Buko of Krossig drew his sword so swiftly that the grinding of the blade in the scabbard still hung in the air as the blade touched Reynevan’s throat. Scharley had barely taken half a step before the blades of Weyrach and Tresckow—drawn just as quickly—met his chest. The blades of the remaining men stopped Samson and held him in check. All traces of rude good humour vanished as though blown away by the wind. The Raubritters’ evil, cruel, narrowed eyes left no doubt that the weapons would be used. And used without the slightest scruple.

The mage sighed and shook his head, but his expression was blank.

“Hubert,” Buko of Krossig said slowly to one of the pages, “take a strap, tie a noose in it and toss it over that branch. Don’t move, Hagenau.”

“Don’t move, Scharley,” Tresckow parroted as the other men’s swords pushed harder against Samson’s chest and throat.

Without removing the sword-point from Reynevan’s throat, Buko moved closer and looked him in the eyes. “So there wasn’t a thousand, but five hundred grzywna on the tax collector’s wagon. You knew it, so you also know which way it went. You have a simple choice, laddie: you either sing or swing.”

The Raubritters rode hard, forcing a frenzied pace. They didn’t spare the horses. Whenever the terrain permitted, they spurred them on to a gallop and raced as fast as they could.

It transpired that Weyrach and Rymbaba knew the area and led them via shortcuts.

They had to slow when the final shortcut exited through the soggy marsh in the valley of the Budzówka, a left-bank tributary of the Kłodzko Nysa. Only then did Scharley, Samson and Reynevan have the chance to exchange a few words.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Scharley warned quietly. “And don’t try to get away. The two behind us have crossbows and are keeping a close watch on us. Better to ride obediently with them—”

“And take part in a robbery,” Reynevan finished with a sneer. “Indeed, Scharley, knowing you has led me a long way. To become a brigand—”

“Let me remind you,” interrupted Samson, “that we did this to save your life.”

“Canon Beess,” added Scharley, “instructed me to guard and protect you—”

“And turn me into an outlaw?”

“It’s thanks to you,” the penitent replied sharply, “that we are heading for Ścibor’s Clearing. It was you who revealed to Krossig where the tax collector would stop and he didn’t even have to rough you up much. Had you resisted more resolutely, you would now be an honest hanged man with a clear conscience. I believe you’d have felt better about that—”

“A crime is always—”

Scharley snorted, looked away and spurred his horse.