“Who is to fetch Andreas?” This was the man who had ridden with him on the previous night and lay out on the hills.
“I can’t spare the horse, now we have only one. One of you must take food to him on foot, and try to hire or buy some horses in place of the dead ones.”
“It will not do,” he said, lowering his voice. “I cannot walk so far; and you can’t trust the others.”
“I can trust Gartski.”
“Not after this morning’s business with the witch-killed beasts.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense, Karasch. I proved to you that that treacherous devil over there stabbed them to prevent us getting away.”
“He has explained that. He had a vision and remembers it now. She stood over him with a flaming sword, just as she appeared to me, and compelled him to do it.”
“How a man of your shrewdness can believe such rot passes my understanding, Karasch. You might be a great baby if I didn’t know you were a brave and clever man.” But flattery was of no more use than reproaches.
“You don’t understand these things, Burgwan. We do. You see with her eyes; we use our own.” The dogged manner and tone alike showed that he spoke with dead conviction.
“Then the best thing will be for the lot of you to clear out,” I exclaimed testily.