Before Nightfall could swing his bay fully around, the white gelding jarred to a sudden stop. Its head jerked to the stirring weeds, and its ears swiveled forward into nervous triangles.
Edward tapped the gelding with his heels. When that failed, he kicked with the angry impatience of one accustomed to having orders obeyed swiftly. The horse paid no heed to the drumming on its sides, attention still riveted.
"A moment, Master." No longer able to avoid the situation, Nightfall dismounted and approached the roadside. Delicately, alert for ambush, he parted the weeds.
A man rolled in the ditch, wrists and ankles trussed and his cloak pulled over his head. He wore leather breeks and a well-fitting tunic with fringe. The needlework at the collar suggested wealth, and the supple skin of his palms and fingers made it clear he did not toil or fight for a living. Nightfall took his cues from other details. White striped the base of each fourth finger; apparently, he had worn rings until recently. A tunic pocket hung, torn and turned inside out. Starting bruises mottled the skin of his arms.
"Oh, dear," Edward said.
Nightfall hauled the cloak free, revealing an angular face fringed with tangled, honey-colored hair and a neatly trimmed beard. A grimy wad of cloth filled the stranger’s mouth, and he stared at Nightfall with brown eyes that seemed relieved and angered at once. The man grunted.
Nightfall seized an edge of the gag, then hauled it from the stranger’s mouth. It unwound into a sodden ribbon.
The man spat the remainder free. "Robbed and attacked. Five men. They took everything.”
The gelding danced backward. Edward tugged at the reins to regain control. "When?"
The man sat, raising his arms for Nightfall to cut the bonds. “Moments ago. They rode that way." He inclined his head in the direction they had been traveling. "Over-heard one of the dirty bastards say they were headed for Nemix." He gazed up at Edward. Apparently noticing the royal garb for the first time, he added, "Noble sir. They took-"
Prince Edward did not wait to hear more. He jerked the gelding’s head about, then slapped the end of the reins across its rump. The horse surged forward, galloping in the direction the man had indicated.
Nightfall swore, dashing from the ditch to his horse in an instant. He ignored the shouts of the still-bound man behind him. Surely Edward wouldn’t attack five highwaymen alone. Nightfall flung himself into the saddle and urged the bay into a run as he settled in place. The horse lurched, delayed by the chestnut packhorse tied to its saddle. Then, both horses pitched forward, hooves chewing rents in the dirt. King Rikard’s descriptions of his impulsive son returned to haunt Nightfall. He would attack five highwaymen alone. The realization turned the oath-bond into a shrill scream of pain. Nightfall stiffened, natural dexterity all that kept him from tumbling from the horse. The need seized him to charge ahead, hacking at bandits like a wild thing, interposing himself between the prince and any blow he might need to fend. He wrestled for common sense. Imitating the prince’s noble but reckless stupidity would only see them both dead.
The rump of the white gelding bounced over the roadway. Topping a rise, it disappeared over the far side. Nightfall could hear Edward shouting challenges, his words indecipherable but his presence and beacon horse enough to catch the attention and spur the avarice of any thief.
Thought kicked in beneath the oath-bond’s urging. Guile, not brute force, would rescue Prince Edward from his own rash yearning for fairness. The knots and cloak-binding had seemed the work of professionals. If they had let their victim overhear plans to run for Nemix, then they had no intention of actually doing so. Which means they’re probably holed up here. Understanding accompanied idea. Impressions rerouted, he saw the territory in a different light. The perfect hiding place seemed to fill his vision, the forest on the rise. On the right side of the road, it fell away to a dry riverbed. The high ground would serve as a lookout perch, the low as a shelter from elements and prying eyes. Nightfall guessed they had chosen their robbery site deliberately.
The assessment flashed through Nightfall’s mind in an instant. He pulled up his horse, and it danced to a stop, plowing furrows through leaf mold and mud. Likely, the sentinel would have his attention focused on Prince Edward, and Nightfall’s antics farther down the path would go unnoticed. He would have to take a chance on that assumption. There was no time for more detailed strategy. Dismounting, he left the horses to graze and slipped into the right-hand forest area. Tied together, the horses would not stray.
Nightfall moved swiftly through the forest, nearly in silence, hoping Edward’s calls would cover whatever few sounds he made. He kept his weight low to minimize noise. Sticks bent rather than cracked beneath his step, and stems brushed effortlessly aside. Within a few paces, he found smashed weeds, mulched leaves, and fragmented limbs. Strands of mane hair dangled from a jagged edge of bark. Someone had cut through the denseness of the forest, and no regular traveler would have need to break trail here. Encouraged, Nightfall pushed on. Shortly, he heard voices, soft and indecipherable through foliage rattled by wind and activity. Nightfall sucked in a deep breath. The nagging stab of the oath-bond reminded him that he had no room for failure; he had tethered life and soul to a royal, but suicidal, clod.
Nightfall gauged his motions, increasing his weight and dropping his usual caution, trying to sound like a small group of men slipping past. He spoke in a loud whisper. "Think Hira’s being a bit too obvious what with that white horse, a pack that looks stuffed, and all that shouting?"
Nightfall altered his voice as much as the slight volume allowed. "Thieves got more greed than brains. Caught that group near Delfor with a soldier as loud as Hira." Nightfall referred to an incident in which a group of young amateurs was imprisoned. He doubted an organized setup was involved, but it seemed unlikely these men would know more details than the scant few he had at his disposal. "Quiet victims sometimes get missed, no matter how good a target."
Nightfall veered deeper into the forest. He could think of no better strategy for the thieves now than to lie low; but he rarely trusted others’ judgment. If they saw him alone, he knew of no easy way to save himself or Prince Edward. That line of thinking raised the stress of the oath-bond, sending its warning through him in crippling waves. His hand slid naturally to the throwing daggers, and memory bullied its way past magic. Since childhood, Nightfall and Dyfrin had played a game they called "dagger catch" in which they flung knives at one another in turn. Early on, they had used wooden blades and made certain to grab each other’s attention before striking. Later, they had hurled live steel with lethal aim. Luck and, later, skill had spared them any serious injuries. Nightfall had even learned not just to dodge, but to snatch the daggers from the air and return them instantly, a maneuver Dyfrin hatefully nicknamed "the razor rebound." Now, Nightfall knew, his ability might serve him well, but he dared not rely on it. Trees and Edward would foil his aim, and it seemed far more intelligent for the thieves to either avoid them completely or close in for a fight.
Nightfall continued his charade. "I presume there’s horses‘?" He answered his own nonspecific question in a different voice. "The ranks up ahead have them, in case the thieving bastards make a run for Nemix. But it doesn’t much matter. Soon’s they hit the bait, we’ve got them." He switched to a throaty bass, "Pretty embarrassing if they rob Hira clean and break away." Nightfall returned to the first voice. "At least we’ll get a look at them. And they won’t get nothing. The most valuable thing Hira’s got is the clothes on him."