Read Online The Return of Nightfall by Mickey Zucker Reichert - Free Book Online Page A

itself. The same Dyfrin who had rescued Nightfall from a conscienceless, soulless existence in life often came to him in memory after death, to save his humanity again and again. Nightfall now realized the feelings he had for Dyfrin were the same as those for King Edward Nargol, ones he now recognized as genuine friendship. And, though Nightfall once scorned ties to other people as a weakness, he now found himself as powerless to resist them as the feeblest victim. Ned, you guileless dizzard, what have you gotten yourself into this time?
    Nightfall composed himself as he slipped from the end of an alley onto the main road housing the He-Ain’t-Here. He took up the character of Sudian effortlessly, as he had so many others, so many times. He straightened purple and silver silks, speckled with road mud and plastered with grime. A hole gaped in the left thigh of his britches, the ragged edges streaked scarlet with his own blood. Only now he recognized the pain throbbing through the wound, the exhaustion weighting his limbs and forcing his thoughts to wade through his skull like lead.
    Beside the red stone tavern, horses nickered and pranced in the paddock, uncharacteristically nervous. Even Nightfall’s usually calm bay stood with planted hooves, head high and nostrils sifting the wind. The amorphous, crudely lettered bar sign cast a shadow against the common room. A thin column of smoke wafted from the chimney, indicating a dying hearth fire, poorly tended.
    Suddenly, the door was wrenched open with a shrill squeal of hinges. Two men dressed in black tunics with yellowish-brown trim meandered outside, one examining the door, the other scanning the streets.
    Nightfall overcame an urge to melt into the shadows. He had every right to approach the He-Ain’t-Here, and the presence of guardsmen only fueled the propriety of his actions. He hurried toward the men, both of whom looked up at his approach.
    The taller of the two, lean and hungry-looking, spoke, “Excuse me, sir. Are you with Alyndar?”
    Nightfall went utterly still. All speculation fled his mind, replaced by the grim realization that his worst suspicions had been confirmed. He instinctively shoved aside panic with strength of will, drawing up beside them before daring to answer. “I’m Sudian, King Edward’s adviser. What’s going on?”
    The guards exchanged glances; and this time, the short, squatter man replied, “There’s been a . . . happening, sir. We’re trying to get the details.”
    “If you’ll please wait here . . .” the other started.
    Nightfall did not let him finish. Quick as thought, he slipped between the guards to look inside the He-Ain’tHere. The fire had died, leaving glowing logs coated with ash. Several massive lanterns lit the room like daylight revealing most of the tables lying on their sides, including the large one Edward and his entourage had used. Sword strokes scarred the edges. Several bodies lay in awkward disarray on the floor, one on the bar, and another draped over a three-legged chair. Blood and beer dripped from the walls, and scarlet puddles stained the floor beneath the bodies. A terrified huddle of men and women stood behind the bar, watching several other guardsmen sift through the wreckage. Seeing no sign of Edward among them, Nightfall headed toward the bodies. His heart rate quickened with every beat. Ned. Where’s Ned? Where in the blackest hell is Ned? He ran his gaze over the carnage, seeking something on which to ground his understanding, any sign of Alyndar’s king.
    One of the guards caught Nightfall’s arm. Nightfall gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to remove the hand at its wrist. Instead, he whipped his head toward the guard, wearing his sternest glare. Those blue-black eyes had stared down some of the most dangerous men in the world.
    The guard dropped his gaze, appropriately cowed. “Wait, sir. We’re still figuring out what happened.”
    “King Edward?” Nightfall said through gritted