Read Online The Return of Nightfall by Mickey Zucker Reichert - Free Book Online
Authors: Mickey Zucker Reichert
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is it, Sudian?”
“I don’t know.” Nightfall continued to study the night, seeking solace in familiar rhythms. “But I have to get back to His Majesty.”
Gatiwan grunted his understanding, but the Magebane showed a better appreciation. Brandon had more experience with the natural wariness of the natally gifted. Gatiwan did not have to worry for his life and soul every moment of each and every day. “We’ll send along your condolences.”
Though driven to leave, Nightfall fulfilled his duty. “Condolences, yes.” He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. He no longer felt a bit of remorse for the killing. “Be sure you tell the father that his wounding of the sorcerer rescued many other men’s sons and daughters.”
Brandon tapped his broad lips thoughtfully. “You mean because the sorcerer’s injuries made him too weak to take Byroth’s soul?”
Nightfall hoped the Magekillers would continue along that line of thought. They would believe that, had the sorcerer come at Nightfall and Byroth at full strength, he would have killed Alyndar’s adviser and taken the boy’s soul. Though no stranger to deadpan lying, Nightfall hedged. “The father will know what I mean. Be sure they both realize Byroth’s fate was sealed the moment he got his power. No one could have protected him—”
Gatiwan jumped in. “Brandon could have—”
“With that talent?” Nightfall frowned. “The Almighty Father could not have protected him, nor the sorcerer who obtained it, nor the one after him. The ability Byroth . . .” Exhaustion wore down Nightfall’s caution. He wanted to say, “obtained,” wished he could share the burden with his companions; but he dared not trust them. No matter the appropriateness of or the reason for the slaying, Nightfall would not willingly stand before the judgment of Duke Varsah nor place Byroth’s father in that position. As much as he had come to enjoy camaraderie, Nightfall could never risk giving another man, especially one like Varsah, the upper hand. He started over, “That ability Byroth had was one of the greatest curses anyone could bear.”
A light flashed through Brandon Magebane’s pale eyes. “I could have stopped hunting. The sorcerers would have come to me. On my territory.”
“Your territory; their terms.” Gatiwan made Nightfall’s point for him. “And what kind of life would Byroth have had? Living bait for the Magebane’s trap?”
Driven to check on Edward, Nightfall finished his piece. “And make sure the mother realizes that, though she lost a son, she still has the father . . . if she shows him some compassion.” And forgiveness. Without awaiting further comment or questioning, Nightfall fled into the night.
Amid the cloaking darkness and the cool night air, Nightfall felt at home in Schiz’ threadlike byways. Huddled alone in shadows was the only place he had ever felt safe, hidden from his mother’s bitterness, the cruelty of her clients, the predators who assaulted those lost children who did not learn how to cover fast enough. Then, a dark empty street had seemed like paradise. Now, he worried over the lack of rogues who normally owned the night alleys. Clearly, something troublesome had happened, dangerous enough that the people of the night feared to get involved or caught in the guardsmen’s retaliatory sweep. It’s Ned. It has to be Ned.
For an instant, the past overwhelmed Nightfall. Every instinct screamed at him to run and hide with the other monsters. He was the demon of legend, a creature unworthy of love or friendship, a survivor who tied himself to nothing and nobody. These moments of self-hatred had come upon him less frequently over time. When they threatened to overwhelm him, an image of Dyfrin always came to mind: the heart-shaped face, the tangled mop of sand-colored hair, the soft dark eyes that pierced the fiercest, most desperate facade. Dyfrin the brother; Dyfrin the father; Dyfrin the friend, truer than truth
“I don’t know.” Nightfall continued to study the night, seeking solace in familiar rhythms. “But I have to get back to His Majesty.”
Gatiwan grunted his understanding, but the Magebane showed a better appreciation. Brandon had more experience with the natural wariness of the natally gifted. Gatiwan did not have to worry for his life and soul every moment of each and every day. “We’ll send along your condolences.”
Though driven to leave, Nightfall fulfilled his duty. “Condolences, yes.” He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. He no longer felt a bit of remorse for the killing. “Be sure you tell the father that his wounding of the sorcerer rescued many other men’s sons and daughters.”
Brandon tapped his broad lips thoughtfully. “You mean because the sorcerer’s injuries made him too weak to take Byroth’s soul?”
Nightfall hoped the Magekillers would continue along that line of thought. They would believe that, had the sorcerer come at Nightfall and Byroth at full strength, he would have killed Alyndar’s adviser and taken the boy’s soul. Though no stranger to deadpan lying, Nightfall hedged. “The father will know what I mean. Be sure they both realize Byroth’s fate was sealed the moment he got his power. No one could have protected him—”
Gatiwan jumped in. “Brandon could have—”
“With that talent?” Nightfall frowned. “The Almighty Father could not have protected him, nor the sorcerer who obtained it, nor the one after him. The ability Byroth . . .” Exhaustion wore down Nightfall’s caution. He wanted to say, “obtained,” wished he could share the burden with his companions; but he dared not trust them. No matter the appropriateness of or the reason for the slaying, Nightfall would not willingly stand before the judgment of Duke Varsah nor place Byroth’s father in that position. As much as he had come to enjoy camaraderie, Nightfall could never risk giving another man, especially one like Varsah, the upper hand. He started over, “That ability Byroth had was one of the greatest curses anyone could bear.”
A light flashed through Brandon Magebane’s pale eyes. “I could have stopped hunting. The sorcerers would have come to me. On my territory.”
“Your territory; their terms.” Gatiwan made Nightfall’s point for him. “And what kind of life would Byroth have had? Living bait for the Magebane’s trap?”
Driven to check on Edward, Nightfall finished his piece. “And make sure the mother realizes that, though she lost a son, she still has the father . . . if she shows him some compassion.” And forgiveness. Without awaiting further comment or questioning, Nightfall fled into the night.
Amid the cloaking darkness and the cool night air, Nightfall felt at home in Schiz’ threadlike byways. Huddled alone in shadows was the only place he had ever felt safe, hidden from his mother’s bitterness, the cruelty of her clients, the predators who assaulted those lost children who did not learn how to cover fast enough. Then, a dark empty street had seemed like paradise. Now, he worried over the lack of rogues who normally owned the night alleys. Clearly, something troublesome had happened, dangerous enough that the people of the night feared to get involved or caught in the guardsmen’s retaliatory sweep. It’s Ned. It has to be Ned.
For an instant, the past overwhelmed Nightfall. Every instinct screamed at him to run and hide with the other monsters. He was the demon of legend, a creature unworthy of love or friendship, a survivor who tied himself to nothing and nobody. These moments of self-hatred had come upon him less frequently over time. When they threatened to overwhelm him, an image of Dyfrin always came to mind: the heart-shaped face, the tangled mop of sand-colored hair, the soft dark eyes that pierced the fiercest, most desperate facade. Dyfrin the brother; Dyfrin the father; Dyfrin the friend, truer than truth
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