Reuben stood atop the wall of Luntberg Castle, gazing out over the nocturnal landscape. Or at least he was gazing out over the few gray-black splotches that he could see of it. His night vision might be excellent, but the moon and the stars were now completely obscured by thick clouds, and the night had gone as black as a barrel of pitch in the darkest corner of windowless dungeon. No one could see anything now.
Or at least you couldn't see with the eyes alone.
From his right, he heard footsteps. Turning, he could just make out a dark shape approaching over the walkway, slipping between the huddled forms of soldiers sitting on the ground. He couldn't see the man's face clearly in the dark, but a man's step was as distinctive as his features. That clear, precise movement, that regular pace...
"What is it, Captain Linhart?"
The Captain stopped a few feet away from him.
"How did you know it was me?"
Reuben didn't answer. He could have, of course, but every small thing that helped to keep the men in awe of him helped their morale up. Let them think he was a demon with supernatural powers! Usually, people weren't too fond demons. But when they were fighting for their survival, they were all too glad to have one by their side.
"Your report, Captain?" was the only thing he said.
"Yes, Sir. Of course. There've been several more attacks on the castle. Nothing serious—just individual ladders, placed against the wall here and there, and small groups of men trying to get over the wall. We were able to chase them away, and kill a few of them."
"I see." Removing his helmet, Reuben shook out his hair and took a deep breath of the fresh night air. He was glad for the wind that blew over the castle. Not that the smell of blood bothered him. No, it was just the feel of the wind blowing through his hair, the feeling of freedom, that he had missed. "Where exactly did the attacks occur?"
"Errr... I don't know, exactly. It isn't important, is it? We beat them back."
"Captain?"
"Yes?"
"Find out. Now!"
"O-of course, Sir."
Reuben heard Linhart mutter a few words to one of the soldiers, who stood up and dashed off along the wall, taking two companions with him. Reuben continued to breathe in the night air. Slowly, he closed his eyes and listened. There it was... faint... very faint...
"Sir Reuben?"
"Hmm?"
He opened one eye. Out of its corner, he could see Captain Linhart staring at him. The Captain was close enough now for Reuben to see the incredulous expression on the man's face.
"Um... is everything all right, Sir?"
"Perfectly."
Reuben closed the eye again. Yes, even over the Captain's breathing, he could hear it now, drifting towards him, on the wind.
"May I voice an opinion, Sir?"
"Certainly, Captain."
Reuben was only listening with half an ear. His ears, his gut, and all the dozen other senses of a true warrior for which there were no names, were far away, down in the dark.
"I think that the Margrave is planning something, and wants to turn our attention away from what he's doing. I think that these attacks were just a distraction."
Reuben opened his eyes and gave the man a look.
"Of course they are!"
There were a few moments of silence. Then, Linheart said: "Oh. You... knew?"
"Do you take me for a fool, Captain?"
"N-no, Sir, certainly not."
"Then answer this question yourself. Did I know?"
"Yessir! Of course you did, Sir!"
"Very good. Now let's move on to what's important, shall we?"
"Um... the Margrave trying to distract us isn't important?"
"Not really. The important question is not whether or not he's trying to distract us. The important question is: what is he trying to distract us from? Soldier!"
Linhart jumped. Unlike Reuben, he hadn't noticed the soldier coming up behind them. Reuben turned to face the man, who was panting from running.
"Where?" he asked, simply.
"The attacks occurred in the south, south-east and north, Sir."
"Ah, I see." He nodded thoughtfully. "Just as I thought."
"Well, I don't see," Linhart admitted, frowning. "What are they doing?"
"The south, south-east and north, Captain. Think! Whatever they want to distract us from must be in the west. What's in the west?"
"The setting sun?"
Reuben smiled grimly. "That, and the castle gates."
"But they can't get through the gates with ladders and grappling hooks anymore they could beat down a wall with them!"
"No," Reuben agreed, "they certainly couldn't. Not with grappling hooks. Be silent."
"What—"
"Be silent, I say!"
Linhart immediately quit breathing, and all the other men on the wall followed suit. Reuben plucked an unlit torch out of its bracket on the outside of the north tower, and closed his lids. He strained his ears, and there it was again, the faint squeaking and scuffling that betrayed them, even in the dark. They were far too close for comfort already.
"Shield your eyes!"
Striking a flint against the wall, Reuben caught the spark on the torch without looking. Pressing his eyes more tightly shut against the sudden flare of light, he focused more closely on his surroundings. The wind still came from the same direction, conveying the noise, pointing the way.
"Yah!"
With a roar, Reuben tossed the torch into the air. He waited just two seconds before he opened his eyes. Already, the torch was a tiny spot of light in the vast blackness around them, spinning through the air like a firefly caught in a storm. All the Luntberg soldiers were staring at him, complete incomprehension on their faces—at least until they heard the shouts from down below.
With deep satisfaction, Reuben watched how the upturned faces of several dozen enemy soldiers, just a moment ago hidden in the darkness, appeared in the glowing radius around the torch that was plummeting towards the ground. With a thunk it hit the roof of a large wooden construction they had been rolling uphill towards the castle, and bounced off, coming to rest in the dirt.
"Shoot them!" Reuben bellowed. Quite a few of his supposed warriors continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. But at least two dozen men and women raised their crossbows and fired. Several of the enemy soldiers fell to the ground, clutching wounds.
"Go on! Again! Shoot them! Shoot them all before they get that blasted thing up here!" Reuben strode along the line of his fighters, shaking those who hadn't grasped the situation yet out of their daze. "Shoot them, or I'll cut off your balls and feed them to the pigs!"
"I don't have balls," an old woman pointed out, grinning while she reloaded her crossbow.
"Then I'll find something else to cut off! Shoot them! Shoot them now!"
Beside Reuben, Captain Linhart was staring white-faced at the enemy soldiers down below. They had regrouped by now, and taken shelter under the roof of the wooden construct. It began to move uphill again, slower than before, but steady. Underneath the roof, a thick wooden beam swung lazily, suspended on ropes.
"A battering ram!" the Captain breathed. "God have mercy on us!"
Reuben laughed. "I wouldn't rely on that!"
"Can they really get that thing up the mountain? The path is narrow and—"
"Trust me, if they built it, they can get it up here. The Margrave is no fool."
"Then what can we do?"
Reuben gave a snort. "What do you think I've been trying to figure out for the last quarter of an hour?" He bit his lip, considering his options one last time. Unfortunately, there weren't many to consider.
"Run to the gate," he ordered. "That's where they're going to attack, that's where we need to be prepared. Have them bring rocks up there, and barrels of lard, and any spare rags you can find. Draw together the archers up on the walkway there. And have them throw down a few torches in a semi-circle around the gatehouse. Anything that's out there, I want to see. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir! As you command, Sir!"
Whatever could be said about Captain Linhart's limited capabilities as a strategist, he was good at getting things done. When Reuben arrived on the walkway over the gate two minutes later, thirty-five archers, several barrels of lard, and heaps of large rocks awaited him.
"Listen up!" Reuben roared. "You all know what that is?"
He pointed down towards the battering ram.
"Yessir!" came the answer from the archers in a shouted chorus.
"You know what it will do to our gates if they get it up here?"
"Yessir!"
"Good! I want that thing disabled, dismantled, destroyed! Do anything you have two! Shoot the men who are pushing it uphill, use fire arrows to set it on fire, I don't care! Just do it! Starting now!"
Immediately, the men started wrapping rags around their arrows. Reuben turned away before he saw them dip the rags into the lard, but he heard the thump as arrow after arrow was ignited with a torch, and the zitt zitt of deadly projectiles, cutting through the air.
"A pity we can't do that with crossbow bolts," Captain Linhart murmured.
"A lot of things are a pity," Reuben commented drily. "For example that we don't have twice as many soldiers as the enemy. Are you going to complain about that?"
"No, Sir! Of course not, Sir!"
"Good. Get me a few men up here. I don't care if they're wounded. They don't need to be in fighting condition, they just need to be able to heave rocks. When those bastards are at our gates, I want to rain down hell on them!"
"You're going to use wounded men in battle?"
"I can't waste the ones who can fight on tasks like that!"
Linhart looked at Reuben hesitantly. "How do you think Lady Ayla will feel about that?"
The look that Reuben gave the Captain said more than a thousand words. Linhart cleared his throat. "All right. I won't mention it to her, then."
"Very wise of you, Captain. Now get your ass moving!"
*~*~**~*~*
Sir Hartung and his Captain—the new one, not the dead one with a crossbow bolt in his head—stood halfway up the Luntberg, well out of the range of Lady Ayla's crossbowmen, and watched the progress of the battering ram. Even though they knew it was there, it was hardly visible. To anyone who didn't know, it would be nothing more than another patch of darkness in a very dark night.
"They won't know what hit them," the captain observed. He had a satisfied grin on his face.
Even Hartung, who normally abstained from any facial expressions bar rage and displeasure, could feel the corners of his mouth curving slightly upwards. The captain was right. After their initial setback, things were proceeding well.
"You are sure that the crossbowmen can't harm the soldiers at the battering ram?" he asked, for the hundredth time.
"Once they're under the protective roof, yes. I'm absolutely sure, Sir. I personally oversaw the construction of the battering ram and made sure your instructions were followed to the letter."
"And the men are standing by for attack?"
"Yes. Just as you commanded, Sir: foot soldiers and mounted knights both. They're just waiting for your signal. The battering ram should reach the gates without being detected, and it'll be far too late for the enemy to take any countermeasures. After that, it's only a matter of time before the wood of the gates gives way, and our men can storm the outer courtyard."
"Good. We should have control of the outer castle by—"
Hartung's voice cut off when above them, a spark ignited in the dark. At first he thought it was a glowing insect, but then his eyes readjusted.
"God's teeth!"
The torch burned brightly in the night. And although it was far, far away from them, it burned brightly enough to illuminate the figure clutching it in its fist. Even at this distance, the sight of him sent a shiver down Hartung's back: a towering beast of a man, at least a foot taller than him, in a blood-red armor.
"Holy Mother of... That's him! That's him, isn't it, Sir?"
"Yes!" Hartung growled. "But what is he up to?"
The figure up on the wall drew back the arm with the torch. Then the arm shot forward again, and let it fly. Turning over and over, the torch whizzed through the air in an arch, growing larger all the time. Hartung didn't realized what the red knight had been aiming for until it was too late.
"No!"
He watched, powerless, as the torch slammed onto the roof of the battering ram and bounced off onto the ground. Only seconds later, crossbow bolts followed the path of the fire. Hartung ground his teeth together as several of his men sank to the ground, dead or wounded. The rest quickly huddled together under the protective roof.
Curse him! Curse him to hell and back!
"How the hell did he do that?" Hartung heard the captain's raspy voice beside him.
Hartung's fists clenched. He didn't give an answer. He didn't have one.
"Captain?"
"Y-yes, Sir?"
"Blow the horn to signal the battering ram! Tell the men to double their pace. We'd better knock those gates down right now!"
"Yessir!"
*~*~**~*~*
"Theoderich? What the heck is going on out there?"
Ayla stood at one of the arrow slits, willing it to be wider. So far, the stone on either side had refused to oblige her. She could hardly see anything through the narrow gap—but she could hear. Running feet, the swish of arrows, the scrape of stone against stone... Something was definitely happening.
"I don't know, Milady." Theoderich peeked his blond head from the trap-door that covered the stairs. "I just know that Sir Reuben sent a man to let the wounded soldiers downstairs out. They're to be removed to another location?"
"Out of the danger?" Ayla breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God for that!"
She had to remember to thank Reuben for it later. That had been very thoughtful of him. She pressed her eye against the arrowslit once more, trying to maybe catch a glimpse of him. But there was only an indistinct mass of shadows, rushing from left to right.
Angrily, her fist thumped against the stone around the arrowslit. "Why the heck couldn't they have made those things bigger?"
"Um... I think it's so one doesn't get shot by the enemy outside, Milady."
"That was a rhetorical question, Theoderich!"
"Oh. I see." He hesitated for a moment. "Milady?"
"Yes?"
"Do you want to know what's going on out there?"
"If I didn't I wouldn't be trying to squeeze my hand through a two inch slit in the wall, now, would I?"
"No, Milady. Of course not."
"Why do you ask?" Slowly Ayla turned around. "You don't happen to know of a way out of here, do you? Theoderich, I swear, if you've kept your tongue on Reuben's orders while I've tried beating the door down—"
"No, no, Milady, nothing like that," he assured her hastily, taking a step backwards. "There's no way out. But there might be a way to see what's going on outside—if it is big enough."
"It? What do you mean, it?"
Theoderich pointed upwards, to a rickety wooden staircase that wound up along the walls of the tower to a small gallery about a dozen feet over their heads.
"There are murder holes in the gallery up there, so you can throw stones at people trying to storm the tower. I could go up there and take a look."
"Why don't you stay down here and I have a look?" Ayla suggested, sweetly.
The answer to that question came a moment later, with a knock from the door.
"Lady Ayla?" a soldier's voice called. "We've got another one for you! Arrow through the arm!"
Ayla shot a dirty look at the door, then waved to Theoderich, who had a guilty expression on his face, as if he personally was responsible for the latest of Luntberg's invalids.
"Fine!" she growled. "Go! I'll take care of this!"
The door swung open, and she grabbed the startled soldier's uninjured arm, dragging him over to the cot. For a moment, she eyed the other man in the doorway thoughtfully—but the impassive expression on his face told her that Reuben had threatened him with the worst tortures of hell if he allowed her to set as much as a foot outside.
"Overbearing, thick-headed blaggard!" she murmured, ripping the wounded soldier's shirt apart.
The soldier blinked up at her. "Excuse me, Milady?"
"I didn't mean you! Hold still!"
Ayla went to work on the soldier's arm wound, all the while listening intently. The noises from outside seemed to quiet down: steps retreated, voices dwindled, and there was a general sense of emptiness beyond the tower door. Most of her was focused on her surgical work. But when, after ten minutes, she still couldn't hear anything but sounds in the distance, she glanced up at Theoderich, crouched on the floor, up in the gallery.
"Well? What's happening?" she demanded.
The soldier on the cot groaned, as she jabbed one of her knifes a little too energetically into him. "Sorry, sorry! Won't happen again! Theoderich, what's happeniang? Tell me!"
"Sir Reuben and the others have moved off," the squire called down. "There are just a few guards left on the wall here."
"I can hear that for myself! Where have the others gone?"
"I think... It's difficult to see, Milady, it's rather dark out there, but I think they're at the gates. Yes! There they are! I can see them now! They're shooting flaming arrows!"
"Flaming arrows?" The needle in Ayla's hand paused in mid-stitch. "Why would they be shooting flaming arrows?"
"Um..." The soldier cleared his throat. "Could you maybe finish, Milady? The whole in my arm isn't quite shut yet."
"Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, again."
"I don't know why," Theoderich called from upstairs. "It looks like they're shooting at something coming up the path. Something large and... God's breatth!"
"Don't curse, Theodrich!"
"Pardon me, Milady! But... I... I just..."
"I know. It's Sir Reuben's influence."
"That and... and I think there's a battering ram heading for the gates."
*~*~**~*~*
"Faster! Faster, you God-damned sons of mangy mongrels! Move!"
Reuben's voice was at full volume, ringing out over the courtyard in a barracks-bellow that would have made any drill sergeant go green with envy. Still, he doubted it would be enough. People down in the courtyard had reinforced the gates with massive beams, some nailed across the oak doors, some supporting them against the ground. It looked solid enough—but Reuben knew first hand the devastating force which a battering ram could loose upon the world.
"Satan's warty prick!" he growled. "I should have foreseen this! I should have had stones piled up behind the gates!"
He couldn't believe how stupid he had been! Of course the enemy wouldn't just attack with ladders and ropes! Not with a castle like this to conquer!
"Won't this be enough?" Linhart asked. Reuben glared at the captain, whose cheeks quickly colored. "Anyway," he continued hurriedly, "I doubt you could have found any stones large and heavy enough. There isn't a quarry for dozens of miles around. When the castle was first built, the Count had to have the building material brought from outside the borders of his own land."
"Well, maybe it's as well we didn't waste time trying, then," Reuben muttered. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he turned to see whether the archers were getting on better. What he saw didn't improve his mood.
The roof of the battering ram was cluttered with arrows like a porcupine. Several of the missiles were still smoldering, some even burning, but the construction underneath stubbornly refused to catch fire. In the light of the torches the defenders had spread around the gate, it wasn't difficult to see why. Thick skins and hides from all manner of beasts covered the top of the battering ram, soaked in water so much that even now, hot flames burning right into them, they were still dripping. The wood, too, looked green and drenched in water.
"It'll be a miracle if we manage to warm that thing up, let alone set fire to it!" Reuben growled, slamming his fist down on the crenels. "Damn! Can't you get at the men underneath?"
"No, Sir!" one of the archers panted, drawing back the string of his bow. "It's too cleverly constructed. We can't get the angle right."
"And they're nearly at the gates!" Linhart exclaimed. He was trying to remain calm, but Reuben could see that the situation was getting to him. "What should we do?"
He didn't look at Reuben, but it was all too clear at whom the plea was aimed. Reuben could see that the man was right. The battering ram was just a few yards from the gates now, and although it moved at a sluggish pace, it was unstoppable.
"Ready ourselves, and wait!" Reuben growled. "That's all we can do! Send a guard down to let down the portcullis! The enemy is at the gates!"
Linhart did as he was bid. The battering moved on, slowly, inexorably. Four yards. Three. Two. One.
It jerked to a halt. Rough voices came from below, commanding, counting.
"Three, two, one—now!"
A split second later, they all heard it: an earth-shattering boom that reverberated all through the castle, making the very stone under the feet tremble.
The enemy was truly at the gates.