They stopped to rest and make camp a short way beyond Jelenia Góra, in the village of Maywaldau. They ate whatever was to hand and slept in a shed, the wind blowing down from the mountains again whistling through the many holes in the walls and roof.

Reynevan, exhausted by the hardships, fell asleep quickly. So quickly that wakefulness passed smoothly into sleep and, imperceptibly, dreams replaced reality. Ooh, ooh, gentlemen, but I long for a woman. Damn you, Priedlanz, for mentioning it, I won’t get to sleep now. Never mind, we’ll soon be in Świdnica and I know a little brothel there… And near the castle in Rychbach I know two merry maids…

Nikel Keuschburg foams at the mouth, waving a gnawed bone: He killed my horse Sturm under me, shot him with a crossbow, the whoreson, forty grzywna I gave for him, but I never regretted it, for he was fleet… No, not the Hussite! The horse was fleet! My Sturmie… And that Hussite, Reinmar of Bielawa, may he meet a bad end…

Run, hisses Douce of Pack, narrowing her blue-green eyes. Hefting a javelin. Flee, adds Birkart of Grellenort, standing alongside her. I’ll catch you whatever happens. I have ears and eyes everywhere. In every monastery.

He’ll find a way out of it, says Gregorz Hejncze, Inquisitor a Sede Apostolica specialiter deputatus at the Wrocław Diocese. And then there’s a chance he’ll lead us to…

I’m interested in birdsong, says Konrad of Oleśnica, the Bishop of Wrocław. Reinmar of Bielawa will lead me to the trail of birdsong.

The rider gallops into the night through forests and rocky canyons. He bangs on the iron-bound gate of the monastery, reinforced like a stronghold. It’s opened by a monk in a white habit and a black scapular decorated with a cross and the letter “S” winding around the base.

Hans Foltsch, the Zgorzelec mercenary at Roimund, fulfilled his responsibilities completely—he personally delivered Nikel Keuschburg, who’d been bought out of Hussite captivity, to Falkenberg Castle, located at the top of Falcon Mountain, one of the Dohna family’s residences. The now-liberated youth was greeted at the castle with unalloyed joy, and fourteen-year-old Barbara of Dohna wept with happiness, as did her thirteen-year-old sister Eneda. After all, an identical misfortune might happen, if not that day, then the day after, to Eneda’s suitor, Kasper Gersdorf. Barbara and Eneda’s mother, Her Ladyship Margareta of Jenkwicz, also wept, to keep them company. As did their grandfather, old Sir Bernhard of Dohna, but he was elderly, and although he often laughed and wept, he seldom knew why.