Hans Mein Igel moved his head and his ears.

“A city stands on a hill by a great river,” he finally said in his indistinct, hoarse voice. “On a hill with a river winding around it. And it is called the Town of Doves. An evil place. Do not go there, Sulima. An evil place for you, the Town of Doves. Ride not there. Turn back.”

Zawisza said nothing for a long time, plunged into a deep reverie. He was silent for so long that Reynevan presumed he would brush off the strange nocturnal creature’s words. He was wrong.

“I am a man of the sword,” Zawisza interrupted the silence. “From the moment I first picked up a sword some two-score years ago, I’ve known what fate awaits me. But I will not look back at the hundsfelds, the graves, the royal betrayals, the wickedness, the baseness, the mean-spiritedness I’ve left behind me. I’ll not turn back from my chosen path, Master Hans Mein Igel.”

Hans Mein Igel didn’t say a word, but his large eyes flared.

“All the same,” Zawisza the Black added, wiping his forehead, “I’d prefer you prophesy me love, as you did Reynevan. Not death.”

“I, too, would prefer that,” said Hans Mein Igel. “Farewell.”

The creature suddenly grew in size and bristled even more. And vanished, dissipating into the same gloom from which it had emerged.

The horses snorted and stamped in the darkness. The servants snored. The sky was growing lighter, the stars fading above the treetops.

“Uncanny,” said Reynevan finally. “That was uncanny.”

The knight jerked up his head, woken from his slumber.

“What? What was uncanny?”

“That… Hans Mein Igel. Do you know, Sir Zawisza, that… Well, I have to confess… I was full of admiration for you.”

“Why?”

“When it emerged from the darkness, you didn’t even flinch. Why, your voice didn’t even tremble. And when you talked to it afterwards, my admiration… For it was… A night creature. Something… alien.”

Zawisza the Black of Garbów looked long at him.

“I know many people,” he finally replied, very gravely, “who feel much more alien to me.”

The dawn was foggy and damp; drops of dew hung in great garlands on cobwebs. The forest was silent, but as menacing as a sleeping beast. The horses started at the haze creeping towards them, snorting and shaking their manes.

A stone cross stood at the crossroads, beyond the forest. One of Silesia’s numerous reminders of crimes past and very belated remorse.

“Here we part,” said Reynevan.

The knight looked at him, but refrained from commenting.