Grabbing the last of his bread, Nightfall scurried to obey a command he had fulfilled an hour previously. He did not dare to smile. For now, he had achieved his goal, but it had only opened the potential for a million more massive problems in the south. How do I land a noble who doesn’t care to be landed? Nightfall scoured his mind for sources between Delfor and Trillium who might give him the answer.
Nightfall suffered the consequences of whipping Prince Edward to a moralistic frenzy on the southward ride from Delfor. From the moment city limits turned to alternating squares of farm field, Edward ranted philosophy until Nightfall thought his ears would take flight of his head to escape the repetition. Soon, fertile crop lands gave way to the more familiar forest, and Nightfall welcomed the change. The trees provided cover that even the prince’s loud voice could not fully ruin. The trunks scattered sound, and most bandits had only scant experience with following bouncing echoes. Once they left the main road to camp, Nightfall doubted anyone would bother them, even should they have anything besides horses, tack, and clothing worth stealing.
Gradually, litany gave way to more normal discussions about weather and supplies. Prince Edward did not mention his missing money, though whether from ignorance, bland indifference to its loss, or because he did not see it as his squire’s concern, Nightfall could not guess. Nobles’ relationships with servants seemed distant and rampant with strange customs and manners he had no interest in trying to understand. At least the oath-bond-inspired need to fling his person between Edward and danger had kindled some loyalty in return. The prince forgave or explained away many of Nightfall’s improprieties.
They set up camp in a clearing strewn with a damp carpet of leaves. Mushrooms poked their caps through the mulch, some like wrinkled umbrellas, some like plates, and others orange and white domes towering over tiny stalks. From long habit, Nightfall visually sorted edible from poisonous, smashing a patch of toadstools with the chestnut’s pack. With the horses set to graze and bedding spread, the prince and his squire enjoyed a sparse meal of jerky and mushrooms. The silence seemed heavy after Edward’s cheerful, if tedious, lecturing. Nightfall concentrated on the crackle of the flames and the distant noises of animals in the brush. An occasional fox call whirred through the night, and the polecats screeched at intervals, sounding much like human babies.
Nightfall needed information. Soon enough, he would find a source he trusted. In the meantime, he had little choice but to use what he had. He sat up straight in front of the fire, shadow striping the ground behind him. "Master, how do you get landed?"
Edward turned his head, expression open, obviously surprised. Clearly, it was one of those things gentry seemed to know at birth and assumed others did as well. "I’ll have to perform some grand and heroic deed so noble that a king chooses to knight me and grant land."
Nightfall considered, trying to sort his confusion as much as possible before interrogating Edward again. It made no sense for a prince to become knighted. Why trade a higher title for one lower? The answer dawned slowly. Because he’s a prince of Alyndar, and he’s certainly not getting his property from King Rikard. He’ll need a title in the kingdom where he’s landed. Nightfall knew boundaries well; awareness of where one man’s jurisdiction began and another’s ended had helped him evade pursuit on more than one occasion. Alyndar’s kingdom borders had remained relatively stable for centuries. The rulers in Shisen and Ivral waffled between war and peace. Kings Jolund and Idinbal seemed constantly in dispute over the southern triple cities, and Trillium had been occupied by Shisen, Hartrin, and Ivral on various occasions. Still, Edward’s claim did not gibe with Nightfall’s observations. Many who seemed to have no grasp of heroism owned territory; several bore titles other than knight and some had been born to their nobility in other kingdoms than their land.
After a brief pause, Prince Edward clarified his statement, though he still addressed none of Nightfall’s doubts and questions. "I could oust a threat: a crazed wolf mangling citizens, a plague of rats, an army…"
… an assassin terrorizing the king and his family. The idea, and its subsequent arrangement, entered Nightfall’s mind for only a moment before inciting agony from the oath-bond. Pain doubled him over, and he gasped desperately for air. His thoughts scurried for the cure. No terror. No assassin. Nightfall is dead. The magic receded, the abrupt change from torture to ache so sudden he had to fight down the contents of his stomach.
"Sudian? Sudian!" Edward knelt at Nightfall’s side, steadying him with broad, strong hands. "Are you well?"
"Fine, Master," Nightfall wheezed, seized by a mixture of frustration and anger. He felt like a helpless prisoner, as kept as any slave by a magic that would, in time, claim his soul as well. He wondered if that same incapacitating pain would always accompany the shreds of spirit Gilleran claimed from him or only when the sorcerer chose to use Nightfall’s natal gift. The consideration threw him over the edge. He rose, pulling free of Edward, and staggered past the clearing to vomit as far from the camp as possible. Fear raged to fury. The oath-bond constrained him too tightly to create a situation that might get Edward his land. That, he guessed, had been the intention. The king gets his son killed without doing the deed himself and rids the world of a demon. The sorcerer gets my soul. The perfect arrangement. And yet, Nightfall still saw flaws in the plan. Again, simpler arrangements could have achieved the same results. They could have executed me and sent Ned out with some bumbling squire. Left on his own on foreign soil, the prince would surely enrage the wrong person and wind up dead.
Nightfall considered the possibilities again as the oath-bond waned to its normal tingle. It occurred to him that King Rikard might prove his better when it came to clever strategy. Alone, Prince Edward would have lost all his money in Grittmon’s Inn, but his life would not have become endangered. He probably would have returned home for money or given up his quest. Perhaps the king realized that his innocent younger son needed an experienced traveler to get him even beyond the borders of Alyndar. Perhaps he trusted Nightfall to drag the boy to the nasty and dangerous haunts that the prince could never have found alone. Perhaps he just figured I’d get so frustrated with the colts abrasive innocence I’d just kill him quickly and have done with it all. These thoughts charged Nightfall to determined rage. I’ll get him landed, all right. And once I do, I ’m free. Then the demon will exact his own payment.
An image of Dyfrin came to Nightfall’s pain-dulled defenses like a fever dream. His mouth pressed to a grim line beneath a small nose and a shock of sandy hair. "Vengeance serves no master. Its rage steals even the most ingrained judgment, and it consumes the one it claims to serve." But, for now at least, the promise of revenge seemed more attractive than giving in to despair.
Prince Edward crashed through the brush to stop at Nightfall’s side. "Do I need to take you back to the Healer?"
Nightfall shook his head, dispelling the fierce reverie, the idea of returning to Delfor intolerable. "No, thank you, Master. She only heals wounds. She couldn’t help with this?
“What is this? What can I do?"
Edward’s sincere concern seemed nonsensical. Why does he care? Damn it, why does he have to care so much? “I must have gotten a bad mushroom in with the others." He tried to turn the devotion back in the proper direction. "Oh, Master, what if I poisoned you, too?"
"Poisoned? Don’t be ridiculous, Sudian. I feel fine." Prince Edward assisted his squire to stand, though he no longer needed the help. He led Nightfall back to the clearing and pressed him down onto the thicker pile of blankets.
The prince’s strength surprised Nightfall. He did not resist physically, continuing to pretend to feel the weak shakiness that he had suffered only too honestly before. "Master, this is your bed."