Nightfall frowned at the implications of numerous visitors to a farm town. Traders and travelers, in groups of two to five, often stopped in Delfor. Though small, the village provided more comfort and security than another cold, damp night in the forest, a quiet haven between Nemix and the wild, trading city of Trillium. The latter sat just outside the jurisdictions of Kings Idinbal, Rikard, Gonrastin of Ivral, and Shisen’s King Jolund. It kept trade free, allowing the merchanting of items and objects outlawed by individual countries. Thoughts of the crossroad city intensified Nightfall’s discomfort. That open selling included slaves, and he shuddered to consider the chaos Prince Edward could instigate in such a place. Avoiding it seemed wisest, but Nightfall doubted they could. Edward’s geography lessons surely mentioned the largest city on the continent, and Nightfall’s best information sources lived there. One of his identities, Balshaz, the honest merchant, dwelt there on an irregular basis. I’ll just have to steer him away from the raunchier parts of town. Taking a lesson from Nemix, Nightfall knew that plan would prove far more difficult than it seemed.
Prince Edward’s voice broke Nightfall’s contemplation. "What are those children doing? Playing some sort of game?"
Nightfall turned his attention to the seven youngest of a farmer named Pizah. The three largest tossed stones from the field into a rickety cart that jounced, shuddered, and threatened to break as each rock landed. The middle two gathered seeds and roots from the previous year’s crop, dragging up the earliest volunteer shoots of new corn in a field now intended for hay. Two toddlers hammered at clumps of mud with sticks, breaking the biggest clods in preparation for the plow. "They’re working, Master."
The horses’ hooves made little noise on the soft ground. None of the children seemed to notice the newcomers.
Prince Edward made no comment, just a thoughtful noise. He drew the gelding to a halt, studying the tattered homespun and grimy faces.
Nightfall drew up beside his prince, not caring for the delay but seeing justice in Edward’s discomfort.
The gelding stomped, snorting impatiently. Its hoof caught in the edge of an impression, and it flounced into a bucking dance, regaining its footing on the softer surface of field. A few of the children glanced over, and their comments drew the eyes of the others. Soon all seven stared at the well-nourished prince, resplendent even in his simple travel linens, and the attentive squire emblazoned in Alyndar’s colors.
"Where are their parents?" Edward asked.
"Working, too, Master." Nightfall remained in place as the prince returned the gelding to the roadway. "Their mother’s probably cleaning or cooking or sewing or sorting seed. Their father’s off fixing the plow or mending horse fence or patching the roof. There’s always a million things that need doing on a farm, Master; and usually six or seven of those are urgent." Nightfall knew the truth of his words only too well. Without the myriad hands and neighbors’ children Telwinar paid, he could never have carried off the charade. As it was, Nightfall’s escapades covered most of Telwinar’s expenses. Luckily, helpers well and quickly paid rarely questioned, even to themselves; and Telwinar chose his assistants with care.
The white gelding launched into another of its stumbling romps, obviously goaded by impatience. This time, the awkward movements unbalanced Edward, and he jerked the reins in anger. The horse whipped into a half rear, twisting as spongy ground shifted beneath its hind legs. The beast panicked, flailing for footing, and Edward tumbled from its saddle again. "Damn!" The horse fell to its front knees. It continued to flounder until it fully regained its foundation, feet widely braced.
Perhaps the horse is worth keeping just for the humor of it. Nightfall choked back a laugh with heroic effort, though the children loosed a few giggles before propriety and fear hushed them. He leapt from the bay’s saddle careful to favor his injured leg, and ran to Prince Edward’s side. "Master! Are you hurt?" He extended his right hand to assist.
Prince Edward rose, ignoring the offering. He glared at the horse. "I’m fine." Clapping mud from his travel linens, he looked disapprovingly at the dirt clinging to the horse’s forelegs. Steadying the gelding, he opened his pack and rummaged through it. He pulled out a stiff-bristled grooming brush that he handed to Nightfall. He then drew forth a silk riding cloak, donning it over his dirt-speckled shirt and britches. Closing the pack, he mounted, waiting. Grumbling epithets beneath his breath, Nightfall took several swipes at the dirt on the horse’s legs. The clumps fell free, smearing the mud beneath. As clearly fed up with the matter, the horse explored the back of Nightfall’s neck with a muzzle sloppy from saliva and snot. Nightfall tensed but resisted the urge to give the animal a sharp slap across the questing nostrils, concerned it might dump the prince again if he did. His efforts with the brush seemed only to thin and spread the brown stain farther along the horse’s legs in both directions. The white’s coat attracted dirt like its manure drew flies.
The gelding took an experimental nip at Nightfall’s ear. Cued by the hot breath, he sprang backward before the teeth closed. His head struck the beast a clouting blow across the mouth, for which he felt no remorse. The minor and temporary headache seemed small price to pay for vengeance. “Master, I’ll need water to finish the job."
Then, fearing that Edward might hand him a waterskin and picturing himself kneeling in filth on a well-traveled road with the hated horse sneezing mucus the length of his hair, he added, "A lot of water."
“Very well." Edward gestured Nightfall to his bay. The cloak hid dirt specks and travel stains well enough. Aside from a smear of mud across one cheek, the prince appeared fresh and ready for court.
Nightfall scurried onto his saddle, and they continued toward the village. The children disappeared into the distance, replaced by others equally young and busy. Field gave way to field, a long parade of squares discernible only by the remnants of their previous crops. Occasionally, a battered fence enclosed a section where a farmer allowed his workhorses to graze on stalks and stems left after the harvest. They passed three cottages, patched piecemeal after damage from wind, rain, and time. “Storage sheds," Prince Edward called them, until Nightfall corrected the misconception. Even then, the prince seemed unconvinced until they rode by a woman cradling an infant on the front porch of the tiniest of the dwellings.
As the clustered buildings of Delfor drew closer, Nightfall noticed a crowd at the junction of road with village. A few strides further, his sharp gaze discerned the group: all men and all dressed in the uniform of the overlord’s guards. They wore dark blue breeks and tunics under the tabards of lavender and white that symbolized holdings under the King of Alyndar on the Yortenese Peninsula. Members of the overlord’s army on the edge of town? Why? Nightfall’s alertness clicked up a notch, and his thoughts sped. Looking for someone. Us? The oath-bond buzzed within him, clearly taking its cue from his considerations. The idea seemed nonsense. He doubted the battle in Grittmon’s Tavern would pique the interest of the overlord. If guards became involved in such a thing, they would be Nemixian or Alyndarian policing forces.
Prince Edward seemed not to notice the strange welcome, though whether because of lack of vigilance or unfamiliarity with Delfor’s quiet norm, Nightfall did not know. A noble’s survival did not depend upon physical alertness as Nightfall’s had since infancy. His mind gave him no answer to the presence of the guardsmen, so he had little choice but to assume it had nothing to do with himself. Soon enough, he would know.
As the trio of horses drew to the town limits, a pair of guards sorted themselves from the other four and blocked the path. As they recognized Alyndar’s royal colors on prince and squire, their manners went from bored to efficient. The two in front snapped to attention, hands low but away from sword hilts. The taller of the two, a curly-haired, lipless blond spoke. "Fine morning, lord. Have you come for-”