Reynevan felt certain they were heading to Bohemia, that after reaching the Ścinawa Valley they would turn upstream, towards the border, along a road leading straight to Broumov. He was surprised when the unit dashed through a hollow in the Table Mountains which loomed up blue to the south-west. He wasn’t the only one surprised by the route.

“Where are we going?” Urban Horn shouted over the driving snow. “I say! Halada! Sir Brázda!”

“Radkov!” Halada shouted back curtly.

“Why?”

“Ambrož!”

Radkov, which Reynevan was seeing for the first time, turned out to be a pleasant little town nestling at the foot of tree-covered mountains. Red roofs rose up behind the ring of town walls, above which towered a slender church spire. The sight would have put them in a cheerful mood were it not for the huge cloud of smoke swirling over the town.

Radkov had been the target of a raid.

The army gathered outside Radkov numbered a good thousand warriors, many of them infantry armed with various kinds of pole weapons, from simple spears to more sophisticated gisarmes. At least half the soldiers were equipped with crossbows and firearms. There was also artillery—a medium-sized bombard hidden behind a raisable shield aimed directly at the town gate, and trestle guns and cannons positioned in the gaps between pavises.

The army, though it looked dangerous, stood frozen to the spot and silent, as though entranced. The only things moving were the black dots of crows circling in the grey sky, and the cloud of smoke billowing above the town, here and there shot with red tongues of flame.

They trotted between the wagons. For the first time, Reynevan saw the famous Hussite battle wagons at close hand. He examined them with interest, admiring the clever construction of the lowered bulwarks made of solid planks, which could be raised if need be to turn the vehicle into a genuine bastion.

They were quickly recognised.

“Master Brázda,” said a Czech in half-armour and a fur cap, with the red chalice on his chest that appeared to be customary for the more senior ranks. “The noble knight Brázda has finally deigned to join us with his elite noble cavalry. Well, better late than never.”

“I never thought it would go so smoothly,” replied Brázda of Klinštejn with a shrug. “Is it all over? Have they surrendered?”

“Of course they surrendered. They have no one to defend them. We only had to burn down a few cottages and they began to parley. Now they’re putting out fires, and the Reverend Ambrož is receiving their envoys. Thus, you must wait.”

“If we must, we must. Dismount, lads.”

They went on foot towards the Hussite army’s staff, the only Czechs among them being Brázda, Halada and the moustachioed Velek Chrastický, accompanied by Urban Horn and Tybald Raabe.