Biberstein’s daughter won’t escape revenge, he thought, feeling his balls already beginning to swell, since there’s no way out of the tower. For the time being, I’ll only punish her with haughty contempt. First, let the others pay.

“Just you fucking wait!” he yelled, hobbling towards the courtyard and the sounds of battle. “I’m coming for you!”

The door to the tower trembled from heavy blows. Scharley cursed.

“Hurry,” he yelled. “Samson!”

Samson dragged two saddled horses from the stable. He growled menacingly at a servant who had jumped down from the hayloft. The servant fled, showing a clean pair of heels.

“This door won’t hold for long,” said Scharley, dashing down the stone steps and wresting the reins from him. “The gate, quickly!”

Samson saw another plank burst and splinter in the door they had locked, the only thing separating them from Buko and his comrades. They heard the clank of iron against stone and metal—it was obvious that the enraged Raubritters were trying to hack off the hinges. There was no time to lose. Samson looked around. The gate was held fast by a beam, additionally reinforced by a heavy padlock. Three bounds took the giant to a woodpile, where he wrenched a large axe from a tree stump, and he was back at the gate in another three bounds. He grunted, raised the axe and with extraordinary strength brought the butt down on the padlock.

“Harder!” yelled Scharley, glancing at the now-splintering door. “Hit it harder!”

Samson hit it harder, making the entire gate and the watchtower above it shudder. The padlock, probably Nuremberg work, didn’t yield, but the spikes supporting the beam came half out of the wall.

“Once again! Whack it!”

The Nuremberg padlock gave way under the next blow, the spikes were pulled out and the beam fell with a thud.

“Rub it under your arms,” said Reynevan, pulling his shirt down from his shoulders, then scooping up some ointment from the clay pot and demonstrating how to apply it. “And on the back of your neck, like this. More, more… Rub it in well… Quickly, Nicolette. We don’t have much time.”

The girl looked at him for a moment, disbelief fighting with admiration in her eyes. She didn’t say a word, but reached for the ointment. Reynevan dragged the oaken bench into the centre of the room. He opened the window wide and a cold wind swept into the sorcerer’s workshop. Nicolette shuddered.

“Don’t go near the window,” he cautioned her. “Better… not to look down.”

“Aucassin.” She stared at him intently. “I understand we’re fighting for our lives, but are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Sit astride the bench, please. There’s really no time to lose. Sit behind me.”

“I’d prefer to sit in front. Clasp me around the waist, tightly. Tighter…”