Chapter Three

In which the saying is confirmed: it is indeed a small world—for Reynevan keeps bumping into old friends.

The wagon that was carrying him jumped and rocked on ruts, creaking all the while as though about to disintegrate at any moment. Reynevan, who had initially interpreted the heap of rags and spiky bulrushes crushing him and barely permitting him to breathe as torture and cursed the perpetrators at length, quickly changed his opinion.

Pinned under the pile, he wasn’t hitting the sides of the speeding conveyance but felt and heard the banging of other objects—probably barrels and ladders—which were chaotically flying around and rolling over him again and again. The ride was so rough that even swaddled in rags, his teeth chattered and rang as he rattled over potholes.

It was difficult to tell how long the journey lasted. A long time, in any case.

He was dragged from under the rags and tossed roughly from the wagon onto the ground. Or rather into some mud, for his clothes became wet at once. Almost immediately—and also roughly—he was tugged to his feet and the sack jerked from his head. He was shoved and felt his back hit a wheel.

They were in a ravine and snow still lay in hollows on its sides. But spring could be smelled in the air.

“Is he in one piece?” somebody asked. “Undamaged?”

“See for yourself. He’s standing unaided. Hand over the money, as we agreed.”

The men surrounding him differed from each other. One glance sufficed to divide them into two groups, two categories. One group could be qualified right away as urban malefactors and cutpurses, rascally members of the many gangs that terrorised the outskirts of Wrocław. It was undoubtedly they who had captured him in the stable and driven him from the city on the wagon. In order to now hand him over to the other group. Criminals also, but apparently of another class. Mercenaries.

There was no time for further analysis. He was grabbed, shoved onto a horse and his wrists tied to the pommel of the saddle. His upper arms were also bound with a rope running twice around them. The ends of the rope were taken hold of by two riders, one on the right, the other on the left. The remainder surrounded them closely. The horses snorted and stamped. He was prodded in the back with something hard.

“Off we go,” he heard. “Don’t try anything stupid or you’ll get a hiding.”

The voice behind him sounded familiar.