The town of Kulmbach was afire. Plassenburg Castle, towering above them, which the Orphans were unable to capture, was now like a ship sailing on a sea of flame, borne on turbulent waves of fire.

At first, when they were riding up, Reynevan hadn’t intended to contact the Orphans, had feared that recollections of Smil Půlpán and the conflict with the Náchod contingent were still alive among them, and that in spite of the good relationship he had with Prokop and the Tábor hejtmans, he might encounter hostility from the Orphans. The Orphans’ preachers, led by Little Prokop, kept accusing him of witchcraft and were spreading rumours that he might be an agent provocateur. Hence Reynevan decided to give Kulmbach a wide berth and ride straight to Bayreuth.

Fate thwarted his plans. Riding around the besieged town, they ran into a large cavalry troop which found them suspicious. Their explanations were ignored. They were taken prisoner and delivered to the Orphans’ headquarters under armed escort. To the company’s immense relief, they happened upon hejtmans they knew and were on good terms with. They were greeted by Jan Kolda of Žampach, who was cheerful as usual, and their old comrade, Brázda Ronovic of Klinštejn.

Following the storm, Kulmbach had already been captured and sacked; now fires were being lit and flames already raged on the roofs as dense smoke crawled and climbed into the sky.

“No,” replied Kolda on being asked. “No, Reynevan, I have no information about any maidens. For why should I? It’s war—a great disorder that no one can control. To the east of us marches the Tábor, that is Prokop and Kroměšín; to the west the municipal militias of Královec and Zygmunt Manda’s Prague militia. And between us forays and maverick units are operating, gangs, leaderless groups and deserters are marauding… I advise you to rescue your maidens as quickly as you can. If they are between the armies, things look bleak.”

Scharley ground his teeth. Reynevan’s face was white. Brázda saw it.

“While we’re on the subject of gangs and marauders,” he quickly interjected, “it might be worth showing them. What do you say, Jan?”

“Why not.”

Nearer the edge of the camp, among wagons heavily laden with loot, six corpses had been laid out on a tarpaulin. Six bodies, quite badly mutilated. Five of them—Reynevan’s heart almost stopped—had on them the remains of black armour and black cloaks.

“Black Riders,” said Kolda, pointing. “The Black Regiment. That rings a bell to you, doesn’t it? Rumours about them have reached you, too. But wanting to follow us all this way, to Germany?”

Scharley looked on inquiringly, indicating the sixth corpse. That one was dressed in ordinary clothing. But his head was almost completely burned, as though it had been put into an oven and held there for a long time.