In the rear, hooves thudded and horses snorted.

“He’s alone,” said Fryczko of Nostitz, whose young, pleasant voice gave him away. “He’s not being followed.”

“Appearances can be deceptive,” repeated Czirne.

White steam belched from his horse’s nostrils. Czirne rode up close, very close, until their stirrups touched. He was at arm’s length. With horrifying lucidity, Reynevan realised why. Czirne was testing him. Provoking him.

“And I still say we slit his throat,” repeated the Italian in the dark.

“Slit his throat, slit his throat,” said Czirne, losing his temper. “Everything’s simple to you people. And then my confessor will keep on at me, gnaw away at me, reproach me that it’s a deadly sin to kill without reason, for you need to have an important reason to kill. Every confession, he grumbles on at me, a reason, a reason, there must be a reason. I’ll end up whacking the knave over the head with a mace, for impatience is a reason, too, isn’t it? But for the time being, let’s do as he instructed me at confession. Well, laddie, tell us who you are,” he said, addressing Reynevan, “and we’ll see if there’s a reason to kill you, or if we need to come up with one.”

“My name is Reinmar of Bielawa,” began Reynevan. And because no one was interrupting him, he continued, “My brother, Piotr of Bielawa, was murdered. The murder was ordered by the brothers Stercza but carried out by Kunz Aulock and his gang. Thus I have no reason to like them. I heard in Kromolin that there is no love lost between you and them, either, so I’m following you to inform you that the Sterczas were in the settlement and fled on hearing of your arrival there. They rode south, across the ford. I say and do all this owing to my hatred for the Sterczas. I’m unable to take my revenge on them by myself. My hope for that lies with your company. I don’t want anything else. If I am in error… Forgive me and let me go on my way.”

He took a deep breath, tired by the hurried oration he had delivered. The Raubritters’ horses snorted, their harnesses clanked, and the lanterns wove ghastly, dancing shadows from the darkness.

“Reinmar of Bielawa,” snorted Fryczko of Nostitz. “Dammit, it looks as though we’re distantly related.”

Vitelozzo Gaetani swore in Italian.

“On our way,” Hayn of Czirne suddenly barked. “You, m’Lord Bielawa, by me. Close by me.”

He didn’t even order for me to be searched, thought Reynevan, riding on. He didn’t check if I have a hidden weapon. And ordered me to ride beside him. It’s another test. And a trap.