Kelpie raised her head, snorted and jingled the rings of her curb bit.

‘I was understanding better and better into whose hands I’d fallen. But I still couldn’t understand his motives. I’d heard their conversation and remembered what Hotspurn had said before. That the Baron of Casadei wanted me alive and Bonhart had promised him that. And then he changed his mind. Why? Did he want to hand me over to somebody else who would pay more? Had he worked out who I really was? And meant to turn me over to the Nilfgaardians?

‘We set off from the village before nightfall. He let me ride Kelpie. But he tied my hands and held me by the chain fixed to the collar the whole time. The whole time! And we rode, almost without stopping, a whole night and day. I thought I’d die of exhaustion. But he showed no tiredness at all. He isn’t a man. He’s the Devil incarnate.’

‘Where did he take you?’

‘To a little town called Fano.’

‘When we entered Fano, Illustrious Tribunal, it was already gloomy, murky as you please, only the sixteenth of September, in truth, but the day was overcast and cold as hell, you’d of said it was November. We didn’t have to search long for the armourer’s workshop, for it was the largest farmstead in the entire town, and what’s more, the ringing of hammers forging iron relentlessly sounded from it. Neratin Ceka… Master scribe, you write his name in vain, for I don’t recall if I said, but Neratin is dead now, killed in a village called Unicorn—’

‘Please do not instruct the clerk. Continue with your testimony.’

‘Neratin knocked at the gate. He politely said who we were and what was our business, and asked politely to be heard. We were admitted. The swordsmith’s workshop was a fine building, virtually a stronghold, with a palisade of pine timbers, towers of oaken planks, and inside planed larch on the walls—’

‘The court is not interested in architectural details. Let the witness get to the point. Prior to that, however, please repeat the swordsmith’s name for the records.’

‘Esterhazy, Illustrious Tribunal. Esterhazy of Fano.’

The swordsmith, Esterhazy, looked long at Boreas Mun, unhurriedly answering the question posed to him. ‘P’rhaps Bonhart was here,’ he finally said, fiddling with a bone whistle hanging around his neck. ‘And p’rhaps he wasn’t? Who knows? This, gentlefolk, is a workshop where we forge swords. We shall answer any questions concerning swords eagerly, swiftly, elegantly and at length. But I see no reason to answer questions concerning our guests or customers.’

Kenna pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and pretended to wipe her nose.

‘A reason can be found,’ said Neratin Ceka. ‘You may find one, Mr Esterhazy. Or I may. Would you choose?’

In spite of the semblance of effeminacy, Neratin’s face could become hard and his voice menacing. But the swordsmith only snorted, continuing to toy with the whistle.