize. Only this time, he would face it as a free man. The thought barely brought a tinge of joy. First, Edward would have to best Crown-prince Leyne Nargol of Alyndar. And that seemed impossible.

Prince Edward refused to miss the competition between Leyne and Sander, so Nightfall armored him up early so he did not need to rush to prepare for his own match. It bothered Nightfall that Edward would tire himself before the fight by wearing what felt like a ton of metal for longer than necessary, but it did not seem a major problem. Whoever he faced from the previous battle would also have worn his armor over the same period of time. Nightfall turned his attention to the competitors.

Leyne stepped into the ring first, with his usual confident grace. He faced the crowd with an artistic salute that set off a wild round of cheering. Sander entered soon after, a huge brunet with restless eyes. Nightfall could sense a nervousness that seemed only natural when pitted against the man favored to win the contests; but, when he faced Leyne Nargol directly, he stiffened with grim resolve.

"Begin match," the judge called.

The spectators pressed toward the ring, nearly crushing Edward, Nightfall, and Kelryn to the rail.

Leyne made the first attack, a controlled sweep for Sander’s midsection that the overlord’s son easily blocked. Caution stole all time and chance for riposte. As Sander repositioned for defense, Leyne jabbed for his neck. Sander parried with his sword. Leyne turned his offense into a broad, low slash that Sander caught on his shield. Obviously intimidated, Sander concentrated on defense while Leyne took leisurely pokes, prods, and cuts designed as much to measure his opponent as to win.

Then, suddenly, Sander’s style of combat changed. Spurred by realization that he could not win without attacking, or by simple determination, he drove in with a series of hard, overhand strikes at Leyne’s helmet. The prince raised his shield, repositioning it effortlessly to catch every wild cut.

Nightfall scanned the crowd at least as often as the fight, seeking Gilleran amid the jumble of spectators who fit every racial description on the continent. He kept track of the fight by the ringing slam of Sander’s sword hammering Leyne’s shield in a frenzy, a desperate move that would require a lucky opening to succeed. Yet, Nightfall guessed, it had probably won contests and wars in the past. Unpredictable attacks became difficult to fend, and the need for speed and concentration left Leyne little time for riposte.

Studying the spectators, Nightfall located a few familiar faces and crests, mostly those whom Edward had or might have battled in the ring. Others slept in nearby camps or had become known to him under different circumstances while he was in other guises. Leyne’s two retainers held positions on the opposite rail, recognizable by the purple and silver livery that had become too familiar to Nightfall. He saw no sign of Gilleran, and that frustrated rather than soothed him. Biding his time, Nightfall guessed. Waiting to get Leyne and Edward in the ring together. It seemed the most obvious plan, yet Nightfall would not anchor all his wariness on that one battle.

As part of his inspection, Nightfall glanced upward. The sky seemed diffusely gray, impossible to discern clouds from the general background of slate. A movement caught his eye, and he jerked his head in its direction. Gilleran floated silently toward the ring, flying over the heads of the masses whose every eye remained locked on the contestants in the arena. Clearly, he had begun his flight well beyond sight of witnesses, quietly drifting forward, trusting the natural proclivity of people to look in any direction but up as well as the distraction of final tourney. His arm arched in abrupt and deliberate threat.

The oath-bond turned into a savage shrill of alarm that tore agony and nausea through Nightfall. Instinctively, he placed his person between Edward and any spell Gilleran might have thrown. As he moved, he drew and flung a dagger, hilt first, focusing on the need to only distract and not damage. Harming Gilleran would violate the oath-bond.

The magic struck first, creating a shimmering curtain in the path of Leyne’s shield that Nightfall might not have noticed had he not witnessed the casting. The oath-bond’s warning died as Nightfall realized Edward had not been Gilleran’s target. Sander’s sword slammed down toward Leyne’s helmet. Leyne’s shield shifted toward it, entered the magicked area, and slowed to an agonizing crawl. Horror filled both combatants’ eyes. Then, a massive sword stroke that should have been easily fended crashed against Leyne’s helmet. The metal caved in, joints separating, and the prince collapsed to the dirt. An instant later, Nightfall’s dagger embedded itself in Gilleran’s left cheek.

The gasps of the crowd drowned Gilleran’s scream. He plummeted into an uncontrolled dive. The oath-bond boiled through Nightfall with a vengeance that sprawled him, helpless, to the ground. This time, he felt certain, it was over. He did not bother to fight it with action, just lay as still as his twitching muscles would allow, hoping the crowd would trample him to death before the sorcery claimed his soul. He had not intended to hurt Gilleran, only to stop the deadly magics that might have slaughtered his charge. But old habits died hard, and he had long practiced how to hit, not miss. His eyes showed him a blur of humans frozen in place by shock and terror. Gilleran managed to catch himself, spinning in midair and zipping off toward town. Within moments, he disappeared amid the grayness.

Apparently, the oath-bond accepted the accidental nature of the injury. It withdrew with an agonizing slowness intended, Nightfall guessed, to remind him how narrowly he had escaped its punishment. He promised it he would not attack an official of Alyndar again, in any fashion, and it mercifully dropped further, leaving only a dull ache that hammered him from head to toes. He managed to clamber to his feet, gulping great lungfuls of air, feeling as if he had run for hours with his windpipe squeezed closed.

Only then, Nightfall realized someone held and steadied him. He glanced at his benefactor and found himself staring into Kelryn’s worried face. "Are you all right?”

Nightfall did not waste breath on an answer. His gaze swept the area and he saw no sign of Prince Edward. Sudden panic seized him. "Where’s… Master?" he forced from his air-starved chest.

In answer, Kelryn pointed toward the ring.

Nightfall spun about so suddenly that dizziness blanked his mind briefly. When the buzzing and spots receded, he saw Edward in the arena tending to his brother along with two other men Nightfall hoped were Healers. Sander sat amid the judges, his helmet off and his face pale as a corpse. Nightfall scanned the skies and crowd for Gilleran but found no sign of the sorcerer.

“What happened?" Kelryn whispered.

"No-win. Did something shouldn’t," Nightfall explained in as few words as possible. "Leyne bad?"

Kelryn shrugged to indicate no one had announced his condition yet. Nightfall dared to hope his dagger might have saved the crown prince’s life. Probably, Gilleran had planned to get close to Leyne using his title and position, then would have extinguished any life remaining. Now, Nightfall moved cautiously toward the arena, alert to the possibility of Gilleran’s return. He took Kelryn’s arm to drag her along with him and hissed directly in her ear, "Keep on your guard for the sorcerer." The oath-bond’s warning tingle seemed painless in the wake of its previous spearing agony, but Nightfall took its cue. He had vowed not only to keep from harming Alyndarian officials, but also that he would not cause or allow others to do so. If Kelryn attacked Gilleran, he would have no choice but to defend the sorcerer against her.

The idea stoked rage that burned with the intensity, if not the pain, of the oath-bond. He knew he lived only by the mercy of the magic, a clemency that he believed came not from any humanlike kindness from the oath-bond but from his own ability to rationalize his actions quickly and without guilt. Luck and unbreakable habit had allowed him to accidentally stab the sorcerer he had vowed with his soul not to harm. He could only hope that wound would prove fatal and Leyne’s would not. The last thought brought a realization that thrilled him. Even if Leyne survived, his injury would eliminate him from the contest. Prince Edward had only one more opponent to best to become a duke in Shisenian territory, and Sander seemed shaken enough by the accident not to require Nightfall’s assistance to lose.

Hope sprang from the wreckage of what had, moments before, seemed a hopeless situation. He continued toward the far side of the ring, closer to the Nargols and Leyne’s anxious retainers. The fog covering his mind lifted as he approached, and he caught a clear glimpse of the suffering anguish that twisted Edward’s youthful features. Suddenly, the prince howled like an animal. The sound barely carried through the wails and whispered speculation of the crowd, but it tore at Nightfall’s heart, bringing tears to his eyes that shocked him. Never before had another’s pain affected him so deeply. Needing to console, he leapt over the railing, avoiding the need to talk his way past the judges and guards.

Nightfall went directly to Edward’s side. The younger prince continued screaming. "No!" he shouted loud enough to shatter Nightfall’s hearing, as if the mere force of the words could undo the tragedy. "No! No! NO!"

Nightfall seized Edward’s shoulder, fingers slipping into the joint between pauldrons and gorget, though he touched only the undermail. "Master, it’s all right. Everything will be all right. Just let the Healers work."

Prince Edward spun, hurling himself suddenly into Nightfall’s arms. "He’s dead. Gods, Leyne is dead. My brother can’t be dead!"

Nightfall rescued his fingers and trebled his weight in time to keep from falling, though he still staggered beneath Edward’s bulk. He held the metallic figure of the prince feeling more like an armory than a consoler. He glanced at the Healers. One shook his head. The other lowered Leyne gently to the ground.

Edward pulled free, desperately restless. "No!" He hovered over Leyne. "NO!" He seemed incapable of other words, and now his grieving appeals thundered over a crowd gone silent. Abruptly, he collapsed at Leyne’s side, sobs stealing even that last word from him, a passive occupant of his armor. One Healer left to speak with the Shisenian guards. The other hovered, helpless, but unwilling to leave one who looked as pained as Edward. Nightfall removed Edward’s helmet and gauntlets methodically, nearly as lost as his master. Though they lacked the frenzy of Edward’s, tears streaked his face as well, though how much he cried for Leyne or Edward did not matter. The pain seemed permanent, wholly internal and without any input from the oath-bond. Prince Edward clung to his squire.

At length, an official in Shisen’s yellow and gray silks approached. Dark hair hung to his shoulders, and he wore an expression so somber it seemed painted. "Prince Edward?"

Edward remained in place, curled to the extent his armor allowed.

The official glanced at Nightfall in question.

Nightfall took over, disinterested in talking at the moment either but seeing the need. "What can I do for you, sir?"

The man cleared his throat. Although he addressed Nightfall, he kept his attention on the prince. "King Jolund and all of the kingdom of Shisen wishes to express its deepest regrets about the accident that occurred here today.”

Nightfall nodded, flicking his gaze to the grieving prince to indicate he felt it way too soon for long-winded speeches.

The Shisenian held his expression constant, but his shifting stance revealed nervousness. Receiving no acknowledgment from Edward, he finally turned his focus to Nightfall. "We’ll take care of all the arrangements for escorting His Majesty’s remains home in dignity and explaining this tragedy to King Rikard."

"Thank you, sir." The response sounded unnecessary as well as inadequate, but Nightfall had no way to guess at custom, if there was a routine way to handle such a disaster.

"It is our duty, one we despise the need for but are honored to fulfill."

Nightfall hoped he was not expected to formulate an equally eloquent reply. To anticipate even eye contact from Prince Edward now seemed as cruel as it did foolish.

The official obviated the need for answer. "Please let us know if we can do anything to make the night more comfortable for Prince Edward. Of course, the final tourney will be postponed until tomorrow. We can discuss details in the morning.”

The tourney. Nightfall stiffened. He had not considered the competition since that one flash of insight when he believed Leyne injured but still alive. He glanced at Edward again. The prince lay, unmoving, huddled over his brother like a menaced turtle in his shell of steel. It would take a miracle from the Father to goad Edward to fight in the morning, and Nightfall’s soul hung on that need. Unable to find other words, Nightfall simply repeated those from before. "Thank you, sir."

The official saluted Edward, a respectful gesture the prince never saw. Turning on his heel, he headed from the ring.

Edward moaned. "No! No! No!" He did not resist when Nightfall assisted him to his feet and led him, hollow-eyed and sobbing, from the ring.

The night seemed to span an eternity. Nightfall drew upon memories of Dyfrin to find the best ways to soothe an agony that seemed too savage to touch. With Kelryn’s help, he managed to remove the armor from Prince Edward, without a protest. No one spoke. Nightfall knew from experience that platitudes would not console and attempts to find a positive side to the experience would only intensify the pain. Dyfrin could have read the best approach, but Nightfall had no choice but to rely on Edward’s words when they finally came. Until they did, he could do nothing more than hold his master’s hand and share the grief in silence.

For a long time, Nightfall sat with Edward in a gentle quiet, his fingers resting on the prince’s hand. Then, Kelryn took her vigil while Nightfall tended to the duties of camp. Polishing and packing armor allowed him the movement he needed to overcome the restless need to do or say something that would only make the matter worse. Once finished, however, he retook his sentinel willingly, appeased but disappointed by the realization that Kelryn made no more progress than he had. For all his inability to trust and uncertainty with relationships, he seemed to have handled this situation prudently. He only wished he could find words to break the prince’s mourning hush.

Then, as midnight shifted toward the wee morning hours, Edward’s hand closed around Nightfall’s, finally returning the fellowship his companions had shared so freely through the hours. A hint of life entered his eyes, though they remained focused on the stars. "I can’t believe Leyne is dead." His voice sounded weak and graveled from crying.

Nightfall squeezed Edward’s hand, suddenly wishing the prince had decided to open up on Kelryn’s shift. She would know what to say far better than he. For now, he echoed Edward. “I can’t believe it either, Master."

"I keep waiting for something to come and erase everything. In a moment, I’ll awaken from a nightmare. Or, Leyne will ride up and tell me it was a prank. Or the Healer will tell me he made a mistake."

Nightfall sighed, the distress in Edward’s tone driving the tears back to his own aching eyes. "No," he said.

“No," Edward repeated softly, the word bringing back fierce memories of his desperate pleas in the arena to any god who might listen.

"I remember…" Edward began, the floodgates opening upon a vast array of tales and memories about Leyne, good and bad. Unfamiliar with the elder prince, Nightfall could contribute little but consolation and quiet presence to the discourse, but that seemed enough.

Edward Walked about his brother until he finally lapsed into exhaustion at daybreak. And Nightfall succumbed with him.

Nightfall felt certain he had only slept a moment before strange presences in the camp awakened him. He sat up instantly, attention immediately riveted on the sound. The Shisenian official stood before him, his clothes impeccable and his curtain of hair brushed to a sheen. Two guards flanked him. The sun had fully risen, beams jutting through gaps in the overcast sky as if cutting light-holes in the clouds. "May we speak with your master, please?" the official asked.

Nightfall turned to Edward. The blond hair lay in tangles, clinging to cheeks still sticky with tears. He seemed at peace for the first time since the accident. "No, sir." Nightfall returned his gaze to the Shisenian. "Not now. It would be wrong to wake him."

"I understand," the Shisenian said, though his stance suggested he did not. "We’ve gathered His Majesty’s things and prepared a guarded escort to leave at midday.”

"Today?"

"Today." The Shisenian confirmed.

“You can’t postpone it?"

"The weather is warm. It would be wrong to return the crown prince in any shape but the best we can manage.” The Shisenian official prodded. "We can put off the match for the duchy for a couple days, but I’m afraid too many people have traveled too far not to finish the competition before affairs of court call them back. You understand."

Nightfall doubted it mattered if he did or not. A few things he knew for certain. Edward would prove incapable of fighting, let alone winning, a tourney this day. And his conversation the previous night made it clear he could not function, intellectually or emotionally, until his brother’s body found its proper place in its grave beside that of his mother. He would insist on leaving with the funeral procession. Again, Nightfall studied Edward, the lines of anguish that still etched his youthful features, even in sleep, the fetal position he had crunched his huge bulk into in order to find a modicum of rest. Even if Nightfall managed to goad Edward into battle, even should he find the means to make the prince win, it would prove a costly success. He wanted Edward worldly, not broken by reality. The truth came hard. The continent needed a heroic leader whole far more than a vicious demon alive. The duchy would benefit little from a prince battered by circumstance into a lifeless shell unfit to rule.

Nightfall made the hardest decision of his life. "We’ll accompany the escort back to Alyndar. Princes Edward will forfeit the match."