“That Kromolin,” he said quietly, patting his chestnut’s neck, “is somewhere in the vicinity of Silver Mountain and Stoszowice, by the so-called Czech road, a route that goes to Bohemia via the Silver Pass to Frankenstein, to the Wrocław road, so it suits our plans to ride with them. Plus it’s much safer. Let’s stay with them and turn a blind eye to the practice by which they earn their living. Beggars can’t be choosers. Nonetheless, I advise you to be cautious and not speak too much. Samson?”

“I’ll stay quiet and play the dullard. Pro bono commune.”

“Splendid. Reinmar, come closer. I have to tell you something.”

Reynevan, now in the saddle, rode closer, guessing what he was about to hear. He wasn’t wrong.

“Listen carefully, you incorrigible ass. You constitute a lethal threat to me by the mere fact of your existence. I won’t let you increase that threat by your idiotic behaviour and exploits. I won’t comment on the fact that in your desire to be noble, you acted stupidly, going to the aid of brigands and helping them in their fight with the forces of order. I will not mock; God willing, you’ve learned something from it. But I’m warning you: do anything like that again and I’ll leave you to your fate. Remember and take note, cretin: no one will come to your aid and only a fool goes to other people’s. If someone calls for help, you should turn your back and move swiftly away. Play at being Percival at your own expense and risk.”

“Scharley—”

“Be quiet. And consider yourself warned. I’m serious.”

They rode through a meadow in the forest, among stirrup-high grass and herbs. The sky to the west, strewn with ragged, feathery clouds, glowed in streaks of fiery crimson. The wall of mountains and the black forests of the Silesian Clearing grew dark.

Notker of Weyrach and Woldan of Osiny, riding in the vanguard, grave and attentive, were singing a hymn, from time to time looking heavenwards from their upraised hounskull visors. Their singing, though muted, sounded dignified and severe.

Pange lingua gloriosi

Corporis mysterium,

Sanguinisque pretiosi,

Quem in mundi pretium

Fructus ventris generosi

Rex effudit Gentium.

A little further back, far enough away for their own singing not to be discordant, Tassilo of Tresckow and Scharley were singing a romantic ballad with considerably less gravity.

Sô die bluomen üz dem grase dringent,

same si lachen gegen der spilden sunnen,

in einem meien an dem morgen fruo,

und diu kleinen vogelin wol singent

in ir besten wîse, die si kunnen,

waz wünne mac sich dâ gelîchen zuo?