I ought to avoid the town, he concluded after some thought. His good relationship with the Brzeg monks was known to everybody, including the Sterczas. Additionally, Brzeg was on the road to the Knights Hospitaller Commandery, where Duke Konrad wanted to imprison Reynevan until the trouble blew over. In spite of the duke’s good intentions, Reynevan had absolutely no desire to spend years doing penance with the Knights Hospitaller, plus somebody from Kantner’s entourage might have let slip or been bribed to reveal the duke’s plan to the Sterczas, who would be lurking outside Brzeg by now.

And so, he thought, I’ll ride to Adèle, to rescue her. Like Tristan to Isolde, like Lancelot to Guinevere. A fool’s errand straight into the lion’s den, perhaps, but my pursuers might not be expecting such a risky gambit. Most importantly, Adèle is in need and must be missing me, so I cannot keep her waiting.

As his mood brightened, so did the sky, as though touched by Merlin’s wand, and the overwhelming greyness began to take on colour. The birds, gloomily silent until then, began to timidly call, finally to chirp loudly. Dewdrops shone silver on the cobwebs and the mist-shrouded roads looked like a scene from a fairy tale.

Angry at himself for being too cocksure to think of it earlier, Reynevan called to mind another means of countering misleading spells. Clearing away the weeds covering the base of the cross, he quickly found what he was looking for: feathery caraway, red bartsia covered in pink flowers and spurge. After he’d stripped the leaves from the stems and placed them together, it took him a moment to recall how to wind them and on which fingers, how to plait them and how to make the node, the knot. And how the spell went.

One, two, three

Wolfsmilch, Kümmel, Zahntrost

Binde zu samene

Semitae eorum incurvatae sunt

Thus, my road is straight.

A moment later, one of the branches of the crossroads became brighter, friendlier, inviting. Without the talisman, Reynevan would never have guessed it was the right path. But Reynevan knew that talismans didn’t lie.

After riding for a few minutes, he heard the barking of a dog and the loud, excited gaggling of geese. Soon after, his nostrils were pleasantly tickled by the smell of smoke from a smokehouse where something delicious was being cured. Reynevan succumbed to the aroma so utterly that he was oblivious to everything around him, and found himself riding through a wattle gate into the courtyard of a roadside inn. A dog barked at him, more from a sense of duty than in warning. The smell of baking bread mingled with the aroma of the smoked meats, masking even the stench of a great cesspool besieged by geese and ducks.