The Robber Knight

by Robert Thier

  “They are coming?” she demanded.

  “Yes, Milady.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Without another word, the soldier hurried ahead, lighting her way through the pitch-black castle. The moon wasn't shining this night. It was hiding behind a thick clump of clouds. If not for the flickering red light of the flame, Ayla would have been lost in her own castle.

  “Where are they attacking?” she asked while they hurried down a flight of stairs. “How many are there?”

  “I do not know, Milady. I was sent up here as soon as our guards spotted the enemy. Captain Linhart thought it best to inform you at once and not waste any time counting the approaching forces.”

  “That was the right decision. How long did it take you to come up here?”

  “Only a few minutes, Milady. I used our fastest horse. And we should be able to return in about the same time. When I arrived, I gave orders to the stable boy to bring out two horses for us.”

  “Well done, soldier.”

  “Thank you, Milady. Here's the door.”

  Holding up the torch, the soldier pushed the keep door open for her. She stumbled out into the front yard and looked upon a foreign world:

  Apart from flickering red dots here and there, Luntberg Castle was in utter darkness. The walls rose up on all sides, a deeper, more menacing black, competing with the stormy gloom of the sky above. Men were running around, shouting and cursing, all carrying some small light, like fireflies about to be swallowed up by a giant predator. As the soldier emerged from the keep behind her and the light of his torch shone a little more brightly, Ayla could just make out the forms of two horses in the yard. In the dim light, she thought their large eyes glinted fearfully. Or maybe that was just the reflection of what was in her own eyes at that very moment.

  She jumped into the saddle and didn't wait for the soldier to do the same before she pressed her legs against the horse's sides and urged it forward, towards the first gate. The stable boy who had been holding the horse's reins jumped back with a startled yelp, and horse and rider dashed off into the darkness.

  Ayla's vision narrowed, until all she could see were the two small flames burning on either side of the inner castle gate. Behind her, she could hear the clatter of the other horse's hoofs on the cobblestones, and she urged her ride to go even faster. This was a race against time, and she was losing. Ayla was an experienced rider, but she wasn't used to the big horses that made up the majority of Luntberg's stable. Instead, she was used to small, agile animals. To one animal in particular...

  Furiously, she shook her head. No, she couldn't allow her mind to dwell on Eleanor now. She had a task before her.

  Somewhere on the mountain path down into the valley, the soldier caught up with her. He was obviously an excellent rider, and perfectly capable of handling large animals, which was probably the reason why he had been chosen as courier. Ayla was angry because it meant he was faster than she, but she was also grateful. There were things she needed to know.

  “How many men are at the barricade?” she panted, not taking her eyes off the path. Letting the horse make one false step would be deadly here.

  “The usual watch of twenty,” came the soldier's gruff reply.

  No more than twenty. That was what Ayla had expected. It was also what she had feared.

  Please, oh Lord, don't let the enemy attack in full force, she prayed, desperately. Please let this only be a small skirmish.

  She wished now that she had made the regular watch bigger. But in her heart she knew she couldn't have. She had only sixty men at her disposal, and soldiers needed their sleep. She also couldn't have taken more men out of the castle, just in case the enemy found a different way to cross the river and made a surprise attack. It was as it had to be: twenty soldiers, no more.

  “What about the rest of the soldiers?” she asked, desperately.

  “Marching not far behind us, Milady. I left instructions with the sergeant to march as if the devil was burning his ass off.”

  “Soldier!”

  “Sorry, Milady.”

  They approached the bridge in a whirlwind of flying dirt and water. Down in the valley, near the river, the ground was wet during the night, and Ayla was splattered with mud by the time she brought her horse to a halt in front of the bridge.

  Mud, she thought. Soon it will be blood. No play. Real blood.

  The bridge was alight with flames. Open fires had been lit behind the barricade, illuminating the ladder leading up to the walkway and the grim faces of the soldiers at the top, waiting, their weapons at the ready. Only the enemy was nowhere in sight.

  Frowning, Ayla slid off her horse and approached Captain Linhart, who was standing at the very edge of the bridge, leaning over the railing to see around the barricade.

  “Captain, what is the matter? The alarm was sounded, but I see nothing of Sir Luca or his army.”

  “That's because they approached in darkness,” he said grimly. “Trying to catch us off guard, I suppose. We can thank the Lord that our scouts have sharp ears and caught their approach.”

  Ayla looked out over the water, on which strange, hellish reflections danced in the red torch light. The light lasted only for a few feet all around the bridge. Beyond that was only darkness. God alone knew what horrors it held.

  She threw an anxious glance over her shoulder. Somewhere on the path down from Luntberg Castle, she could see torches moving. Those must be their reinforcements. But in the dark, she couldn't measure the distance.

  Slowly, she returned her eyes to the blackness across the river.

  “You mean to say that they're out there? Right now?”

  “Oh yes,” the captain affirmed. “I imagine they'll drop the pretense soon enough. We've made it pretty obvious that we know they're here.”

  As if in response to his words, flames began to light up everywhere on the opposite bank. Ayla trembled at the sight. Flames, which only a few days ago had saved them from destruction, were now heralding their doom.

  “There are so many,” she whispered.

  “Aye,” the captain agreed. “If every sergeant is carrying one, I'll guess at least three hundred men.”

  “Three hundred? That's not the full...”

  Ayla's voice cut off as, suddenly, more flames appeared on the opposite bank. And more. And more. The land seemed to be awash with them.

  Beside her, she heard Linhart draw in a sharp breath. “God's teeth!”

  And for once in her life, she couldn't find it in herself to rebuke a man for cursing. Her chest tightened as she watched hundreds upon hundreds of blades, glinting wickedly in the torchlight, being drawn and raised towards the sky in a bloody promise.

  “Rally!” she yelled, panic welling up inside her. “All rally to me! Defend the bridge!”

  And the enemy charged.

  *~*~**~*~*

  The tent in which Ayla had worked during the last battle was still up, and she dearly wished she could use it. But there was little enough light under the open sky, let alone in an enclosed space where no torches could be lit for fear of suffocation. So she had to operate in the open, and the men she cared for had to watch their comrades fight and die while they fought for their own lives.

  Ayla did her best not to look towards the barricade. She was needed. She had a job to do, and couldn't afford distractions. Yet every now and again, she couldn't help it. Her eyes flitted up towards the merciless waves of attackers pounding against the barricade. Every time their numbers seemed to be larger, every time the defenders seemed more tired and...

  “Aaaarr!”

  Terrified, Ayla looked down again at the soldier lying in front of her. Had she done something wrong? Brought him pain because of her distraction? No, she hadn't even touched him yet. Grimacing, the soldier pointed to his leg, where several pieces of mail had been driven into the flesh by the savage blow of some blunt weapon. Suppressing the urge to look away from the gruesome sight, Ayla handed the soldier a piece of hardened
leather.

  “Here. Bite down on this, so you won't bite your tongue off while I attend to your leg.”

  He put the piece of leather between his teeth, then looked at her and nodded.

  Picking up a pair of pincers, Ayla proceeded to pull out the metal links one by one. It was no easy task: the pieces were meshed together by the force of the blow and the soldier kept jerking and twitching, moans escaping his throat again and again. Ayla's heart constricted every time she heard his pain, but she steeled herself and went on. No time for crying now. Later, when this was all over.

  Finally, she was finished, and put the instruments aside. Washing the wound, she noticed with appreciation that the soldier had stopped jerking. He was a strong man.

  “There,” she sighed, wiping the water off. “That's it!”

  When she got no reply, she looked up and saw that the soldier had passed out.

  Soldier? For the first time she noticed that he was really quite young, only a few years older than her. He was hardly more than a boy. And yet, there were rings under his eyes. The past few days had clearly been too much for him—as for everybody else.

  Looking up further, Ayla saw Captain Linhart and Sir Waldar atop the barricade. Captain Linhart was commanding the men, while Sir Waldar was swinging a gigantic mace and grinning madly, as if this were a giant orgy[49] and not a battle for life or death.

  Linhart, in contrast, did not smile. He just stood there, directing his men with calm, determined efficiency. For a moment, his eyes looked at Ayla and she thought he looked... sorrowful? Apologetic?

  Two men appeared at Ayla's side, taking the unconscious soldier with them and placing another wounded man in front of her.

  We cannot keep this up all night, Ayla thought, depressed. We are few, and they are many. No matter how well we fight, they will grind us into dust like a millstone does the corn.

  The moon chose this moment to appear from behind the clouds and Ayla gasped. In the white light of the nocturnal celestial majesty, she could, for the first time, see the true extent of the enemy army. They truly had come in full force. It looked to Ayla like even more soldiers must have joined the Margrave's army in the gloom of evening—the murderous mass of steel stretched all the way from the wood to the forest, clamoring for advance, for attack, for blood.

  On the same hill as before, Ayla saw the figure of the robber knight, not red now, but in the night, which robbed all things of color, as black as his stallion, as black as his accursed soul that he had sold to the devil! The Lady of Luntberg still couldn't see much in the faint light of the moon, but she could see the figure on the horse, outlined against the shimmering sky. She could see him raising a hand, staring directly at her.

  The message was clear. He had come to crush them.

  Would he succeed?

  *~*~**~*~*

  Reuben stirred in his sleep. Something... something was near. The night wasn't as silent as it was supposed to be. Night? Why was he waking in the middle of the night?

  His eyes snapped open—and he beheld a dark figure in the shadows, towering over him, spattered from head to toe in mud and gore. His hand went to his belt lightning fast!

  Confession

  The figure stepped out of the shadows and Reuben recognized Ayla's lovely, dirty face. She was frowning down at him.

  “What are you looking at me like that for?” she asked. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  Reuben breathed in a heavy sigh of relief, and let his hand drop from his belt at which, of course, no sword hung.

  “Err... nothing. You just startled me, that's all.” He looked around the room, which was dark, except for a candle Ayla had probably brought with her, standing on the table, too far away for its light to quite reach him. Looking back at her, he smiled, suggestively. “I'm just not used to waking up in the middle of the night and finding a beautiful girl in my room,” he lied smoothly.

  Ayla's face changed color. Reuben thought she might be blushing at the compliment, though under all the mud it was difficult to tell.

  “I... I'm sorry, Reuben. I suppose I should have let you sleep. It's just, I was so excited, I simply had to come and tell you, I couldn't wait! We won! We actually won!”

  Reuben's brow creased.

  “Won? Won what?”

  “Why, the battle of course.”

  “The what?”

  *~*~**~*~*

  Even in the semi-darkness, Ayla could see Reuben's eyes go wide.

  “Battle? Ayla, what do you mean, battle? There was no battle!”

  “Yes, there was. Just now, down at the bridge.”

  “Just now, during the night? Do you mean to say there was a battle and I slept through it?”

  He seemed to be affronted by the idea, as if it were his personal responsibility to be awake and ready for each and every violent altercation.

  Ayla found it hard to suppress a smile. “Apparently.”

  “Tell me what happened!” he demanded.

  “Well, as I said, we won,” she replied, a warm, proud glow spreading through her.

  “I would like to hear it in a little more detail if you don't mind,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Nothing would have suited Ayla better. It was the middle of the night, and she was hungry, dirty, and exhausted, but she didn't want to eat, she didn't want to wash, and she most certainly didn't want to sleep. She was much too excited for that.

  She, Ayla, a seventeen-year-old girl, had won a battle against an experienced mercenary commander. She could hardly believe it herself, and all she wanted to do was share the news with everybody who wanted to hear it. Reuben seemed eager enough.

  Quickly, she took a seat next to Reuben on his bedstead and began.

  “You see, it was like this: we came down to the bridge and at first we thought there was nobody there, but then we realized that the entire enemy army was actually right in front of us.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Reuben cut her off. “Really? And how exactly did you manage to overlook it, at first?”

  “It was dark, stupid! And don't interrupt.”

  “My apologies, Milady. Please carry on.”

  “So, they noticed we had spotted them and lit their torches and charged. They were like a swarm of locusts. There were so many, it was unbelievable!”

  “How many, exactly?”

  Airily, she waved a hand. What did these details matter? Why didn't he let her get on with the story?

  “I don't know! And I said don't interrupt!”

  “Sorry.”

  “You should be. We stood there on the barricade and there were only about twenty of us, and hundreds of them out there, bloodthirsty and armed to the teeth; they really wanted to kill us!”

  “I would imagine so. They're enemy soldiers.”

  Ayla waved a threatening finger at him. “Will you stop interrupting? Where was I...?”

  “They wanted to kill you.”

  “Ah, yes! I could see the reinforcements were still a long way off, and I shouted for them to hurry up, for everybody to rally and defend the bridge! The first minutes were terrible! Only twenty of us and hundreds of them out there...!”

  “Yes, you mentioned that before.”

  “Then help started arriving, and things improved a little. But we were still hard pressed to defend ourselves.”

  Reuben narrowed his eyes at her. “You keep saying 'we.' Did you actually grab a sword and try to help out?”

  Ayla's jaw dropped. “Of course not! What do you think of me? I'm a lady!”

  “Yes, and you look very ladylike at the moment.”

  Was he trying to be funny? Ayla flushed and looked at her torn and muddy nightgown. “I was bandaging people,” she said, haughtily. “That is all, you may rest assured.”

  “Good. Now go on. What happened next?”

  “Well, we fought on for some time. The enemy attacked again and again. I was pretty busy with caring for the wounded soldiers, so I didn't see exactly why and how, but we beat t
he enemy and they retreated.”

  There was a pause. Ayla was smiling, waiting for applause. Yet Reuben was equally silent. He seemed to be waiting for more.

  Finally, he apparently realized that her story was finished. “Just like that?” he asked. “They retreated, just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  *~*~**~*~*

  Reuben nodded slowly. Captain Linhart must be a good commander. He had heard of similar feats before—a small army at a pass or some other narrow point overwhelming and turning back an infinitely larger force through pure persistence. No doubt Sir Luca, the fiend, would attack again. But this time, it seemed, he had lost.

  But no. Something was not quite right with this picture.

  “They attacked the bridge?” Reuben asked, trying to find a clue to what was bothering him. “They attacked just like the first time?”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned, deep in thought. “That's odd.”

  Ayla stared at him, incredulity written all over her pretty, mud-streaked face. “Odd? What do you mean, odd? They're here to attack us, aren't they? I would have said terrible, atrocious, villainous, but not odd.”

  “No, I don't mean it's odd that they attacked you. I mean it's odd that they attacked the bridge. They already tried that strategy once, and it failed. It is odd that they should try the same strategy again. From what you have told me of this Sir Luca, I would have judged him to be a better commander.”

  “Perhaps he's not as clever as he thinks he is.”

  “Perhaps...” Reuben's voice didn't sound convinced, even to himself. Frustrated, he stared at the opposite wall. Something, there was something wrong...

  Then, suddenly, Reuben saw it. His eyes widened and his breathing hitched. Oh no. Could it be? No, no, no...!

  *~*~**~*~*

  In a heartbeat, the whole atmosphere in the room changed. Ayla felt it: where before there had been the triumph of victory, which, though marred by loss, was sweet and joyous, there now was an undefinable dread.