“You asked what we’re going to do.” Gregorz Hejncze stretched. “Nothing, for the time being. But should a raid begin, should the Hussites come to Kłodzko, should the town be threatened, our man is to give the whole group away. He is to turn them all in at once to Sir Půta’s counter-intelligence.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for us to take the credit?” asked Łukasz Bożyczko, smiling. “Bishop Konrad—”

“Bishop Konrad holds no interest for me. And it isn’t the Holy Office’s job to take credit. I repeat: our man is to turn the group over to Kłodzko counter-intelligence. It will be Sir Půta of Častolovice who eliminates the saboteurs, and he will thereby grow into an even more terrifying symbol among the Hussites. Clear?”

“Amen, Your Reverence.”

“Reynevan… Reinmar of Bielawa is not, you say, in the Kłodzko group. He’s gone off somewhere, you say. With Horn. Perhaps to the convent in White Church? For I understand the information about the convent is certain?”

“It is, Your Reverence, I can affirm that. Will we take any… action… there?”

“Not for the time being. Listen, Łukasz. Were that Reynevan to return to Kłodzko… Should he join the saboteurs… In brief: were he to fall into Sir Půta’s hands, you’re to get him out. Alive and unharmed. Understand?”

“Yes, Your Reverence.”

“Now leave me. I wish to pray.”

The six of them set off to Świdnica—Horn, Reynevan, Bisclavret and the three assassins that had come with Horn. The assassins only accompanied them to Frankenstein. They didn’t enter the town but split off and went on their way without wasting any words of farewell. They no doubt had their own goals and tasks in Silesia. Horn may have known what they were, may have known who they were planning to kill. But could equally well have not. Reynevan didn’t ask anything. But he wouldn’t have been himself had he not made a speech about ethics and morality.

Horn listened patiently. He was his old self again, the one Reynevan had first met, knew and remembered. The Horn in an elegant, short grey cloak fastened with a silver clasp and a doublet braided with silver thread, topped off by a satin chaperon with a long liripipe curling fancifully around his neck. Horn sporting a dagger with a ruby in the hilt and cordovan riding boots with brass-edged spurs. Horn, with his piercing eyes and mouth twisted into a slightly arrogant grimace. A grimace that became more pronounced the more Reynevan expounded on matters concerning morality, ethnic norms and the rules and principles of war, including in particular the use of terror as a weapon of war.

“Terror is immanent in war,” Horn began when Reynevan had finished, “and war relies upon terror. The very nature of war is terror. Ipso facto.”