“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.”