by Robert Thier
Burchard's voice got a good deal more suspicious. “And how the hell would you know?”
“Psht!” She waved at him imperiously. “Be quiet!” She was watching Reuben, listening intently.
“There, you see?” Reuben’s voice rose. It was becoming more menacing by the second, deep and growling, like the warning sounds out of the belly of some fierce beast just before the inevitable attack. “I'm not just any knight you can trick with your underhanded ways and stab in the back. I know them all— I invented most of them myself!”
His hand shot forward, gripping Luca by the throat. If not for the metal bevor around his neck, Ayla felt sure he would have crushed Luca's windpipe.
“I am different,” Reuben hissed. “I'm the Red Robber Knight. There's nothing you can hurt me with.”
“That's where you're wrong,” Luca gasped. He brought up his sword to slash at the arm holding him. Reuben let go and brought his own blade around to counter the attack—but Luca had already broken it off. He had dived for the tower door and now flung it open again. Expecting this to be another attack, Reuben brought up his hand to shield himself—in vain. The door slid open just wide enough to admit Luca into the tower.
“Satan's hairy ass! Come out and face me!” Reuben marched towards the door and flung it fully open—just as Luca emerged from the second door right beside it, behind Reuben. Ayla gave a startled cry.
“Reuben! Look out!”
She knew it would come too late. Luca was too close already. But then…then Luca ran past Reuben, away from him, down the walkway. What was this? The fight was over there. Why was he running towards her?
And then the penny dropped.
“Reuben! Reuben, he’s going to-!”
But the rage in Reuben’s eyes showed that he already knew why Luca was heading away from him and towards her.
Quickly, Ayla bent down, grasping a dagger that had been dropped by one of the dead fighters, and held it out in front of her with trembling hands. Luca just smirked, ducked underneath her clumsy strike, grasped her wrist, and twisted. The merciless grip of his iron-clad hand sent red-hot pain through Ayla's fingers. She screamed in pain, and the dagger clattered to the ground.
“Let go of me, you ugly brute!” Writhing, she tried to somehow get out of his grip. But he just ignored her, enveloping her in his steely grasp. A moment later, she felt something she had felt only twice before: a sharp blade at her throat. She growled. “Let me go, you bastard!”
“Now, now,” a silky voice hissed into her ear. “That's not the appropriate way for a lady to talk, is it?”
His blade remained at her throat, but his other hand shot up, palm out. “Not another step closer! Not one step closer, or she dies!”
Through her tears, Ayla saw Reuben, frozen to a red statue of rage, only a few feet away from her.
“Let her go,” he said, his voice as deadly as death itself.
Slowly, Luca shook his head. Ayla could feel the movement in the way the blade moved across the skin at her throat and cut into her.
“Oh no. That's the last thing I'm going to do, bastardo.” He smiled. “You see? There is a way to hurt you. And I believe I have found it.”
*~*~**~*~*
Reuben stood there, gazing at Ayla in the arms of that monster, and didn't move a muscle. Oh, if only he could take one more step forward. One step would be enough, and the danger to the center of his world would be ended. But if he could take that step forward, he wouldn’t actually kill Luca. Oh no, not so fast. He would cut off his hands and feet so he could cause no more harm, and then the fun would begin…
Suddenly, a movement from behind Luca distracted him. Burchard, wounded and weak as he was, had dragged himself over to the Italian and grabbed the fallen dagger on the floor. Slowly, he raised it, ready to plunge it into Luca's calf.
Without bothering to turn, Luca kicked the knife out of his hand, and then let his foot come down on the steward's fingers.
“Arr!” Burchard bellowed in pain, and Ayla tried to twist to see what was going on.
“No! Please stop,” she pleaded. “Please don't hurt him! I'll…I'll…”
Not even pretending to listen to her, Luca lashed out with his armored foot a third time and delivered a stunning kick to Burchard's head. The steward was thrown back and slammed into the parapet with a very unhealthy thud. He remained there, limp, his head hanging to the side.
“Nooo!” Ayla wailed. She tried to turn again, but Luca had a firm grip on her. For just a moment, he looked down to see if she was still secure.
Reuben moved. In the split second that was given to him, he had already crossed half the distance between him and his prize—but it was not enough.
“Back!” His eyes flashing up, Luca pressed the knife more tightly against Ayla's throat. Her scream of pain was like a dagger thrust into Reuben's heart. Literally. He hadn't felt pain like this in years. Not since he had been cursed. All he saw was the fear in her eyes and the thin trickle of blood running down her slender throat.
“Back up, bastardo!” Through the slit of his visor, Reuben could see the beetle eyes of the mercenary commander glinting dangerously. “Or I'll cut her some more.”
Reuben tried to make his voice seem calm. Thank the devil that he was wearing a visor and that the other man couldn't see the expression on his face, or any appearance of calm would be instantly shattered.
“I thought you wanted it to be just the two of us?” He inquired. “A duel to decide the fate of this battle.”
“I lied.” Reuben could hear the smirk in Luca's voice. Stay calm, he told himself. Do not, I repeat, do not try to lunge forward and rip him apart with your bare hands. Ayla's life is at stake.
He made himself laugh dismissively.
“Ha! And why do you think that I care if you cut her or kill her? She is convenient for holding this land together, true. But even if you kill her, I'll still have the old man in my power. It won’t be difficult to make myself the lord here.”
“Oh?” Sir Luca's voice sounded amused. “You only want her for convenience and a way to power? You're not really interested in her? Well, then I guess I'll better kill her right away.”
His blade moved.
Reuben jumped back as if stung by a viper. “No! Don't!”
“I thought as much.” The dark self-satisfaction in Luca's voice was enough to make Reuben want to choke him. Actually, the man's mere existence was enough for Reuben to want to choke him, but that was beside the point right now.
“So you wouldn't like it if I killed her?” the Italian inquired.
Reuben's jaw muscles worked like those of a hyena. He desperately tried to find something that would keep him from snapping and attacking that half-faced haggard. Finally, his eyes landed on Ayla's face. And what he saw there drained all the anger out of him. Well, almost all.
Her eyes weren’t full of fear. It was worse. They were brimming with love, with desperate longing. He knew exactly how she felt. He thought that, if only he could close the distance and have her in his arms once more, all the world would be right again.
Of course, there was the little matter of the knife at her throat.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I wouldn't like it at all if you killed her.”
“Then lay down your sword.” With his free hand, Luca made a motion towards the Luntberg soldiers further down the walkway. “All of you! Lay down your arms immediately, or your mistress will be a head shorter!”
From behind him, Reuben heard the clatter of weapons that fell onto the walkway. Instinctively, his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. He couldn't let go! Not now! He was the only one who stood near enough to Ayla to be possibly able to save her. He couldn't let go off his weapon. Oh, if Luca could only be distracted for just one moment! One moment would be enough.
“Let go, I say!” Luca's voice had a note of steel in it this time. “Or I will hurt her. Do it, now!”
Reuben's hand trembled. He couldn't! He was the only one clos
e enough to…
Or maybe not.
Surprised, he blinked. Was he seeing right? There was a shadow behind Luca—a small shadow slowly creeping nearer to the mercenary commander. Was it Burchard? Reuben flicked his eyes to the left, where the steward was still lying, passed out, against the wall. In rising confusion, he looked back at the approaching shadow. It couldn't be Burchard anyway. Whoever this was, was only about a quarter of his size. Who…
Slowly, a smile of comprehension spread across his face. Once again profoundly grateful for the visor that blocked his face from Luca’s sight, he loosened his grip on his sword and let it point down, so Luca would follow its course with his eyes, keeping him busy. All the while, the small shadow crept closer.
“How do I know that, if I let go of my sword, you will release her?” he asked.
Luca snorted. “I won't. She'll be my prisoner until the Margrave arrives. But she will still be alive.”
“Will she? How can I possibly trust you?”
Now, the shadow was only a few feet away. Reuben saw something in its hand. Something long and thin.
“You can't,” Luca said. “But you can trust that I do not wish to incur the Margrave's displeasure by harming his greatest prize. He is not a man to cross, as this little lady will find out soon.”
He patted Ayla's arm, and she shuddered under his touch. Reuben's wrath flared, but he clamped down on it, controlled it, shoved it away. Amazing what love enabled you to do.
“And the villagers and soldiers?” he asked, stalling.
Just a few more feet now… The small, dark form behind Sir Luca rose slowly.
“They will be punished according to their crimes,” Sir Luca snapped. “Now, put down your sword!”
“Very well.” Reuben bowed his head. Slowly, he opened his fingers, and the giant sword fell from his hand, onto the stone. Everyone was so silent that the clang seemed unnaturally loud.
“I'm unarmed,” Reuben proclaimed, fixing his gaze on a point behind the mercenary commander. “It's up to you now.”
Sir Luca shifted, uncomfortably.
“What? What are you babbling about—”
The shadow sprang!
The Most Fearsome of Foes
The stick wielded by the shadowy figure caught Sir Luca on his hindquarters with full force. Yelling some Italian curse, he stumbled forward, losing hold of both his sword and Ayla in the unexpected attack. Faster than the eye could see, Reuben swept Ayla behind him and caught the Italian's sword. He kicked the man in the stomach, and he was thrown back against the crenels.
“Bastardo! Who dares to…”
Spitting another curse, Luca sprang to his feet again, drawing a dagger and spinning to face the enemy who had attacked him from behind—but there was nobody there. Confused, he stared into empty air, until another whack caught him in the stomach. With a clang, it rebounded off his metal stomach plate. He looked down, in the direction from which the blows had come.
“Eh?”
Large, stubborn, dark eyes under a tangle of black hair looked back at him from behind a defensively raised stick. Sir Luca stared at the little girl in front of him, stupefied.
“Una bambina? En che modo…?”
His concentration was fully focused on her. That was the moment Reuben had been waiting for.
His arm came around Luca's throat from behind, yanking him away from the little girl and holding him as tightly as a metal vice. The sword in his hand came up at the same time and struck true.
With a wet noise, Sir Luca de Lombardi's head was severed from his body. It flew to the side, smashing against the crenels and, still encased in its helmet, landed rattling on the walkway. The rest of the body slipped from Reuben's grasp and crashed onto the stones, gushing blood.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody made a sound.
With an interested expression on her face, the little girl walked over to the stuffed helmet of Sir Luca and prodded it with her stick. It rolled to and fro a bit, creaking.
“Was that the evil man who wanted to lock Agnes up in a tower?” she demanded.
“I don't know,” admitted Reuben, watching the child with interest. “Who’s Agnes?”
“She's my dolly.”
“Oh, I see.” Reuben unstrapped his helmet. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Still can't help you, I'm afraid. I have no idea whether he was the particular evil man who was after your doll. He was certainly an evil man, though. That much I do know.”
“I see.” The little girl nodded, content. “Well, in that case, I guess it’s good he got his head chopped off.”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Though you might have chopped off other parts of him first.”
Reuben grinned. He was starting to like this little girl's philosophy.
“Haven't we met before?” he enquired, scrutinizing the scruffy little creature in front of him more closely.
“Aye. I heard your speech.”
“Of course! My first volunteer! How could I forget?”
She turned toward him, grinning up at him and doing a cross between a crouch and a curtsy. “My name is Fye.”
He returned the greeting by executing a perfect courtly bow, as deep as any queen would receive from him.
“Charmed to meet you, Lady Fye. Now, if you will excuse me—I have some matters left over that I have to take care of.”
“Certainly.”
Reuben turned, fixing his glare upon the remaining enemy soldiers, who still stood as unmoving as pillars of salt, some on the walkway, some still down in the courtyard, some even frozen in the act of climbing up the wall. Now, as Reuben's ferocious raptor's gaze focused upon them, they seemed, for the first time, to notice that the outcome of the duel hadn’t improved their situation a great deal. Quite the contrary, in fact.
Reuben raised his sword, pointing at them. “You,” he said, his voice coming right from the darkest pit of hell, “are dead.”
Then, with an animalistic roar, he threw himself into the combat. He hurled enemies right and left with so much force that they sailed right over the top of the crenels and into nothingness, or else down into the courtyard, to a quick death on the hard cobblestones. He stabbed, he hacked, he killed by every method known to men, and a few known only to devils.
“Ayla!” He shouted over his shoulder without stopping to turn. “Go into the tower and lock the doors! Lock the doors!”
This time, he was going to let nothing get in his way. This time, he would not be denied his fair share of killing!
His savage attack had the intended effect: all the enemy soldiers turned towards him to defend themselves. By the time they remembered they had enemies at their back, the Luntberg soldiers had already gathered up their discarded weapons again and were joining the fight with a zeal that almost matched Reuben's. Beset from both sides, the enemy tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. They were stuck on a narrow stone walkway, and if they tried climbing back down the ropes, they were picked off by Captain Linthart's archers like rabbits at the Imperial Hunt.
A cry rose up over the castle from dozens of throats: “Luca is dead! Luca is dead! Long live Lady Ayla von Luntberg!”
Down in the courtyard, groans of despair went up from the few enemy soldiers that hadn't yet climbed up the ropes. Some tried to run, some to hide, but it was no use. Now that only remnants of the enemy army remained, Linhart and his men came down from the wall, and Reuben looked on with pleasure as they hunted down each and every one of the men who had tried to hurt Ayla. Not as much pleasure though, as he felt when smashing the skull of an enemy himself.
“Please!” One of the soldiers before him fell down on his knees, his hands grasped in supplication. “I surrender!”
“And I give a devil's fart!” Reuben raised his sword.
A hand grabbed his arm from behind. He wheeled around, raised his blade to strike—and stopped it just in time to not behead Ayla.
“Are you mad?
” he bellowed at her. “I could have killed you!”
“Are you mad?” she demanded, sounding like a dog-owner whose favorite puppy had misbehaved. “You can't kill somebody who has surrendered.”
“Why not? It's easier!”
“Because it's dishonorable, that's why. Look out!”
Reuben had already known the strike was coming. He whirled around again and decapitated the pseudo-surrenderer, who had just been about to stab him in the back.
“There, you see?” he growled. “That's what comes of your good advice!”
She raised her chin. The gesture made him want to grab her and kiss her right there and then, but unfortunately, he still had lots of killing to do. “Just because one enemy behaved dishonorably is no reason for you to do it, too.”
“Quite right. I don't need a reason to be dishonorable! Now get into the tower like I told you to! I'm in the middle of a battle here!”
He rammed his knee into the gut of the next soldier who attacked him, throwing him back on two others. With a whirl, he turned his sword so he held it in both hands, pointing straight down, and plunged it to the ground with a gruesome battlecry. It went through all three soldiers, impaling them and killing them in one go.
Once again, he immersed himself absolutely in the fight, ignoring the shouts from behind him, shouts from Ayla, telling the enemy to surrender. He bellowed and shouted as loudly as he could as he plowed through the remaining enemy soldiers. Maybe, if he was loud enough, none of them would hear and obey her, and he could end this once and for all, could kill them to the last man.
However, he had no such luck. Just as he was down to six enemies and the Luntberg soldiers were closing in around them, the mercenaries fell to their knees and raised their hands in supplication.
“Please! Mercy! We surrender!”
Their weapons lay on the ground. Reuben hesitated over them, his sword raised. They were just sitting there, not doing anything at all. Perfect kills, simple and quick. Why was he hesitating? Had he suddenly found his honor again?
He shuddered at the very thought.
No, that wasn’t it. If it were down to him, he would chop their heads off with relish.
