When Prince Edward did not respond, Nightfall came directly beside him. "Master!"
Edward did not stir.
Nightfall prodded Edward’s belly with the toe of one boot. "Master, wake up."
Edward made a raucous noise, then dropped back to sleep.
Oh, for the sake of the gods. Exasperated, Nightfall backed away. He hefted a rock, studied Edward, then wisely exchanged the stone for a pine cone. Lobbing it in a gentle arc, he let it fall onto the prince’s face.
Prince Edward jerked, opened his eyes, and sat up. He scratched at the cheek where the pine cone had landed, then traced the route of the object from his face to where it lay in the grass. He looked up into the tree that must have dropped it, frowning.
Nightfall thought it best to distract Edward before his sleep-numbed mind worked through the realization that pine cones do not fall in the spring. "Master, breakfast is ready."
"Sudian." The prince rose with a swiftness that had to aggravate sinews cramped from his awkward position as well as the riding soreness. "How long have you been back?"
"Not long." Nightfall simulated the clumsiness that accompanies fatigue. "I retraced our steps as far as l could."
"And?” Prince Edward covered a yawn, his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. His gaze found and locked on the crumpled book.
"I didn’t find the spade.”
Edward scooped the book into his lap, watching Nightfall grimly.
"I think a bear must have eaten it, Master."
“A bear?" Prince Edward studied Nightfall dubiously, as if to figure out whether he was being mocked. "Bears eat meat."
Nightfall kept a sincere expression on his face. "I’ve seen them chew branches and eat berries, Master. I thought they might eat spade handles, too."
Thoughtfully, Edward smoothed the wrinkled page, then leafed through, presumably seeking details about the eating habits of bears.
Nightfall turned back to the fire to hide his jaded grin. I’ll bet nobles can’t shit without looking up how some great king or general used to do it. Gathering the first of the packs, he headed for the horses, his thoughts shifting toward the coming journey. Nemix by midday. And either Kelryn or I won’t live to see the dawn.
Prince Edward Nargol and Nightfall reached the city of Nemix in late morning. Mud sucked at the horses’ hooves, and the white gelding pranced around puddles, spooking the packhorse behind it. Edward steadied it with weight shifts and tugs on the reins, but even he seemed to be wearying of the constant struggle with a poorly trained horse.
Cottages lined Nemix’ earthen roadways, unevenly spaced and diversely built; obviously, homes had been squeezed between existing dwellings as the city grew. Stone walkways fringed the streets, and people whisked about their business on these, avoiding the rain-muddied paths. A few stopped to stare at the radiant, if tired, prince and his single escort in Alyndar’s colors. Travelers came often to the city, bearing trade goods or wearing weapons and odd clothing; but royalty was scarce anywhere. And, though he displayed no sigil and rode with no armies, Ned’s beauty and bearing proclaimed his nobility as surely as if he had announced it.
Nightfall traversed the familiar roadways with trepidation. Riding through Marak’s city as Sudian felt wrong, like invading a rival’s territory or committing a crime in the name of honest Balshaz instead of Nightfall. The feeling was compounded by Prince Edward’s tendency to keep heading toward the scummier side of town, despite Nightfall’s subtle attempts to change direction.
At length, tired of riding in zigzags, Prince Edward drew up before a cottage. A woman chased a pig from the doorway with a broom, and the squealing animal disrupted a flock of chickens pecking seeds between stones in the walkway. The birds erupted into a flapping, clucking disarray. Startled, Prince Edward’s horse whipped into a rear, twisting in midair to bolt back the way it had come.
For an instant, Edward teetered. Then, his arms flailed the air, and he fell gracelessly into a puddle. Breath hissed between his teeth. Mud splattered his silks and turned the white horse into a spotted parody.
"Master, are you hurt?" Playing the dedicated squire, Nightfall leapt from his saddle and rushed to Edward’s side.
The pattern of the pedestrians slowed as they paused to stare at the grounded prince. Attention of any kind unsettled Nightfall, and he could not help feeling embarrassed for Ned.
"I’m fine." Edward lunged to his feet. "Catch Snow, Sudian."
Nightfall blinked, trying to figure out if the prince’s phrase was some new form of dismissal. "Catch snow, Master?"
"Catch Snow!" Edward repeated, making an abrupt gesture toward the white gelding trotting toward the border. "Before he gets away."
The horse. He’s named a damned horse. Nightfall sprang onto his bay and dug his heels into its ribs. The mare whipped into a gallop, charging after the fleeing gelding. Citizens drew up along both sides of the roadway, meticulously avoiding the street.
The gelding broke into a run as the mare pulled up alongside it, but not quickly enough. Nightfall inched ahead, then twisted the mare into a sudden turn that blocked the white’s escape. The gelding pulled up suddenly, reversed direction toward Ned, then dropped to a walk.
By the time Nightfall returned, dismounted, and caught both riding horses by the bridles, he found a dripping Edward receiving the final directions to the one place in all Nemix from which he wanted to divert the prince: Grittmon’s Inn and Tavern. Though the closest place to rest and clean, Grittmon’s honest business was a front for a myriad of illegal rackets. In the locked back room, Nightfall had bought numerous pieces of information, received jobs and messages, and met a motley assortment of sociopaths and bodyguards. City guardsmen received their beer free at certain times, and were strangely absent at others. Once, paid directly by Grittmon, Nightfall had poisoned a rival criminal lord. The man had crumpled in plain sight of two dozen patrons. Yet the corpse had been disposed of without fuss; not even a whisper of the crime infiltrated the street gossip.
Prince Edward took the white gelding’s bridle from Nightfall, leading the horse down the roadway. "Come on, Sudian."
Nightfall trotted after, leading the bay and the chestnut. "Master, there’s a good inn down this way." He pointed in the opposite direction.
Edward did not break stride. "Thank you, Sudian, but there’s a closer one over here."
"But it’s not nearly as nice." Nightfall glared at the nearby spectators. With the action finished, they started to disperse. "And the food-"
"Food doesn’t matter." Edward tugged at his clinging undergarments irritably, his walk awkward. "Right now, I just want to wash and sleep."
And live until tomorrow. That’s important, too. "But, Master. Grittmon’s isn’t good enough for you."
"Sudian." Prince Edward swung around suddenly. "I’m covered with filth. I smell like a barn, and I saw the dawn before I fell asleep this morning. I couldn’t sleep for worrying, when you didn’t return, that I had sent my squire off to die." He turned back, continuing his march toward Grittmon’s Inn. "I’m getting a bath as soon as possible if I have to use a cow trough."
Last night he worried about me? Nightfall fell into shocked silence, too familiar with Ned’s sincerity to doubt the sentiment. The babe in the woods alone at night worried about the demon. I don’t believe this. Only two people in Nightfall’s life had ever seemed concerned for him. Kelryn’s betrayal negated her affection; surely her concern for him had been as fake as her love. And Dyfrin was the kind of friend that came once in a lifetime, if ever, the sort who not only worried for him but seemed to read his every mood. Suspicions raised, Nightfall tried to guess what Prince Edward wanted from him. I have little to offer except my service and loyalty. And he knows he already has those.