Remounting, Nightfall took the long way back, examining the competition. Squires curried horses, oiled tack, and polished armor. Slaves and servants scurried between masters and the periphery with food, water, and small items for preparation or repair. He found Takruysse toward the center, the cat symbol and swirling colors unmistakable. His slaves had crafted a wooden lean-to in which a proud blood bay charger stood, its demeanor watchful but calm. Clearly, it had weathered many con tests. The jousting saddle perched upon a stout log supported horizontally by poles staked into the ground. Silver reflected highlights that blinded Nightfall, and he shielded his eyes for a closer look at the more functional, weaker parts of the tack. The cinch strap was a braided weave of brown and green sewn onto a gleaming ring, its cleanliness suggesting it was brand new for this contest. A leather tie would draw it into place. The front and back supports, Nightfall guessed, would prove sturdy. The armor lay neatly stacked on a blanket, two collared slaves oiling and buffing, giving full concentration to the task.
Nightfall took the scene in at a glance, without pausing to gawk. He headed back toward Prince Edward, his mind a whirlwind of ideas. Thoughts of tampering with Takruysse’s lance passed quickly. To hollow it would take too much time and risk, and Takruysse would surely notice the abrupt change in weight and balance even before the contest began. Whittling it down would not get past the knight’s inspection. Nightfall cared for horses too much to lame one without consideration of all other options first, and he doubted he could injure Takruysse without taking his own life in his hands. He imagined he could sneak in and kill the knight, but neither his conscience nor the oath-bound promise to leave the persona of Nightfall behind would allow murder without justification. Tampering with the armor seemed possible, but remotely so. Nightfall knew nothing about its parts, construction, and donning. He considered slipping something inside it, such as bees or some kind of grainy powder; but a better plan came to him based on equipment he knew well. The saddle seemed the target; he had sabotaged cinches before. And minor preparation of Prince Edward as well would aid the success of his plan.
Nightfall returned to his master pleased by his own cleverness. Edward had dismounted, though the horse still wore saddle and bridle, the reins looped in the prince’s hand. He talked with another man perched on a heavily-muscled palomino, its coat burnished and its mane cream white, unmarred by even single hairs of darker color. It stood motionless, four feet steadily braced and its ears cocked back and attentive to its rider. Nightfall focused on the stranger, drawn by the majesty of stance and appearance. The close-cropped blond hair made Edward’s longer locks seem unruly though they were well-brushed. The features were familiar, and the shrewd, brown eyes clinched the identity. He looked like an older version of Edward, except for the eyes that could only have come from King Rikard. Only then, Nightfall recognized the purple and silver patterning on the silks of man and horse, the too-familiar colors of Alyndar.
"Master, let me handle the horse." Nightfall reached to take the reins from Edward. He gave each prince a respectful half-bow.
Edward waited until Nightfall had a good hold on the leathers, then released his grip. "Sudian, this is my brother, Crown-prince Leyne."
Nightfall made a gesture of deferential respect with his free hand, allowing the elder prince to speak first.
Leyne obliged, his voice the same booming bass as his father’s. "Ah, yes. This is the fanatically loyal squire they’re still whispering about back in Alyndar." He studied Nightfall with a measuring gaze that seemed more curious and aloof than mistrustful. Nightfall would have bet all the money in his pocket that Leyne knew nothing about Rikard’s and Gilleran’s arrangement. "Four months and not quit yet. That is impressive." He winked at Edward to show he meant no offense.
Edward smiled tolerantly.
Nightfall took an immediate dislike to the crown prince of Alyndar. The things brothers could get away with saying to one another had never ceased to amaze him. Nightfall set to his work without a reply, stripping saddles and bridles from both horses and hobbling them to graze.
Leyne turned his attention back to Edward. "Best of luck, brother. It’s good to finally see you take some interest in competition. No matter how you fare, it’ll be good experience for future tourney.” He spun his horse and waved over one shoulder before heading back into the crowd.
Edward watched after his retreating brother, lips pursed and gaze longing. "I wish I could be more like him."
Cut your brain out. Bloat your self-regard. Nightfall kept the thought to himself. Finished with the horses, he set up camp swiftly. Edward continued to stare after his brother, looking nervously out of place amid the confident band of nobles and their entourages, nearly all of which consisted of more than just a single squire. Once he spread the sleeping blankets, prepared food, and arranged the packs protectively around their camp, Edward finally addressed him.
"How much do you know about armor and jousting weapons or getting horses ready for tourney?"
Nightfall saw no reason to lie. “Nothing, Master."
"Nothing," Edward repeated, clearly disappointed but not surprised. "Well, then, I’ll teach you. Leyne said the first round will be all tilting.”
Nightfall’s brow creased. "Tilting, Master?"
"Lance competitions from horseback.” Edward sighed, apparently realizing Nightfall had not exaggerated when he claimed to know nothing about the sport. "A good choice in some ways; you’ll need to learn everything at once." He considered his own words. “A bad choice for the same reason, I guess, depending on whether you learn better at once or gradually.” He gave Nightfall a questioning glance.
Nightfall shrugged. "Teach me whatever is needed. I’ll learn."
Edward nodded, obviously realizing the answer did not matter, nor would it change anything about the situation. “First, a trip to the weapons stock. The experienced ones will have brought equipment of their own, decorated and balanced to their liking. As late as we came, we’ll have to take whatever’s left of what the competition supplied, if anything. Otherwise, we’ll have to borrow."
Nightfall nodded to indicate he had heard, but he did not concern himself with the problem. Once a weapon met certain specifications, the biases of individual wielders made far less difference than most would think, at least to Nightfall’s mind. He preferred a perfectly balanced and tapered throwing knife, but he could fling a sharpened stick into a bullseye. Skill played a far greater role than tools, and he had watched Edward wield a spade like a sword with too much competence to believe minutiae would destroy his ability or sense of timing. "What about Prince Leyne’s lance? Wouldn’t he lend it to you?"
"He probably would." Though he answered in the affirmative, Edward shook his head. "I wouldn’t ask." Nightfall tendered his question cautiously, a repeat of Edward’s words. "You wouldn’t, Master?"
"It would be impolite. Leyne’s weapons are like his queen will be: long-sought, meticulously chosen, and not to be shared." The prince hesitated, obviously as discomfited by his own choice of words as the thought of borrowing from the brother he emulated. "Did you find out who I’ll fight first?"
"Sir Takruysse sol-Chiminyo." Nightfall gauged Edward’s reaction.
The prince swallowed hard, features paling. He managed a mild smile, with obvious effort. "They must trust me to do well in my first competition to give me an opponent who has placed high in so many."