The Robber Knight

by Robert Thier

  *~*~**~*~*

  Reuben had not taken two steps towards the door when something occurred to him. If he were in the custody of the lord of these lands and all his crimes were known, they would have locked that door. So perhaps there was still hope. But if they did not know who he was, why take his armor and sword? It was very confusing.

  Well, he wouldn't find out anything by just sitting around and waiting for the answers to come to him. He opened the door and cursed, as he felt more blood flowing from the wounds on his back.

  He would have to do something about that, before the loss of blood rendered him unconscious. What the hell did these people who had taken him think anyway, just leaving three arrows in his body? Damnable insolence!

  He thrust open the door and strode down the corridor. Appreciatively, he let his eyes travel over the tapestries and fine weapons on the walls. This was a rich castle. Once they had healed and fed him, maybe he could empty their coffers of all gold before he disappeared. They surely wouldn't miss it, and it would be no more than they deserved for their insolent treatment of a knight.

  When he was halfway down the corridor, a door to the side opened and a young servant girl entered. She had shoulder-length, curly brown hair and a pleasant, if not particularly intelligent, face. Well, what could you expect? She was a servant. Maybe she would be able to tell him what he wanted, nonetheless.

  “Hey, you,” he called out to her, raising a commanding hand. She turned.

  As she saw him, her face drained of color and her mouth fell open, making her look even less intelligent than before.

  “Don't stand there gawping,” he admonished. “Tell me where I am, get me my sword, and then lead me to the lord of this castle. I wish to have words with him!”

  The girl let loose a blood-curdling scream, turned, and fled down the corridor. Reuben looked after her, perplexed, wondering what on earth might have induced the silly girl to react so strangely.

  Then he reasoned that the sight of a man spattered in blood and with three arrows sticking out of his back was probably enough cause. Females tended to be squeamish like that.

  He tried to follow the girl, but stumbled and had to steady himself against a wall. Why was he feeling so dizzy all of a sudden? Lights started appearing in front of his eyes, and not the right kind of lights, either. They weren't where the windows in the corridor were, and their coloring went from red to blue and then to purple.

  Still steadying himself against the wall with one hand, Reuben used the other to grope for the wounds on his back. Copious amounts of blood were streaming down from the arrows.

  “Damn!” he muttered, and fell over.

  *~*~**~*~*

  When Reuben came to, he was lying under a blanket on the same bed as before. He blinked, slightly dazed. To his right, he heard the folds of a dress rustling. The servant girl.

  “So you managed to get me back here again, did you?” he grunted. “Why on earth did you run away?”

  “Run away?” came the reply in a steady, ironic voice. It sounded familiar, but it was not the voice of a servant. “You're not that scary. What are you talking about?”

  “I...” He turned his head and stared into two large, blue eyes, set in a delicate ivory face surrounded by a crown of golden hair. With an exclamation, Reuben jerked backwards.

  “You! I thought you were just a nightmare!” he growled.

  The girl! The girl he had robbed. So he hadn't just dreamed that part—she had been there, after the fight. But if she had, that presented one interesting question: Why was he still alive? And who was she? And what on earth had she been doing out there in the woods in the first place, with mercenaries everywhere? All right, not one question. Many questions. And many chances to lose his head.

  “Nightmare?” Anger flared in the girl's blue eyes. “No. I'm just the person who saved your hide, thank you very much!”

  “You... saved me?”

  “I don't know why you sound so surprised! Do I look like the kind of person who would just let a fellow Christian bleed to death?”

  Measuring the fiery expression in the girl's eyes, Reuben decided to keep his real opinion in regard to this quiet and answered with all the civility he could muster: “Why, no, of course not, Lady...?”

  The question mark at the end of the sentence was clearly audible. She ignored it completely.

  “How very nice of you. Now, do you mind telling me what you were doing out in the forest without a cloak or a weapon with three arrows in your back?”

  Without a... cloak?

  It took a few moments for him to understand. Of course! They must have found him without his armor and without weapons. The mercenaries must have taken them, those greedy bastards, and left him for dead. The girl must have found him in the forest afterwards. She had no idea who he was, thank the devil! He remembered her threats all too well.

  “What were you doing out there?” she repeated.

  “Bleeding,” he said, with a haughty grin. “A lot.” That would put her off and stop her from asking any more questions. Any mention of blood and women ran for the hills.

  “I'll say.” She scowled. “I ruined my dress bringing you up here.”

  He blinked, surprised. “You brought me up here yourself?”

  “Well, not alone. You're a heavy fellow, you know. I had a few men helping—but I stayed, to make sure you were all right. It was messy.”

  She spoke the truth. Reuben hadn't noticed it before, but now that he took a closer look at her, he could see that the long dress concealing her maidenly figure was spattered in gore. She didn't even seem to notice. What kind of girl was this? The personal witch and executioner of the local lord? No, not lord, lady. The mercenary had said these parts were ruled by a woman, a Lady Ayla. That must be a horrible old hag, to have such an unnatural creature in her service.

  “And what did your mistress have to say about you bringing a strange man into the castle?” Reuben asked, observing her closely.

  “My mistress?”

  “The mistress of this castle. Lady Ayla.”

  The girl smiled mischievously for some reason before saying: “Oh, she wasn't really pleased. You see, she doesn't particularly like to have ungrateful louts in her home. But in the end she agreed that we couldn't just let you bleed to death. Which brings me to the matter at hand: I've got to take care of those wounds in your back. Turn over.”

  Reuben hesitated. “So... you're the local wise woman?[26] The village witch?” She was wearing astonishingly fine clothes for that, if you looked past the bloodstains.

  She nodded. “You could say that.” With a commanding wave, she gestured him to turn over. “I'm also the local person in charge, so you had better turn around now. By the way, my name is Ayla. Lady Ayla.”

  Push and Pull

  Reuben's first thought was: I'm in the captivity of the girl I robbed earlier today, she has sworn to have me killed, and she's the lady of the castle and has dozens of armed guards at her disposal!

  His second thought was: So what? You've killed dozens of men before.

  His third thought was: Yes, but not without a sword and with three arrows in my back.

  His fourth thought was: At least she doesn't know who I am yet.

  His fifth thought was: Emphasis on “yet.”

  His sixth thought was: She's going to have me hacked into tiny little pieces if she finds out!

  His seventh thought was: Wait just a minute! Did she just call me an ungrateful lout?

  The tumult of his emotions must have shown on his face, because the girl asked: “What's wrong? Don't like my name, do you?”

  “Well,” he said with a shrug, “in my opinion, it sounds like the name of a totally green, pompous, and bossy person who doesn't know when to shut her mouth. But that's probably just me.”

  Her eyes flashed again. “Probably. Now turn around. I'll have to get these arrows out or you'll die, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?”

  Reuben hesitated. In his e
xperience, it was never a good idea to turn your back on an enemy. But in this case, he probably didn't have any choice.

  “Certainly, Milady,” he said, pulling away the sheet from his impressive muscles and turning over. “Enjoy the view.”

  She snorted, but it didn't sound very convincing.

  Reuben allowed himself a grin. Why not? He was turned to the wall; she couldn't see it.

  “So tell me,” he began, feeling her gaze bore into his back, “how does a noble lady come to know something about healing?”

  “Why don't you tell me something for a change? How about your name? I've told you mine.”

  Should he tell her his real name? Why not? He hadn't mentioned it while robbing her. They hadn't had time for that much polite conversation. And he wasn't really creative enough to come up with anything else.

  “Reuben.”

  “And what were you doing out in the forest, Reuben—besides bleeding, I mean?”

  He felt something cool gently brush against his back and twitched.

  “Relax,” she said.

  Oh. Those were her hands. Her touch was gentler than he had imagined. A lot gentler, actually.

  “You aren't one of the men of the Margrave von Falkenstein, are you?”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I'm a merchant,” he added, thinking of the man he had robbed earlier that day.

  “Good,” she replied, her voice as gentle as her hands. “Because if you had been one of Falkenstein's fiends, I would have hanged you from the highest tower of my castle.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Very lucky.” She tapped on his back. “Looks like these wounds didn't even come close to any vital organs. As long as they don't get infected, you'll live.” Her small hands moved away from his back, and he could feel her grasp the shafts. “Now, I'll just have to pull the arrows out...”

  Reuben twisted as fast as a snake and had her hands captured in his in a heartbeat. She didn't utter a sound, just stared at his ferocious expression with undoubted fear in her bright blue eyes. She must have thought he was trying to attack her. It almost made him sorry for his reaction. Almost.

  “Don't!” he said, breathing heavily. “Don't ever do that!”

  “D-do what?” she asked, after a moment.

  “Pull on arrows! You have no way of knowing if they have barbs!”[27]

  “Barbs?”

  “Sharp hooks on the arrowhead that are designed to keep the arrow where it is. If you try to pull out an arrow with barbs, it'll tear your flesh open and you won't get it out anyway. You'll die from internal bleeding.”

  He saw her swallow and try to get a hold of herself again. Part of him admired her guts, wanted to speak more softly to her, but the part of him that knew this little girl could just have killed him in a heartbeat was far bigger and angrier.

  “I didn't know that,” she said, softly. Her eyes were watery, but the tears didn't spill over.

  “Well now you do,” he growled. “And woe betide you if you don't remember it well!”

  That drove the moisture from her eyes and made them narrow in a glare. Apparently, she didn't take kindly to being threatened.

  “How does a merchant know so much about arrows?” she asked, suspiciously.

  Reuben cursed himself for not thinking of a better profession for himself. But then he had an idea. “Every merchant has to know about the wares he buys and sells,” he answered curtly, hoping that would satisfy her. “Now get on with it.”

  “Well, how am I supposed to get the arrows out if I'm not allowed to pull?”

  He rolled his eyes. Typical woman. “Well, if you can't pull, what else can you do?”

  “Push?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that would mean pushing the arrows right through your flesh! Through your entire chest and out the front!”

  “Obviously.”

  “It'll hurt,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe.”

  “Probably it'll hurt quite a bit,” she continued, thoughtfully, apparently beginning to take a liking to the idea. “It might even be torturous.”

  Reuben smiled. She had no idea.

  “It'll be all right,” he said, in a superior tone, which of course only egged her on.

  “You'll have to promise me not to scream or flinch if the pain gets too much for you,” she said, sweetly. “After all, I'll have to concentrate on what I am doing. Do you think you can do that for me, brave man?”

  “I think I'll manage.”

  “We'll see.”

  He could almost hear the anticipation in her voice and had to hold his hand over his mouth to stop himself from chuckling. Nothing remained of the anger he had felt a minute ago. This was going to be amusing.

  She gripped the first arrow, a lot more forcefully than the first time.

  “Break off the end, first,” he suggested merrily. “So that it doesn't get stuck in there. I'd hate to walk around with goose feathers in my torso for the rest of my life.”

  Without comment, she placed her other hand on the shaft and tried to break it. The tough wood bent, but only a little.

  “Too much for you?” he asked with a smile.

  “No,” she grunted.

  “You could get help.”

  “No!”

  Sighing, Reuben resigned himself to his fate. The girl was stubborn. It was going to take her a few minutes to figure out that she couldn't do it by herself. He only hoped she would hurry up with overcoming her pride. The wounds needed to be dressed; he couldn't afford any delay.

  Snap!

  Snap!

  Snap!

  Three times he heard the noise, in quick succession. It took Reuben a few moments to realize what had caused it.

  “Here!”

  The broken arrow-ends with fletching landed beside him on the bed. My, my. The girl actually had some muscle in her skinny arms. He ought not to be so surprised, perhaps. She was a good rider, and good riders had to have muscle. She had ridden that horse of hers like a queen—before he had stolen it, that is.

  “Turn on your side. I'm going to push the arrows out now,” she said, as a gleeful warning.

  “Go ahead,” he replied. He did as she had asked, and the smile crept back on his face. The fun was about to begin.

  She gripped the first arrow and pushed. The tip sliced neatly through flesh for a few inches, then it slowed.

  “What's the matter?” he asked in a polite, conversational tone.

  “You're hard,” she panted. “This isn't easy.”

  “You have my sympathies. After all, you're the one pushing a wooden stick, and I'm the one with three arrows in my back. Your lot is by far worse than mine.”

  “Does it hurt yet?” she asked hopefully, between clenched teeth.

  “It's manageable,” he smirked. “Don't stop on my account.”

  “Don't worry. I won't.”

  The girl—somehow he couldn't bring himself to think of her as the lady, she just seemed so young to him—increased the pressure and the arrow continued on its slow way through Reuben's flesh.

  “Did you have me brought to this particular room?” Reuben asked.

  “Yes,” she grunted.

  “Then I must thank you, Lady Ayla. It is a beautiful room, with an even more beautiful view.”

  “Think... nothing... of it.”

  “But no,” he protested, smirking. “Your helping me at all is a marvelous act of Christian charity. But you taking such good and gentle care of me, that exceeds all my expectations.”

  “I'm... doing my best,” she snarled and gave the arrow another shove. Reuben felt his chest. Good, it would soon be out now.

  “I'm sure you are. And I'm sure the peaceful atmosphere here will be of great help to my convalescence.”

  For some inexplicable reason, that made her laugh. Yet it wasn't a happy laugh. It was dark and foreboding, and altogether too sad for one as young as her.

  “I wouldn't be too sure about that.”

  He fr
owned. What did she mean by that? And why had she sounded so sad? Was there something upsetting her—besides himself, of course?

  He was so occupied with his thoughts that at first he didn't notice when the arrow pierced the skin of his chest from inside. Only when the tip entered his field of vision was his attention drawn to it.

  “Stop,” he ordered. “I'll get it myself the rest of the way.” He gripped the arrow just beneath the head and pulled. His fingers felt the sharp metal hooks. He had been right—there were indeed barbs on the arrow. Trying not to think too deeply about what would have happened had he not stopped the foolish girl in time, he continued to pull on the missile sticking in his chest. The shaft was slippery with blood, but that was something he was used to. Within seconds, he had pulled the arrow out and thrown it onto the floor.

  With a bright smile, he nodded at the girl. “All right. The next one.”

  She stared at him, incredulous. “You've just pulled an arrow out of your chest and all you want to do is pull another?”

  “Well, there are still two left in there. Do you think I should leave them where they are for a while?”

  “No! But don't you want to... I don't know... rest a bit?”

  “Rest? What for?”

  “Maybe because it hurt?” she suggested.

  He shrugged. “Not that much. If it's up to me, we can go on. Of course, if you need some rest...”

  Her eyes blazed like blue fire. “No thanks, I'm fine,” she snapped.

  Quickly, she got to work again. The second arrow went out without any problems, too. But when she started pushing at the third, Reuben suddenly shouted: “Stop!”

  Her hands dropped immediately. “What is it?” she asked, and he was more than a little surprised at her tone. Was that concern in her voice? No, surely he was mistaken. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, of course not,” he grunted. “You're getting too close to my ribcage. If the arrow gets stuck in there, we'll never get it out. Point it further down!”

  She didn't take well to his commanding tone, he could tell.

  “As you wish,” she grumbled.