Surrender to the Will of the Night Read Free Page A

said, “Recently arrived letters, sir. In order of arrival. Also, a gentleman named Renfrow has asked to see you. Shall I make an appointment?”
    “You don’t know who he is?”
    “ He thinks he’s important.”
    “And that would be true.”
    “Shall I make an appointment?”
    “No. Send him in. The rest of you, clear off. Madouc. I don’t want the servants eavesdropping.” Bayard va Still-Patter expected his people to spy. They tried hard. And were ferociously inept.
    Renfrow was nondescript. He wore seasoned clothing like nine of ten people in the street, was average in height and unremarkable in his features. His hair betrayed specks of gray. Hecht had been close enough to smell the man’s breath on several occasions but could not recall the color of his eyes.
    Hecht watched Renfrow approach. Renfrow was surprised to see Algres Drear. Pella, Hecht sensed, remembered Renfrow from the Knight of Wands a couple years ago.
    That boy had a dangerous memory.
    Hecht considered the letters. He recognized none of the hands. One seal was that of the Patriarch. The others belonged to the Empress and her sister, respectively.
    These morning reviews happened around a table capable of seating a dozen. Hecht folded a couple maps and turned over two reports that had not gone away. Renfrow took it all in at a glance, lingering an instant on the letters from the Imperial sisters.
    Hecht said, “Sit. If you’ll be more comfortable. I intend to.” He settled.
    “I appreciate you seeing me so fast.”
    “Our talks are always interesting. And I’ve grown bored. I should have waited and come here a week behind King Jaime.”
    “I can’t imagine being bored in this political climate.”
    “Not my politics.”
    “You could be wrong. I think. There are secrets even I can’t ferret out. Secrets hidden from Ferris Renfrow in particular.”
    “I can understand that.”
    Renfrow flashed a conspiratorial smile. “If I asked, would you explain why Algres Drear is with you? I pulled a lot of strings to get him rehabilitated enough to go be one of Bellicose’s Braunsknecht guards.”
    “Bellicose told him to come.”
    “I hear you and Bellicose have developed a mutual admiration.”
    “True. Is that why you’re here?”
    “No. I wanted to warn you to be careful.”
    Hecht merely raised an eyebrow.
    “Dark things are stirring. Rumors reach me, second-or third-hand, from sources not even marginally reliable. The Night is abidingly disturbed by what you’ve been doing in the Connec.”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
    “You have powerful enemies. Over there.”
    Hecht, never quite convinced, nevertheless nodded.
    Renfrow produced a folded paper from inside his shirt. Hecht winced, half expecting a crossbow bolt. Madouc would be watching. Madouc did not like sudden movements near his principal.
    Renfrow opened the sheet, smoothed it.
    “What is that?”
    A talented artist had drawn a face, the side of a head, and an unusual pair of hands.
    “Life-size,” Renfrow said. “Killed north of here some weeks ago, along with several barbarians who wore animal bones and skulls in their hair.”
    “What was it?”
    “I’d hoped you would know. You’re the man from Duarnenia. The veteran pagan fighter.”
    “Not a pagan fighter. I left before I was old enough to visit the Marshes. But the Sheard had nothing like this helping them.”
    “You’re a mystery wearing a cloak of enigma, Captain-General. The men with this thing had some connection to Kharoulke the Windwalker.”
    “Then you’re looking at the wrong pagan gods. The Sheard have nothing to do with Kharoulke. Or any gods of his generation. Kharoulke hails from the farthest north. From the lands of the Seatts. And beyond. Kharoulke was displaced by the gods that our God overcame when Chaldarean missionaries converted the north. I’ve heard rumors about the Windwalker returning.”
    “You surprise me again by being so well informed.”
    “I have friends in low