Free Malice (Faithful & the Fallen 1) by John Gwynne Page A

hiding behind many of the scattered boulders, perhaps hidden in the stand of laurels, and the tent could have
concealed at least a dozen more.
    ‘What do we do?’ Veradis whispered to Nathair.
    The Prince shrugged. ‘Wait,’ he muttered.
    So they did, the sun beating down on the warband spread along the ridge, Veradis feeling as if he was slowly roasting inside his shirt of mail. The old man in the dell continued to cook and eat
whatever it was that he had spitted over the fire. He licked his fingers contentedly when he had finished, cuffed a neatly cropped silver beard and washed his hands in the shallow stream before
staring up at the ridge, to where Nathair was crouched.
    ‘You might as well come down,’ the old man called. ‘I’d rather not have to climb all the way up to you.’
    Veradis froze, appalled. He looked at Nathair, who appeared as shocked as he was. The old man repeated his invitation, shrugged, then sat with his back against the boulder.
    ‘I am going down,’ Nathair whispered. ‘Veradis, Rauca, with me. All else will wait here. He may only have spied one of us moving.’
    The Prince stood and slithered down the slope, Veradis and Rauca behind him. Veradis scanned the dell for lurking enemies.
    The old man smiled as he rose, waiting for Nathair to draw closer. There was a scuffing sound behind them; Veradis then saw Orcus sliding down the ridge to join them.
    ‘Welcome, Nathair ben Aquilus,’ the old man said, bowing low.
    Veradis scanned the old man for weapons, but could see none. There was a strength, a sense of energy about him, his bare arms wiry with lean muscle. His face was deeply lined, a hint of good
humour dancing in his eyes, which looked
strange
. Were they tinged with yellow?
    ‘King Lykos?’ Nathair said, stopping half a dozen paces before the man, Veradis, Rauca and Orcus spreading either side of him, a pace behind.
    ‘Me? Lykos?’ the man said, still smiling. ‘Sadly, no. I wish it were true, I envy his youth and vigour. I am but a servant of Lykos. He bid me apologize for his
absence.’
    ‘Where is he?’ Nathair asked, eyes flitting amongst the boulders.
    ‘He has been unavoidably detained,’ the old man replied. ‘So he sent me, instead.’
    ‘And you are?’
    ‘I am the counsellor of the Vin Thalun, adviser to Lykos, King of the Three Islands and the Tethys Sea,’ the old man said, bowing again. Orcus snorted.
    Veradis noted that the man had not actually given his name.
    ‘And the baron that you are to meet?’ Nathair said.
    ‘Ah, yes.’ The old man tugged at his short beard. ‘You must understand, Lykos and I were very eager to meet you. The rendezvous with a baron was an . . . elaboration. It seemed
the best way to ensure your presence.’
    ‘What? But, how did you know I would come?’
    The counsellor smiled. ‘Well, it is common knowledge that Peritus your father’s first-sword is leading a campaign against the giants, dragging the bulk of Jerolin’s warband
around the Agullas Mountains, so that rules him out. Then, as suspicion has been cast on one of your father’s other barons, Aquilus would be most unlikely – in fact, foolish – to
send one of
them
on this task. Who else was left that your father could trust? And it is no secret that you are, uh,
overdue
, in leading a campaign.’
    Nathair scowled, flushing red. ‘So all of this,’ he said, waving a hand around the dell, ‘it was just a
ruse
?’
    ‘Aye, although that would not be my word of choice. As I said, I was very eager to meet you.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Now
that
is a very good question. Right to the heart of the matter,’ the old man said. ‘A question that requires a detailed answer. Perhaps you would care to step
into my tent? There are chairs, wine, fruit. A more fitting environment for a long conversation.’
    Nathair frowned, eyes narrowing.
    ‘Not quite ready for that yet,’ the counsellor shrugged. ‘I can detect a distinct lack of trust in you,