“Heretical bitch…” he wheezed. “Time for your convers—”

He didn’t finish. Reynevan hooked a forearm around his neck, pulled backwards and cut his throat.

They ran down the stairs and into the frosty night, into red-tinged darkness, which still resounded with shouts and the clangour of fighting. Elencza slipped on the icy steps and would have fallen were it not for Reynevan’s helping hand. She glanced up, into his face, looking through tears, still stunned, still not quite sure if she was dreaming. Her legs bent under her, faltered. He noticed.

“We must flee,” he uttered. “We must.”

He seized her around her waist, pulled her into a niche in the wall, into the concealing gloom. Just in time. A half-naked and bloodied man ran past down the lane being chased by the wailing and yelling mob.

“We must flee,” Reynevan repeated. “Or hide somewhere…”

“I…” she said, struggling to overcome her panting and the trembling of her mouth. “You… Save… Me—”

“I will.”

They suddenly found themselves in the town square, near the pillory, amid the frantic crowd. Elencza looked up, straight into the face of Death. A scream of terror stuck in her throat. It’s just a sculpture, she said to herself, trying to reassure herself, trembling. Just a sculpture. A skeleton representing Death carved in the tympanum above the western entrance to the town hall, grinning and wielding a scythe. It’s just a sculpture…

Shots rained down from the windows of the blazing town hall. Firearms roared; bolts hissed from crossbows. It’s the less severely wounded Czechs, recalled Elencza with astonishing lucidity. The lightly wounded and convalescents were quartered in the town hall. They wouldn’t agree to being disarmed…

She tottered on, not knowing where they were going. Reynevan stopped her, squeezing her arm hard.

“We’ll pause here,” he said, panting, “and stand still. To avoid attracting attention. They’re like predatory animals. They react to movement. And the smell of fear. If we don’t move, they won’t even notice us.”

So they stood. Unmoving. Like statues. In the midst of Hell.

The town hall fell, the defence was breached, a yelling horde of attackers forced its way inside.

Amid the hellish wailing, people began to be thrown out of the windows, into the street, right in front of the waiting clubs and axes. Pike blades pinned to the wall a dozen living and half-dead people who had been dragged out. The dying were trampled underfoot and torn to pieces. Blood flowed in rivers, foaming in the gutters.