No, no, no, no! He's going to break his neck! No! For one agonizing moment, there was no room in Ayla's mind for any other thought than that. No, actually it was three and a half moments. Three and a half agonizing moments during which Reuben plummeted towards the ground that would break all his bones, towards the spears of the enemy that would impale him like a roast pork on a skewer.
Then, Reuben roared. It wasn't words. It wasn't even a battlecry. It was an animalistic roar, loud lenough to tune out the sounds of battle. Soldiers everywhere turned their heads towards it. Thus it was that when Reuben came down on top of the battering ram with a thunderous crash, every eye down in the courtyard and up on the walls was on him.
"Margrave!" he bellowed, striding along the gable of the battering ram as if it weren't just a few inches wide, and the slanted roof of the contraption didn't fall steeply down on either side. "Margrave! I challenge you!"
"No!" Ayla's fingers clawed into the crenels. "No, no, no, you stupid fool! Don't!"
Reuben didn't seem to hear, or want to listen. But then, when did he ever listen to her?
"Margrave!" His thunderclap of a voice alone was enough to make the enemy soldiers back off and lower their swords. Ayla could see it in their eyes: This is him! they were thinking. This is the Red Robber Knight! The man with the devil inside!
"Margrave! Come out of the hole you're hiding in! I, Sir Reuben Rachwild von Riffgarten challenge you!"
The Margrave stepped out from the shadow of the gatehouse. For the first time in her life, Ayla saw him clearly, the enemy who had haunted her dreams so long. He was tall, lean, and definitely not ugly, in spite of the broken nose that marred his features. Still, Ayla would never have described him as "attractive". In fact, the way his sharp, dark eyes were glaring up at the defenders of Luntberg right then made her want turn and run, not step closer.
The Margrave raised his chin just about an inch. "I do not hide. And unlike you, I do not play tricks, either. You are already defeated. You cannot issue a challenge in the middle of a battle."
Reuben grinned, and drew his sword. "Watch me."
With a few quick bounds he had reached the end of the battering ram's roof, and then he leapt. He landed in front of a gaggle of enemy soldiers, who immediately took a step backwards. Reuben laughed out loud.
"Kill him!" the Margrave shouted. "Whoever pierces his black heart shall have a hundred silver Thalers!"
"Only a hundred?" Reuben's glittering eyes wandered over the soldiers arrayed in front of him. "All right. Which one of you fine lads wants to die for a hundred silver Thalers? Which one of you wants his soul shredded by the demon in my sword and be dragged down to hell in burning pieces?"
The soldiers blanched. Reuben, his prowl like that of a panther, took a step forward. They took a step back.
"Which one of you wants to be dragged along the streets of Pandemonium in chains of burning ice? Which one of you wants to enter the doors of the palace of Satan under the stormy sky of hell from which tears and blood rain down upon you?"
He took another step forward, they another step back.
"Don't listen to him you cowardly maggots!" the Margrave screamed. "He's no devil! He's just as much a mortal man as any of you!"
"That's right," Reuben purred, still advancing. "Listen to your commander. I'm just like any of you mortals. After all, who couldn't do a simple thing like this?"
Without warning, he lunged forward. The soldier in front of him tried to stumble back, but Reuben's hand had already closed around his throat. The other hand picked the torch the man was holding from his slackening grasp—at the burning end.
"Care for a little taste of hellfire?"
Reuben's voice was a whisper now, but everyone in the courtyard heard it. His hand, engulfed in flames, came down on the soldiers face, burning, burning, burning. The screams that rose up over the dead silent enemy army truly were the screams of the damned.
After a while Reuben dropped the burning, whimpering carcass that had once been a man and held out his burning hand, offering the torch back to his enemies.
"As the Margrave said, I'm a mortal man, just like you. Would any of you mortal men like to try and hold this?"
They backed away without saying a word, naked fear in their eyes.
"Where are you going?" The Margrave's voice was rising higher now. He didn't quite sound like a confident commander anymore, a man who was winning the battle and the war. "Stand and fight, you fools! Kill him! I'll give you two-hundred Thalers! Three-hundred!"
"Don't bother!" Reuben laughed. "There are a lot more opportunities to make money in the world, but every man only has one soul to waste!"
"Soul? You can't harm anyone's soul! You're no devil! You're a bloody trickster!"
"You think so, do you?"
Sweeping the torch around him in a fiery ark, Reuben uttered another roar, even louder than the last one. Even Ayla up the wall couldn't suppress a shiver. And the soldiers right in front of him? They turned and ran!
Reuben's diabolical laughter chased them over the courtyard. "They don't seem to agree, Margrave! Ready to have your soul reaped?"
There was a metallic ring as the Margrave's sword cleared its scabbard. "I'm ready to kill a devil any day! Especially a fake one!"
Without another word, Reuben started running. His armored feet struck the ground like sticks beating on wardrums, his sword cut the air in a promise of blood to be shed. The entire enemy army scattered in front of him as if running form the king of hell himself.
Maybe, Ayla thought, they think they're doing just that.
The Margrave had started running, too. His movements were quicker, more fluid, but lacking the beauty of raw bestiality that surrounded Reuben in a gleaming aura of death. Reuben was the blood-red sunrise at Armageddon. The Margrave was the long night after.
Long before they came within reach of each other, every living obstacle was out of the way. From high up on the wall, Ayla watched the enemy army stream away from the center of the courtyard like ants from the stomping foot of a giant. Left behind was a great big empty circle, filled only with the gory, scattered remnants of the fallen and two Titans racing towards each other, intent on killing.
She saw only the one she loved.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she murmured, gripping the stone so hard her hand bled. "How could he do this? This is so, so stupid!"
It wasn't, of course. It was risky as the darkest pit of hell, and completely insane, but not stupid. If this really worked... Ayla didn't dare to hope. Didn't dare to even think of the possibility.
No, this wasn't stupid. This was brilliant. Insanely brilliant, but still brilliant.
Of course she'd never tell Reuben that.
Please, she prayed, grasping the stone even tighter, as if the hard surface were any substitute for the warm, hard feeling of his muscles under her fingers. Please, Lord, let him be around for me to tell him how stupid he is! Please!
The circle of spectators down in the courtyard was complete. The two opponents had almost reached it other. Twelve Yards. Ten. Nine.
Ayla saw Reuben's hand steady. He didn't slow down in the slightest, but his sword stopped moving up and down. He was taking aim. So was the Margrave.
Eight. Seven. Six.
A whispering rose from the enemy army. The whispering grew into a murmur, and the murmur into a roar. It tuned out everything else in the courtyard – until Reuben uttered his battle cry. That shut the spectators up. It was the most terrifying sound Ayla had ever heard. Only... the black silence coming from the Margrave was just as frightening.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One...
They collided.
Ayla was no swordsman, but she'd learned a good bit about the art during the siege. She immediately recognized the standard attack they were both using. The simplest. In many ways, the best: right down towards the opponent's neck.
She also recognized the moment when the Margrave threw himself to the side, evading Reuben's blow, rolling, and coming up to strike the other from behind.
"No!"
Ayla's cry rang over the courtyard a moment before Reuben's foot lashed out, catching the Margrave in the side of the head. Thrown off course, the strike that would have dug into Reuben's side thudded against the ground instead. And so did its owner, uttering a pain-filled grunt.
"You really thought that was going to do it?" Reuben's sword came down and around in a graceful arc that would have been deadly if the Margrave hadn't jerked out of the way just in time. Reuben's sword didn't hit the ground. He changed the direction of the blow and forced the Margrave to retreat further. "Come on! That was pathetic! Are you really going to put in so little fight to save your miserable little black soul?"
No answer from the Margrave. He was already on his feet again, moving sideways, his narrowed eyes focused on Reuben. Ayla had to admit, he was quick. Quicker than Isenbard had been. Maybe even quicker than Reuben. The rumors she'd heard about his being one of the best fighters in the Empire hadn't been lying.
"Of course, you might think it's not worth saving." Reuben's metallic voice, coming from behind the iron mask of his visor, was as dark as it was dangerous. With a shudder, Ayla sked herself whether there had ever been a time when a lady found her champion just as frightening as the man he was defending her from. Probably not.
"Is it that?" The two started circling each other. Still, Reuben was the only one speaking. His voice was like claws, digging into your mind. "Do you think your soul is worthless, Margrave? You're right, you know. So why don't you just make things easy on yourself and lie down to die?"
That was when the Margrave struck again. The cut came in diagonally from Reuben's left, and Reuben brought up his sword to parry. But the moment the two blades connected, the Margrave's left hand dived down to his hip, and when it reappeared in Ayla's field of vision, he was holding another sword. She didn't even have time for scream. The blade just shot forward, towards Reuben's unprotected right side.
Good God! He's got only one weapon, and the Margrave now has two! That dirty, cheating swine! There's no chance in heaven or hell Reuben can parry that!
And there really wasn't. So he didn't even try.
Instead, he pushed away the sword that was binding his only weapon with a mighty shove, raised it high, high into the air and brought it down using all the force he could muster. Even from up here, Ayla could see the Margrave stiffen, and could imagine the eyes behind the helmet widen in fear. With a mighty effort, he changed the direction of both weapons and brought them up over his head, crossing the blades.
He was just in time. Reuben's sword fell like a thunderbolt, and would have split the Margrave's head in two if the crossed swords hadn't caught the brunt of the blow. Even so, the force made Falkenstein's knees shake and nearly buckle.
Reuben's knee didn't shake. It shot forward, catching the Margrave in the stomach. Even with his armor on, the blow sent him stumbling backwards.
"A second sword?" Reuben laughed. "Do you really think that scares me?"
And he charged. He didn't even try to strike. He just plowed into the Margrave, lifting him clean of his feet, and ran and ran until, after a few more yards, they crashed into the stone wall of the gatehouse. Stunned by the impact, the Margrave didn't see Reuben's hand reaching for his spare sword until it was too late.
Reuben's fingers wrapped around the Margrave's wrist.
Wham!
The Margrave's hand was slammed against the rough stone wall.
Wham!
Again.
Wham!
And again.
With a clatter, the Margrave's second blade fell to the ground.
"Now things are as they ought to be. Yah!"
With another battle cry, Reuben brought his own sword up. The Margrave's remaning blade met it with a clang. They were pressed close together, now. Frighteningly close, in Ayla's opinion, and they were grappling for life and death.
The two swords creamed and hissed in protest as metal slid against metal, each knight trying to get the upper hand, to get more leverage behind his weapon. For minutes they struggled on like this, caught in an unbreakable bind. Their free hands were busy trying to punch and grab at ach other, to cause distractions in any feasible way.
More than once, the Margrave tried a trick that would have got him disqualified if this had been a tournament match: ramming his fingers through the slit of Reuben's visor, kicking him in the groin... Things that no knight should even contemplate, and that made Ayla want to scream with rage.
This was how the Margrave fought? He saw that Reuben was stronger, so he relied not just on his speed but most of all on devious tricks to win?
Ayla really would have screamed, if not for one thing: no matter what the Margrave did, it didn't work. It would have, oh yes, normally it most certainly would have. Tricks as vile and devious as the ones he used would have destroyed his opponent in a matter of minutes – if he hadn't been fighting a man more devious than the devil himself.
Every jabbed finger was grabbed and twisted, every knee to the groin knocked to the side. It was clear as the stars in the sky that Reuben had used those tricks a thousand times more than the Margrave had. It wasn't just clear to Ayla, either. Reuben's laughter made it obvious to everyone.
"Go on," he goaded his opponent. "Give it another go! What's next? The side of my knees? My throat? I've got a gorget over that, you know."
The Margrave let out a frustrated growl. It was the first sound he had made during the entire fight. The first sound that showed he was human. And it was then that Reuben made his move.
His left hand came up. For a moment, Ayla thought he was going for the Margrave's face—but then, to her utter amazement, he grabbed his enemy's sword at the blade. True, his hand might be covered by a gauntlet, but still...!
The Margrave clearly hadn't been expecting this either. Before he or Ayla could recover from their shock, Reuben pushed forward with his left hand, sliding the tip of his sword over and around the Margrave's blade and burying in his shoulder.
"Aaargh!"
The metallic cry from the inside of the Margrave's helmet sounded like that of a wounded eagle. Unlike a wounded eagle, he didn't fall from the sky, but ripped a dagger from its hidden sheath and slashed at Reuben's exposed armpit. Reuben jumped back, and the Margrave hurled himself forwards. His wound seamed only slight, and armed with two weapons again now, he was more deadly than ever. Slashing and cutting he advanced on Reuben.
Reuben made the same move as before, trying to force his enemy to cross the blades, but this time, the Margrave expected it. Jumping aside, he smashed the butt of his sword against the side of Reuben's helmet. And then, flipping his dagger around so it faced downwards, he plunged it into Reuben's shoulder.
Ayla's terrified scream couldn't even be heard over the "Aawww!" of the crowd.
Please! Ayla prayed. Please don't let him die! He can't die like this!
The thoughts of the crowd seemed to run in exactly the opposite direction. From their wild-eyed stares, it was obvious they realized for the first time the Red Knight could die like this—that he could die at all.
The Margrave uttered a triumphant hiss.
"There! You see?" Kicking Reuben in the stomach, he made him stumble back, and took another step forward, raising his sword with both hands. "He's not invulnerable! He's no devil! He's dead meat!"
A whisper rose up from the watching crowd. People threw each other uncertain glances. Some even dared to draw their weapons, and step closer. A mob was in the making. Only seconds, and it would grow into an army again. And then, Ayla knew, Reuben would be dead.
But before that could happen, everyone heard it. The sound no one had been expecting—except maybe Ayla.
Reuben's laughter. His deepest, darkest, most diabolical laughter. He threw back his helmeted head and laughed and laughed until every single hair within hearing distance stood on end.
"Is that all? All you can muster against the forces of darkness in me? One measly little dagger?" He laughed again. "You have an abominable lack appreciation for symmetry, Margrave."
And with that, Reuben plugged a dagger from a sheath at his belt, and without uttering a sound, drove it into his as yet uninjured shoulder.
"What?" Ayla's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "His own shoulder? Has he gone completely mad? What in God's name..."
Her voice trailed off. Reuben wasn't doing anything in God's name. The normal, good, sane rules didn't apply to him. He played by a darker set of rules. Rules that the men down there in the courtyard seemed to understand. Stricken with terrified silence, they retreated from the Red Knight, who now had two daggers sticking from his shoulders like giant spikes, and seemed not in the least to be bothered by it.
"I'm finished with my decoration, Margrave." Raising his free hand, Reuben beckoned to the other warrior, seeming not the least effected by the blades buried in his flesh. "Shall we?"
Silent as the night, the Margrave charged. The two of them met again in the middle of the courtyard.
They fought as if their duel had only just begun. Slicing, cutting, blocking and stabbing at a rate at which other men couldn't dream of moving they beat each other across the courtyard, never stopping, never retreating. And all the while Reuben had two daggers buried in his shoulders, shifting around with every move he made. If he had been a normal man, the pain alone would have brought him to his knees.
But he wasn't a normal man. And that fact was born in all too clearly on the enemy army. If the Margrave started to believe it, he showed no sign of it. He fought just as vicious and devious as ever. Soon, blood was streaming out of multiple wounds on both warrior's bodies.
Reuben laughed each time he was hit, but Ayla up on the wall did not. He might not feel pain, but he lost blood just like everyone else. Too much it gone, and he would collapse like a cripple.
"Don't be stupid!" Ayla growled, hitting the stone wall with her fist again. "Don't you see he's a dangerous fighter, you idiot? Take this seriously, damn you!"
It was the first time in her life that she had ever cursed. But some things were worth cursing about. If she all survived this, she'd do penance for a month.
Reuben and the Margrave were exchanging a series of fast slashes down in the courtyard, and it looked as if Reuben might finally be getting somewhere. He seemed to be driving the Margrave back, seemed to be getting control of the fight. Still... Ayla felt uneasy for some reason.
Then, all of a sudden, the Margrave bent down and, ducking under one of Reuben's blows, snatched up something from the ground.
"Catch!" Hurling the thing at Reuben, he jumped forward. Ayla leaned over the breastwork as far as she could. She could just see a black shape fly forward and rap around Reuben's swordarm. Then she saw a glint of silver.
It was a standard! One of the Margrave's torn and bloodied battle-standards, turned into an impromptu throwing net. The ting wrapped itself around Reuben's sword arm, trapping it, encumbering his movements. The Margrave charged.
Without hesitation, Reuben lifted his free left hand and ripped one of the daggers from his body. A fountain of blood spewed out, but he didn't even twitch. He brought the dagger up and caught the Margrave's blow on the crossguard, inches away from his neck. His other arm, trapped sword and all, hit the Margrave in the head, making him stumble back. Reuben's next hit was so powerful that it tore the thick cloth clean in half and sent the Margrave flying.
Falkenstein landed like cat, rolling and coming up ready to block. If he hadn't been, Reuben's sword would have taken his head clean off. Reuben pressed the attack, and the Margrave retreated further. He continued to retreat, moving in circles backwards across the courtyard. Blow upon blow rained down on him, and he didn't even try to attack back.
"Yes!" Ayla hissed. "That's it! Just like that! Get him, Reuben!"
Only when after several more breathless minutes, the margrave still hadn't made a move to attack did Ayla begin to get the feeling that something was going on. She was no expert swordsman, but there had been several perfectly good openings for counterattack. The Margrave hadn't taken a single one of them. What was wrong? Was he tiring? It didn't seem like it.
In fact, if anyone was getting slower, it was Reuben. The hailstorm of blows he had been unleashing on his foe slowly started to abate. His movements became slower, almost sluggish. What in God's name was going on?
And then Ayla saw it.
"Mary, Mother of God!"
At first she hadn't spotted the red liquid. Of course not. How would you see red liquid on a red armor? But then she caught sight of the stains that spattered the ground underneath his feet wherever he stepped. He was bleeding! And not just out of a scratch, like the Margrave. The dagger he had pulled from his shoulder! He was bleeding from a serious wound.
Suddenly, the Margrave's passivity made perfect sense. Why risk attacking Reuben, when he could simply wait, fend of increasingly feeble blows, and then watch his opponent collapse into unconsciousness?
Right then and there, Ayla would have given anything to be able to miraculously plaster a bandage on that wound of Reuben's. Her inheritance, her favorite horse, her right arm—anything! But just this once, when her skills as a healer would really have been useful, she was too far away. She was helpless. Reuben was down there on his own. He wouldn't get out of this fight until either he or the Margrave was dead. And at the moment, it didn't look as if it were going to be the Margrave.
"That sneaky, dishonorable, scheming bastard!" Ayla growled, pounding the breastwork. "Forgive me, Lord, for befouling your clean air with curses, but.... But he's a bastard! No knight should fight like this!"
Reuben stumbled, and the Margrave laughed. It was a cold laugh, cold, calculating and triumphant. There was wide opening, but Falkenstein didn't take it. He just gave Reuben a punch in the chest, making him stumble back, and laughed again.
He's not going to win, Ayla told herself. He's the evil one! He's not going to win! He's not going to... He isn't, is he, Lord? Oh God, please...!
Reuben stumbled again—and this time, the Margrave didn't hesitate. His sword shot forward, catching Reuben in the chest.
"No!"
Ayla's scream went unheard amongst the roar that went up from the watching crowd. Reuben flew back and crashed onto the ground. But he rolled and came up again right away, the sword still in his hand, and his chest unhurt. His armor had caught the brunt of the blow. He launched a counter-attack, striking from right, then left, then right again. The Margrave blocked each strike with careful precision and waited for his chance.
It came when Reuben stumbled again. Ducking under Reuben's guard, the Margrave launched another blow at him, this time hitting him in the shoulder. The impact threw Reuben back even farther than the first blow had. He came to his feet, but the Margrave was already there, unleashing a series of blows that he barely managed to fend off.
"Please, Reuben!" Ayla mumbled. "Pull yourself together, for me!"
It was as if he heard her. He looked up, and Ayla could have sworn that over the incredible distance between them, through fire and blood and the black of the night, she could see his gray eyes shine through the slit of his visor. For just one moment she thought he'd heard her. For just one moment, she thought he'd do as she had said.
Then the Margrave's sword hit him in the chest again, full-on.
"Reuben!"
He flew backwards, through the cold night air, and came down with an almighty crash of metal on the fallen portcullis in front of the gatehouse. He didn't get up. All Ayla could do was watch helplessly as the Margrave strode forward, sword raised, and Reuben, made weaker from blood-loss than she had ever seen him, could do nothing more than crawl.
His sword had flown out of his hands. Even so, he didn't try and get to it. Now, he crawled away from it, away from the Margrave, away from the fight. Reaching the end of the portcullis, he slid off the giant metal grill. It was all that was between him and the Margrave now—between him and death.
"No... Reuben, no..."
Tears were running down Ayla's face unashamedly. Her hands had stopped trying to grab and punch the stones in front of her. Instead, she was reaching out now, reaching out into nothingness, as if she could span the deadly gap between her and Reuben, and pull him into her arms, into safety.
The Margrave stopped only a few yards away from the portcullis.
"This," he proclaimed, his cold voice ringing out all over the courtyard, "is how you kill a devil."
He stepped forward.
Reuben knelt down, bowing his head.
Ayla's eyes widened in shock. Was he going to beg for his life? No. Reuben might loose this fight, the sky might burn and the moon explode, but one thing she knew for sure: Reuben would never, ever beg for anything. But what, then...?
It was a tiny movement. So tiny that the Margrave probably didn't notice. But Ayla noticed, even from up here: she noticed Reuben's fingers coiling around one end of the portcullis, and his muscles tensing. What the—
The Margrave had almost reached the iron grid when Reuben moved.
"Raaah!"
With an almighty roar, he pushed upwards, lifting one end of the grate that was strong enough and heavy enough to withstand a siege weapon into the air. He rose, his muscles straining under the burden. Slowly, he took a step forward. Then another. And another.
The Margrave slowed down. The cheers that had started to go up from the enemy army subsided. Reuben moved faster and faster, pushing the giant iron grid farther and father up.
"What?" The Margrave laughed. "Do you think that's going to protect you from me?" He stepped forward again, raising his sword. "It'll take more than that to scare me!"
"Really?" Reuben laughed, and it was the most wonderful and terrible sound Ayla had ever heard. "Let's see about that!"
He started to run, pushing the portcullis up ahead of him. It was just before it reached its zenith that the Margrave finally realized what was going on.
"No!"
"Yes!" Reuben roared in answer.
From up where she stood, Ayla could see it was already too late for the Margrave to run. He seemed to understand that, too. Dropping his sword, he rushed forward to throw himself against the portcullis with all his might.
The two knights came together with a crash, unarmed and yet both deadly, the instrument of their death swaying in the wind between them like giant entangled blades of metal grass. The Margrave grunted, Reuben shouted curses in all tongues known to man, and Ayla prayed—prayed as she had never prayed before!
For a moment, the giant metal grid teetered precariously in the air – then it came down with unstoppable force. The sound of bones crunching cut through the gasp of the crowd like a razor through dry old parchment.
Ayla stared at the red figure atop the portcullis, hardly daring to believe her eyes. Red. Not silver and black. Red had come out on top. Red like fire. Red like blood. Red like love.
Red like Reuben.
A noise drifted to Ayla's ears. It sounded like a small animal, whimpering—something small and furry that had just escaped the clutches of a predator. It took Ayla a moment to realize that the sound was coming from her own throat.
Thank God! She didn't have the strength to say it out loud, but she thought it, over and over again. Thank God, thank God, thank God...
Reuben remained where he was, resting on top of his enemy's trapped remains—then, suddenly, there was a flash of metal, and the blade of a dagger stabbed up from between the bars, narrowly missing Reuben's chest. Cursing, he rolled to the side, just in time to avoid another stab.
"No!"
That black-hearted bastard was still alive!
With an almighty effort, Reuben tore the second dagger from his other shoulder and plunged it down towards his enemy. He stabbed like a berserker, again and again, blood spewing up towards him in fountains. The Margrave's dagger didn't come up again, and still Reuben didn't stop, He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until finally, at last, the thing underneath him stopped twitching.
For a moment he froze, kneeling on the metal grid, the dagger trembling in his hand. Slowly, his fingers unfurled and the weapon clattered to the ground. Sinking forward, Reuben fell onto the portcullis. There he lay, still and unmoving. For a few agonizing moments, Ayla thought that he, too, was dead. The enemy soldiers clearly shared this opinion. They began to inch forward, towards the unmoving body in red armor.
Then, very slowly, the unmoving body started to rise.
The soldiers all around stopped in their tracks.
First, Reuben pushed himself up on his hands. For a moment, he knelt there. But not for one second did he look like a supplicant. Now, he looked like a crouched lion about to spring. Then he pushed one knee forward, and once he had leverage against the ground, pushed himself further and further up until he was rising to his feet.
The Red Robber Knight rose like Satan ascending from hell. With two measured steps, he stepped off the portcullis. There was nothing unsteady about his movements now. Ayla couldn't take her eyes off him as he raised his hands to his head and untied the straps of his helmet.
The helmet lifted, revealing the face that Ayla knew so well: dangerously stunning and stunningly dangerous. His grey eyes burned. For some reason hidden deep within those burning eyes, now that he had taken off his helmet and everyone could see his human face, he seemed more diabolical than ever.
Reuben stepped forward, and picked up his sword from where it had fallen on the ground. Raising the blood-stained blade, he pointed it at the enemy soldiers all around him.
"Who's next?"
For a moment, all was silent stillness.
A big soldier who stood a little to his left was the first to move. He lowered his terror-filled eyes, and then sank to one knee, bowing his head. The man on his left went next, then the one on his right, and then the movement was spreading like a wave. It only took moments, and the entire enemy army was kneeling before Sir Reuben Rachwild von Riffgarten, Commander of all the forces of Lady Ayla von Luntberg.
Ayla herself stood high atop the wall, stock-still. It didn't quite get through to her what she was seeing, until she heard the first cheers. She looked up, and saw people on the wall raising their fists into the air, shouting Reuben's name and hers, their dirty bloodied faces breaking into broad smiles.
Cheering? Why were they cheering? It couldn't be that they had actually won, could it?
Could it?
"Reu-ben! Reu-ben! Reu-ben!"
"Ay-la! Ay-la!"
"Long live lady Ayla!"
Maybe... just maybe it could. Oh God...
Down in the courtyard, Reuben raised his head to look at her. And when his eyes met hers, and she saw the devilish grin on her face, she knew that they had indeed won. That smile screamed victory.
Raising his bloody sword skyward, Reuben uttered a roar that rose over the voices of the people of Luntberg, mixing with them in a maelstrom of joy and jubilation.
"Victory!"
Slowly, Ayla too raised her arm, the hand clenched into a fist. Victory! After all this time, all the struggle and suffering and blood, they had finally, miraculously, emerged triumphant. She could hardly believe it, but there the evidence was, right in front of her eyes: the entire enemy army kneeling to the robber knight. Her robber knight.
"Victory," she whispered, tasting the word. "Victory." For the first time in days, she allowed herself to relax, to take in a really deep breath and suck the air not just into her lungs, but into her very heart.
It was then that she smelled the smoke. And with the burning smell, she started to notice other things which, over the excitement of the duell, she had not noticed before: the flickering red light coming from behind her, the sound of crackling, and the screams echoing from the direction of—
No!
Ayla whirled around, praying, begging that it wasn't true. Her prayers weren't answered. There she stood, frozen to a statue, staring up at the keep of Luntberg Castle, watching it burn.
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Greetings, Milords & Ladies!
A little info about that fighting scene: If any of you might be inclined to think that gripping a sword at the blade is impossible or too dangerous, I assure you, neither is the case. It's an actual medical fight technique shown in historical treatises on swordfighting. Some treatises even show the sword being gripped with both hands by the blade, and the handle and crossbar being used like a hammer. This (for any children reading this) is, however, not a technique I'd recommend you trying out at home.
Farewell
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Thaler: A medieval German coin.
Armageddon: This word is often used synonymous for "end of the world". However, in Christian mythology, it is actually the name of the place where the armies of Heaven and Hell will meet for the final battle. So instead of being the name of the end of the world, it's the name of the place where the end of the world is going down.