The servants bowed, Kyrill making as much formality about taking his leave as he had about making greetings to the master.  Jurgen merely smiled, bowed from the waist and padded softly out.  Once they were gone Wulf bent his own head to the ritter.  ‘Sir, I took the liberty of having our horses and an escort made ready; our allies are expecting us at the merchant’s premises this night, and our contact within Prince Mikhail’s court has only a limited time in which he can be absent from his duties without suspicion.’<br/><br/>The moon was waxing, bright and sharp, enough to light their way to town without risk of injury from the many potholes which pocked the Russian roads (another reason that Wulf’s ire had been visited upon the major-domo - the stretch of road from here to Vistina was the responsibility of the manor of Ulyevna, and it had been much neglected).  The guards on the stockade reported no unusual signs of activity in the forests, no fires or noises more than the normal, which boded well for their trip.  Still, to be sure the squire had made sure that his pistol-crossbow hung from his saddle bow, and that the quarrels stuck through his belt had silver tips.  It was the season for Viking raids along the river, and they were not called sea-wolves for nothing.  The escort were hand-picked for the occasion, Wulf having spent some of his day finding out those with the best night-sight and the finest shots.  The Rus soldiers had proven the finest horse-archers, since most of them had served their time as mercenaries with the Mongol armies,  but he did not yet trust them enough for a mission such as this.  So, it was four of the Order’s sturdy troopers who waited for them in the courtyard.  They carried no banner or insignia, of course, but their bearing would be enough to deter any mere bandit.<br/>