For the last ten leagues, at least. Respectfully, Nightfall dismounted also, trailing Prince Edward to the chestnut. For lack of anything better to say, he made a general noise of dismay.
Edward examined the packs and the ropes, then the place at the top where the spade should sit.
Nightfall held his breath, waiting for the prince to notice the numerous and sundry other missing items.
"Sudian, these knots are barely tight. We’re lucky we didn’t lose everything.”
Lightning flashed a zigzag path across the sky, followed by the raw boom of thunder.
Luck, Nightfall thought, is a matter of opinion. "I’m sorry, Master. They must have worked loose while we rode.” The first raindrops fell like cold pinpoints against Nightfall’s scalp.
Prince Edward hauled down the chestnut’s packs. "I don’t believe this carelessness!" He whirled on Nightfall. "From now on, you’re going to have to check the ties every time we stop. For now, there’s only one thing to do."
Push on to Nemix before we get drenched. Nightfall nodded his agreement.
“You’re going to go back and find that spade." Edward dragged the heaviest pack toward a clearing beneath intertwined branches that blocked undergrowth and light. It would shield him from the rain as well.
Go back? Nightfall’s jaw sagged. For several moments he could not speak. This time, no clever lies could save him, and annoyance got the best of him. "Master, Nemix is just ahead. If we push on, we could reach it tonight. Surely they have spades. Don’t you think it would be wiser to spend a dry night there?”
Prince Edward dropped the pack. “Sudian! I don’t like your tone. ..”
And I don’t like your person, but you don’t see me sending you out in the rain to find a heavy tool we don’t need. Wisely, Nightfall chose stony silence.
"… and we already talked about questioning me. Don’t. You got careless, and it cost us the spade." He placed his hands on his hips as rain dropped from the heavens in a sudden barrage, drumming onto the umbrella of leaves. "Accident or not, you need to learn from it. That’s one of the reasons you’re with me, you know; and I intend to be a good teacher."
Surprised, Nightfall found himself without a reply. Is that what you were told? You’re supposed to teach me? Teach me what? How to preach? How to infuriate my own relatives into sending me off on a fool’s mission? How to build a camp for two using moats, palisades, and wooden stake defenses?
Apparently accepting Nightfall’s silence as acquiescence, Prince Edward continued. "I’ll set up the camp while you’re gone."
Visions of a warm inn room and ale floated from Nightfall’s mind, leaving an aching aggravation in its wake. Thinking it better in his current mood to leave Edward and spend some time alone, Nightfall unfastened the pack from his mare and lowered it to the ground. Springing into the saddle, he headed back the way they had come. Even thieves are smart enough to stay in from the rain. Ned is safe from everyone but himself. He kicked the bay toward the open pathway. The horse shied from the pelting rain then, at Nightfall’s urging, lowered its head and braved the storm.
Once beyond Prince Edward’s hearing, Nightfall muttered a string of frustrated obscenities. He hunched into himself, trying to protect his face and chest from the damp. The wind turned each patch of wet clothing into icy misery, and the horse snorted its dissatisfaction with every step. I brought it on myself. Nightfall saw neither means nor reason to place the blame elsewhere. I knew he’d eventually notice some items missing, but I figured he’d learn we didn’t need them, not send me back on this stupid errand.
Quickly soaked, Nightfall ceased to care about the rain. Water trickled from his hair, down the neck of his tunic, the wetter areas now warmer than the damp ones that the wind could easily dry. It came to him that he had become angry beyond reason. I ’m losing the character of Sudian, and I should appreciate the chance to be free of that moron for a bit. Rankelle’s only a few more strides down the side road, and I won’t even need to pass the thieves’ den again.
Knowing himself well, Nightfall searched for the cause of his instability and discovered it near the surface of his thoughts. Kelryn. He knew he would find her in the dance hall in Nemix, and the idea of her twirling and capering as if nothing had changed stoked his imitation into fury. Marak is dead, murdered by her betrayal. Yet, for her, life simply goes on. He pictured her giggling in the arms of a young punk. The image would not come, and resentment faded with the failure. Whether I like it or not, Kelryn’s got better taste than that. He sincerely believed that, despite the fact that she had been courted by the most notorious criminal in Nemix. Now, he envisioned her with a handsome, young courtier, anger freshly piqued by a picture that came easily. He recognized jealousy as the cause of the annoyance, and that flared his mood back to rage. Maybe this time, she’ll only take his money instead of his freedom and his life.
Despite bitter thoughts, Nightfall could not help remembering small details: the way the dance hall lights sparked from hair white as an elder’s, the time he had rasped the skin from his knuckles while sharpening a dagger and she had dabbed at and bandaged the wound with a caring that could not have been feigned, the way just looking at her had sparked the need to protect her from the world’s ugliness and pain. She betrayed me. Rage died, replaced by a grief that hollowed him to the core. I will kill her. The pronouncement brought the familiar calm that accompanied a finished and irrevocable decision.
Nightfall headed toward Rankelle, aware the steward’s stolen coins would buy him good food, beer, and a warm night of rest. Thanks for the lesson, Ned. I feel wiser already.
Nightfall returned late in the morning to find Prince Edward slumped over his pack. Alarmed, Nightfall crouched, gaze scanning the clearing for enemies or movement. A pile of partially burnt sticks lay heaped in the center, all that remained of a poorly fashioned campfire. A sagging lean-to graced the opposite side of the meadow. Near it, the horses grazed on leaves and vines.
The previous night, while surrounded by inn walls, spiced food, and ale, Nightfall had briefly considered staying in Rankelle. Then, the oath-bond had torn through his guts with a pain that doubled him, as if to split his physical body apart and scrape the soul from the deepest part of his being. He had stumbled from the tavern to vomit, vowing to return to Prince Edward, until the agony subsided. Now, the magic tingled, but he suffered none of the previous night’s pain. If Edward is dead, at least the bond doesn’t hold me responsible.
Seeing no signs of a struggle and hearing nothing to indicate nearby interlopers, Nightfall approached the prince. As he came closer, he could tell Edward was breathing deeply and regularly, and he saw no evidence of wounds. A book lay pinned beneath Edward’s arm, its opened pages crinkled. Nightfall studied the words, upside-down and partially blocked by Edward’s sleeve: "… for smaller camps, the great armies…"
Nightfall stopped reading. Quietly, he walked to the lean-to. Finding the other packs protected by the canvas roof, he set to work preparing breakfast and getting ready for another day of travel. I wonder how long he stayed awake trying to build the fortress this time? Nightfall shook his head. Much as I hate to admit it, the young fool means well. And I have to give him credit for stamina. For a pampered prince, he handles pain and work better than I ever expected. Finished with the food and packs, Nightfall rearranged the wood into an efficient pattern, placed the frog candle stolen from the steward amid the sticks, and lit it with the steward’s tinderbox. As the wax melted, the fire roared to life.
Nightfall turned his attention to Prince Edward, sprawled over his pack, muscled limbs still and hair covering his face like a golden veil. He sleeps like a dead man. And, in these parts, there’s a fine gap between sleeping like one and becoming one. "Master?" he called tentatively.