Horn stood up in the stirrups and looked towards the river in the direction the pursuers had fled, but there was no trace of them.

“The Náchod Orphans,” he said gravely. “Until recently a field army, now a gang roaming the land spreading fear. These are the results of the unending ceasefire, see how harmful peace is. It’s high time for a war, gentlemen, for an expeditionary raid. And in any case, we must ask brothers Kúdelník and Čapek to pay attention to that Půlpán. And keep him on a slightly shorter leash.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Reynevan. “Půlpán… Hmm… Půlpán’s is no longer with us.”

“What? What’s the matter? How did it happen?”

Reynevan told him how. Urban Horn listened. Without interrupting.

“I knew,” he said, when Reynevan had finished, “that your help would be indispensable to me. But I never expected it to be so indispensable.”

Chapter Six

In which our heroes—presently at the Moravian castle of Sovinec—realise that one should always, in any situation, absolutely have a contingency plan up one’s sleeve. To be pulled out at the right moment.

Curses, the neighing of horses and the metallic clanking of horseshoes from the courtyard came through the barred window of the tower. The Sovinec burgmen, as was customary for them, set off to patrol the pass, inspect the vicinity and extort money from the local population. A cockerel crowed with wild abandon one more time and one of the women residing at the castle yelled at her husband. A lamb bleated horrifyingly.

Bruno Schilling, former Black Rider, currently a deserter, renegade and captive, was slightly pale. The paleness was probably only caused by his recent illness. If Bruno Schilling was afraid, he was skilfully concealing it. He refrained from fidgeting on his stool and letting his eyes flick from one interrogator to the next. But he didn’t avoid making eye contact. Horn was right, thought Reynevan. He saw through him. Schilling isn’t just any old slow-witted thug. He is a sly fox, a wily fellow and a slippery rascal.

“Let us begin, time flies,” said Urban horn, placing his hands on the table. “As we have already established, if I ask you something, you answer—concisely and to the point. I’m doing the interrogating, you’re being interrogated. Is that clear?”

The lamb in the courtyard finally stopped bleating. And the cockerel stopped crowing.

“I asked you a question,” Horn reminded him drily. “I don’t intend to guess at your answers, so be so good as to speak them, however many questions I ask. Beginning now.”

Bruno Schilling glanced at Reynevan, but quickly looked away. Reynevan didn’t take the trouble to hide his dislike and antipathy. He didn’t try at all.

“Schilling.”

“I understand, m’Lord Horn.”