Free The Return of Nightfall by Mickey Zucker Reichert

Edward and his father had granted him a new life by declaring the demon dead, all of his crimes fully punished. Nightfall could effortlessly bully out the information unavailable to Sudian and the Schizian guards, but only at the price of undoing his pardon.
    Nightfall played his role. He had never crossed personae and could not start doing it now. “Please, Gil. You must have seen something.” Real desperation softened his tone. A senseless urge seized him to run in a wild, searching spiral until the whole world fell under his scrutiny; instead, he maintained composure. He would have plenty of time to worry. For now, he had to keep terror in check, to gather facts with calm dispatch.
    Gil’s plump features lapsed into irritated wrinkles, and he dropped to the floor. He assumed a position with his rear end in the air toward Nightfall and his head tucked between his arms and his chest. “I was like this. Like this!” He swiveled his head toward Nightfall. “Do you see any eyeballs in my ass!”
    At the moment, Gil’s ass looked more like a tempting target for the heel of his boot. Nightfall bit his lip, not trusting himself to speak until Gil regained his feet. “Eight or ten people died in here. Violently.” He looked from person to person. “Your ears don’t have to be sewn to your ass to hear something.”
    Gil pursed his lips. “I heard nothing.” The group murmured assent, and the proprietor added. “No one heard anything. No one saw anything.”
    Nightfall whirled toward the four guards, who now stood together, watching his attempt with amusement. “What does that mean?” He tried to sound guileless and confused rather than accusatory.
    The short, stout guard’s brows rose in increments.
    Nightfall’s fists clenched at his sides. “What . . . does . . . that . . . mean?”
    “For which word, sir, do you need further explanation?”
    Nightfall did not need anything explained. He knew exactly what they meant, that someone had intimidated these people to the point where lying to the authorities seemed safer than speaking. He wanted the guards to tell him who wielded enough power to accomplish such a thing. “I want you to explain how an army burst into this tavern, causing so much death and destruction, in utter silence. How can so many people simultaneously get struck dumb and blind?” His own words brought another possibility to light, and he shuddered. A sorcerer? He dismissed the thought as unlikely. If magic had rendered the entire group innocently senseless, they would appear more confused than frightened, more talkative and less evasive. “But, mostly, I want to know the whereabouts and condition of my liege, King Edward Nargol of Alyndar.”
    The bullnecked guard ran a hand through short, brown hair ruffled to spikes. “We haven’t found him yet. Either he left the tavern before the fighting started or . . .”
    Nightfall knew the heroic young king would take exception to the words the guard had not yet spoken. “King Edward would never run from a battle.”
    “Then,” the tall, thin guard said, “he might have gotten captured. We’ve seen no sign of him, dead or alive.”
    Nightfall drew some solace from those words. At least, Edward might still be alive. He doubted Edward’s bodyguards would have allowed the king to leave the He-Ain’t-Here without them, even just to relieve himself. If he had managed to go off alone, he should have returned when he heard the commotion in the tavern. Urination was not usually a lengthy process, especially for a young man. Nightfall spoke carefully, trying not to sound too worldly, “Let’s assume, for the moment, that someone did abduct him. Why would they do that, and what’s likely to happen next?”
    The guards glanced at one another. The crowd behind the bar shifted warily. Finally, the tall, thin guard spoke. “Sudian, since you appear to be the only locatable living representative of the kingdom of Alyndar, I think it would be best if you