The swarthy man on the ground was also screaming. Also in a high-pitched, desperate, pleading voice. He choked as Reynevan kicked him in the mouth with all his strength. When Reynevan jerked him to his feet, the man gobbled, spat blood and teeth, his head lolled, his eyes rolled up, he went limp and hung inertly. Reynevan took aim, but his fist was no longer enough, it was completely inadequate. Everything around him became blindingly bright, clear and white. He shoved the traveller against a post and snatched up a jug from the table, which shattered at the first blow. He then picked up a stout staff from the table and struck the man above the elbow. The bone crunched and the swarthy man howled like a dog. Reynevan struck him once more, with all his might, on the other arm. Then on the leg. Reynevan struck him on the head as he fell, and when he was lying on the ground, he kicked him in the belly, and then again in his groin with his other foot. The swarthy man wasn’t screaming now, just shuddering as though in a fever, trembling convulsively. Reynevan was also trembling. He threw down the staff, knelt over the man on the ground, seized him by the hair and began to furiously slam the back of his head against the floor. There was a crunch and he felt the skull crack. Like an eggshell. Somebody caught him, violently tugging him away. It was Samson.

“Enough,” said the giant, holding him in a powerful grip. “Enough, enough, enough. Control yourself!”

“If that’s how you fellows carry out secretive activities and espionage, please accept my warm congratulations,” rasped Rzehors.

“We have a mission to accomplish,” added Bisclavret, “and now they’ll be hunting us for murder. Reynevan! What came over you? Why did you—”

“There was clearly a reason.” Scharley cut him off.

“Aha,” said Rzehors. “Let me guess. Adèle Stercza. Reynevan! But you promised—”

“Shut up.”

A large, gleaming puddle, black in the light of torches, spread around the head of the man on the ground. Scharley knelt down beside him, seized him by the temples, gripped tightly and twisted suddenly and powerfully. There was a crunch and the fellow tensed up. Then drooped. Reynevan was still seeing everything in shades of bright, violent white. All sounds were muffled. His legs felt like jelly and he would have fallen if not for Samson.

Scharley stood up.

“Well, Reinmar,” he said coldly. “That was something of a turning point for you. But you still have much to learn. I’m referring to your technique.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Bisclavret. “Quickly.”

“You’re right,” said Samson.