Reynevan had no intention of agreeing. The stranger noticed. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. There were evil, metallic notes in it.

“There’s nothing for you in the town, Reinmar of Bielawa. You rode fast and didn’t spare your horse. But still you are late.”

Reynevan fought the despair that suddenly engulfed him. He fought his weakness. He gained control of his leaping heart. He hid his hands, which had begun to shake, behind the pommel of his saddle. He clenched his jaw until it hurt.

“The maid whom you hurried to rescue is not in Ziębice,” said the stranger. “Be still! Nothing foolish! Patient, please be patient. Listen to me—”

Reynevan had no intention of listening. He drew his sword and spurred his horse. The horse strained, pawed the ground with a hoof, snorted, then raised and turned its head around. But didn’t budge an inch.

“Be patient,” repeated the stranger. “Don’t do anything foolish. Your horse can’t move and you can’t come any closer to me. Listen to me, please.”

“Speak. Tell me how Jutta is.”

“Miss Jutta of Apolda is hale and hearty. But she has left Ziębice.”

“How…” Reynevan breathed deeply. “How am I to know you aren’t lying?”

The stranger smiled unpleasantly. “Veritatem dicam, quam nemo audebit prohibere.” His excellent Latin betrayed him as a Pole just as much as his accent. “Miss Jutta is no longer in Ziębice. We decided she wasn’t safe in the hands of Duke Jan, and that the people the duke entrusted her to wouldn’t guarantee her personal inviolability. Thus, we decided to rescue Miss Jutta from the prison in Ziębice. Fortunately, we succeeded. And took her, so to speak, sub tutelam.”

“Where is she now?”

“In a safe place. Keep calm, young man, keep calm. She’s in no danger. Not a hair on her head will be harmed. She is, as I stressed, in our care.”

“Whose care? Whose damned care?”

“You are astonishingly dim-witted.”

“The Inquisition?”

“Tu dicis.” The stranger smiled. “You said it.”

Reynevan once again tried to urge his horse forward, but again the horse snorted and stamped on the spot.

“You burn others to death for using magic,” he spat. “You fucking hypocrites. I won’t ask what you want from me or what the purpose of the blackmail is, I can guess. And I loyally warn you: I’ve just killed one blackmailing whoreson, and I firmly resolve to kill any more that happen to appear. Pass that on to Gregorz Hejncze. And I shall remember you, O messenger, be certain. You won’t know the day or the hour.”

“Be patient, Reinmar, be patient.” The stranger curled his lip. “Control yourself and your behaviour, since lack of control may result in unforeseen, unpleasant consequences. Very unpleasant consequences.”

“For Jutta? I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Sheathe your sword and listen. Are you listening?”