"Run?" Prince Edward took Nightfall’s arm, steadying his squire. "We’ve killed men. We can’t just-"
"Master, I mean this with every drop of respect in my being. We are leaving. Now.”
Edward studied his squire with pity in his glance. He ignored Nightfall’s belligerence, apparently attributing it to his injuries. "Everything will be all right. I just need to get my things."
Thrown over the edge of hysteria, Nightfall made a lightning swift grab, catching Edward’s cloak at the throat. Blood from his injured hand smeared the silk. "We’ll be dead if we’re not already. Now, go to the stable. Pay the boy the two silver I promised him. Then we’re riding out of here until I fall off the damned horse. Then we sleep. Then, if you still think we need to talk to guards, we’ll come the hell back!"
Edward stared blankly, horror on his features. Weakness shuddered through Nightfall. His grip fell away, his injured hand plunging, useless, at his side. "Master." His voice emerged as a coarse whisper. "I’m only trying to do what’s best for you. Trust me, this once, Master. Please." A buzzing noise descended over Nightfall, and consciousness receded before it. He went limp in Edward’s arms, scarcely aware that the prince lowered him to the ground.
"You’re going to be all right, Sudian." The prince’s voice was soft, comforting, yet edged with tears. Edward hurried off alone.
"The horses," Nightfall managed. The effort flung him into oblivion. And he knew nothing more.
Chapter 6
Lock up your children after dark,
Lest Nightfall find an easy mark.
For safety ends at twilight’s close And darkness comes where Nightfall goes.
– "The Legend of Nightfall"
Nightfall awakened to a dull background of aches that gradually settled into his right thigh and left hand. Someone stroked his hair with a tender concern almost as familiar as the accompanying pain. Memory told him what had to come next: his mother’s flurry of teary apologies, the earnest promises that she would never strike her child again, the declarations of love and concern, vows that lasted only until her next frustration drove her to batter him again.
Nightfall curled his consciousness inward, gathering strength to fight the pain. He blundered toward understanding. Someone’s close enough to touch me. The next thought followed naturally. Someone’s close enough to kill me. It had become habit for Nightfall to awaken without fanfare. He had trained himself to lie as still upon waking as he did asleep, to breathe in slow, deep, regular patterns. He had studied awakenings until he had learned the most subtle cues, then he had practiced discarding them until the procedure had become ingrained. Now he had to assume he had awakened with his usual caution because the other’s gentle fingers continued brushing strands of hair from his brow.
Under other circumstances, Nightfall might have taken the time he needed to orient himself, using feel and sound to determine time, place, and which persona he needed to play. But a person within striking distance was an immediate threat. The fact that the contact was sympathetic meant nothing to Nightfall; it was those who had touched him most tenderly in the past who had hurt him the worst.
Without so much as a warning tense, Nightfall sprang away and into a crouch, facing the place where he had lain. The abrupt movement flashed pain through his strained ribs and gashed thigh, spinning a collage of pin-point lights across his vision.
"Sudian, you’re all right now."
A buzzing in Nightfall’s ears obscured the voice, and his sight faded to a uniform, gray curtain through which he could glimpse only a broad shadow. Still, only one person addressed him by that name and in that manner. "Master?” he tried, the word emerging in a croak. His mouth felt parched and sticky. "You’re well?" The quiet vigil of the oath-bond confirmed the observation. Still, desperation tinged the question. With his soul linked to the prince’s life, Nightfall could not afford to take such a thing for granted.
"Me? You’re still worried about me‘?" Prince Edward approached cautiously, something dangling from his hand.
As Nightfall remained still, the haze obscuring his vision resolved slowly, revealing Edward in travel linens. Though not clean, they lacked holes and bloodstains. He held a waterskin. Behind him rose a wall of tall, thin-trunked evergreens, bare almost to their tops where a cluster of needles formed a green ceiling. Nearby, the horses grazed a copse of thistles and berries. A fire crackled within a circle of stones, the bright reflection of its flames dancing across the spade and a single, opened pack.
Realizing Edward had never actually answered his question, Nightfall pressed. "Are you well, Master?"
Prince Edward stood directly in front of Nightfall. He passed the waterskin. "Here, drink as much as you can. You lost a lot of blood before you got your hand bandaged. I’m afraid you lost a lot more when I pulled that piece of wood out of your leg."
Thirstier than ever before in his life, Nightfall took the waterskin and gulped down a swallow. His mouth had dried to the point where the water seemed to burn his throat, and it tasted thick and dirty. Still, his body craved liquids enough to overcome the discomfort. He drank for a long time.
Once he had his squire drinking, the prince addressed his question. "I’m fine, because of you. You saved my life, Sudian." He reached toward Nightfall’s shoulder.
Instinctively, Nightfall flinched away, spilling water down his chin.
Apparently attributing Nightfall’s caution to his recent injuries, Prince Edward returned his hand to his side and let the incident rest.
Nightfall felt the need to break the silence; but never having rescued another person from death before, he did not know what to say. To emphasize his own heroics seemed tasteless and unnecessary, but to downplay his accomplishment might belittle the prince’s life. Then, aware he had hesitated too long in consideration, he ran with his own confusion. "Of course, Master. It’s my job."
Edward mirrored Nightfall’s bewilderment. "It’s your job to die saving me?"
"If necessary." Nightfall sipped more slowly, the skin nearly emptied.
"Who told you that? My father?"
And his murdering bastard of a sorcerer, yes. Nightfall hesitated, weakness dulling his usually quick wit.
One of the horses snorted, flinging its tail in circles. A songbird flitted from a treetop, shaking free a shower of needles.
Edward did not wait for an answer. “I’ve had a long string of governesses, stewards, and guardians, not one of whom would have placed himself between me and an inchworm."
Nightfall put the waterskin aside, examining his bandages. Someone, presumably Edward, had replaced the hastily applied rag on his hand with a neatly wrapped and tied cloth. Another bandage wrapped his thigh, darkened by a patch of old blood. His fingers felt stiff and unresponsive. Fear nearly paralyzed him. Two of his personae, polio-stricken Frihiat and plow-injured Telwinar, had required him to feign being crippled; but the split-second timing of Nightfall’s escapes already strained his abilities to their limits. Without the use of a hand, he felt as clumsy as a half-grown adolescent, and his survival had depended too many times on his reflexes for him to believe he would last long one-handed.
Oblivious to Nightfall’s concerns, Edward continued on the same track. "You know, my father will pay you whether or not you risk yourself for me.”