by Robert Thier
“The attack on the bridge tonight was a ruse,” she said simply. “It was meant to draw off the river patrols. While we fought, the enemy crossed the river somewhere else, under cover of darkness. Soon they will be everywhere.”
Linhart said a word the meaning of which Ayla didn't know, though she thought she recognized it from one of Reuben's outbursts. His face reddened slightly. “Forgive me, Milady.”
She waved a hand. “I've heard worse.”
“So what do we do now, Milady? Must we retreat?”
“They have ten times as many men as we do. You're a professional soldier, Captain. What do you think?”
He nodded grimly. “What are your orders, Milady? March directly to the castle?”
“Not quite. I've warned the villagers and they should be making their way up to the castle somewhere ahead of us. We must remain between them and the enemy to protect them as best we can.”
Linhart's eyes widened. “But you just said it yourself, Milady, we're outnumbered ten to one! What are we supposed to do if the enemy catches up with us?”
“If it's the main force, there's only one thing we can do.”
“And what is that?”
She gave him a weak smile. “We can die bravely.”
There were a few seconds of silence, but for the sound of marching feet.
Finally, the captain nodded. “As you command, Milady.”
Ayla breathed a sigh of relief. “Anything else, Captain? If not, I have to get back to scouting.”
“Nothing. Just... be careful, Milady. Those bastards want you more than they want any of us.”
“I'll bear that in mind.”
Ayla pressed her horse onwards again, and it shot into the dark. She continued making rounds around her soldiers, sometimes meeting with the other rider, but never catching a glimpse of the enemy. It was beginning to make her uneasy again when, suddenly, she saw them.
Dozens of red spots appearing out of the darkness, down at the river's bank. The light of the torches grew, and Ayla could make out the black forms of men, in stark contrast with the glittering background of the river. One raised an arm and pointed up towards them.
An unmistakable gesture.
Ayla turned to look ahead. Against the faint glow of the castle, she could make out the crowd of villagers making their way up the mountain path. There was no way of telling whether everybody was there, but the crowd seemed large enough. She looked back at the enemy once more, judging the distance. They had come ashore quite a long way away from the bridge, and even farther away from the path Ayla and her people were traveling on, thank the Lord!
“Do you see them, Milady?” Wecelo the scout called, pointing down into the valley.
“Yes. But they're too far away to catch up with us!”
“Seems they aren't even trying.”
Wecelo was right. Ayla couldn't see much, because all the surrounding landscape was black and she had to look to the front often to prevent her horse from stumbling—but from what she could make out of the enemy, the mercenaries seemed to be heading towards the bridge, not towards them.
Coming up beside Captain Linhart again, Ayla asked: “What do they want at the bridge?”
The captain shrugged and kept marching. With the tempo he and his soldiers were managing, the distance between them and the villagers grew shorter and shorter. “Who knows? Maybe they see that it's pointless to chase us and want to gather there to put up camp.”
“No, I don't think that's it,” Ayla mumbled. “I don't like it. I have a funny feeling about this.” The bridge... What could they get across the bridge that they couldn't get over the river in small boats?
With growing apprehension, she watched the barricade being torn down. It was as if somebody were tearing her heart along with it. This had been the defense of her people for so long. Now it was gone. Yet her apprehension was about more than just that.
What could come over a bridge?
A second later, shadowy figures started moving across the cleared bridge. Not the same kind of black figures that she had seen by the waterside. These were larger, and moving considerably faster.
Ayla understood just as Wecelo cried: “Riders! Riders approaching!”
“But we killed all their riders in the first attack,” Ayla cried in panic.
“They must have had reinforcements! Ride, Milady, ride! They mustn't get you!”
“I can't just leave you!”
“He's right, Milady,” Linhart said, grimly. “Halt!” he called to his men, who obeyed immediately. The captain's grip on his spear tightened. “Turn!”
They all as one turned to face the approaching enemy.
“Cancel that order!” Ayla shouted. “Continue up the path!”
“Milady—”
“Listen, Captain! If you stop here to provide my escape, you will all be slaughtered!” With a sweeping gesture Ayla indicated the broad slope they stood on. “The area is much too open. The riders will set upon you from all sides and ride you down. We will march up to there.” She pointed to a point where the path became winding and narrow, with both its sides falling steep. “There you can make a stand, not before.”
“We might not make it in time.”
“You most certainly won't if you continue to stand here arguing about it with the liege lady you are sworn to obey!”
The soldiers looked back and forth between Linhart and her. The captain was glaring at Ayla, but she was glaring back just as fiercely. She would not let that stubborn, loyal man put her life before everybody else's.
Finally, after three endless seconds, he bowed his head. “As you command, Milady.” He looked up again. “Men, continue to the narrows.”
They started moving again, marching even faster than before.
Would it be enough?
Ayla, no longer venturing ahead but staying close at Captain Linhart's side, threw a look over her shoulder. The dark riders were rapidly approaching.
Hard Fall Down
The march up the mountain was one of the most terrifying journeys in Ayla's life. The riders behind them could hardly be made out as the night grew ever darker. She felt as if invisible devils were hunting all around and could strike out of the blackness at her at any moment. What if her soldiers didn't reach the narrows in time? What if the riders caught up with them?
Or worse yet—what if the riders caught up with the villagers?
The crowd of tired and frightened people, laden with possessions and including the young and old, didn't move half as fast as the two lances of disciplined soldiers under Linhart's command. Soon, Ayla and her escort had caught up with them—and then could do nothing but slow down their own tempo and march behind them. They were not here to save their own lives, but to save these people.
Ayla was terrified to see how slow the soldiers, hampered by the villagers, were now advancing up the mountain. It seemed that a snail could have moved faster than them. And the riders were coming ever closer.
“Faster! You have to move faster” she yelled, trying to encourage the villagers. Then she realized that from a woman riding on a horse, such words were hardly encouraging.
“Here!” Jumping down from her steed next to an old man with a gray beard who barely managed to keep up, she pointed at the saddle. “Get up there.”
“Milady, I'll be fine! I...”
“Someone help me to get him up there!” Ayla shouted, and the old man found himself being hoisted into the air by the strong arms of two woodcutters and deposited on the horse's back, protesting all the while.
Ayla went through the crowd, searching, and only when she had put two little children on the horse's back behind the old man and the animal couldn't take any more did she stop and look over her shoulder again.
The shadowy riders were almost upon them!
“Faster!” she yelled. “In the name of the Virgin Mary, move! You'll all be slaughtered!”
Hearing her words, the villagers fell into a run. The narrows wasn't far
ahead. If they could just make it, just make it there...
All around her, Ayla could hear the labored breathing of people running uphill, running with her. She prayed to God no one would stumble. They couldn't stop to help; they just couldn't afford it. And yet she knew, if it happened, she would. She couldn't bear to see someone, anyone, in the hands of the villains who were chasing them. She would rather that it was herself.
Behind her, Ayla could hear the panting of horses, the pounding of hoofs.
“There they are,” a rough voice called out. “After them!” And then: “It's her! Lady Ayla! Get her!”
They knew her! They were after her, specifically!
Then why not stop? a small, weary voice said in the back of her mind. Why not give them what they want? It's not like we have any hope of winning, anyway. We might as well give up now.
No! Only a few more yards. The narrows was near, only a few more yards.
And then, suddenly, they were no longer on smooth ground. Rocky cliffs fell off to their left and right, forming a narrow path.
“Stand and turn!” she shouted. “Stand and turn, men!”
The soldiers immediately did as she commanded, forming a tight line all across the path. Spears appeared in their hands, and swiveled down to point directly at the enemy. Hurriedly, Ayla slipped between two of the soldiers, and the gap closed behind her. Safe! She was safe. The villagers were safe. She was behind the soldiers and they—
All thought ceased as out of the darkness, the riders appeared. In full gallop they bore down on their prey—only to discover that it was no longer running, but facing them with sharpened steel. The sound of the impact was bone-jarring. It threw Ayla, who had only advanced a few more paces up the path, violently to the ground and made her clamp her hands over her ears in a useless attempt to deaden the noise.
The tumult of screams and screech of steel on steel didn't cease. It went on and on as the wounded cried out in pain, soldiers tumbled off their horses, got trampled underfoot, or got hacked to pieces by an enemy's blade. Ayla turned over, staring at the chaos just a few feet away from her. She was hardly able to make sense of what she beheld. Yes, she had seen men fighting before, but never this close, never this horrible.
Or... maybe it's not as horrible as it appears, she thought, as she watched mercenary horses and riders in the dozens tumble down the mountainside. The wall of steel between Ayla and the enemy stood firm. Only one man had gone down so far, and another had taken his place. Their faces tense, the butts of their spears set firmly against the ground, they waited for the next attack—but none came. The falling enemies of the first charge tore the riders that came behind with them down the mountain. They tumbled down the slopes in a bloody, screaming mess and disappeared into the darkness. That did not stop the noise, however. It was quite some time until their cries could not be heard anymore.
Captain Linhart stepped out from among his soldiers. His spear fell to the ground; his arm was hanging limply at his side.
“That was it, men. Let's get out of here while we still can.”
He went to Ayla and offered her his good hand. She took it with gratitude, let him help her up, and put a bit of her weight on him. She wasn't quite sure whether her own legs would support her at the moment.
“Everything all right, Milady?” Linhart asked as they started to advance up the path, the soldiers following closely behind them.
“Not all right, Captain. As right as it can be. And you?”
He smiled a weak smile. “As right as it can be, Milady.”
Ayla's eyes searched the path ahead. “Where are the villagers?”
“I, err, think they went ahead. They were probably not too keen on what was happening immediately behind them.”
“Neither was I.”
“I can readily believe that, Milady.”
“What's wrong with your arm, Captain? Is it broken?”
He winced. “Not broken, Milady. Just a bit stiff from the impact, that's all. Wecelo,” he called, turning his head for a moment. “Pick up my spear, will you? We can't waste any weapons!”
“Yes, Sir!”
It took a few more minutes, but finally they reached the safety of the castle gates. The guards there started cheering. Ayla had no idea why—this wasn't a victory. They had suffered a setback and just managed to escape with their lives!
Then a strange idea came to her: Maybe it's because I'm still alive.
But no. That couldn't be, could it? She couldn't be that important to all those men... Men who were grinning at her broadly, cheering, chanting her name, and bowing their heads in respect as she passed...
She shook her head. No.
“Let's get you to a place where you can lie down, Captain,” she said, straightening and letting go of his supporting shoulder. “I need to have a look at that arm of yours.”
Behind them, the castle gates slammed shut.
*~*~**~*~*
Two hours later, Ayla emerged from the keep again, leaning against the wall to support herself. She had taken care of all the wounded as best she could, and had had a talk with the hurriedly awakened Burchard. He had been wearing a large, pale blue nightshirt, and his mustache had bristled more than ever—it had been quite an intimidating sight. He had accused her of being irresponsible and rash, and a lot of other things she couldn't remember at the moment. She had listened to everything patiently. Finally, when he had run out of breath, she had pointed out that they were all safe and sound within the walls of the castle.
This had set off a whole new round of admonishments, which she had listened to with equal patience. Finally, she had got away by telling him she was tired and hungry and needed to change. He had let her go, promising her that she hadn't heard the last of this, and Ayla had left.
But not to sleep, or to eat.
She had allowed herself to change out of her ruined nightgown and cloak, and to wash briefly. It was wonderful to be rid of the mud and blood on her skin. But then, her steps didn't lead her towards the kitchens or the dining hall, but outside. Not that she wasn't really tired and hungry. She was, incredibly. Still, eating or sleeping were the last things on her mind right now.
There was something she needed to do. And there was something else, something she wanted to do. What she wanted was to go to Reuben and let his strong arms envelop her, just to forget about all her troubles for a few precious minutes and revel in the fact that, for now, they were safe, and that, impossible as it seemed, he loved her.
He had said it, so it had to be true, right?
He really, truly loved her. She wanted to go to him and hear it again and again, and, oh, she thought with a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, there was probably also something he would like to hear from her in return. But now was not the time, not yet. The gates were closed, the enemy shut out, but still, she had to do this one last thing for her people and for herself.
It was the duty of a lord or lady to know and to see.
Slowly taking a breath, she detached herself from the wall of the keep and climbed down the stairs into the courtyard. Only now did she notice that people were watching her: guards on the way to their posts, villagers looking for family, all had stopped to watch as she had stepped out of the keep. Now, as she passed, they bowed silently. Ayla returned the greeting with a nod of her head in equal silence. She didn't have the energy to speak at the moment.
Passing through the gate of the inner wall, she strode towards the outer wall of the castle. There were no people here, thank the Lord. What she had to do, what she had to see, should be seen by no other.
The guard on duty at the gate bowed respectfully to her, and couldn't keep a look of astonishment from flickering across his face.
“Lady Ayla. What are you doing here?” He went red in the face. “Forgive me, Milady, I did not mean to pry. I was just surprised to see you here, after all you went through. I thought you might want a good night's rest.”
“That I do want,” she said with a weak smil
e. “But first there's something I have to do. I have to go up on the wall.”
“On the wall? But Milady... is that wise? It could be dangerous.”
“I know. But I have to. To... see. To remember.”
The soldier looked confused, but he nodded. “Yes, Milady.”
“And if any of the villagers should want to go up there, say it is impossible, that it would interfere with your duties as soldiers and endanger the castle.”
“Yes, Milady.” The guard hesitated. “Beg your pardon, Milady, but...”
“You are wondering why I want you to tell that to the villagers when it isn't true?”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Think, soldier.” Ayla's voice was soft. “What can you see from the wall?”
“The valley, Milady.”
“And what is in the valley?”
“Well, the river, the bridge, the village...” The soldier fell silent and his face paled.
“Exactly.” Ayla nodded. “The village. If you would excuse me now, soldier...”
“Of course, Milady.”
The words were a hoarse whisper. Ayla turned and stepped into one of the guard towers that flanked the gatehouse. Inside, the air smelled of the smoke of the single torch that hung on the wall, giving off flickering light and throwing the shadows of the spiral stairs onto the wall in a menacing manner, like the jagged teeth of some giant beast about to swallow her up. Ayla had never been up one of the towers at night before, never stood on the wall in the dark before. Well, she told herself, at least up on the wall there would be some more light. Oh yes, there certainly would be.
Slowly, she ascended the spiral staircase. Halfway up, though the smell of the smoke should have decreased, it gained in intensity and her stomach twisted. It was just as she had feared.
Having reached the top of the tower, she stepped out onto the wall, turning towards the valley from where the smell of smoke came, along with a fierce red glow. Long she stood there, gazing over the parapet out onto the nocturnal landscape, at the origin of the red glow. Long she stood there and watched her village burn.
The flames were all she could see. They were so blindingly bright that they plunged all the surrounding land into utter darkness. Now and again, she could make out black figures passing in front of the flames, hurrying about, carrying, hacking, laying fire.
