Robber Knight's Love: Special Edition

by Thier, Robert

  “Well, am I a gentleman?”

  “No! Now off with your hand!”

  “Do you really want that?” he smirked.

  “Yes, really! We're off to see Isenbard, and if he sees your hand there, he’ll try to cut your head off on the spot! I don’t want you two fighting.”

  For a moment, Ayla thought she could see a guilty expression on Reuben's face. But it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

  “Let's go see Isenbard, then,” he said hastily. “Shall we?”

  “Um…yes, of course.”

  A bit confused about his sudden haste, Ayla let herself be accompanied outside by Reuben. He had let go of that particular part of her body and switched his grip to her hand instead. He held it with a light pressure, not trying to pull her forward or support her physically, just letting her know he was there. Ayla was immeasurably grateful for that, just as she was grateful for his banter that had kept her distracted from the images that lay in ambush at the edges of her mind, waiting to attack.

  With effort, she managed the descent down the stairs. She tried not to let show how much it hurt her feet, but she guessed Reuben saw right through her feeble attempts at deception. Halfway down the stairs, he paused and looked down at her.

  “Everything all right?”

  She nodded wordlessly, and they continued their way down the stairs and through the hall. At the door, Reuben paused again.

  “No, really, I'm fine,” Ayla assured him, but Reuben just frowned and shook his head.

  “No, no… Ayla, don't you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “That!”

  Thrusting out his arm, Reuben pushed open the keep door. A strange noise assaulted Ayla's ear: a howling and clanging like that of the tortured souls of Limbo. It drifted over the castle, carried by the night wind, and sent a chill down Ayla's back.

  Dilli had been waiting right outside the keep, an anxious expression on her face. She rushed towards her mistress as soon as she saw her.

  “Oh, Milady! What is happening? What is this horrible noise?”

  “I don't know,” Ayla said, her voice hardly audible over the unearthly cacophony. “But I will find out. Reuben?”

  He nodded, and the grim determination in his face gave Ayla both hope and fear for what lay ahead.

  “I’m with you, Milady.”

  The Deadly Fear of Cooking Pots

  More than once, Reuben was tempted to just pick Ayla up and carry her the rest of the way. Every time she winced as she took a step forward with her wounded feet, the impulse grew stronger. However, he knew she wouldn't have wanted that, and for some strange reason, he didn't consider what he himself wanted most important where she was concerned.

  With a little of his help, rendered so gently that she probably didn't even notice, Ayla managed the way down the courtyard and through the inner gate. When they passed under the archway, he heard her whisper, “Don't let go of my hand, please? I'll have to see them again soon, and I need you.”

  He knew right away what she was talking about, and his heart ached for her. She should never have had to see any of the horror the enemy had flung over the castle walls.

  Some part of him was seriously considering implementing the plan he had outlined to Ayla only in jest. If he could kill all her enemies himself, that would be immensely satisfying. Not quite as satisfying as some other things he could think of doing in regard to her, but still immensely so.

  “They are just dead pieces of meat and bone,” he tried to comfort her. “There's nothing terrible about them.”

  In the darkness under the arch, he couldn't see her face, but her voice quivered slightly as she answered, “I try to tell myself the same. But then I look into their eyes, and I know differently.”

  Yes, killing all her enemies himself would definitely feel great.

  The gates to the outer courtyard swung open, and a flood of utter confusion hit them with the force of seven thunderstorms. Heads—rotting, split in half, grinning ghastly at everyone around—were littered around the courtyard. People were milling around everywhere, the women wailing and crying, the men shouting senseless orders nobody paid attention to. There were even, Reuben saw, one or two children staring with empty eyes at the horrible, empty eye-sockets of one of the skulls.

  Reuben thought that Ayla would start crying. That she would run back into the inner fortress and try to hide. He felt her body stiffen and anticipated having to support her if she collapsed.

  Only then did he notice that her eyes were not fixed on the grizzly heads scattered over the courtyard, but on the children.

  “You there!”

  Suddenly, Reuben found himself standing alone under the archway. Ayla seemed to have forgotten that her feet were covered with painful cuts. She was striding, as determined as a soldier on the march, towards the young boy and the girl, and with a swift movement, engulfed them in the loose folds of her dress, covering their eyes.

  “You people!” she called to several villagers standing nearby, yammering. “Have you lost your senses?”

  The yammering stopped abruptly. Everyone turned to stare at their liege lady dumbfounded, like they had not expected to see her in the world of life again. One middle-aged woman raised a shivering hand, pointing out over the outer wall, towards the origin of the strange, unearthly wailing that was still wafting over the castle.

  “It is the dead, Milady!” Her twitching hand wandered to the severed heads of the Luntberg soldiers all around the courtyard. “The spirits of the dead are angry with us! They have come to take us all to Hell!”

  “I might very well take you to Hell myself if you don't get these children out of here immediately,” Ayla hissed, thrusting the two youngsters into the woman's arms. “And, while you are at it, rid yourself of your foolish superstitions. The souls of the dead are either in Heaven, Hell or purgatory, and they will stay there and not bother us. Now go!”

  Apparently, Ayla was more intimidating than the spirits of the dead, since the woman hurriedly gathered up the children and made her way through the gate into the inner castle. Reuben watched with wonder as Ayla proceeded towards one of the guards, who had just ceased running around like a headless chicken and now stood straight, aiming to look as professional as possible as his mistress was bearing down on him.

  “You there!”

  “Yes, Milady?”

  “Gather all the people you can find around here—not just guards, all able-bodied men and women. Have them tie cloths over their mouths and noses and remove the heads of your fallen comrades from the courtyard and the walls. Do not touch them with your hands, they may already be befallen by some evil infestation. Use tools to carry them, but treat them respectfully. Bring them to some secluded spot in the castle, well away from any food, water, or living quarters, and have it guarded at all times so no one comes too close.”

  “Yes, Milady.” The guard bowed more deeply than he probably ever had before and then hesitantly asked, “What are we to do with them in the end?”

  Ayla hesitated for a moment, too. Reuben wondered if now she was going to collapse, when she said, “I will come and take care of the matter myself. For now, just collect and guard them.”

  Another swift, relieved bow followed immediately. “As you command, Milady!” He hurried off, and Ayla remained alone in the middle of a widening circle of people, who were calming down, finding things to do, or simply going away. Some bowed into her direction now and again, and all looked awed.

  Reuben judged the moment right and stepped up to stand beside Ayla.

  “And does Milady have a command for me, too?” he asked, only half in jest.

  “Yes,” Ayla whispered. “Hold me.”

  Reuben's fingers found hers just as a guard came out of a tower down at the outer wall. Spotting them, he started towards them.

  “Milady,” he called as he approached. “Milady, you're wanted on the wall!”

  “Shall we go?” Reuben asked and was surprised to
hear gentleness in his own voice. What the hell was happening to him?

  “Yes.” Ayla nodded, and hand in hand, they made their way towards the wall and the unearthly sounds that were drifting over the castle from somewhere out there in the darkness.

  *~*~**~*~*

  Isenbard awaited them atop the wall. His worried face brightened a little as he saw Ayla. Guilt swept over her. She felt more than a little stupid now for acting so irrationally when the first of the heads had struck. She had probably caused him no end of worry.

  “Milady.” Isenbard examined her with sharp eyes. “Have you recovered?”

  “My feet are a little sore, but apart from that, I'm fine,” she answered with a weak smile.

  “Are you, now?” Isenbard's eyes moved away from her face for a moment, landing on her and Reuben's entwined hands. Ayla felt blood rise to her cheek but didn't let go of Reuben's hand. She needed him too much right now.

  “All right then,” grumbled Isenbard. “Come along. I've got to show you something.”

  They followed him, stepping up closer to the crenels. As soon as they did, the eerie howling grew louder in Ayla’s ears. Metallic clanks and strange noises were mixed in with the ghostly wail.

  “What's that?” Ayla asked, not entirely managing to keep her voice steady.

  “That's what I have to show you.” Isenbard threw a look at Reuben. “Though I figure your friend here already knows.”

  Surprised, Ayla looked up at Reuben, just in time to see him nod non-committaly.

  “You know?”

  “Probably.” He shrugged. “But let's have a look first. I want to be sure.”

  Ayla stepped to one of the slits between two crenels and looked down into the valley. Far, far beneath her, down on the ground, she saw one of the strangest sights that had ever met her eyes.

  The enemy camp appeared to have vanished. Where, previously, dozens of campfires had illuminated the night, there now only was a large plain of blackness. Closer to the castle, halfway up the hill, however, there was something which made the disappearance of the entire enemy army seem rather insignificant:

  A train of ghostly, white figures was marching, no, rather floating around the hill. Their entire forms were covered in loose, pale garments that fluttered in the cold night wind and gleamed in the light of the torches they all were carrying. None of them bore a single weapon, nor anything else apart from the torches.

  This made the noises which drifted up to castle even more eerie than they would ordinarily have been. Unearthly howls and screeches were accompanied by metallic clangs and noises the origin of which Ayla could not, for the life of her, determine. As she watched, Reuben and Isenbard on either side of her, the figures in white continued their march around the castle, not even seeming aware of the people watching from the castle wall, apparently gripped by some demonic trance.

  “Who…” Ayla whetted her dry lips and rephrased the question. “What are they?”

  “Enemy soldiers,” Reuben replied, off-hand.

  Ayla stared up at him. Was he being serious?

  “But…” She gestured down towards the white figures. “They don't look anything like soldiers. They don't have chain mail, helmets, or even weapons. They don't even look like normal people!”

  Reuben shrugged. “It's not that hard to find white cloaks and hoods. Just ask the Cistercians.”[16]

  “You mean those are enemy soldiers, dressed up?” Ayla could hardly believe it. It was hard to associate the weird, ethereal, white figures down there in the valley with the rough mercenaries that made up the Margrave's army.

  “They are.”

  “But those noises…” Ayla shook her head, not quite ready to believe it. “This otherworldly clanking and screeching…”

  “Probably cooking pots and other metal objects they have concealed under their cloaks, where they rub and bang them together,” was Reuben's reply. He didn't seem very distressed about the whole thing. As if a column of white creatures—that to Ayla at least still seemed not entirely human—marching around her castle was something perfectly normal.

  “And the camp?” Ayla gestured towards the black nothingness. “Where has their camp gone?”

  “It's still there. They have just put out the fires for tonight.”

  “Why,” inquired Ayla incredulously, “should the enemy army put out their campfires, discard their weapons, and march around my castle dressed in white cloaks, wailing like tortured demons from hell?”

  Reuben looked at her, and Ayla didn't need to hear the answer. The moment she had finished the question, she remembered what he had told her earlier.

  “They do it,” she whispered, looking up at Reuben with wide eyes, “to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies.”

  He smiled at her, and for once, his smile was neither devilish nor cunning—it was full of pride. “Just so.”

  “Well, they won't have any luck with that,” Ayla said determinedly. “Flying heads—all right, that is scary. But a bunch of people dressed up in funny white cloaks, wailing all night… Nobody will be afraid of that once they hear the explanation, will they?”

  When nobody answered, Ayla looked from Isenbard to Reuben and back again. Neither of the knights were paying attention to the enemies outside, but looking into the courtyard where a crowd of anxious villagers had gathered once again, whispering and pointing to the sky from where the wailing appeared to come.

  “They won’t, will they?” Ayla repeated desperately. “Reuben? Isenbard?”

  Sleepless Nights

  The rumor spread through the castle like wildfire: the spirits of the dead themselves had risen from the earth to conquer Luntberg and plunge all of them into eternal darkness.

  Proof? Weren't the severed heads and the creepy howling proof enough? Those were the spirits of the dead out there, that was as clear as daylight.

  Reuben found this rumor very interesting, especially since it had been the heads of Luntberg soldiers which had been catapulted over the wall. Ergo, if their spirits were indeed wandering around the castle, one should rather expect them to defend it rather than attack it, shouldn't one?

  The villagers didn't seem to share this optimistic view of the supernatural. They kept as far away as possible from the old pigsty where the gruesome missiles were temporarily stored.

  Well, apart from one particular villager.

  “Sir Reuben?”

  Reuben looked down. Then he looked a little farther down. Finally, his eyes found the little girl in front of him. She couldn’t have been more than five years old, with a mass of black hair hiding most of her face, except for the eyes and the stubborn mouth. In each hand, she clutched a doll.

  “Yes?” he asked, not really paying attention. “What do you want?”

  She pointed to the old pigsty. “To get in there.”

  That got her Reuben’s full attention. He frowned. “There are parts of dead people in there.”

  “Aye, I know. I want to know what chopped-off heads look like.” She pouted at him. “But the guard in front of the door won’t let me!”

  “Fancy that. What a cruel man.”

  “That’s what I said! So I thought maybe you could bash him on the head to make him let me go inside.”

  As tempting as the idea was, Reuben could already see Ayla chatting with the guard at the pigsty, who was explaining to her with expansive gestures what had happened. The lady of Luntberg threw a suspicious glance at him and the little girl.

  Hm…maybe no head-bashing today. It was probably more than his life was worth.

  “Fye? Fye, come here. I need to talk to you.” Determinedly, Ayla strode over towards them.

  It took a while, but finally Ayla managed to dissuade the little girl, although she didn't go without considerable protest.

  After that, Ayla called together a detachment of guards to bury the heads in a secluded corner of the outer courtyard. But that didn't help. The muttering among the villagers continued.

  If only I
could do something! I want to burn those goddamn soldiers alive! I want to tear out their guts and feed them to the dogs!

  But he couldn’t. The soldiers dressed up as spirits were staying safely out of bow range, and to open the gates just to try and send out a party of soldiers to attack them was much too risky. That might be exactly what the enemy was hoping for.

  So for now, we’re stuck with the whole castle thinking that the spirits of the dead are hounding us!

  Not that the villagers ever voiced their fear of the supernatural when Reuben was around. Oh no! As soon as either he or Lady Ayla appeared, the villagers fell into silence immediately and looked as though nothing in the world could bother them.

  However, Reuben suspected that this same reaction was triggered by entirely different motivations. In his case, they said nothing because they were afraid of his reaction—in Ayla's case, because her presence probably genuinely assuaged their fears.

  There was fear in the castle, undoubtedly. But Ayla's presence, her talking to and being with the people, kept it from turning into outright panic. So far, the enemy's plan seemed to have failed.

  An assumption that could not have been more wrong. For besides frightening the people of Luntberg, there was a second part to Sir Luca's devious plan.

  It became apparent when, at midnight, one shift of guards was replaced by another, and the men who had been standing watch up until then wanted to go to sleep. The minute the watch changed, the wailing and clanking outside the castle intensified tenfold. At first, none of the soldiers dared approach Lady Ayla about this. It was just noise, after all. But finally, after three sleepless hours, one of them came to her chambers to tell her that they could not find rest because the voices of the ghosts were keeping him and his comrades awake.

  “I should have foreseen this!” Angrily, Reuben smashed his fist down onto the table in his old sick-room, where Ayla, Isenbard, and he had gathered in an impromptu nightly meeting to discuss the situation. “I should have known from the start! Luca does not only intend to frighten our men, he intends to wear them out! To sap every last bit of strength from them! I am a fool!”