‘Didn’t mean to frighten you,’ a familiar voice said, drawing alongside.
Freath opened his eyes, expecting to see his acquaintance from the inn. Although the clothes were identical, he would not have recognised the man. ‘You can’t be too careful,’ his companion explained, seeing Freath’s shock at his transformation.
‘Your disguise is impressive,’ Freath said, watching as the man pulled padding from around his girth and shoulders to reveal a much leaner frame. The gingery sideburns and reddish grey beard had already disappeared, along with the bright mop of auburn hair. ‘You’ve forgotten your eyebrows,’ he added.
‘We’re here,’ the man said, glancing over Freath’s shoulder as he dealt with the last of his disguise.
‘Here?’ Freath repeated, looking around. He saw nothing but a thickly wooded area, which was dark and foreboding now that the moonlight had been obliterated by clouds scudding over it. ‘Where?’ he asked.
His companion grinned. ‘This is where we shall talk,’ came the reply. ‘You can get off your horse, for we go no further.’
Freath obediently slid off his mount, ignoring his fellow rider’s hand of help.
‘This is Tern,’ his host introduced.
‘Obliged I’m sure,’ Freath said somewhat ungraciously to the man who had abducted him. ‘And who are you? I had hoped to meet the outlaw Kilt F—’
‘I’m Faris.’
Freath felt something coalesce inside into an excitement he had not permitted himself so far. ‘How can I be sure of that?’ he asked.
‘Because I am a man of my word.’
Freath saw that the man called Tern was busying himself with some sort of shelter that was hidden in the trees.
Faris noted his gaze. ‘It is a hideout. You will forgive us our low light. We are always careful this close to a town.’
‘But we must be miles from Francham.’
‘Nevertheless—’
‘You can never be too careful,’ Freath said at the same time as Faris.
The outlaw smiled. ‘Join us, Master Freath. I can offer you something to warm old bones.’
Freath ducked into the small space created by a cunning canopy of slim branches woven together, their leaves creating a dense wall. Small stools were placed inside and tiny candles had been lit to offer a small measure of comfort. ‘Must be tough in the cold months,’ he commented.
‘We are never this far down in the blow,’ Faris replied. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he offered dryly.
Freath perched on one of the low stools. ‘Was the inn not rough enough for you?’
Faris gave a low chuckle. ‘Speaking of Rough, let me invite you to try some.’
‘I’d rather not,’ Freath replied.
‘A small nip will not hurt you,’ Faris said, taking tiny shot cups that Tern had miraculously produced. A small flask appeared as well from a saddle-bag. ‘It is a custom in this part of the realm to take Rough together.’
‘This is no realm, Master Faris. We live in a compass,’ Freath said, his mouth twisting into a shape of disgust, ‘or hadn’t you realised?’
‘I answer to a king, Master Freath, not an emperor.’
Freath’s belly flipped. ‘How can I know you are not an impostor? That this whole thing has not been a clever charade?’
‘Why would anyone go to the trouble?’
Freath frowned.
Faris sighed. He removed a chain from around his neck. ‘Do you recognise this?’
The low light made no difference. Freath could clearly see that the man was holding Queen Iselda’s chain and locket. ‘Where did you get that?’ he demanded.
‘From a king.’
‘Which one?’ Freath breathed.
‘The first time or the second time?’
‘Don’t toy with me, man!’
Faris regarded him. Freath maintained his glower. He was furious but also tingling with anticipation. Leo was within his midst somewhere—the long-held dream of returning the Valisar throne to its rightful sovereign was within grasp.
The tallow candles guttered in tandem with his anticipation and Freath took his eyes off Faris to glance at them.
‘Hog fat,’ Faris said. ‘We save our sheep-fat candles for polite guests.’
‘Listen to me, Faris,’ Freath threatened, ‘lives are in the balance. Many have already been lost to protect King Leo. Many more have been pledged to save him. Don’t make light of my suffering.’
‘Yours?’ Faris looked at him with disgust. ‘Why shouldn’t I just slit your throat here and now, Freath? Did you honestly imagine you’d leave this place alive? As it is, a word from me and your companion will be rotting in the earth somewhere between here and Brighthelm.’
‘My companion?’ Freath stuttered. ‘Kirin? What do you mean?’
‘Kirin? Is that his name? Well, my merchant friends will have no hesitation to end his life should that be necessary, let me assure you.’
Freath felt his skin turn clammy. The elation he’d experienced just moments earlier fled.
‘It amazes me that you have not considered this outcome,’ Faris baited.
Freath cleared his throat. ‘It amazes me that you think I would invest my time and energy and no small amount of personal funds if I was anything but earnest.’
‘So, despite all I’ve heard to the contrary, I’m to believe you are a loyalist?’
‘To King Brennus? Yes!’
‘But you work for the emperor. In fact, you’re a close aide and indeed confidant of Loethar.’
‘I am seen to play those roles.’
‘Oh, is that so?’ Faris replied. His tone was quietly mocking. ‘And so why are you looking for me?’
‘You know why.’
Faris knocked back his Rough in a single swallow. ‘I want to hear you tell me why.’
‘I am here,’ Freath began, placing his shot glass, its fiery liquid unsipped, on the ground beneath his stool, ‘to learn of King Leonel.’
‘You call him king,’ Faris replied.
‘And you speak of him in the present tense.’
Faris nodded and smiled. Freath did not return it. He was not in the mood for games.
‘What is your interest in the Valisars, Freath?’ Faris pressed.
‘The same as yours, I imagine.’
‘Which is?’
‘Revenge.’
‘I have many enemies,’ Faris said coolly. ‘Yet I know none of them.’
‘Then we are kindred spirits.’
‘Ah, not so,’ the outlaw replied, glancing over at Tern in what Freath sensed was some sort of silent signal. ‘I know of at least two enemies of yours, Master Freath. And so do you.’
Freath shrugged, watching Faris’s man leave the enclosure. ‘I agree with you that I have many. It would not surprise me if you knew of them.’
‘Is it true that you killed Queen Iselda?’
Freath hung his head. The