"Yes, lord."
The next question followed naturally. "What did you do to him?”
Amadan blinked, now looking as bewildered as Edward felt. Then, apparently believing he had misunderstood the intention of the question, he twisted it to cover consequences rather than motivation. "I hit him, of course, lord. As I would punish any impertinent slave. But certainly not hard enough to make up for-"
Rage boiled up in Edward. "You hit him?" He slammed his mug to the tabletop. Beer sloshed over his fist. "You hit my squire! How dare you hit my squire!"
"I don’t believe this!" Amadan leapt to his feet. "Your slave tries to murder gentry, and you’re yelling at me?"
Edward kept his head low, trying to control his temper, the memory of the dead slaver still as fresh a reminder as the scar the whip had left on his face. “That is the second and last time you refer to my squire, or any servant of Alyndar, as a slave." He flicked his gaze up to the merchant without moving his head. "Sudian’s been with me a long time." Even as he said the words, the prince realized that he had misspoken. Little longer than a month had passed since the squire had joined him in the courtyard. It only seemed long because of Sudian’s fierce loyalty and all that had happened since leaving Alyndar. "He wouldn’t harm anyone unless he saw them as a threat to me."
Amadan seized the back of his chair and leaned toward Edward. "Lord, if he thinks I’m such a threat to you, why isn’t he here now defending you?"
"Then he saw you as a threat to him. It’s one and the same to his thinking.” He quoted Nightfall. "You see, if he’s dead, he can’t protect me."
"A threat to him?" The merchant resumed shouting. "He’s a servant, by the great Father’s beard! Of course I’m a threat to him. If one of my slaves did what he did, I’d have them publicly flogged to death."
The idea shuddered horror through Edward, and he cringed at the image of every lash. He despised the thought of any person owning another, but the idea of one so brutal doing so enraged him to the edge of violence. His hand blanched on the mug. He had vowed to free the slaves, and this seemed as good a place as any to start. "Are these slaves of yours here?"
Amadan made a vague gesture into the crowded barroom. "All three, lord."
"How much would it cost to buy them from you?"
Amadan stared, clearly surprised and ruffled by the diversion. "I didn’t bring them to sell, Lord. It’s easy enough to buy some of your own. What I want to know is…" He leaned closer, gray eyes boring into Edward’s blue, "… how are you going to punish that snotty, little bastard who doesn’t know his place?"
The insults shoved Edward over the edge. Control lost, he rose, his massive shadow spanning the table. "I’m going to tell the ‘snotty, little bastard’ that the next time a merchant brutalizes him, he shouldn’t threaten to kill him." His voice deepened, gaze unwavering. “He should just kill him.”
"You’re joking."
“Hit my squire again and find out if I’m joking." Having spoken his piece, Edward retook his seat, seeking the self-control he had lost in the Hartrinian camp in Alyndar… and now once again. As much as he wanted to free the man’s slaves, he had no intention of murdering anyone to do so. The god-given right to dignity extended to slavers as well as to slaves, to evil as well as to good. Edward wished slaves and masters could trade places one day each week, to see the world from the other side every time they raised a whip. Then, he guessed, every man would feel as strongly about freedom and self-respect as he did. "Now, how much would it cost to purchase your slaves?"
Amadan curled his lower lip, his face a study in hostility. "More than you’ll ever have." He whirled, storming deeper into the common room.
As Prince Edward watched Amadan go, he noticed for the first time that the conversations at every nearby table had ceased. The eyes that did not follow the blustering merchant fixed directly on Edward. He smiled politely, noticing that each patron glanced away when their gazes met, embarrassed to be caught staring. Gradually, the dull hum of conversation resumed at its normal background volume. Nevertheless, Edward noticed when Amadan returned to his table and his slaves. In a bold display obviously intended for the prince, he grabbed the one female of the three by the hair and a breast, jerked back her head, and planted a sloppy kiss directly on her mouth. She quivered but did not resist.
The sight left Edward cold even to the cultivated allure of the barflies and prostitutes for the rest of the night. Tears filled his eyes, and he cried for the pain of those three and so many others.
Chapter 10
Counting years like grains of sand.
Countless fall beneath his hand.
Time, his minion; night, his clothes Darkness comes where Nightfall goes.
– "The Legend of Nightfall"
The inn room in the Thirsty Dolphin seemed sparse but adequate. Little space separated the two sleeping pallets, though they seemed far preferable to the scattered hay on the floor that served as beds in smaller towns. A table in the opposite corner, near the door, stood firmly on squat legs. A tub across from it held all the basins and pitchers necessary to draw water and bathe, an uncommon luxury; and a drain hole opened onto conduits that carried the dirty water into the sewage gutters lining the larger streets. A chest of drawers, scarred with nicks and dents, lined the wall near the table. One drawer sagged open while Nightfall crouched on the floor, transferring garments from Prince Edward’s pack.
The door latch clicked.
Nightfall paused, a folded tunic in his hands, taking note of the sound. Whoever had come, presumably Edward, had made no attempt to do so quietly.
The door swung open, the hinges squeaking mildly. Prince Edward stepped through, closing the panel behind him. The bolt slammed into place.
The small, windowless room made Nightfall feel suffocated as tight places never had before Alyndar’s guards locked him in their dungeon. Fear flashed through him, suppressed only by the rationalization that he still had control. From the inside, opening the now-locked door required just one more movement. "Master, hello. Did you need something?"
"We have to talk, Sudian."
Nightfall lowered the garment to his lap, certain the topic involved a certain incident outside the Thirsty Dolphin’s stable. He fixed his gaze attentively on Edward.
"There’s a man here named Amadan Vanardin’s son. He says you held a knife to his throat and threatened to kill him."
Nightfall said nothing, awaiting a direct question, though he knew an explanation was expected.
“Did you?” Edward pressed.
“Yes, Master. I did." Nightfall refolded the tunic and placed it atop the others in the drawer. He kept his manner and his tone matter-of-fact.
Prince Edward sighed. He sat on the edge of his pallet beneath the room’s only lantern, Light splashed white lines and golden glitters through his hair. His hands slid into his lap, and he stared at his fingers for several moments.
Nightfall drew a shirt from the pack, more uncomfortable with Edward’s silence than his lectures. The others had amused him. This quiet seemed abnormal.
Finally, Edward looked up. Nightfall thought he had gathered the necessary words; but, when the prince spoke, he used only one. “Why?”
Nightfall set his work aside. Though it seemed unnatural, he stepped into the semicircle of light. He plucked off his purple and silver shirt so Edward could clearly see the darkening bruise the merchant’s boot had gouged against his chest and the abrasions the road had slivered from his arm and side. In the light, he believed the prince could also tell where Amadan had struck him in the face.