"I can't see a sword anywhere in here, can you?" Ayla sked, scanning the gloomy tower room with her eyes. From outside she heard the rising sounds of battle. Her heart was beating fast, and she was itching to get out back there, back to Reuben. Why did the fool have to forget his spare sword?
"No, Milady," Theoderich confirmed, turning around, a frown on his face. "I can't see it either."
"Maybe in here?"
Walking over to far wall, Ayla opened a chest, the only piece of furniture in the bare stone room apart from the torch burning in a bracket on the wall. But the chest didn't hold a single weapon, unless you counted the various surgical implements stacked in orderly rows beside a supply of bandages, and herbs.
"What..." Ayla mumbled. "Wait just a minute! Those are my own herbs and bandages! How on earth did they get here..." Her voice trailed off, and she righted herself abruptly. Just as she turned, the click came from the door that announced the lock being turned.
"The blaggard!" Ayla growled. She was over at the door in three long strides, and punched the thick oak wood—without any effect. "He did this on purpose! I know he did!"
"Um... did what?" the uncertain voice of Theoderich asked from behind her.
Whirling around, she faced the squire, and gestured at the round room.
"Sending us in here, of course! Chosing this tower as command center!"
Confused, Theoderich looked around at the walls. "Why shouldn't he have chosen this as his command center? The north tower is the largest tower of the castle, with an excellent view of the valley."
"It's also the only tower which is large enough to not just consist out of a spiral staircase with walls around! It's the only tower with a room at the top, and walls that are two yards thick!" Once more she thumped the thick oak door. "Let me out, damn you!"
"Sorry, Milady," came Reuben's voice from outside. He didn't sound sorry at all. "I'm a bit busy out here. I've got a battle to fight."
"Then let me out! Let me help you!"
"Sorry again. I can't do that. The enemy is almost at the wall. Soon enough, they'll be up here, and all hell will break loose."
He was right. She could hear the roars and trampling feet of hundreds of foes, mingled with the zitt zitt of flying crossbow bolts. Yes, the enemy was coming. But by God, that didn't mean she would sit safely inside and listen while here people were slaughtered!
"If hell breaks loose, I'll face it with you!" she called through the door, sounding a good deal braver than she felt.
"No you won't," the blaggard outside informed her, calmly. "The door is firmly locked and bolted from the outside. And it's no use trying to get down the tower staircase. I had some of the guards bolt the door down below, too."
With a few choice words, Ayla informed him what she thought of his behavior, his character, and the general state of his intestines.
"Quite impressive," he congratulated when she was finished. "You're getting a lot better at this."
"You fobbing, elf-skinned flap-dragon!"
"Now, now. I thought it was you who told me that it wasn't proper for a women to bare arms and take part in a battle."
"It isn't! That doesn't mean I was planning to leave your side! I was going to stand by you!"
"To do what, exactly?"
"To... to... well..." For a moment, Ayla searched for words. To be honest, she didn't know exactly why she had to stay. She only knew she couldn't leave his side. Not ever. Not now, in particular. "To offer moral support?"
"Which will be vastly helpful to me when an enemy sticks a sort into you."
"You hedge-born bugger-mugger! If you didn't mean for me to take part in the battle, why did you have your squire wake me at all?"
"You would have woken sooner or later from the noise of battle. I'd rather have you safe and close by, knowing where you are, than have you stumble into the midst of battle on your own just to get your head cut off.
"I wouldn't get my head cut off!"
"You're right. Knowing you, you would probably manage to find a far worse way of dying."
Whirling away from the door again, Ayla focused her anger on the only aim in sight. Theoderich took three hasty steps backwards, until he bumped against the stone wall.
"Did you know about this?"
"No! No, Milady, I swear by the Bones of St Augustine, I didn't!"
Ayla sent him a "lucky you, or you'd be dead"-look, then turned back to the door.
"Why not lock me up somewhere in the keep, while you were about it?" she asked, making her tone as sweet as she possibly could. "Like... oh, I don't know... mayb the dungeon? You might as well have a done a proper job of it."
"I did think of that," Reuben agreed, ignoring her sarcasm with ease, "but then, there actually is a way in which you can help, and it requires that you stay close by."
"Oh? I may help, may I? How kind of you. And what task has our magnanimous leader selected for me?"
"Have you looked in the chest yet?"
"Yes! What has that got to do with it?"
The minute Ayla posed the question, she knew. Medical supplies—of course!
"You want me to patch up the soldiers?"
"If you wouldn't mind," Reuben said, pleasantly. "We don't have so many we can just throw them away when they get scratched."
"You...!"
"Bastard? Blaggard? Devil?"
"All of that and more!"
"You flatter me, Milady."
"I demand that you let me out this instant!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that. I took a vow to protect you, you know, when I became your vasal. And in my humble opinion, you're far better protected when there's a solid stone wall between you and enemy soldiers instead of just air."
"You can take your humble opinion and stick it up your—"
"What about me, Milord?"
Startled, Ayla turned around to stare at Theoderich. She had almost forgotten that the squire was in the room with her, until he interrupted her.
"You didn't take a vow to protect me," he continued, marching to the door and drawing himself up to his full height. "On the contrary, I took a vow to protect and serve you, as my knight master. I ask you, please open the door so I can fulfill my duty. Let me fight alongside you. Let me protect you."
"You are protecting me." At first, Ayla wasn't sure it was Reuben's voice coming through the door. It sounded so different. Not a hint of levity, not a touch of teasing was left. He sounded completely and deadly serious.
"I don't understand, Milord. If you're out there, and I'm in here, how can I be protecting you?"
"You can, because the most important part of myself is in that room with you."
Silence fell. Ayla could feel a lump forming in her throat. Oh God... he meant her. He was talking about her.
"Yes, Milord." Theoderich's voice was hoarse, but completely steady. "I understand."
"I know you do. Be careful. You are behind thick walls and a solid door, but one never knows. The enemy might force their way in there at any time. If they do, protect Lady Ayla with your life."
"Yes, Milord."
"Because if you don't, your life won't be worth a penny."
"Um... I see, Milord."
"If there's so much as a scratch on her when I come for her, I'll rip out your guts and use them to tie the noose I'll hang you with."
"Err... thank you, Milord. I think now I really, really understand."
"Excellent."
"Are you two quite finished talking about me as if I weren't there?" Ayla cut in. Her cheeks were burning, and for just one moment, she was thoroughly grateful for the thick oak door, which made it impossible for Reuben to see her. But then she remembered that the same oak door also prevented her from getting out and strangling him.
"Yes, we're quite finished doing that, Milady. In fact, I think we're finished altogether. I'll leave you in the charming company of my squire, shall I?"
"What..? You're not going to go!"
"Sorry, Milady, but I'm afraid I have to. Duty is calling. And she's calling pretty damn loud."
That was true enough. Over his voice, the clamor of the enemy army grew louder and louder. Ayla heard several hard clacks, as if from wood smacking against stone.
"Reuben?"
No answer. She thought for a moment she could hear the noise of footsteps retreating, but it was so indistinct amongst the cacophony of stone, wood and metal to make it out clearly.
"Reuben? Reuben, answer me!"
Again, nothing came in reply. Flooded with frustration, Ayla smashed her fist against the door again.
"Let me out, curse you! Let me out now!"
This time, there was a reply—an strangled cry that that pierced Ayla's heart with fear and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
"Reuben?"
She rushed to one of the arrowslits along the wall. The thin opening, just broad enough to let the head of an arrow pass through, allowed about as much freedom of vision as a cracked-open door, but Ayla didn't care. She pressed her face against the cold, rough stone, turning it first this way, than that, trying desperately to see who had uttered that terrible scream.
She could see the faint outline of dark figures moving in the night, visible only by the glint of the moon on their armor. Grunts, clanks and moans from all around were the notes of a terrible cacophony that stormed her ears and invaded her mind, laying it waste and leaving fear in its path.
"And?" came Theoderich's anxious voice from behind her. "Do you see him? Is he injured? Wounded?"
"I don't know!" she growled.
"How can you not know?"
"Because it's almost pitch-black out there, and I'm watching through an arrowslit so narrow I can only see one limb of one soldier at a time, and I can't tell one color from another! I most certainly can't tell who's wearing a red armor and who isn't!"
"But the enemy is on the wall?"
"I doubt there'd be fighting, otherwise!"
"Yes, Milady. Of course, Milady. I'm sorry, Milady."
Ayla tried to rein in her temper. It wasn't the boy's fault that this was happening. If anyone was to blame, it was her, for falling for Reuben's trap in the first place.
Again, a cry pierced the night. Ayla knew that kind of cry. Whoever uttered it would not take another breath.
"By the apostles!" she muttered, slamming her fist against the stone in frustration, trying to find an angle from which she could catch more than disjointed images from outside. "If only I could see!"
*~*~**~*~*
Sir Hartung stood on the slope of the Luntberg, the great outer wall of Luntberg castle towering above him. It was by no means the greatest wall he had ever seen, but it was impressive—and suspiciously quiet.
"Why aren't there any guards on top?" he murmured to his Captain. "Why is everything dark?"
The man's eyes flitted over the wall—then he shrugged. "Perhaps they're asleep, Milord?"
Hartung threw him a look.
"Um... and perhaps not, Milord. Maybe there's another explanation, like... like..."
"I don't like this." Hartung shook his head. "There should be regular patrols up there, and you should be able to see the torch light for miles! Something is wrong."
"Why the hell should we care if there are no guards on the wall?" Sir Gerlach demanded. He and the other knights had joined Hartung for a last tactical discussion before the first assault. Hartung began to wish he had left Gerlach out of said discussion. His only tactical skill was the tactical avoiding of tactics.
"The fact that it's dark up on the wall doesn't necessarily mean there are no guards," Hartung growled. "It only means we cannot see them!"
Gerlach frowned. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but Faramund cut in: "Does it really matter? Whether or not guards are up there, we have to storm the castle. Unless anyone here wants to go and tell the Margrave that we didn't attack because the enemy has the lights out?"
There was a short silence, pregnant with meaning.
"I thought so." Faramund nodded. "Sir Hartung?"
"You're right." Taking a deep breath, Hartung drew his sword and nodded to the other knights. "I may not like it, but yes, you are right. Return to your troops, Sirs. We have a battle to win. And we will. After all, they have no more than fifty archers. What can they possibly do?"
The others rode off, returning to their lances stationed all around the castle. Hartung waited. It didn't take long for the first messenger to appear out of the darkness.
"Sir Faramund's troops are in readiness, Milord Field Marshall. He awaits your order to attack."
"Good. Return to your master."
"Will you not be needing me to send the order?"
"No, it will be given by horn signal. Return to your master and ready yourself. Battle is afoot."
Clouds drifted over the sky. Here and there, a star twinkled through the gaps. The other messengers came, one after another, each bearing their deadly promise. Each, Hartung sent back to his troops immediately. When, finally, Sir Widargelt's messenger departed, the very last one, Hartung took up his shield from where it lay on the ground and strapped it firmly to his arm. Then he placed his helmet on his head and fastened the straps.
With the helmet on, he couldn't turn his head far enough to see his captain anymore. But he knew he was there. He could hear the man's breathing, calm and steady. The captain was far too experienced a soldier to let himself be panicked by the prospect of a coming battle. So was Hartung himself. And yet... and yet...
A knight in blood-red armor. A man, tortured, hurt beyond endurance, laughing like a maniac. A devil walking the earth.
He shook his head, chasing the images away. What could that one do, after all? He was just one man.
"Captain?"
"Yes, Milord?"
"Sound the attack!"
A horn called out over the mountain. Torches lit right and left, and the fire of battle blazed in the men's eyes. Stepping up beside Sir Hartung, the Captain raised his sword.
"Ataaa—"
He didn't get any farther than that. Hartung heard a dull thud, and out of the corner of his eyes saw the man stiffen. Whirling around, he found a short piece of wood sticking out of the Captain's throat—much too short to be an arrow, but no less deadly for it. It took Hartung's stunned mind a moment to realize what he was seeing.
"Stop!" he bellowed. "Men, halt the attack!"
A few lances to his left and right stopped in their tracks, raising what shields they had. But the rest of the army was much too busy shouting war cries to hear.
"Stop, you fools! Crossbows! They have crossbows!"
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Greetings, Milords and Ladies!
Reuben's diabolical plan in action ;) Ah, how I enjoy writing about devious, ruthless people...
Farewell! I have to think up bloody battle-scenes now.
Sir Rob