‘Who are they?’ Ciri hissed, pulling crushed russula mushrooms from under Hotspurn and shaking them from her hair. ‘The prefect’s men? The Varnhagens?’

‘Common bandits…’ Hotspurn spat out leaves. ‘Thugs…’

‘Offer them an amnesty,’ she said, spitting sand. ‘Promise them—’

‘Be quiet. They’ll hear.’

‘Heeeyy! Heeeyyy! Over heeere!’ they heard from above. ‘Over on the leeeft! On the leeeft!’

‘Hotspurn?’

‘What?’

‘You have blood on your back.’

‘I know,’ he answered coldly, pulling a wad of linen from his jacket and turning over on his side. ‘Shove this under my shirt. By my left shoulder blade…’

‘Where were you hit? I can’t see the bolt…’

‘It was an arbalest… Iron shot. The head of a horseshoe nail, most probably. Leave it there, don’t touch it. It’s right by the backbone.’

‘Dammit. What can I do?’

‘Keep quiet. They’re returning.’

Hooves pounded, someone whistled piercingly. Somebody yelled, called, and ordered somebody else to go back. Ciri listened intently.

‘They’re riding off,’ she murmured. ‘They’ve given up the chase. They didn’t even catch the horses.’

‘Good.’

‘We won’t catch them either. Will you be able to walk?’

‘I won’t have to.’ He smiled, showing her a cheap-looking bracelet fastened to his wrist. ‘I bought this trinket with the horse. It’s magical. The mare has carried it since she was a foal. When I rub it, like this, it’s as though I were calling her. As though she were hearing my voice. She’ll run here. It’ll take some time, but she’ll come for certain. With a bit of fortune your roan will follow her.’

‘And with a bit of bad luck you’ll ride off by yourself?’

‘Falka,’ he said, becoming grave. ‘I won’t. I’m counting on your help. I’ll have to be held up in the saddle. My toes are already going numb. I may lose consciousness. Listen: this ravine will lead you to a narrow river valley. You’ll ride uphill, against the current, northwards. You’ll carry me to a place called Tegamo. You’ll find somebody there who’ll know how to get this iron out of my back without me ending up dead or paralysed.’

‘Is that the nearest village?’

‘No. Jealousy is nearer, it’s in a valley about twenty miles in the opposite direction, downstream. But don’t go there under any circumstances.’

‘Why?’

‘Under no circumstances,’ he repeated, frowning. ‘It’s not about me, it’s about you. Jealousy means death for you.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You don’t have to. Simply trust me.’

‘You told Giselher—’

‘Forget Giselher. If you want to live, forget about all of them.’

‘Why?’

‘Stay with me. I’ll keep my word, Snow Queen. I’ll cover you with emeralds… I’ll shower you in them…’

‘Indeed, this is a wonderful time for making jokes.’

‘It’s always a good time for jokes.’