The rest of the journey passed in what felt like a haze. No more patrols emerged as we walked, and soon the darkness yawned wider to our right as we passed the corner of the first encampment.

The ground out here of course was a prepared killing field, so there was no real cover to speak of, only some shrubs and saplings making it to waist height at best. It made deciding where to turn feel a bit arbitrary, as I absently scanned the edges of the camps looking for an equidistant spot. I finally picked one based on the fact that it looked like there was a path partially flanked by taller scrub, and turned down it.

The hour was late enough that most of the soldiers had settled down to sleep, whether of their own volition or after a scolding from an angry sergeant, and the night was quiet. Every clink of Munter’s tack or beat of his hooves or my boots sounded dully in my ears, over the singing of crickets and the distant sound of voices around a few campfires.

My head swiveled mechanically back and forth, alternating looking at both campsites, but only half registering what I was looking at. A detached part of me realised I wasn’t really paying attention, but I assured myself that would change as soon as something happened. I kept putting one foot in front of the other at a steady pace, keeping on moving forward. At some point something wet had got on my sword hand and it felt like the wind would freeze it solid around the hilt. My nose was running, too, but I couldn’t spare a hand to wipe it and I dared not sniff.

To my utter amazement we made it all the way past the encirclement without so much as a peep from either side. We weren’t dressed conspicuously and Munter’s dark bay colouring faded into the night as well, but it still seemed absurd to me that we could simply walk past the enemy after killing one of their patrols.

Then a horse whinnied, the sound carrying clearly across the open plain and echoing back off the city walls in the distance. I froze, my grip on the lead rope tightening until my knuckles were white. My grip on my scimitar was already as tight as could be.

For a long moment, I held my breath. In the stories they would say it felt like the universe held its breath as well, but that wasn’t right. The crickets kept singing, the Torreans chatting by their tents didn’t all fall silent at once, and no shouts of alarm were forthcoming.

Munter huffed quietly through his nose and I fixed his eye on this side with a threatening glare. I could swear some of the hussars could talk to horses, and I tried to load the look with as much of that as I could. It was, as best I could manage in the dark, a look that said “If you whinny back, I will hitch you to a farm wagon for the rest of your life and then sell you for glue.”

The moment stretched out. I stared. The bay stared back through one placid eye. Far more placid than usual for the spirited gelding. I had a creeping feeling he was playing me.

The other horse whinnied again, and the moment broke. Munter looked down and huffed quietly again, somewhere in the distance a calm voice started repeating something in Torrean, the soft speech only carrying because of the stillness of the night, and I dared to start walking again. Despite the chill I was all but drenched in sweat, my hands shivering just slightly. I tried desperately to still them, not wanting to shake the lead rope and set the horse off somehow.

The lights of the encampments fell away behind us and we were out into true no-man’s land. Where the siege of the palace in Nachberg had been peculiar because of the density of the city surrounds, this was a textbook exercise -- apart to some degree from the trees -- in siege warfare and that meant all the usual rules applied.

One of those iron-clad rules was, of course, that you could by no means camp within cannon shot of the walls. Of course, you also had to remain outside of arquebus range and so on, but the cannon were the main deciding factor since given all the time in the world a skilled gunner would have no problem lobbing a cannonball well over a kilometre, still endowed with enough force to bounce and career through tents, men, and equipment alike.

As a result, there was still a clear kilometre and a half between us and Kurnich, despite having made it past the encircling Torreans. We covered about half the distance at the same slow, quiet, pace before I deemed it safe to speed up and I broke into a jog, turning to make directly for the nearest gate. At this distance I hoped we wouldn’t be noticed in time to be pursued, and if we were I hoped we could make it away in time.

Thankfully, this time I was right and no further stumbling blocks were thrown in our path. It took some time and I was out of breath when we arrived, but we made it to the gate. The gate itself was unassuming, not on a major thoroughfare of any kind: it was really just a small port, not wide enough to admit a wagon or even more than two men abreast.

In some ways, the next part could be the hardest, I thought. I managed to sheath my scimitar, adding yet more fouling to the scabbard I hadn’t had a chance to clean, and pry my fingers from their death grip on its hilt to pound on the door with the side of my fist.

Silence. I prayed someone was actually watching this door at this hour, and pounded on it again, three heavy blows. It was like hitting a stone wall, the wood was so heavy and hard, but I hoped it could be heard on the other side.

I was on the point of unslinging my arquebus to beat on the door with its butt when I heard something rattle on the other side and immediately glued my attention back to the door. Light shone out of a narrow iron-bound slot for a moment, almost blinding me, only to be blocked out again after a moment -- I assumed by someone’s face. The door was thick enough I couldn’t see through the slot at all.

“Sod off, Torry, we’re closed!”

I tried to speak, but had to cough a couple of times to clear my throat first. I answered hoarsely in Ostdialekt, hoping it would help convince the guard on the other side.

“We’re not Torreans! I’m from the Queen’s Guard, escorting a noble from Nachberg.”

“Yeah, and I’m Saint Johan. Try again tomorrow, Torry,” the speaker mocked.

“I have the bleeding papers,” I hissed. “Get your commanding officer and I’ll pass them through the slot, please, man.”

“How do I know you ain’t a turncoat, then?”

I sighed. “I can’t prove anything, man, but there’s just the two of us out here and one’s only a boy. You could just shoot the two of us if we’re not who we say.”

This was rapidly going nowhere. I fished in my cartridge pouch for the angular shape of my cockade, which I’d never pinned back on my hat since taking it off on the second day.

“Here, I’m passing my cockade through. Mind your head!”

The face moved away, light streaming out again, and I flicked the silver medallion through the slot. There was a clinking sound from the other side, then silence for a moment. I imagined the guard was turning the cockade over, trying to decide if it authentic.

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“Here now, where’d you get this then?”

“Issued by Her Majesty’s armoury to me as an honourable dragoon of the 1st Regiment, obviously,” I replied, struggling to keep my temper in check. Now that we weren’t moving the wind was chilling me to the bone and I feared His Highness would be faring even worse. “Would you kindly just get your commanding officer, man?”

There was silence again for a bit, and I prayed the guard would take me up and he wasn’t just resolving to slam the plate closed again.

“An’ what if I end up wastin’ the captain’s precious time? What then?” This tone I recognised, and knew well from the common guard-about-town. I suppressed a sigh and rummaged in the inner pocket of my coat for a pair of kreuzer, which I placed in the slot.

“Mind your head again, man,” I said, and without waiting flicked the coins through, one after the other. “Now will you please fetch the captain? I warrant it won’t be a waste of his time and he’ll be a great deal more upset if I have to sleep out here and hail him when he inspects the wall in the morning.”

I heard rustling on the other side, then the voice again. “I suppose I can trouble the captain for a generous Immerlandish gennleman like y’self,” He said begrudgingly. “You just sit yourselves tight there, now.”

The plate slammed shut, followed by the clacking of the bolt, and I prayed it would not take long for the captain to show up. Looking up at His Highness, I jammed my hands in my armpits for warmth.

“I hope it won’t be long, your Highness, and sorry for this delay. The common soldier can be a wretched sort, I’m afraid, sir, and we haven’t arrived in the most salubrious manner.”

“It’s quite fine, Schreiner,” The prince replied. “It can’t be helped.”

His attempt at dismissing the problem was heavily undermined by the fact that he had to force the words out through chattering teeth. I frowned, retrieving my hands from my armpits -- it hadn’t helped, my coat was also freezing cold -- to open one of the saddlebags and drag out a blanket, passing it up.

“Here, your Highness, wrap yourself up some. Sorry I didn’t think of it sooner, sir, I’d hoped this would go faster, sir.”

I tried not to think of why it had taken so long and the feeling of my scimitar biting-- With an effort, I wrenched my attention back to the present. I dropped Munter’s lead rope to wipe my nose, finally, though I’d at least been able to sniff while we jogged. I looked around for some other distraction, but they were few and far between in the dark. I could barely make out silhouettes in the faint moonlight, though it was enough to see that the wall of Kurnich was an imposing one, standing clear twenty metres high with a modern sloping construction. It must have been rebuilt since the advent of artillery, I mused to myself. Kurnich wasn’t the largest of cities, but it would have been large enough to have a wall before.

I was just starting to bounce on my heels to try to knock a little warmth into my legs -- my stockings were thick and woollen, but the wind still cut through them keenly -- when the door rattled again. The light slashed out, blinding my newly-dark-adjusted eyes again, and a significantly more cultured voice than last time followed it.

“Good evening. You said you had papers proving your identity?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “One moment while I get them out, sir, I didn’t want them in the dew.”

It only took a bit of rummaging to find the binder full of documents in the other saddlebag, and I rifled through it with my face practically touching the papers until I found the letter I was looking for.

“Here, sir, I’m sliding it through. Mind your way, sir.” I pushed it into the slot, and when the light shone clear again I pushed it the rest of the way through. Part way through it was pulled from my fingers and I stepped back to wait.

I imagined the captain opening the envelope and glancing at the letter, and then, right about now -- I grinned as I heard the hiss of a surprised breath being taken in. That would be him seeing the Royal Seal, I thought.

A moment later there was more clacking of bolts working, and a heavy grating noise I assumed was a bar being lifted away.

“Better dismount, your Highness,” I said to the prince. “The door isn’t too high.”

“Q-quite so, Schreiner.” Silence, followed a moment later by a quiet cough and a very awkward, “I believe my legs are s-stuck. Could you g-give me a hand?”

I immediately snapped to work, grateful that Munter wasn’t one of the obnoxiously large warhorses favoured by heavy cavalry like the Jarenese cuirassiers. The bay was tall, but I could still reach high enough to catch the lad by the waist and lift him from the saddle, the stirrups falling free, and set him down safely on the ground. I adjusted his blanket for a moment before realising what I was doing and stepped away.

“Sorry it was a bit rough, your Highness. Soon be inside.”

In fact, as I spoke the door creaked inwards, spilling out an abundance of the warm yellow light. I ushered His Highness in and followed with the gelding. The door opened into a small room with bare stone walls on all sides, punctuated by vertical slots at intervals and a few horizontal ones set at chest height. Above, the high ceiling was also punctured by holes at intervals, no doubt with heavy rocks or large cauldrons ready at hand. It was cramped, with two sentries, the captain, the prince, myself, and a horse, but the door opposite was already open.

The captain and one of the guards were kneeling, and the other guard did the same as soon as the outer door was closed and the bolts shot. My momentary worry that His Highness would be too tired to respond appropriately was dispelled immediately.

“You may r-rise,” He said, voice calm apart from the one hitch. “Thank you, Captain. If someone could show us to ac-commodation for the night, I think that would be for the best. We have other business with the g-guard, but that can wait for the morning.”

I silently approved of his choice. Our original plan might have been to find Jäger Kaczmarek today, but that had gone for a ball of chalk as soon as we had seen the army outside. We were in no state to manage that business now, and it would keep quite fine until the morning. Better to be well rested.

I was also quite impressed with the amount of dignity he retained, even wrapped in a soldier’s blanket and trying not to shiver. There was almost no trace of the uncertainty he’d shown earlier this afternoon, or the weakness just now outside. It was quite something, in someone so young.

“Of course, your Highness,” The captain said. “I’ll escort you to the Count's estate immediately. Will the gefreiter be joining you?” Despite the dishevelment of my uniform, he had clearly registered my lack of any kind of rank insignia.

“Yes, Captain,” His Highness answered with a gratifying lack of hesitation. “He is my sworn guardian.”

“Of course, your Highness. Your horse can be stabled at the estate as well.”

“Very good, Captain. Lead the way.” The prince adjusted the blanket around his shoulders and followed the officer out.

I would have preferred to lodge less lavishly but more quickly in the officer’s quarters, which would be more nearby, but if His Highness was happy with the captain’s offer of lodging in the Count's estate I wouldn’t question it. I did hope it wouldn’t be too much further a walk, but it did sound very comfortable, although I wasn’t sure where I would be quartered. There was no reason His Highness should be in danger here in Kurnich, but I did not wish to take any chances whatsoever.

Speaking of chances… I turned to one of the guards, hoping he was the one I had been speaking to. “I’d like the return of my cockade, please.”

He shook his head and pointed to the other guard. “Ask Becker.” Of course, I thought, Just my luck today.

Thankfully, Becker was sufficiently overwhelmed by the presence of royalty to yield up my cockade immediately. A moment later I was hot on the heels of the prince and the captain on their way out, tugging on Munter’s lead rope before he could get any ideas about trying to browse on someone’s hat.