The stick wielded by the shadowy figure caught Sir Luca on his hindquarters with full force. Yelling some Italian curse, he stumbled forward, loosing hold of both his sword and Ayla in the unexpected attack. Faster than the eye could see, Reuben swept Ayla behind him and caught the Italian's sword. He kicked the man in the stomach, and he was thrown back against the crenels.
“Bastardo! Who dares to…”
Spitting another curse, Luca sprang to his feet again, drawing a dagger and spinning to face the enemy who had attacked him from behind—but there was nobody there. Confused, he stared into empty air, until another whack caught him in the stomach. With a clang, it rebounded off his metal stomach plate. He looked down, in the direction from which the blows had come.
“Eh?”
Large, stubborn dark eyes under a tangle of black hair looked back at him, from behind a defensively raised stick. Sir Luca stared at the little girl in front of him, stupefied.
“Una bambina? En che modo...?”
His concentration was fully focused on her. That was the moment Reuben had been waiting for.
His arm came around Luca's throat from behind, yanking him away from the little girl and holding him as tightly as a metal vice. The sword in his hand came up at the same time, and struck true.
With a wet noise, Sir Luca DeLombardi's head was severed from his body. It flew to the side, smashing against the crenels, and, still encased in its helmet, landed rattling on the walkway. The rest of the body slipped from Reuben's grasp and crashed onto the stones, gushing blood.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody made a sound.
With an interested expression on her face, the little girl walked over to stuffed helmet of Sir Luca, and prodded it with her stick. It rolled to and fro a bit, creaking.
“Was that the evil man who wanted to lock Agnes up in a tower?” she demanded.
“I don't know”, admitted Reuben, watching the child with interest. “Who’s Agnes?”
“She's my dolly.”
“Oh, I see.” Reuben unstrapped his helmet. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Still can't help you, I'm afraid. I have no idea whether he was the particular evil man who was after your doll He was certainly an evil man, though, that much I do know.”
“I see.” The little girl nodded, content. “Well, in that case I guess its good he got his head chopped off.”
“Indeed, it is.”
“Though you might have chopped off other parts of him first.”
Reuben grinned. He was starting to like this little girl's philosophy.
“Haven't we met before?” he enquired, scrutinizing the scruffy little creature in front of him more closely.
“Aye. I heard your speech.”
“Of course! My first volunteer! How could I forget?”
She turned toward him, grinning up at him and doing a cross between a crouch and a curtsy. “My name is Fye.”
He returned the greeting by executing a perfect courtly bow, as deep as any queen would receive from him.
“Charmed to meet you, Lady Fye. Now, if you will excuse me—I have some matters left over I had to take care off.”
“Certainly.”
Reuben turned, fixing his glare upon the remaining enemy soldiers, who still stood as unmoving as pillars of salt, some on the walkway, some still down in the courtyard, some even frozen in the act of climbing up the wall. Now, as Reuben's ferocious raptor's gaze focused upon them, they seemed for the first time to notice that the outcome of the duel hadn’t improved their situation a great deal. Quite the contrary, in fact.
Reuben raised his sword, pointing at them. “You,” he said, his voice coming right from the darkest pit of hell, “are dead.”
Then, with an animalistic roar, he threw himself into the combat. He hurled enemies right and left, with so much force that they sailed right over the top of the crenels and into nothingness, or else down in to the courtyard, to a quick death on the hard cobblestones. He stabbed, he hacked, he killed by every method known to men, and a few known only to devils.
“Ayla!” He shouted over his shoulder without stopping to turn. “Go into the tower and lock the doors! Lock the doors!”
This time, he was going to let nothing get in his way. This time, he would not be denied his fair share of killing!
His savage attack had the intended effect: all the enemy soldiers turned towards him to defend themselves. By the time they remembered they had enemies at their back, the Luntberg soldiers had already gathered up their discarded weapons again and were joining the fight with a zeal that almost matched Reuben's. Beset from both sides, the enemy tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. They were stuck on a narrow stone walkway, and if they tried climbing back down the ropes, they were picked off by Captain Linthart's archers like rabbits at the Imperial Hunt.
A cry rose up over the castle from dozens of throats: “Luca is dead! Luca is dead! Long live Lady Ayla von Luntberg!”
Down in the courtyard, groans of despair went up from the few enemy soldiers that hadn't yet climbed up the ropes yet. Some tried to run, some to hide, but it was no use. Now that only remnants of the enemy army remained, Linhart and his men came down from the wall, and Reuben looked on with pleasure as they hunted down each and every one of the men who had tried to hurt Ayla. Not as much pleasure though, as he felt when smashing the skull of an enemy himself.
“Please!” One of the soldiers before him fell down on his knees, his hands grasped in supplication. “I surrender!”
“And I give a devil's fart!” Reuben raised his sword.
A hand grabbed his arm from behind. He wheeled around, raised his blade to strike—and stopped it just in time to not behead Ayla.
“Are you mad?” he bellowed at her. “I could have killed you!”
“Are you mad?” she demanded, sounding like a dog-owner whose favorite puppy had misbehaved. “You can't kill somebody who has surrendered.”
“Why not? It's easier!”
“Because it's dishonorable, that's why. Look out!”
Reuben had already known the strike was coming. He whirled around again and decapitated the pseudo-surrenderer, who had just been about to stab him in the back.
“There, you see?” he growled. “That's what comes of your good advice!”
She raised her chin. The gesture made him want to grab her and kiss her right there and then, but unfortunately, he still had lots of killing to do. “Just because one enemy behaved dishonorable is no reason for you to do it too.”
“Quite right. I don't need a reason to be dishonorable! Now get into the tower like I told you to! I'm in the middle of a battle here!”
He rammed his knee into the gut of the next soldier who attacked him, throwing him back on two others. With a whirl he turned his sword so he held it in both hands, pointing straight down, and plunged it to the ground with a gruesome battlecry. It went through all three soldiers, impaling them and killing them in one go.
Once again, he immersed himself absolutely in the fight, ignoring the shouts from behind him, shouts from Ayla, telling the enemy to surrender. He bellowed and shouted as loudly as he could as he plowed through the remaining enemy soldiers. Maybe, if he was loud enough, none of them would hear and obey her, and he could end this once and for all, could kill them to the last man.
However, he had no such luck. Just as he was down to six enemies, and the Luntberg soldiers were closing in around them, the mercenaries fell to their knees and raised their hands in supplication.
“Please! Mercy! We surrender!”
Their weapons lay on the ground. Reuben hesitated over them, his sword raised. They were just sitting there, not doing anything at all. Perfect kills, simple and quick. Why was he hesitating? Had he suddenly found his honor again?
He shuddered at the very thought.
No, that wasn’t it. If it were down to him, he would chop their heads off with relish.
But…
But…
But Ayla would probably not be very pleased. Satan’s hairy ass!
Taking a deep, calming breath, he lowered his sword.
“Tie them up and lock them away,” he growled at Ayla's soldiers, pointing at the pale, wounded mercenaries. “Then go to help your comrades clean up the rest of them down in the killing fields. If any surrender—” he clenched his jaw tightly, “take them captive, and do not kill them, no matter how much you would personally enjoy it.”
“Yes, Sir!”
One of the Luntberg soldiers bowed. Reuben didn't wait to see whether he and the others would be executing his order. He had already turned and had only eyes for one: a slim figure in a bloodstained woolen cloak, with golden hair spilling over her shoulders down almost to her waist.
His heart pounded faster even than in battle. Finally! It was over! She was safe!
A devilish smile spread across his face. Well… not really safe, as such. After all, she was his now.
He took a step forward.
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Milords and Ladies,
Sound the trumpets! Pound the drums! Three cheers for Sir Reuben and Lady Ayla - the evil army commander is dead!
What did you think of the fight in its entirety? :-)
Your medieval Scribe
Sir Rob