“When I asked for your help in Ziębice,” said Scharley, smoothing down his clothes, “when I paid for that help with profitable information and an offer of assistance, what did you tell me? That you might help to free Reinmar of Hagenau—and I quote—‘if we feel like it,’ but I won’t even get a bent penny of the loot from the attack on the tax collector. Is that your idea of a collaborative venture?”

“It was about your companion. And freeing him—”

“And he is free. He freed himself, through his own inventiveness. It ought then to be clear that I no longer need your help.”

Weyrach folded his arms as the Raubritter knights started shouting again. Buko of Krossig silenced them with a vigorous gesture.

“This was all about saving his skin, wasn’t it?” he asked through clenched teeth, pointing at Reynevan. “And now that he’s free, Master Scharley, are you telling us that the contract’s null and void? Consider this, Master Scharley: if keeping your friend’s skin intact is so dear to you, I can soon violate that intactness! So don’t you dare tell me that the contract has been cancelled now that your companion is safe, since right here in this clearing, within my reach, the two of you are far from bloody safe!”

“Calm down.” Weyrach raised a hand. “Restrain yourself, Buko. But you, Master Scharley, moderate your tone. Your companion is now liberated? Lucky you. You no longer need us, you say? We need you even less, know that. Begone, if that be your will—after first thanking us for the rescue. Had we not saved your arses last night, your troubles wouldn’t have ended with sore ears. So before we part, simply tell us which way the tax collector and his wagon went and then begone, may the Devil take you.”

Scharley cleared his throat and bowed slightly, not to Buko and Weyrach, but towards the mage who was still sitting on the tree stump, looking on indifferently. “I thank you for your help last night. Without mentioning that barely a week has passed since we saved the arses of Lords Rymbaba and Wittram near Lutom. Thus, we are even. Unfortunately, I do not know which way the tax collector went. We lost his party’s trail in the afternoon of the day before yesterday. And since we met Reinmar just before dusk, we lost interest in the tax collector.”

“Restrain me!” yelled Buko of Krossig. “Restrain me before I fucking kill him! Did you hear that? He lost the trail. He lost interest in the tax collector. He lost interest in a thousand fucking grzywna! Our thousand grzywna!”

“What thousand?” Reynevan blurted out without thinking. “There wasn’t a thousand. There was… only… five hundred…”

He very quickly understood what a grave error he had just committed.