The Robber Knight's Love

by Robert Thier

  “Yes,” the beefy one growled back. “A stork! Now shut up and move, or I'll give you a taste of my blade!”

  Underneath him, the voices of the mercenaries continued through the keep and towards the exit. Reuben scuttled over the roof tiles, following closely. By the time he had reached the edge of the roof, he felt like himself again. He knew, because he could remember every single item on the list.

  Peering over the edge, Reuben saw the flickering light that emanated from the half-closed keep door. It increased in intensity as the voices and steps of the men approached. One of them had to be carrying a torch. They were approaching quickly. He had to hurry!

  Quiet as the night, Reuben swung himself over the edge and again began to climb down the castle wall, more careful not to slip this time. There was no roof beneath him now, only cobblestones. No storks built their nests there.

  He climbed and climbed, getting more desperate and ferocious as he went. The voices were getting closer so quickly, and he didn't seem to be making any headway at all. Then, suddenly, his foot came down on stone. A windowsill? No! This was the archway! The archway over the keep door - what he had been waiting for!

  Carefully, he positioned his feet so they stood solidly on the slippery stone. Then he turned, slowly.

  Underneath him, he could see the courtyard, a maze of shadows thrown by the crenels high up on the walls. Guards had assembled from all directions, their faces grim, their spears in hand. They had realized that intruders were in the castle and were waiting for them to emerge, to be able to surround them. All their eyes were fixed on the door under Reuben's feet. Nobody had spotted him, crouching on top of the archway, in the shadows.

  “Whoever you are,” called the man who seemed to be in command of the soldiers, “come out and lay down your arms! I am Captain Linhart, vassal to the mistress of this castle, and I command you to surrender!”

  “Surrender?” came the mocking voice of the beefy mercenary from inside the castle. “I don't think so.”

  “We know your numbers. We caught the lookout you left on the walls. You cannot hope to match us. Surrender, and maybe Lady Ayla will spare your lives.”

  “Will she, now? How very nice of her.”

  Beneath Reuben, the door was thrust fully open, and light flooded into the courtyard. Captain Linhart gasped, and his spear, leveled at the door just a moment ago, sank limply to the ground.

  “Milady!” he whispered, horror-struck.

  Reuben's jaw muscles tightened. He could imagine all too well what the captain was seeing.

  “Now, you all drop your weapons and back away,” the mercenary growled, still just inside the keep. “Or this pretty little lass gets a second pair of lips—blood-red ones, on her throat!”

  The soldiers stayed where they were but shifted uncomfortably.

  “Do it!” The man snarled. “Now!”

  Captain Linhart worked his jaw, then said in a low, controlled voice, “Do as he says.”

  With a clatter, a dozen or so spears and guisarmes landed on the ground. Slowly, the mercenary emerged from within the castle, still holding his knife to Ayla's throat.

  “Don't worry, Milady,” said Captain Linhart, hateful eyes focused on the mercenary. “We're going to get you out of this.”

  That's where you're wrong, my friend, thought Reuben with grim satisfaction. Not you—but I.

  And he jumped.

  He did not make the mistake to scream or otherwise alert the beefy mercenary to his attack. He just dropped out of the sky like a hunting falcon. One of his boots hit the man's hand and sent the dagger flying off into the night. The other crashed into his skull and made him stagger back. The man's arm was still firmly clasped around Ayla, but, before Reuben's feet had even touched the ground, he had seized her by the arm and pulled. With a surprised yelp, she staggered towards him, right into his arms.

  For a moment Reuben stood there, holding her.

  Everything in him ached not to let her go. Yet there was still the small matter of half a dozen enemies around him. Around her. With a flick of his foot, he kicked the dagger that had fallen from the mercenary’s hand into the air and caught it. Seizing Ayla around the waist, he whirled her around, pressing her against the castle wall and placing himself as a human shield in front of her. A shield more impenetrable than any made out of solid steel.

  With cries of mixed rage and panic, the mercenaries fell upon him. Normally, Reuben could have attacked and felled them easily—but with Ayla behind him, he dared not take any risks. Doggedly he remained in a defensive position. Yet the surroundings and his meager weaponry were hardly congenial to defense. He was surrounded on all sides by enemies who knew exactly what his weak spot was. And if that wasn't enough, the stupid girl he was unlucky enough to be in love with kept wriggling behind him.

  “Stay where you are!” he hissed at her.

  “I can't just let you face them alone!” she hissed back at him.

  With the hilt of the dagger, he fended off a blow from one of the enemies and glanced angrily over his shoulder at her beautiful, stubborn eyes.

  “Do you know how to fight?”

  “Of course not, but…”

  “Then stay where you are, you little shrew, and shut up!”

  She obeyed his former command, though not the latter. Reuben tuned her out and concentrated solely on his weapon. Satan's hairy ass, if he didn't have to be careful, he would have those fools dismembered within seconds! As it was, he was slowly driven back against the wall. Against Ayla.

  Suddenly, one of the men in front of him dropped to his knees. Reuben was about to strike him, when he saw a guisarme jutting from the mercenary's back. Through the gap between his enemies, Reuben saw Captain Linhart, who had fought his way far enough up the steps to throw his weapon at the men threatening his mistress.

  It was a bold stroke, and Reuben knew it. Now the Captain had only his knife to defend himself against fully armed men. He had sacrificed his only real weapon in a desperate attempt to get to his mistress—and still was too far away.

  Hmm. Maybe I can help with that.

  Deflecting another attack from one mercenary with a swift backhand blow, Reuben grabbed Ayla around the waist again and, as she gave a yelp of surprise, hurled her through the air at Captain Linhart, shouting, “Catch!”

  If he hadn't been burning with battle rage, Reuben might have found the expression on Linhart's face funny. It took him a second before, just in time, he reached up and sort of caught his mistress, though it looked more like she landed on top of him. He staggered back into a clump of his men, who made room and formed an iron wall of protection around their lady. An iron wall that would keep Ayla safe.

  That was the moment when Reuben let go and loosed the salivating beast inside him.

  With his next blow, he buried his dagger in the throat of an enemy and ripped the guisarme out of the dying man's hands. Two swift swipes cleared the air before him. The mercenaries jumped back in alarm—suddenly, the blows of their enemy seemed much quicker than before. Reuben grinned and charged, screaming like a berserker.

  The mercenaries before him were like snow before the summer sunrise: they melted away, and everything was red. Reuben swung the guisarme with violent glee, felling not one man after another, but two or three with a single stroke. His impact was so devastating that the line of mercenaries defending the stairs against two dozen of Ayla's guards turned to rush to the aid of their companions falling before the blade of this one single, mighty enemy.

  Shouting in triumph, Ayla’s guards hurried after them, dividing them, defeating them, coming up the stairs to Reuben's aid. Yet he had no need of any. By the time they reached him, he was standing on a small mountain of corpses. Every last intruder was dead.

  Every last but one, that is.

  Growling like a wounded bear, the beefy mercenary rose from where he had fallen on the cobblestones. He had an ugly bruise on the side of his head, but although he had been momentarily stunned, he seemed more th
an fine now. Still he held the burning torch in his left hand. With the right, he pulled the sword from his belt that he had picked up in the keep. Reuben's sword.

  A few of the castle guards rushed towards him—but Reuben had other plans. He had a list in his mind. A long list.

  “Back!” he roared and punched a guard in the chest who wanted to advance on the big mercenary. “This one is mine! Mine, I say! Back with you!”

  Slowly, the guards complied and formed a loose semi-circle behind Reuben. Everything slowed down: breathing, movement, heartbeats. Reuben could feel the semi-circle widen behind him. In the end, it was just him and the mercenary, facing each other over a dozen feet of wet cobblestones.

  Reuben still stood high up on the stairs. He jumped down, letting the guisarme fall to the ground. With a swift motion, he bent and picked up another weapon, one of the many that lay between the corpses.

  It was a sword.

  Then he faced the big mercenary again. They glowered at each other with hate burning in their eyes—hate as hot as the torch the mercenary was still holding. The flames sizzled as the rain fell faster.

  The soldiers around Reuben retreated even farther. They were warriors and instinctively knew what he intended to do.

  From somewhere behind him, Reuben thought he heard a female voice. A familiar voice, pleading with him not to be stupid, not to do this alone—but he was in a place all of his own. A place where he listened to nothing but the pounding of blood in his ears.

  It was time for battle.

  With a bellow of rage, he raised his sword and charged at his enemy!

  Swordplay

  Ayla had been in agony, terrified she would be taken to the Margrave, terrified she would become a slave to her worst enemy, terrified she would never see Reuben again—and then he dropped on her head. That had been quite the shock, to say the least.

  Well, he hadn't actually dropped on her head. He had just dropped from God-only-knew-where out of the sky and ripped her from the clutches of that stinking monster. For a moment, she had been in his arms and everything had been all right—and the next moment, he had the effrontery to squash her against a wall and call her a silly girl! She would have very much liked to stab him in that moment—if she hadn't been so terribly afraid for him.

  And then…

  Then it had all gotten a bit confusing. Mostly because she wasn't used to being tossed through the air like some juggler's ball. How dare he? How dare that villain treat a lady in this manner? She landed on something that said “Oomph!” and then suddenly was surrounded by armed men and couldn't see Reuben anymore.

  Was he all right? Was he alive? Oh Lord, she prayed, her head still spinning like a spindle. Lord, please let him be alive! Please! He may be a villain, and a rogue, and a terrible sinner, but please let him live anyway!

  Some of the soldiers around her rushed forward, and she heard a voice. His voice. He was alive!

  “Back! This one is mine! Mine, I say! Back with you!”

  What was going on?

  As the soldiers around her slowly retreated, she saw a sight that made the marrow freeze in her bones. Most of the mercenaries were lying dead on the ground—but one was still very much alive. With a gigantic sword in hand, the beefy monster who had held his knife to her throat stood in the middle of the courtyard.

  And directly opposite him stood Reuben. Totally alone.

  Ayla's mouth went dry.

  “No! Reuben, don't be a fool!”

  She tried to rush forward, but hands grasped her arms, holding her back. She yelled at them to let her go, that he was about to get hurt, and couldn't they see that she had to do something to prevent this, but the hands only tightened their grip.

  “Reuben, don't do this,” she cried. “Not alone! Why do this alone?”

  It was so stupid, so unnecessary, so…typically male! For heaven's sake, there were two dozen soldiers around! But instead of helping him, they were holding her back, allowing Reuben to go through with his grand, heroic act! Didn't they have any brains in their helmeted heads?

  In a swift motion, Reuben picked up one of the swords that were strewn among the corpses. It was by no means as large as the one the mercenary had in his hand. Another surge of fear rose up inside Ayla’s chest. She had never actually seen Reuben fight before. Well, she had, out of the corner of her eye, seen him attack her abductors, but she was being forcibly dragged away at the time, with a knife held to her throat—not the best conditions for exact scrutiny.

  Was Reuben actually any good at fighting?

  But it was too late for such questions. In that moment, Reuben loosed a battlecry that shook the very foundations of the castle and charged the mercenary head on. His first blow reassured Ayla on one point: yes, Reuben could fight. Reuben could fight better than any knight she had ever seen.

  The mercenary had hardly time enough to bring up the giant sword and deflect the first blow. Sparks ignited in the night as the two blades connected. With a gyrating movement, Reuben somehow took control of his enemy’s sword and swirled it into the opposite direction from that which the mercenary intended. The fat monster was still trying to regain control of his sword when Reuben rammed into him and catapulted him twenty feet or so through the air. With an unhealthy crash, the mercenary slammed onto the cobblestones.

  “Get up,” Reuben said in a voice that was liquid contempt.

  Ayla was so surprised by his words that she stopped struggling against the grip of her guards. Reuben conforming to the knight's code of honor? Everybody knew that a knight couldn't strike a man who was not on his feet, but Ayla would never have suspected that Reuben might stick to this code, particularly now.

  Then she saw the gleam in Reuben's eyes and suddenly knew that there was a different reason for his words. Reuben was planning something. But what? Why didn't he just kill the monster if he could?

  The mercenary was already back on his feet. He was astonishingly quick for such a bulky man. He stood there, staring at Reuben with narrowed eyes.

  “You're no castle guard,” he growled. His stance had slightly changed. He held the sword differently than before, more firmly, somehow. “Not the usual sort of riffraff.”

  “No, I'm not,” Reuben confirmed, advancing towards him. His head was lowered like that of a bull preparing for a charge. His long black hair, glistening in the rain, was fluttering behind him as shiny, dark flags of death.

  The eyes of the mercenary narrowed even more—then suddenly went wide.

  “You're the one,” he whispered. “The one who broke into our camp and stole our commander's armor.”

  “Not quite.” In a swift ark, Reuben brought down his sword. The mercenary jumped to the side, Reuben changed direction, and the two swords met with a clang. This time, the beefy man held his position. “I was just taking back what is mine.”

  “Taking back what is yours? I don't understand what you’re babbling about!”

  “I wouldn't expect you to.” Reuben shrugged. “But then, it doesn't matter whether you do, because you'll be dead in a few minutes.”

  The mercenary’s face hardened. Reuben loosed another blow at him, which the mercenary evaded by jumping back.

  “You? You think you're going to kill me?”

  “Oh yes. It will be my pleasure.”

  “Bah! I've killed more knights than I can count, you stripling![8] How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one? I'm not about to be beaten by a green boy like you!”

  “You mistake my color,” Reuben said darkly and struck again. And again, the mercenary deflected the blow, although he was forced to step back. With the hand that wasn’t gripping his sword, Reuben lovingly caressed the crimson of his armor. “I don't like green. I prefer wearing red. The blood doesn't show as easily.”

  “Ha! Do you think you can frighten me?”

  Reuben nodded. “Yes, actually, I do believe I can.”

  “No dice!”

  Ayla was disturbed by how confident the mercenary was sounding. And she
had to admit that Reuben wasn't making a very good show of himself. At first, it had seemed as though he would crush the man—but now, he seemed almost timid. Or holding back. But…why should he hold back?

  “You think so, do you?” Reuben asked, almost kindly.

  The mercenary spat at his feet.

  “Maybe with a couple of your cronies over there. But since your knight's honor won't permit you to let them help, I'll show you what I am capable of.”

  “Oh, it is not my honor as a knight that prevents me from letting them help,” Reuben assured him softly. “I just don't want to share the pleasure of killing you.”

  The way he said those words…It sent a shiver down Ayla's spine. Even the mercenary looked uneasy for a moment. Then he grinned again.

  “You talk and talk but don't do anything,” he growled contemptuously.

  “On the contrary,” said Reuben. “I have brought you to where I want you. Open the gates!”

  The last three words were shouted as a command. Ayla's eyes widened. Only now did she realize that Reuben's carefully aimed attacks had taken him and the mercenary across the courtyard, right to the inner gates. Hearing Reuben's command, the guards, though they could not have the slightest idea who this fellow in the red armor was, didn't hesitate. The look of him alone was enough to instill the wish for obedience in any man with a sense of self-preservation.

  “What the…?” The mercenary turned, trying to see where the strange creaking noises came from that rang through the night as the gates swung open.

  With another deafening bellow, Reuben lowered his head and charged at his foe's unprotected back. He rammed into the mercenary and flung him through the air, right through the opening gates, and out onto the outer courtyard.

  Ayla felt the grips on her arm loosen in surprise. She rushed forward, and before her guards could grab hold of her again, she was through the gate and in the outer section of the castle. There, the mercenary was just climbing to his feet again, cursing. Reuben advanced on him.

  “What the hell was that supposed to be?” the mercenary yelled. “Do you want to fight or butt heads with me?”