“My drinking hole?” Gil tipped his head in mock insult. “Are you referring to my establishment? Or my mouth?”
Nightfall passed off the rhetorical question with another uninhibited laugh. “I’ve spent the last several months checking out that new healer in Delfor.”
Gil rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, and leaned forward in clear interest. “Yeah? What did you find?”
Nightfall made a disgruntled noise through pursed lips. “Every man with a scratch or ailment had the same idea. Only, it costs ten fortunes to actually see the lady. So the streets were packed with every scrofulous, pus-reeking beggar in the four kingdoms.”
Gil’s eyes widened. “That explains why we’ve seen so few. Can’t say as I miss ’em.”
Nightfall’s brows inched upward.
Gil studied Nightfall’s silent features a moment before realizing the potential for offense in what he had just said. “Oh, fie! I don’t consider you one of ’em. You’re not scrofulous or pus-reeking, for one. You’re a decent fellow who just happened to get sick when you were young and has a bit of a limp now, that’s all.”
“I also won’t stoop to begging.” Nightfall shook his head, not having to imagine the scene of hundreds of filthy, disease-riddled beggars groping at the fortunate. He had lived it at Edward’s side. “I took up any odd job offered, though I spent some time convincing those Delforians I could handle some things.”
Gil rubbed his stubbly cheeks and chin. “They don’t know you like we do.”
Nightfall shook his head, then rolled his eyes. “Come to realize over time the healer’s powers are limited. I’m doing all this hard labor, saving up my coppers, only to find she can’t cure ailments like mine.”
“She can’t?” Gil’s interest grew more intense. He thrived on the information travelers brought to the tavern, especially tidbits he could sell or share with clients who might appreciate them enough to bump up tips.
“She can’t.” Nightfall shook his head with a sigh. “Should have known I’m destined to live with this curse forever.” He shrugged. “Guess I did something to offend a god who holds a wicked and long-standing grudge.”
Gil raised a hand to make a warding gesture. His religious beliefs were more stolid than Frihiat’s. “Is it because your problems came from polio? Or because you’ve had them so long?”
Nightfall shrugged one shoulder, then let it fall. “From what I understand, she can only heal injuries, not afflictions or illnesses.”
“Ah.” Gil shifted his bulk backward in clear contemplation. “Perfect for a noble with a standing army or guard force.”
Nightfall nodded gloomily. “But useless for a man like myself.” Dejection was such a rare part of Frihiat’s character, Nightfall abandoned it. “Ah, well. Not sure I’d know what to do with right-working legs anyway. I might start going through life too fast to really enjoy it.”
Still clearly considering Nightfall’s words, Gil did not speak.
“So, I hear I missed some major excitement here.”
Stricken from his reverie, Gil jerked. “Huh?”
“Word on the roads is the king of Alyndar and his entire entourage vanished from this very tavern.”
Gil glanced around with clear nervousness. He licked lips that seemed to have gone dry in an instant. “Not exactly vanished.”
“No?” Nightfall encouraged.
“The king, himself, disappeared. But we cleaned up a heap of bodies.”
“Glad I missed it,” Nightfall said, using a tone pitched to encourage. “What exactly happened?”
“I . . .” Gil’s eyes became inordinately busy looking anywhere but at Nightfall. “. . . I . . . can’t say.”
Nightfall displayed his best twisted look of incredulity. “You were here, weren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but . . .”
Nightfall waited; but Gil did not complete the thought, so Nightfall prompted. “But . . . ?”
Gil shook his head, barely disturbing his sweat-plastered hair. “I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry.”
Nightfall stared, hoping to convey his thoughts in a look.
Frihiat just bared his soul and handed that jerk the most useful piece of news he got in months, and all I get back is silence.
Apparently getting the point, Gil drew into himself on the chair. It made him look rounder, rather than smaller. “Look, Fri. I’d tell you, but . . .”
Nightfall could not afford to let Gil off the hook. “But what?”
Gil lowered his voice to a whisper. “They’ll kill me.”
Nightfall also whispered. “Who?”
“They,” Gil hissed. “the ones who did it.”
Nightfall leaned in so they could hear one another. “How will they know?”
“They have eyes and ears everywhere.”
Though tiring of the game, Nightfall continued to whisper. “Even on their bellies? Their backs? Their butts? That must make them look . . . very silly.”
Gil’s mouth twisted. For a moment, it looked as if he would laugh, then he shook his head instead. “This is no joke, Frihiat.”
“I agree,” Nightfall said. “But I hardly think the Bloodshadow Brotherhood is going to dismember you for telling what you saw to an old cripple.”
Gil turned greenish. “How . . . how did you . . . know about . . . ?”
Not wanting to wait until the tavern became too busy for Gil to spare the time, Nightfall interrupted. “The Bloodshadow Brotherhood?”
“Shhhh!” Gil cautioned, looking around nervously again.
Nightfall made a stern noise. “Gil, would you stop acting like a cat dangled over a fire pit? I assumed. Who else could get you to clam up so tightly over something so interesting?”
“Then you know why I can’t say anything.”
“To the guards, maybe.” Nightfall could not afford to let the matter drop. “But I could have been here that night, should have been. Who could I tell that would matter?”
Gil rubbed his hands over his sleeves in edgy bursts.
“Gil, you owe me. And I don’t mean a few glasses of that watered urine you call ale.”
Clearly anxious, Gil let the insult to his product slide. “You can’t tell anyone, Fri. Not anyone.”
“Have I ever betrayed you?” Nightfall could ask in good conscience. Frihiat had never duped anyone, at least not in that particular guise.
“No,” Gil admitted.
“Then spill.”
Gil’s gaze went toward the quarters at the back, but he made no suggestions that they move. Nightfall knew he had chosen the most defensible spot when it came to people overhearing. Windows would pose the greatest hazard here, and those existed only in the back rooms. Though he had chosen the centermost table to maintain character, it turned out to have other advantages as well.
“No one can hear us,” Nightfall reassured, certain of his words. “If you didn’t look so guilty and anxious, no one would even know we’re not discussing the coming weather.”
Gil bit his lower lip. He could not afford to believe in evil spirits, given the information that regularly passed through taverns; yet he clearly worried those arisen from the blood of a demon could listen through solid walls, ceilings, and floors. Perhaps he believed they hovered around him, invisible to the human eye. Nevertheless, he recounted his story. “They slipped in like the wind. Some were already inside, looking like regular travelers. Others slithered through the windows in the back, their hands and weapons already stained crimson with the blood of the sleeping Alyndarian guardsmen. They knew the strongest warriors, who to kill first, and they took those men out before the others realized their danger. Some fought, including the king himself—a surprisingly masterful swordsman, by the way. But even he was no match for the . . .” He dropped his voice so low, Nightfall could not hear, but understanding and lip movement filled in the word: Brotherhood. “They worked like a single seamless being, the reincarnation of the demon Nightfall himself. They overwhelmed the guards with their numbers, butchered everyone, and took the injured king away.”
Injured.
Nightfall had to fight to keep from saying the word aloud. He knew better than to distract Gil now that the proprietor had lapsed into story mode.
“They disappeared into the night, and no one has seen them since.”
As Gil had clearly finished, Nightfall needed to ask. “The Brotherhood took no casualties?” He could scarcely believe such a thing possible, given the competence of King Edward’s entourage.
“They took their dead and wounded with them. Four, at least, from what I saw. And,” he shivered grimly, “we found another outside the sleeping room window, his throat slit, disemboweled. Clearly done in by one of his own.”
Great way to inspire loyalty.
Nightfall believed he knew the young man, the one who had not managed to steal the ring Nightfall still carried on his person. “Where did they go?”
“What?”
“Where did they take the king?”
Gil looked at Nightfall as if he had gone daft. “Wherever demons go. They disappeared as swiftly as they came, melting into the shadows like the demonspawn they are. No one knows that.” His eyes narrowed. “Why would you want to know a thing like that?”
Trapped by his own need, Nightfall downplayed it. He held out his hands. “I don’t know. It just seemed like the next logical question.”
Gil made a noise deep in his throat.
Nightfall played victim. “Now listen, Gil. Don’t be aiming that paranoia of yours at me.”
Gil managed a tense smile. “You’re right, Fri, of course. It’s just horrible to have seen such a thing and . . . well, just to have seen it. To know what they’re capable of.”
Nightfall knew at least part of Gil’s discomfort came from witnessing the most exciting event in all of Shisen, yet having no way to speak of it. He had relished the chance to tell the tale. In that respect, Frihiat had done him another favor, one he could never admit.
“Wherever they took him, the king is dead.”
Nightfall’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to sound curious rather than desperately alarmed. “How do you know?”
“That feisty little squire of his was behind the whole plan. With the king dead, leaving no heir, the throne is his.” Gil shook his head. “Seems they need to reconsider that line of succession, or at least be more careful who they put in positions of power.”
“Yeah.” Nightfall concealed a relieved sigh, glad Gil’s knowledge of Edward’s supposed death came from false information he already knew. “Isn’t that how they lost the last king, too?”
“And the real crown prince. King Edward’s brother.” Gil ran a hand across his face. “Real upheaval there, I’d warrant. Glad I’m not Alyndarian.”
“I’d heard about the squire being involved. Not safe traveling alone, any more.”
“That’s what the customers say, too.” The door hinges shrilled their angry chorus, and Gil looked over to watch a couple of regulars, off duty guardsmen, come in and take a table in the corner. “And the sailors say not many ships are heading for Alyndar these days. First off, the chaos makes for fewer goods. Second, the guards have taken to searching every ship to make sure the squire’s not snuck aboard. Those with even a bit of illicit cargo don’t want to take the chance, and others just don’t like the delay.”
Nightfall stared absently at the newcomers, essentially strangers, though he had seen them in the tavern when he took the guise of Frihiat in the past. He had learned what he could from Gil, and it seemed woefully inadequate. The details of the battle, even the confirmation of the Bloodshadow Brotherhood’s role, added few pieces to a puzzle that seemed unsolvable.
Now on safe territory, Gil continued. “I feel bad for the boy.”
Nightfall’s brows dropped, and he wondered if he had missed something. “What boy?”
Gil waved away his own topic. “Oh, there’s this cabin boy. He was aboard the ship that took the king’s effects back to Alyndar. They also delivered the squire, not knowing he had a hand in the murders. Anyways . . .” Gil studied his companion to ascertain he still had an audience.
Nightfall tried to look interested, without revealing that his attention had been captured completely.
Danyal.
“ . . . the boy comes in every day asking if I know of any ships heading to Alyndar. It’s clearly important to him he gets there, but he won’t say why. I’ve heard him defend the murdering squire, too, though it’s gotten him slapped once or twice’t. Nice kid, but doesn’t know when to hold his tongue.”
Nightfall knew of only one reason why Danyal would want to go to Alyndar.
He knows something, and he’s trying to keep his promise to get the information to me.
Alyndar seemed a silly place to look for a hunted chancellor, but Nightfall remembered he had explicitly told the boy to deliver any information there. Excitement swept the edge of his mind, but he banished it. Likely, the boy had found a tidbit Nightfall already knew, but he had to make certain. Also, it would not do to let the cabin boy go all the way to Alyndar only to get caught in the morass of bureaucracy that defined a kingdom. His apparent link to Nightfall might get him imprisoned or, at least, closely questioned, a terrifying experience for a young boy who might inadvertently reveal some snippet of information that could hurt them both. Nightfall sighed at the realization. Befriending people held serious disadvantages.
Gil eased his bulk from the chair. “I’ve got to get back to work. We’ll finish catching up later?”
Nightfall watched a serving girl converse with the guardsmen. “Sounds good.” He took an exaggerated whiff of bread-and meat-scented air. “Smells good, too.”
Gil grinned. “I’ll bring you a platter. And a bowl of mead, I presume?”
“The good stuff.” Nightfall jangled the remaining silvers and coppers in his purse. “I need to spend the money I earned for the healing I never got.”
“Yes,
sir
!” Gil headed back to the bar with a bounce in his step.
Nightfall knew the proprietor liked it when Frihiat came into the bar with money, as it all tended to wind up in Gil’s pocket. This time, however, Nightfall intended to leave before the night’s rush. He needed most of the remaining silver for travel. Though, as a skilled pickpocket, he could always get more, he would have to choose another guise under which to steal and risk the possibility of capture. Leaning back in his chair, his “bad” leg outstretched, Nightfall awaited his dinner.