The Robber Knight

by Robert Thier

  “Look at me,” he seemed to be saying. “I held your life in my hands before—now I do so again. I can destroy you anywhere, at any moment of my choosing. You had better surrender now and put that ring on your finger, while you still have fingers.”

  The red knight rode up to the barricade and stopped only a few yards away from Ayla. Although she stood higher than he, the crimson fiend seemed to be towering over her.

  He raised a hand. “Greetings, Milady,” he said in a low and subtly menacing sing-song. “I am Sir Luca DeLombardi, commander of all the forces of his Grace, the mighty Margrave von Falkenstein.”

  Ayla frowned. His voice was different from how she remembered it. This lilting accent hadn't been there the last time she had met him, had it? She shook the thought off. It was unimportant.

  “So glad you could join us, Sir Luca,” she said, managing to keep her voice from trembling. “And may I ask why the mighty Margrave himself does not honor us with his presence? Is he too afraid to face an honest woman? Does he think I might best him on the field of battle, and is he cowering in a corner somewhere?”

  Sir Luca laughed. The movement rattled his red armor. “The Margrave doesn't waste his valuable time on the likes of you! You're far too unimportant for him to be bothered with.”

  “And yet he must think me to be of considerable importance, seeing as he wants me as his wife,” Ayla countered, her face reddening.

  The red knight snorted. “If you consider it a sign of special importance to be the only one of his whores with a golden ring on her finger, then please go ahead and flatter yourself.”

  From red, Ayla's face abruptly went to white. This wasn't just banter. The man meant every word he said.

  “Enough of this,” he commanded. “I have not come hither to bandy words with an ignorant wench. I am here to dictate the terms of your surrender.”

  Ayla swallowed. This was the moment she had been gathering courage for. Licking her lips, she opened her mouth and said:

  “No.”

  The single word sounded weak and foolish, spoken to the giant warrior on his black horse.

  “Excuse me?” he said, his voice still a deceptively sweet sing-song.

  Ayla gritted her teeth. “I said no,” she repeated, putting more strength and conviction into her voice. “I will never surrender. Never!”

  Turning his head from left to right, the red knight observed the barricade she was standing on. “Yes, I surmised as much when I saw this pitiful obstacle. And you really think that will hold me back? You, wench, are going to try and stop me and my army?”

  “Yes!” She raised her head proudly. “I would rather die than hand over my land and my people.”

  “Excellent.” Sir Luca clapped his hands and bowed as deeply as he could on horseback. “You have my thanks, Milady.”

  She stared at him, open-mouthed, which made him chuckle. “If you had any idea how stupid you look just now. It is very entertaining.”

  “W-why...?” she stammered.

  “Why I would thank you for not surrendering?” She could almost see his glinting teeth as he grinned, even through the visor of his helmet. “You see, Milady, if you were to surrender and give up your lands to the Margrave freely, then I would simply have to report back to him and take you along with me. The only big event to look forward to then would be your marriage, and frankly, I'm more interested in pig shit than in your matrimonial arrangements. Now that you’ve refused, however, I have something else to look forward to—the sacking of your lands and castle. A tenth of the plunder will be mine to do with as I wish, and who knows, maybe after the attack the two of us might even find ourselves alone in a room together.”

  Ayla's mouth was suddenly dry. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You really have to ask that question? Why, surely it is obvious, Milady. I mean that war is a messy business, and no one is really interested in what happens to the losing party. I mean that if we are alone in a room, a tenth of the plunder is not the only thing that will be mine to do with as I wish. You would probably look a lot less stupid with your clothes off.”

  That was the point where Ayla snapped. She was afraid, and tired, and she missed Eleanor terribly, and this... abomination just sat there on his horse saying things to her that would make a tavern keeper blush. She didn't remember much of the conversation with the red knight after that, mostly because it's hard to pay attention while you're screaming yourself hoarse. It took her about half an hour to run out of steam.

  Finally, the crimson fiend chuckled and nodded. “I see you've got some fire in you, you little blue-eyed strumpet. It'll be fun taming you. And I don't think the Margrave would object. After all, he wants a woman, not a bucking beast.”

  Turning his horse, he galloped away, back towards the camp. Over his shoulder he shouted: “Prepare yourself, Milady. Soon, a storm of steel will engulf your lands, that I vow to you, I, Sir Luca DeLombardi! And I always keep my promises!”

  Ayla stood on the guard's walkway for a minute longer, exhausted. Not so much from the shouting as from the dread. She knew him, knew what a monster he was. Yes, he would keep his promise. Death was coming for all of them.

  Just not for her. For her, he had an even worse fate prepared.

  Slowly, she turned and climbed down from the barricade.

  Isenbard raised an eyebrow at her. “Impressive.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Though I must say I haven't heard you use such... inventive language before. Where did you pick up those words?”

  “I don't recall using any special words.”

  “Well, I do. I thought the part where you suggested that he shove his surrender terms up the devil's piliferous rear end was particularly inventive.”

  “Thank you,” she said again in a toneless voice and swung herself into the saddle of his horse.

  “Milady! What are you doing?”

  “I... just need to go somewhere. Somewhere quiet.”

  “Girl? I know you.” Isenbard had changed from his vassal-voice to his kind-uncle-voice. “Something is wrong. What is the matter? You're not upset by what that Italian bastard said, are you? He...”

  Ayla shook her head. Somehow, it wouldn't stop shaking. Then she realized she was shaking all over.

  “No,” she managed. “Not by what he said. By what he looked like.”

  She gave the big warhorse the spurs and galloped up the hill towards the castle.

  Behind her, she could hear Isenbard shouting something after her about her not being able to control the horse and about this silly obsession females had with looks, but she just rode on. She had just come face to face with her worst enemy. What she now needed more than anything else in the world was a friend.

  *~*~**~*~*

  Only an hour or so after Ayla had left, Reuben again heard light footsteps approaching. His heart quickened in the hope that it might be Ayla. Part of him was slightly embarrassed at the way he was reacting. He had known hundreds of girls before, and none of them had caused him to make such a fool of himself. Perhaps it wasn't her but his illness that made his heart hammer like this...

  She opened the door and all thoughts flew out the window. Reuben stared at her. He had never seen her look like this. Her face was pale, her beautiful eyes wide, and there was a sadness in them he did not like seeing at all. It was the sadness of someone gearing up for a battle she feared she was going to lose.

  “Ayla,” he croaked. Coughing, he tried to bring a little moisture to his dry mouth. “Ayla,” he repeated. “What is the matter?”

  She waved away his question. “Nothing really. May I sit here again for a while?”

  “Yes, of course. It's your castle, after all.”

  She didn't reply but just came over and sat, her back to him. Reuben waited for her to speak, but she didn't.

  After a while, he started to get fidgety. “Ayla, what is the matter with you? Has something happened?”

  She nodded, still not turning to him. “Oh y
es, something has happened. Something terrible.”

  “What?” he demanded.

  “You remember the day we found you in the forest?”

  “I got shot in the back. Something like that isn't easy to forget,” he joked.

  “I guess so.”

  Her tone was still the same. Frightened. Defeated. She hadn't even realized he had been trying to lighten the mood. What was up with her?

  “Before I found you that day,” she continued, her voice a dead monotone, “I had an unpleasant encounter with a certain robber knight.”

  The words hit him in the stomach like a sledgehammer. He was hardly able to keep his voice steady. “You did, did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And... what was he like?”

  “I swore to see him hanged. Does that tell you enough?”

  “Yes, it does. But why bring this up now?”

  Still, she hadn't turned around. He wished so much she would turn so he could read her face, so that he could read the truth in her eyes. So that he knew whether he would have to kill her now and run.

  “Well, it turns out that monster is closer than I thought,” Ayla whispered. “Very, very close.”

  She knew!

  There was no doubt in his mind anymore. She knew. Slowly, he lifted his hands up towards her delicate ivory neck.

  She knew! But if she knew, why weren't there any guards with her? She had sworn to have him hanged, and still she wasn't ordering her men to carry him off to the gallows. Instead, she was just sitting there, sad and frightened. He had expected her to be angry, furious even.

  No matter. Soon enough she would call the guards and do what she had promised him. He wouldn't let her! He liked his neck just the way it was, without a rope around it. He was going to stop her.

  One of his hands descended on her shoulder—and she sighed, relaxing under his touch.

  That was the moment he knew he couldn't do it. Not because he lacked the strength. He would have been able to find it, somehow. No, even if he were at his full strength, clad in armor, and holding a sword in each hand, he would never be able to so much as scratch her.

  So he just lay there, a hand on her shoulder.

  He was an idiot!

  “He's close, you say?” Reuben thought his voice sounded even raspier than usual. Well, he didn't relish the idea of dying on the gallows. But it was best to get this over with. “How close exactly?”

  “I've just had a chat with him down at the bridge.”

  Reuben's hand dropped from Ayla's shoulder. “What?”

  “Apparently, he's the commander of the forces that are about to attack my castle.”

  “Err... Ayla? Are you sure about this?”

  Now, she finally did turn to him. “What do you mean 'are you sure about this'? I just talked with the fiend for almost an hour! He called me a... a lady of questionable morals and threatened to kill me! Yes, I am sure about this!”

  She glared down at him in an accusing, incredibly cute manner. Reuben tried to think of a good way to say, “Ah, but you see, I'm also pretty sure that I am me, and since it was I who robbed you that day and now I'm here with you, I can't very well be out there commanding an army that is about to kill us all.” However, such a thing was difficult to express at the best of times, and these were not the best of times. Reuben's head still felt like it was stuffed with wet wool, and he was getting hotter and hotter.

  “I threatened to kill you?” he asked, blinking up at her, trying to focus on that lovely face. This was getting confusing.

  “Not you, you blockhead! The red robber knight, Sir Luca DeLombardi.”

  “My name isn't Luca.”

  “I know that. Why are you talking gibberish?”

  Suddenly, her facial expression turned from accusing to concern. “Oh my God, it isn't the fever, is it? Reuben, I'm so sorry. I was so caught up in my own problems, I totally forgot that you're sick. Can you forgive me?”

  She grabbed his hand. It felt cool and smooth in his.

  Reuben pondered her question for a while and then nodded. “Aye, probably,” he said, grinning, still trying to focus. “If you give me a kiss again.”

  It was interesting, he observed, how, although he was supposed to be the one with the fever, it was her face that now turned red with heat. That just went to show that you could never trust this medical stuff.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

  “Oh yes, you do.”

  “I... that... that was totally innocent. It was nothing.”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you go around doing it with everybody?”

  “No! I... oh just turn over! I need to change your bandages and cataplasms.”

  “As you wish, Milady.” Reuben turned around, grinning. He didn't exactly know whether he was delirious or not, but he was having fun, so why the hell should he care? “Enjoy the view,” he added, and felt her fingers twitch back, just as they were about to roll up his trouser legs.

  Oh yes, he was most definitely having fun.

  Sometime during the procedure, the hot wool filling his skull seemed to grow out of his ears and cover his head, slowly casting the world into darkness. Before, he hadn't been able to think clearly. Now he had lost the ability to think at all. Just a few words stuck in his mind before he slipped off into unconsciousness.

  Commander of enemy army...

  Threatened to kill...

  To kill...

  Kill...

  Ayla...

  *~*~**~*~*

  Ayla stood on the battlements of Luntberg Castle looking out over the valley, when behind her she heard the clinking of chain mail.

  Turning halfway around, she saw Isenbard approaching, his helmet held under his left arm.

  “Studying the enemy?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Ayla told him. What she didn't tell him was the secondary reason for coming up here—namely letting the wind cool her face which had been very hot indeed from spending time with Reuben. And not because the man had a fever. It should be illegal for a man of low birth to be exuding such devious attraction while he was just lying on his back, unconscious, not doing anything!

  “Ayla?”

  “W-what?” Ayla looked at Isenbard again. “Did you say something?”

  Isenbard had a serious frown on his forehead. “I just asked you what you were staring at. Twice in fact. You have been staring down into the valley for the last five minutes without saying a word.”

  “Have I? Well, I was thinking, I guess.”

  “About the enemy?”

  Exactly the opposite had been the case, but Ayla grasped the excuse gladly. “Yes, about the enemy,” she said, and tried not to sound too relieved.

  You need to concentrate on what is really important, she admonished herself. You have a responsibility to yourself and to your people. So she let her eyes wander once more out towards the enemy camp on the other side of the river.

  The river.

  It had always seemed so broad and swift to her. Growing up, she had wished it might be smaller and the current less strong, so she could swim in it. Now she wished it might be three times as wide and fast-flowing.

  On the eastern bank, the last columns of men were marching into the camp. The assembled host looked even more impressive than it had a few hours earlier. She shuddered to think of what it would look like arrayed ready for attack.

  “What do you think, Isenbard?” she asked. “Will they attack tonight?”

  “I doubt it,” the old knight said. “They have a long day's march behind them, and mercenaries like their sleep as much as the next man.”

  “And will they tomorrow?”

  “That is what they have come for.”

  He hadn't said it, not outright. But the awful truth settled in and fear gripped Ayla's heart with claws of ice and iron.

  This was it. Tonight they would sleep in peace for the last time.
/>
  Tomorrow, there would be war.

  *~*~**~*~*

  Reuben jerked awake abruptly. The light of the morning streamed in through the window, but it was not beautiful to him. It was just red. Like blood.

  The words, formerly incomprehensible, muddled by fever, were now clear in his mind, which for the first time in days was working right again.

  That fly-bitten bastard! He had threatened to kill Ayla!

  In the distance, from the other side of the river, came the sound of horns calling men to arms.

  Red Dawn

  Her father's hand closed tightly around hers as he heard the horns call men to arms. He looked at her imploringly. “Stay here with me, will you?” Count Thomas asked.

  Ayla shook her head, sadly. “I can't. I have to go downstairs and prepare. You know that. I'm the only one with any decent training in healing around here. I have to take care of the wounded.”

  Taking a deep, rattling breath, the Count nodded his ancient white head. “Yes, I know. Still, I'd rather you stay here with me. But I know you have to go. Just promise me...”

  “What?”

  “Promise me that you won't go out there, outside the castle. Let the wounded be brought to you, into the castle. And for God's sake, don't go anywhere near the battle.”

  Ayla hesitated.

  The grip of her father's wrinkled fingers around her own small hand tightened even more, and he said, in a commanding tone he almost never used anymore: “Ayla! It is far too dangerous for you to set foot outside the castle. Promise me!”

  Slowly, she nodded. “I promise.”

  The Count relaxed back into his pillows. “Good.”

  They heard the horn sound again. “Now go. I know you need to.”

  Ayla jumped up and rushed to the door.

  Outside, Isenbard waited for her. “What did you tell him?” he asked her, eying the oak door behind her.

  “A lie he needed to hear,” was her only reply. “Follow me, Sir Isenbard. We have work to do.”

  Ayla rode on a horse of her own this time, as the two of them left the castle and approached the bridge. Every step of the way hurt her heart. She felt as though she were betraying her faithful mare by riding another horse. But this was no time to be sentimental. It was quicker this way, and Sir Isenbard's horse might need all its strength in the approaching fight.