Mickey Zucker Reichert - Nightfall's Promise.pdf

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NIGHTFALL'S PROMISE
MickeyZucker Reichert
IN the western quarter of the country ofSchiz , a fire danced in the hearth of the He-Ain't-Here tavern,
casting scarlet and amber patterns over the diners. Nightfall sat in the corner chair of a corner table,
beside King EdwardNargol ofAlyndar . Guards ate and drank around the periphery, their presences
ironically unnecessary. On his last visit, the eighteen-year-old monarch, then an impetuous idealistic
prince, had survived with only Nightfall for protection and company despite dangerousnaivete and a
pursuing sorcerer hell-bent on slaughter.
Arrayed inAlyndar's purple and silver and its crest, a powerful fist clutching a hammer, they all cut
dashing figures; but the young monarch put the rest of them to shame. Brilliant golden hair offset a round,
handsome face. His tall, muscle-packed frame exceeded even his guards', but his friendly blue eyes gave
him an air of approachability despite his imposing size. Of all the men at the table, he overshadowed
Nightfall most of all. Of average height at best, slender and sinewy, the assassin-turned-king's-adviser
sported short mahogany-brown hair and blue-black eyes that still held a glint of evil. Once a master of
disguise living as seven different men, Nightfall had spent months adjusting to his given name,Sudian , and
the one appearance he had never used: his own.
Commoners and travelers swarmed the nearby tables, keeping the help in constant motion. Nonetheless,
a barmaid or busboy remained always by the royal table, prepared to wipe up any spill, to relay their
least request.
When not cooking or cleaning, the pudgy proprietor stood in the doorway between kitchen and
common room, wringing his hands. He was not accustomed to royalty in his simply furnished red-stone
building. The upper class normally took lodging in the south-end inn that Nightfall had gotten to know
well in his persona ofBalshaz the merchant. As the polio-stricken odd-jobber,Frihiat , however, he had
grown familiar with the He-Ain't-Here's few rooms, now booked solid. He took some guilty pleasure in
the usually unflappable proprietor's discomfort.
In the best position for surveying the entire room, Nightfall noticed two men approaching, before any of
the guards so much as rolled a gaze in their direction. In his mid-twenties,the younger one sported an
overlarge head topped with muddy curls, a crooked nose, and broad lips. The other appeared
middle-aged, tall and thin with a mop of sandy hair and a scar that ran from the outer corner of his right
eye to his chin. Nightfall recognized both. The first was BrandonMagebane , a gifted man with the most
dangerous career Nightfall could imagine: hunting sorcerers. The second,Gatiwan , had
accompaniedBrandon on some of his forays, risking his life to rid the world of its greatest evil. Sorcerers
gained their magical abilities only by slaying those rare people born with a "talent," and their method
required tortuous ritual slaughter and taking possession of the victim's soul.
Quick as a cat, Nightfall rose and held out his hands in greeting. "Brandon.Gatiwan. Good to see you
both again."
Guards' hands went to hilts, but the exuberant greeting of the king's adviser kept them from standing or
making any overt sign of threat.
 
Brandonbowed appreciatively to the king,then addressed Nightfall."Sudian. How wonderful to see you
again. I presume you've come to fulfill your promise?" It was a ludicrous assumption. No king would
travel halfway around the continent merely to escort a servant. As fast as the thought arose, Nightfall
quashed it. King Edward would.
Edward turned a beetle-browed look on his adviser. To most of the world,Sudian had sprung from
nowhere, the next in line to replace the thirty-six previous stewards who had abandoned the job of
protecting and educating the brash young prince. Then, bound to him by magic, Nightfall had had little
choice but to keep Edward safe and his best interests always in mind; and he did that by pretending to
admire the boy to the point of slavish toadyism. For these men ofSchiz to know Nightfall asSudian , they
had to have become acquainted with him while he traveled with Edward; yet the king had never seen
them.
In fact, Nightfall had metGatiwan in a tavern while Edward slept, and the older man had referred him to
the younger. Nightfall had met withBrandon in secret, seeking one of the magical stones theMagebane
created with his natal talent, which could thwart a sorcerer's magic for a single spell.Brandon had given
Nightfall the stone with the promise that, one day, Nightfall would assist themagehunters on one of their
projects.
Nightfall smiled. Born with the ability to adjust his own weight across a vast spectrum, he appreciated
what theMagebane and his rotation of volunteer followers did. Nightfall had also finally found a happy
life, friends, and a woman he loved, and had no interest in becoming part of a suicide mission. "Not
today,Brandon . But thanks for the offer."
Looking around, Nightfall found King Edward staring at him and knew what had to follow.
"Did you make this man a promise,Sudian ?" In Edward's tone, Nightfall heard the same damnable
nobility that had caused the king's late father to bind the boy to an assassin despised as an otherworld
demon.
"Well, yes, Sire," Nightfall admitted. "But just as a general 'maybe someday' type of—"
Edward would hear none of it. "If you promised . . ."
"Ned . . ." Nightfall warned, knowing the king had no way of knowing to what dangers he was about to
commit his adviser. He used the name Edward preferred from people he considered friends, also trying
to remind the boy-king that his companion, at thirty-four, was nearly old enough to be his father: older,
wiser, and far more experienced.
Edward ignored the unspoken advice. "A man of honor holds dear even the least of his vows."
Nightfall crooked a brow. No words were necessary. Of all thernen present, Edward alone knew his
previous guise as the night-stalking demon of legend, anything but a man of honor.
King Edward's blue eyes held that fiery gleam of a personal crusade, a look that brooked no
compromise. For whatever reason, he believed his adviser's actions reflected on him and on the esteem
ofAlyndar itself.
Nightfall sighed,then turned his gaze back to a smiling BrandonMagebane . "I'd love to help you," he
said, with clearly feigned enthusiasm. "What would you like me to do?"
 
The healer's one-room cabin smelled of myriad herbs, some as sweet and pungent as nutmeg, others as
overwhelmingly bitter as onion. Nightfall glanced around the windowless space at the four dingy
chinked-log walls and the thatch ceiling. An eight-year-old boy lay on piled straw, his small pale body
enveloped in a patchwork of bandages. One circled his forehead, encasing his ears in salve-smeared,
bloodstained cloth. A fringe of fine, page-cut sandy hair surrounded a heart-shaped face, and large
brown eyes peered back at Nightfall. The room's only piece of furniture, a small table, held a basin filled
with medical supplies.
"Sudian,"Brandon said, "I'd like you to meetByroth ."
The child continued to stare at Nightfall, managing a weak smile.
Nightfall nodded cordially, heart rate quickening. "What happened?" Though he intended the question
for anyone, he continued to look atByroth .
Apparently believing himself the target of Nightfall's inquiry,Byroth responded, "I don't remember."
Looking at Nightfall's livery, he added, "Sire."
Having played many parts, Nightfall remainedunrattled by the label of respect, though he did correct it.
"I'm just a servant, son. No need for titles."
Byrothnodded. "I keep trying to think what happened, but I can't remember much. Someone grabbed
me; I know that.Then, a lot of pain." He stiffened, then grimaced at the discomfort that small movement
caused him."Then my father hugging me, my mother screaming.Lots of blood." He shrugged. "That's it."
"Thank you." Nightfall looked askance at theMagebane and his assistant. He despised sorcerers at least
as much asanyone, had spent much of his life dodging them and had nearly fallen victim to two. He
particularly hated those who targeted children, though nearly all of them did. Simpler prey, they were also
more likely to accidentally or innocently reveal themselves as one of thenatally gifted.
Brandonavoided Nightfall's questioning gaze to addressByroth . "Would you mind ifSudian examined
your wounds?"
Byrothgestured assent."So long as you don't hurt me."
Not wishing to cause the boy further anxiety or pain, Nightfall declined the invitation. "I don't need to see
them. Thank you."
BrandonMagebane glanced from man to child and back,then waved toward the door. "Why don't you
try to sleep,Byroth. We'll come back in a little while."
Byroth'syoung face turned stricken. "You won't leave me alone, will you?"
"We'll be right outside,"Gatiwan promised.
Nodding,Byroth closed his eyes as the men filed from the room.
As soon as the door clicked closed,Brandon rounded on Nightfall. "What do you think?"
 
Nightfall glanced around at the familiar city bathed in twilight. His alter ego,Frihiat , had often come out
to earn drinks in the tavern with stories.Crickets screed their high-pitched song while the people scurried
about finishing their work before sunset. Seeing and feeling no one near enough to overhear them,
Nightfall turned his attention toBrandon 's question, which held many possibilities. "What do I think about
what?"
"The wounds."Gatiwantook over impatiently. "Do you think a sorcerer could have inflicted them?"
Nightfall blinked, missing some of the information and the intention of his companions dragging him to
visit a wounded child. "DoesByroth have a birth gift?"
"Not that he's admitted,"Gatiwan said. "But we haven't pushed that hard."
"What do the wounds look like?"
Brandon's scrutiny grew more intense. "You just gave up the chance to see them."
Nightfall shrugged. "You didn't give me a reason to." Not wishing to disturb the boy any more now than
then, he added, "What does the healer think they are?"
"Stab wounds."Brandon also searched the gray-lit streets. "Simple stab wounds, she thinks, from a
regular old knife."
"Nothing weird and magical-looking?No burns or oddly shaped bruises?"
Brandonshook his head. "They look like stab wounds to me, too. But you never know."
"No." Nightfall admitted. "You never do know with magic." He had once faced a sorcerer who could
freeze a man's head, then shatter it like the ice it had become. Another had opened an agonizing gash
from his hipbone to his buttocks with only a distant motion. At a man's throat, that same spell might prove
immediately fatal. The natal talents spanned skills beyond his imagination. The so-called "gifted" each
harboredonly one special ability , but the sorcerers could juggle an assortment, limited only by the
number and type of talent-cursed souls they could obtain. They especially enjoyed hunting down one
another, as the ritual slaughter of one of their own meant gaining all the harnessed souls of the loser. That
last was theMagebane's salvation. It meant the sorcerers dared not reveal themselves or band together,
even to destroy such an obvious and self-proclaimed threat.
Nightfall continued, "Besides, it doesn't matter what means the sorcerer uses to create panic and
suffering in their victims. Any type of severe emotional distress together with excruciating pain brings the
soul and its talent to the surface."
Brandon andGatiwan stared at Nightfall, who suddenly wished he had not said anything. "What?" he
demanded.
"You speak,"Brandon said, barely above a whisper, "like a man with firsthand experience."
Nightfall did not like theMagebane's implications. He had spent all of his life hiding his talent, telling his
secret to only one person. WhenAlyndar had captured him in other guise, he had, believed her his
betrayer, an assumption he had later discovered was wrong. Even King Edward knew only that Nightfall
had some sort of birth gift sorcerers wanted. Nightfall would not reveal himself to two men he hardly
 
knew. "Are you accusing me of having a natal gift?Or of being a sorcerer?"
Brandon's homely features opened questioningly. "You tell us which."
"Neither," Nightfall lied, then added, "but if either were the case, you know I'd have to give you the same
answer."
"So just tell the truth,"Gatiwan suggested.
Nightfall noted the serious expressions on the men's faces and mentally tracked the locations of his
throwing knives. "How do you know I'm not?"
Brandonkept his voice steady and intense, though low. "Because when you came to me, you needed
something to help you fight a sorcerer who had attacked you and your master."
Gatiwantook over, the somberness of his expression highlighting the scar across his face. "If King
Edward the Enthusiastic had a natal talent, he'd have displayed it for the world in the excitement of
righting some injustice."
Nightfall tried to divert the conversation. "He prefers King Edward the Just."
Brandonmanaged a smile. "When he's old enough to temper some of that zeal with wisdom, he'll
probably earn the nickname he wants. Until then—" Apparently recognizing Nightfall's successful
tactic,Brandon returned to the matter at hand. ". . .are you a sorcerer or gifted?"
Nightfall did not bother to deny both again. "I'm not a sorcerer."
"If you were a sorcerer, you'd say the same."Gatiwan reminded Nightfall in his own words.
"If I were a sorcerer," Nightfall corrected, "I'd kill my damned, disgusting, slimy, hideous self."
Brandonlaughed. "Believe it or not, I actually met a sorcerer with the self-control to never act on his
birthright. And I didn't kill him." As if to catch Nightfall unaware, he asked quickly, "So what's your
talent?"
"Even if I had one, I ..." Nightfall started.
They finished in unison, ". . . would have to deny it."
With clear reluctance,Gatiwan returned to the case. "Byroth'sthe fourth child in a year."
That caught Nightfall's attention. As rare as the natal gifts were, it seemed highly unlikely thatSchiz could
harbor four children with them. Of course, since those with the talents hid them for their own safety, no
one really knew exactly how frequently they occurred. "Tell me about the others."
Brandonran a hand through his dark curls. "First one happened a year or so ago. Playmate ofByroth's ,
seven years old, drowned in the creek."
Though tragic, it seemed fairly commonplace. "What makes you think a sorcerer was involved?"
"I didn't at the time." TheMagebane continued to finger comb his hair, dislodging bits of bark and sand.
 

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