“You’re mistaken,” replied Reynevan. “I disagree with you entirely. And not just concerning your cynical philosophy of what’s most important in life. I disagree with your assessment of the situation. For time is not only on our side, it’s also running out. Podještědí and the Jičín Hills are controlled by our army, and the few Catholic lords of that region are intimidated, their morale crushed by the defeat of the crusade at Tachov. They’re like smoked bees. So if we’re to launch an expedition, let’s do it now, before they recover and start stinging again. What do you say to that?”

“Nothing.”

“Regarding preparations, you’re right. Let’s set about them. What do you suggest?”

Scharley sighed.

Reynevan and Samson left Prague on the tenth of October, a Friday, which happened to be the day that the holiday of Saint Gereon and his companion martyrs fell on that year. They left the city in the early morning. When they rode through the Poříčí Gate, the sun came out from behind the clouds, flooding Vítkov and the Hospital Field in a fabulous blaze. Reynevan took the heart-warming sight as a good omen.

Both he and Samson were feeling rough. They had partaken in an effusive farewell with the mages from the House at the Archangel apothecary’s shop that was celebrated long into the night. Reynevan was sighing and fidgeting in the saddle—he’d also had to celebrate an additional farewell with Mistress Blažena Pospíchalová.

They were heading for Kolín, which had been besieged by the Tábor, Orphans and Praguians since the middle of September. The siege was being led by Prokop the Shaven. Scharley was in Prokop the Shaven’s army. Scharley was meant to have spent the month that had passed since parting from them preparing the expedition. He claimed he had the capabilities. Reynevan believed him. Scharley was both capable and resourceful. The penitent didn’t hide the fact—why, he even boasted about it—that he was fighting in the Taborite army for spoils and profit, and that he had already plenty squirrelled away in various hiding places. The sun disappeared behind black clouds coming from the north. It was sombre and gloomy. Not to say ominous.

Reynevan thought that the signs were foolish superstitions.

Prokop gave the impression he wasn’t listening. But that was deceptive.

“Give Brother Scharley leave,” he repeated. “Release him from service in the army during wartime. For your private affairs, Brother Bielawa. In other words, self-interest comes first, and duty to God and the fatherland are second. Is that it?”

Reynevan didn’t reply. He just swallowed loudly. Prokop snorted.