Both relatively well-fleshed men, Homrihn and Gerbrant accepted Nightfall’s weight without comment. The riders groused about the extra loads their mounts would have to carry to even the race, but not for long. Their balanced distribution in the saddlebags would prove easier for the horses to carry than Nightfall’s excess bulk, under ordinary circumstances. With a few last grumbles, they performed their individual rituals of prayer, limbering exercises, and whatever sequences of movement and phrase had brought them luck in the past. Dropping his weight back to normal, Nightfall saddled and bridled his nameless mount and sprang into position first. While the others shifted weights and legs into the most comfortable or presumed "winning" positions, Nightfall used ropes to bind himself to the saddle, seeing danger as well as necessity in the action. If the horse fell, he could not leap clear of danger; but he would need the security once the race began. He kept a stick in hand to coax the mare to greater speed.
Farmhands led each of the horses to the track while another strung a rope across it. Accustomed to running, the stallion and gelding danced to the rope line, then backpedaled repeatedly. The musky odor of horse sweat became a reassuring constant. Familiar with Snow’s nervousness, Nightfall’s mare took little notice of the antsiness of her rivals. She remained alert, head raised, one ear forward and the other cocked back for Nightfall’s commands.
Gerbrant stepped into the middle of the track and raised his hands. The conversations stilled to silence. "Friends, we have gathered to watch a competition between the fastest of the fast." A brief flurry of betting ensued, men placing their final wagers now that they could compare all three of the horses close together. "The rules are simple. The first nose to cross the line at the far end.. .” He gestured the six judges at the finish. "… belongs to the winning horse. Any rider who touches or strikes another rider or horse, guarantees third place for his mount, regardless of when he crosses the line. The race begins when the rope is dropped. First, I’d like to introduce you to horses and riders…”
Gerbrant droned on, and Nightfall turned his attention to Prince Edward. The young blond perched on an over-turned crate in the alleyway, watching with interest though he took no hand in the proceedings, When Nightfall’s gaze found him, he smiled. Nightfall bowed his head respectfully. The more time Gerbrant wasted with his preamble, the larger Nightfall’s advantage become. The other two horses were gradually wearing themselves down with excitement. He turned his attention back to his mare. Experience had taught him that much ground could be gained and maintained by a fast and far-reaching start, especially on a short course.
The mare had shown that ability when she chased down Edward’s gelding and the farmer’s cart horse when each had run riderless and with a headstart. The first moment could well determine the victor. He sat in a comfortable position, worrying more for stability than air resistance. Weight distribution and balance meant far less to him than to the others. He noticed that they sat well-forward in their saddles, keeping the majority of their mass centered on the horses’ withers and their chests and heads low. Nightfall caught a solid grip on the reins and on his stick.
At a gesture, the rope fell. Before it hit the ground, Nightfall kicked the bay. As the mare’s forehooves left the ground, he dropped his weight instantly to as near nothing as his capability allowed. Suddenly without need to counter a rider’s weight, the mare turned her usual massive initial leap to a long glide that approached flight. Nightfall had little chance to enjoy the sensation as wind flung his near-weightless body backward, threatening to rip him from his seat. Only the thongs he had had the foresight to tie kept him in position, and those chewed into his thighs, calves, and ankles. The reins left bloodless lines against his palms.
All three horses strained forward, necks outstretched, legs pounding, driven as much by the crowd’s shouts and cheering as by the sticks slapping repeatedly against their muscled flanks. Though faster, the other horses had little chance of catching the mare whose flying bound had vaulted her a quarter of the way down the track in an instant and who could gallop unfettered by a passenger’s bulk yet still charged by the faint sting of a striking stick. The bay crossed the line first and cleanly, without need for the judges to deliberate. Nightfall restored his weight gradually on the backstretch as he pulled the horse to a snorting stop and the others whipped past him. A grin lit his face, and he laughed, happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. He had his money. Soon enough, he believed, would come freedom.
Nightfall spent most of the southward journey from Trillium convincing Prince Edward of the propriety and necessity of buying land. Obtaining the deed, in and of itself, had not appeased the oathbond. Apparently, it required some acceptance from Edward or plans to build the appropriate structures to meet the criteria for becoming landed. Nightfall did not understand the petty details involved in fulfilling his part of the magics, but he felt certain he had finally come close to his goal. Freedom. The excitement that accompanied the thought had become a constant companion over the two weeks of travel around Meclar, Schiz, and Noshtillan. Anticipation formed a baseline thrill as strong as the receding buzz of Gilleran’s sorcery, tempered only by doubts Nightfall could not quite shake: What if King Rikard or Gilleran had lied about the workings of the oath-bond? What if he had become permanently trapped into Edward’s service? What if, once he realized his part of the bargain, the magic killed him regardless of outcome? What if it worked as promised, but he had misunderstood his role? Those questions haunted Nightfall well into every night, and pleasant dreams and ugly nightmares alternately followed him into sleep.
By Nightfall’s calculations, he and Edward would arrive at their destination that day. Fused into a single, shapeless mass, clouds blanketed the sky, blotting the sun and leaving the general atmosphere a damp, dreary gray. Nightfall considered taking a different route, one that would add a day or longer to their journey to allow the full effect of the new acquisition to strike them both, grass pastures and rolling hills lit to emerald beauty by the golden rays of sun. Yet eagerness and desperate need would not allow the delay. Soon enough, they would come upon Edward’s new property; and it would have to look impressive enough through the weather nature provided.
Just past midday, Prince Edward and Nightfall crested a hill, and flatlands loomed ahead. The horizon filled with ocean, and a salt smell mingled intermittently with the closer fragrances of wetness and greenery. Nightfall could not recall the last time he had felt so twitchy. He found himself seeking the light flutter of the oath-bond, uncertain whether to feel distress or comfort in its mild presence. Excitement drove him to an uncharacteristic, nervous prattle meant to fully convince Edward of the value of his squire’s gift. “It’s less important how a man gets his land and far more important what he does with what he has. There…" He pointed vaguely ahead, having taken to referring to the land in this fashion. "… no slavery will ever exist and servants will know their master’s actions will fall always under the watchful eye of Prince Edward." A muddy, vaguely sulfurous odor joined the other scents of the flatlands.
As they approached the edge of the described land purchase, Nightfall went quiet along with his master. Trees grew in random patterns, as the wind had blown their seeds decades previously. A welcoming carpet of bluish grass paved their way, spreading over the stretch of ground as far as Nightfall could see. To him it seemed the most beautiful place in the world.
Nightfall whooped, driving his horse suddenly into a canter. It balked, then, apparently trusting its rider, sprang forward at his urgings.