The nightmare finished as abruptly as it began. The gloom dispersed in an instant. The normal world returned. The normal December sky with a pallid moon hanging over it. The village of Frankenberg was where it ought to have been. Dogs barked. Smoke crept over thatched roofs, rolled over fallow land. Far away to the south, the direction he was riding in, and thus probably in Bardo, they were ringing the Nones.

Reynevan rode. The horse jerked its head, resisting.

His headache subsided.

He passed Bardo, which still bore the marks of fire and destruction. He crossed to the Nysa’s left bank. He climbed up a ridge over a bend in the river, rode past the village of Eichau and descended to the Kłodzko valley.

Vespers were being rung in Kłodzko.

He circled the town from the north, once again fording the Nysa. He reached a junction, a place where the Mezilesí road crossed the road leading to Lewin and Náchod.

And there, outside a village whose name he didn’t know, he was stopped by a Hussite hlidka or patrol consisting of three mounted crossbowmen.

“I’m from the Vogelsang,” he said when asked to identify himself. “Reinmar of Bielawa. Take me to your leader.”

The Orphans were on the march. Having abandoned their camp outside Rengersdorf, Královec’s army was heading northwards. They’re going straight into the Ścinawka valley, he thought. I don’t have to persuade or convince them. Without my complicity, they’re doing just what Duke Jan wanted. Could it be a sign from God? I don’t have to do anything or betray anyone. At least not actively. I’ll simply stay silent. Keep to myself what happened. Jutta will be saved…

The column—its flanks protected by the cavalry and infantry—was probably half a mile long, numbering more or less a hundred and fifty war wagons and four dozen wagons carrying provisions. It took some time for the patrol to deliver Reynevan to the hejtmans. To the very head of the column, far beyond Schwedeldorf.

“Reynevan!” Jan Královec of Hrádek appeared extremely surprised. “You’re alive? They said Sir Půta had tortured you to death in Kłodzko. That you’d fallen into their hands, you and Rzehors… How the hell—”

“Now’s not the time, Brother. Not the time.”

“I understand.” Královec’s face was set as hard as ice. “Tell me what you know.”

Reynevan took a deep breath. Jutta, he thought. Jutta, forgive me.

“Jan of Ziębice is marching on you from the north with a thousand horse. They mean to strike you on the march. Treat you to another Kratzau.”