The Robber Knight's Secret

36. Ass Diplomacy

 "No, Reuben! Don't!"

Ayla's shout was the only thing that stopped Reuben from taking the enemy knight's head off right there and then. His blade stopped a hair's breadth from the other man's throat. Not a thick hair, either, like a boar's bristle, but a really, really fine one.

He stood like that for a moment, breathing heavily—unlike his enemy, who, by the looks of him, had ceased breathing altogether.

"Explain!" he growled, pressing the words out between clenched teeth. "And make it a very, very good explanation, Milady, or this fellow is going to become a head shorter."

Ayla didn't see to be in the mood to oblige him.

"Put the sword down, Reuben!" she commanded from behind him. She sounded like a little girl telling the family dog not to do it on the carpet. In any other circumstances Reuben might have turned around to flash her a smile. Right now, however, he was busy contemplating the best way to kill the fly-bitten dog's turd in front of him. Hmm... maybe a quick twist of the neck... or a sword through the belly, leaving him to enjoy slowly bleeding out...

"I said put the sword down!" Ayla's voice intruded on his important contemplations. Satan's hairy ass! That girl could be annoying sometimes.

"How about you tell me first what he is doing out of the dungeon?" Reuben growled. "And then I decide whether I want to put my sword down or cut his head off."

Out of the corner of his eye, Reuben saw Ayla glance at Sir Gregor, and blush.

Ayla, blushing? Because of a man that wasn't him?

This was intolerable!

"How—did—he—get—out?" he managed to get out, biting on every word, having to use every ounce of his restraint not to decapitate the loathsome creature in front of him there and then.

"Um... I let him out."

"You what?"

"You don't need to shout, Reuben."

"I'll shout whenever I damn well please!"

"And don't curse, either!"

Reuben thought about releasing a volley of expletives, just to show her what he thought of her ordering him around, but he decided that were more important matters at hand.

"Milady," he said, trying to retain a minimum of calm in his voice, while injecting the maximum of sarcasm, "do you know what the word 'enemy' means?"

"Of course I do!"

"And do you normally let your enemy's stroll through your castle? Armed, I might add?" His eyes had just landed on the sword at Sir Gregor's hip. With his left hand, he drew it from the scabbard, out of the other knight's reach.

"No, of course I don't," Ayla snapped. "You see, it's not..."

The sound of running footsteps cut her short. Two men burst into the room, red in the face from running. Both of them wore the marks of chains around their wrists, and the crest of Falkenstein on their tunics. "Sir Gregor! Sir Gregor, we heard a struggle! Are you all r—"

They didn't get any farther than that. Reuben's left hand shot forward, pressing the spare sword against the throat of the first man. At the same moment, his leg kicked out and pulled the other man's feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Before he could rise, Reuben's foot came down on his neck. This left him in rather an interesting position, with both hands holding swords to the throats of enemies and one foot on another enemy, threatehning to crash down. If Reuben had seen somebody else contorting himself like this, he would probably have keeled over laughing. Right now, he didn't feel like laughing at all, however.