by Robert Thier
The sentence hung heavy in the air.
“What if there were somebody here who is?” Ayla dared to ask.
“Your merchant who is so knowledgeable about war?” Isenbard asked without taking his eyes off the soldiers at the edge of the forest.
“He isn't my merchant!”
Ayla wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a smile flit over Isenbard's normally so stern face. “Of course he isn’t. My mistake, Milady. I beg your pardon.”
“But…you were right. I was speaking of him,” admitted Ayla.
“I thought as much.”
“Do you know where he is?” she enquired.
“Celebrating his victory, most likely,” the old knight grumbled.
“What? What victory?” Ayla looked at him, perplexed, and he waved a hand.
“Nothing, Milady. No, I don't know where he is.”
“Me neither. You there!” Ayla waved to one of the guards who eagerly stepped towards her.
“Yes, Milady?”
“Go look for Reuben. Find him and bring him to me.”
The eagerness in the guard's expression vanished instantly. He took a step back. “I-I, Milady?”
“Yes, you.”
“A-alone?”
Ayla rolled her eyes. “You may take two other guards with you if you wish.”
Relief flooded the guard's face, and he bowed deeply. “Thank you very much, Milady. I shall fetch him instantly.”
He selected the two largest and most scary-looking of his companions and they hurried off toward the nearest tower. Ayla resumed her discussion with Isenbard, asking him questions about his head injury to make sure he was completely healed.
Not long afterwards, she heard footsteps approach from behind. She turned, and her mouth went dry.
There he came, striding along the battlements in full armor. The sun glinted dangerously on the red of metal and cloth, making it look like glistening, wet blood. His sword hung at his left, and a great helmet covered his face completely.
The red robber knight. He looked exactly the same as the day he had put his sword to her throat, robbed her, and left her stranded in the forest.
For a moment, Ayla wondered whether he not only looked the same, but was the same.
This was the first time Ayla had seen him in full armor. Well, except for the time he had come riding into the castle with half the enemy army on his heels—but she had been too anxious and angry back then to think much about his looks. Now, however, the sight of the figure she had feared and hated for weeks took her breath away.
It was very, very hard to remember that, underneath that coat of steel, was Reuben, the man for whom she entertained feelings that were the opposite of hate.
He came to a stop in front of her. “You called for me, Milady?”
His voice was exactly the same, too. Deep, mocking, and unbelievably arrogant. Only, maybe now there was an undertone to his voice that hadn't been there that first day. A tone of affection? A tone of…love?
He had said he loved her. But then, he had also said he was a merchant. Which, she thought as she surveyed his impressive, threatening figure, he absolutely, undoubtedly, evidently was not. If merchants had looked anything like he did at this moment, all markets would have to close down or the customers would run screaming.
“You sent for me?” he repeated, probably wondering why she was just standing there staring at him. To be honest, she was still trying to find the courage to speak to this dark specter of her past. Slowly, she took a step towards him.
“Take your helmet off, please.” Her voice was soft and hesitant—not as determined as she would have liked it to sound.
“My helmet?” He sounded confused, and that gave her confidence. This wasn't the red robber knight. He had never been confused, only bloodthirsty. This was Reuben. Or, rather, this was both of them. She needed them both now.
“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice more steady. “Your helmet.”
“All right.”
Unfastening the leather straps that held his helmet in place, he removed it and his face appeared, smiling down at her with that devilish smile she knew and loved.
“Better now?” he asked, as if he'd known exactly what she had been thinking.
“Much better.” She smiled back at him, feeling his smile warm her heart. It didn't seem to have the same effect on the guards, though. They edged away like they would from a grinning tiger.
“Come.”
Impulsively, Ayla reached out and took Reuben's hand. A perfectly natural thing, right? She wanted him to step up to a certain place on the wall, so she had to lead him there. There was nothing wrong with taking his hand. Besides, his hand felt very nice. Even through the leather of the gauntlet, it felt strong and good around hers. Something familiar to cling onto while she got used to his frightening looks.
Ayla led Reuben over to where Sir Isenbard was standing. Only then did she realize something:
somehow, Isenbard didn't seem surprised to see Reuben in full armor. Could he possibly…
She put the thought aside. There were more urgent matters at hand.
“Where were you?” she wanted to know.
Reuben squeezed her hand and gave her another smile that made her heartbeat quicken. “I was on my way to check something.”
“Check what?” she asked in a voice that sounded slightly breathy.
“Just a little theory of mine. Might not be anything.”
“Good, good…” Ayla's voice trailed off. Reuben had begun to stroke his thumb over the back of her hand in circles. The feeling was quite distracting. “Very, very good… “
“Milady?”
“Hmm?”
“You wished for my advice, I believe?”
Ayla blinked. The guards, Isenbard and Reuben were all looking at her. The latter with a slightly smug expression on her face. Flushing, Ayla tried to pull her hand from Reuben's, but he didn't let go. His smile widened.
“My advice?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow, his thumb continuing to travel in circles over her bare skin. The fiend! He was doing that on purpose!
“Of course, your advice,” Ayla said in a crisp and business-like tone of voice. “If you would be so good as to look over there?”
Reuben gave an affected little bow. “Certainly, Milady.”
He followed Ayla's outstretched arm with his eyes, to where Falkeinstein’s men were still hacking away at the trees of the forest.
“Can you tell me what they are doing?” she demanded.
Flying Death
For a while, Reuben was silent. His forehead creased, and the smile disappeared from his lips. He did not let go of Ayla's hand though. If anything, she felt his grip tighten.
“Hmm…” he muttered at last. “It looks like they're building some kind of siege weapon. But…why? They've got us where they want us.”
And even though that wasn't a very cheering thought, Ayla thrilled to the sound of the last word.
Us.
He was thinking of “us.” Did that mean everybody in the castle or, more precisely, the two of them? She bit her lip. No, now wasn't the time to get distracted by thoughts like that. She had to focus.
“I know it's a siege weapon,” Isenbard said impatiently. “But what is it exactly?”
“Well, it can't be a trebuchet.”[14] Reuben pointed at several of the trees down in the valley that the men were working on. “The pieces are too small. The arm is missing.”
Isenbard frowned. “A trebu-what?”
Reuben waved his hand dismissively. “A trebuchet. It's a siege weapon, a rather recent invention. It…oh, nevermind.” He shook his head. “None of the trees they are felling are big enough to build one. They don't even look large enough for a normal catapult. The only thing that I can think of…hmm…”
He cut off, chewing his lower lip.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Isenbard growled, raising an eyebrow at Reuben. Ayla looked questioningly from the old knight to t
he young one, but neither saw fit to elaborate.
Reuben nodded, grimly. “Yes, I’m thinking exactly that. But it doesn’t make any sense.”
“No sense at all.” Isenbard nodded back at him just as grimly. “I completely agree.”
“Me, too,” said Ayla. They both turned to stare at her.
“How do you know it’s not making any sense? Do you actually know what we’re talking about?” Reuben wanted to know.
She glared back at them. “No, I don’t know. I think it’s the two of you who aren't making any sense! Can you please tell me what you're talking about before I go mad? What is a trebuthingy?”
“A trebuchet. But, as I said, it’s not one of those. The trees they are felling are too small. And…yes, do you see those, there?” Reuben pointed again, this time at two pieces of wood which had already been cut into shape and were now being rammed into the ground so that they met in mid-air.
“That looks like supports for something,” Ayla said.
“They are. My guess is that they’ll hold in place a central beam of wood, on which, in turn, another beam is placed, with a rope attached at the end. This acts like a staff sling, making it possible to throw stones and other objects over quite some distance.”
“Stones?” gasped Ayla, alarmed. “Does that mean they intend to bombard us?”
“If they are, it will be highly amusing.”
“Amusing? Reuben, how can you say that?” Ayla felt the color drain from her face. “Those are my people you’re talking about! My castle! You can you say it’s amusing, when—“
“Amusing because,” he cut her off, “they cannot throw anything large or dangerous enough to really harm us.”
“Oh.” She felt a blush coming on. “Well, you should have mentioned that.”
“I was just going to. As I said before, what they are building looks like a small, even primitive version of a siege weapon. Look, I’ll show you.” Reuben gestured to one of her guards. The man took a few steps back, looking apprehensive.
“Come here!” Reuben barked. “I need your spear.”
Carefully, the guard approached, stretched out his spear, and handed it to Reuben pointy end first, as if afraid he would be stabbed with it otherwise. Reuben snatched the spear away from the guard and balanced it on his arm, moving it up and down like a lever. Ayla watched, fascinated as he explained the mechanics of death as if it were something perfectly ordinary.
“This arm is placed on top of the middle pole. It moves on a hinge. When men pull on ropes attached to one end, the other end shoots up and, with it, the sling that is attached to it. Inside the sling is the projectile.”
Reuben hit one end of the spear sharply and the other snapped up into the air. Ayla jumped back with a little yelp.
“When it passes the zenith of the rotation movement,” Reuben said calmly, stopping the spear in its track when the sharp end was pointing directly up into the sky, “the sling releases the projectile, which flies towards the target. What happens on impact…”
He breathed in a deep sigh. “Well, that depends very much on the size of the projectile and the toughness of the target. A man-pulled catapult like they are building,” he waved deprecatingly towards the mercenaries as if they weren't even worth his attention, “can maybe smash in the roof of a peasant's hut or crack a wooden barricade. But,” he tapped one of the stone crenels in front of him, “it cannot hope to harm a solid stone castle. It would be like hurling pebbles at a solid oak door. You might scratch it, but you could never break it.”
“What about burning missiles?” asked Ayla.
Reuben raised an eyebrow in what was an insultingly surprised manner. “You actually have a brain in that pretty head of yours!”
There were a lot of things Ayla might have wanted to give as a reply to this—like “How dare you!” or “A better one than yours, Sir Knight!”—but all she could think to say was, “You think my head is pretty?”
Color rose in her cheeks. Isenbard and all the guards seemed suddenly very interested in examining the stones of the castle walls.
Reuben leaned down to her and whispered in her ear, “Very. But not as pretty as some other parts of you, I'm sure.”
“Reuben!” She hissed, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “You can't say such things!”
“Of course I can. I just did.”
“What I meant is you shouldn't say such things!”
“Well, that's something totally different.” His eyes burned with gray fire as they gazed into hers. “I love doing things I’m not supposed to do. It's so much fun.”
“At least don't say them while we're with company!”
“I can't wait to get you alone, then.”
By now, Ayla was feeling really hot, and it wasn't just her face anymore, either. She tried to shake it off and wrench her gaze away from his fiery gray gaze to the siege weapon down in the valley. That wasn't easy, though, while a chorus of nightingales were fluttering in her chest, singing the beautiful song of “He may love me! He may actually love me!”
“Err…we should…we should return to the matter at hand,” she said. “Yes. The siege. We should return to the siege.”
“As Milady commands,” said Reuben, bowing his head. “My sword is always sharp and at your command.”
“Err…good. Well, what do you think?” she asked, fumbling with her dress since she didn't really know what else to do with her hands. “Could they be planning to throw flaming projectiles at us?”
Reuben shook his head. “What would be the use? I admit, flaming projectiles can often do harm where other kinds of missiles fail. But in this case? No. Most everything in the outer defensive circle is built out of solid stone. They couldn't hope to set fire to anything. And pelting us with fire just so they can disrupt our dull lives? Unlikely.”
“So,” Ayla put her concluding question, “is this siege weapon a threat to us?”
“It cannot harm the walls of the castle,” answered Reuben. His tone was hesitant. Curt. Ayla knew how to listen for things that were not said. It was a skill she had picked up from conversations with Isenbard.
“That is no straight answer to my question,” she accused. “Can it harm us?”
Reuben shook his head but frowned as he did so. “I cannot see how. They might be able to throw lighter projectiles over the walls, but how could they harm us? We could simply evacuate everybody except the soldiers into the inner ring of walls and station the men-at-arms on the walls so they would be protected by the crenels. It would be of no use to the enemy to bombard us like that. As I said, any projectiles they can throw at us with this kind of siege weapons are too small to harm us.”
“Maybe they just don't know that, and that's why they're going to try it,” a guard suggested hesitantly.
“No.” Isenbard shook his head. “I can't believe a commander of a mercenary army is that stupid. He wouldn't have lived long enough to become commander if he were.”
“Agreed,” Reuben nodded.
“So…what does it mean?” Ayla asked. She wasn’t trying to sound scared, but her eyes pleaded with Reuben for some reassurance.
Maybe he wasn’t looking at her eyes closely enough to notice, though.
“They have something planned,” he told her. “We'll just have to wait and see what it is.”
*~*~**~*~*
Sir Luca waited beside the catapult, his fists on his hips, a smile on his lips that did not show the least sign of humor. It was a dark smile. Conrad approached him cautiously. His master was in a strange mood these days, and one never quite knew how he would react or to what lengths he would go.
Conrad had already realized this before tonight, but he was being even more careful now. More careful after what they had just done, and what he knew they were going to do…
A shiver ran down his back. Not something very common for a man who had killed more times than he could remember.
“Sir?” He stopped beside Sir Luca and bowed.
&n
bsp; “Is it done?” the commander asked.
“Aye, it is done.”
“And did they see you?”
“No, they didn't see or attack us. Nobody is hurt.”
“I am not interested in whether anyone is hurt. I am interested in whether those maggots in the castle know what we are going to do. I want this to be…a surprise.”
“They will not know what is coming, Sir. I promise you that.”
“Good.”
Conrad looked behind him, at the wagon which approached the siege weapon. He had to lie to the driver about its load, because three of his colleagues had, one after the other, refused to drive the wagon after being told what was in there. Even though the army's drivers had seen and committed their share of bloodshed, they would not cross some boundaries.
“And is the siege weapon ready?” inquired Sir Luca.
“Yes, everything is ready. Only…”
“Only what?”
Conrad swallowed. Better get this over with. “I wanted to ask…are you really sure about this, Sir?”
Sir Luca turned towards him. Conrad took a step back as his commander’s small, dark beetle eyes fixed on him.
“Did I give the order to have this done?”
“Yes, Sir! You did, Sir!”
“And did I sound in any way unsure to you?”
“No, Sir!”
“Good. Proceed.”
Conrad whirled around and, only when he had turned completely away from Sir Luca, allowed his expression to show what he felt. Breathing heavily, he marched over to the cart and nodded to the driver.
“Go!” He said gruffly. “You're not wanted here anymore tonight.”
The man looked surprised. “Don't you want to help me unload?”
“No.” And be thankful for it, you fool.
“Well, suit yourself.” The driver jumped down from the wagon. “I'm going to have a drink with Bern and Otto, then, if you don't mind.”
“You do that.” And hopefully they won't tell him what he has just driven around.
After the driver had left, Conrad whistled once. From the darkness stepped a selection of men. Not the best men of the army, not those on whose loyalty Conrad would have relied most, but the vilest, the most brutal, the ones who, given enough incentive, would do almost anything.
