Robber Knight: Special Edition

by Thier, Robert

  Her eyes fixed on the burning debris and the dead, she added, in a low voice: “Fire and sulphur rained from heaven and destroyed them all.”

  The captain rose, a new determined light shining in his eyes. He may not have been familiar with much of the Bible in his mother tongue, but he was able to recognize the word of the Lord when he heard it.

  “As you command, Milady,” he said, his voice reverent. Then he raised his arm. “Three cheers for our Lady Ayla!”

  Ayla's mouth dropped open as a cheer went up for her. And another. And another. Soldiers were cheering her, as their leader. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that she had never expected to experience. And she hadn't missed the significance of what the captain had said: Not “yes, Milady” or “as you wish, Milady” but “as you command, Milady.” She was a commander now. And all these men had accepted that, placing their lives in her hands. Even Sir Waldar was cheering along, though his cheering was interrupted by loud bursts of laughter. They believed in her ability to lead them through the coming battles.

  Mary, mother of God! What was she going to do?

  Misused Candlesticks

  Though her horse had collapsed on the ride down to the bridge and had by no means recovered yet, Ayla had no problem getting back to the castle: she was carried up there on the shoulders of a cheering crowd. It was sweet, and wonderful, and so terribly embarrassing! She longed to tell the people that it hadn't been her idea, that somebody else deserved the credit for saving their lives, but she couldn't. If she told them that they owed their lives to the crazy ideas of a feverish merchant instead of the wisdom of their mistress, they would lose their morale, and very rightly so. Ayla herself felt like losing her morale, and her mind and temper along with it.

  What drove her nearly crazy was the question: How on earth had he known? How had Reuben, the merchant, managed to come up with a functioning battle plan revealing a knowledge of tactics and weaponry possibly surpassing even that of Sir Isenbard? It was infuriating!

  Yes, he had, of course, saved her life in a way, but that was no reason why she couldn't be angry with him, was it? She was going to get the truth out of him if it was the last thing she did!

  It took her quite a while to get away from the crowd and into the keep, mostly because people wouldn't stop bowing and cheering.

  Finally, she managed to slip up the stairs of the keep and shut the doors behind her. With a sigh, she leaned against the old wood, closing her eyes in relief. Outside, people were still chanting her name.

  How could they cheer her for this? For something that hadn't even been her idea? And worse still, for something that should not be cause for cheers? To kill the mercenaries had been no glorious or great deed—it had been necessary, but that was all. Behind her closed eyelids, she could still see the boats burning, hear the screams of the dying men. These were things she knew would haunt her unto her dying day.

  And it hadn't even been her idea. It had been his.

  After a brief respite, she opened her eyes again and proceeded up the stairs. Reuben was going to tell her everything!

  *~*~**~*~*

  When the cheering started, Reuben knew that all was well. Not because of the cheering itself—all soldiers cheered after a victory, whether friend or enemy. No, it was because of what they were shouting. Whom they were cheering.

  “Lady Ayla! Long live Lady Ayla!”

  “Huzzah! Huzzah!”

  “Three cheers for the Lady of Luntberg!”

  They were cheering Ayla. They were cheering their victorious lady. Reuben felt his entire body relax. Sir Luca had lost. She had triumphed over that bootless beetle-headed haggard! Abruptly, he felt a swelling of pride in his chest. He tried to suppress it. Why should he be proud of her? She had nothing to do with him. She was just some girl.

  No, she isn't. Not to you, he thought, shaking his head. And you know that perfectly well.

  He was proud of her. His beautiful girl had done the impossible and beaten an experienced commander in battle. She had to be a witch, in a way, to accomplish that. She didn't just put him under her spell, but everybody.

  Yet the fact that she had won this time didn't mean that he was ever going to let her do something as dangerous as this again. Oh no, as soon as he was back on his feet she would stay nicely at home in her big castle with its solid walls and he would take care of that puking malt-worm Sir Luca who had dared to steal his armor. He would take care of every danger for her.

  Carefully, Reuben flexed his muscles. He wasn't strong enough yet, but he soon would be. All of his rage and determination—and he had plenty of both—were focused on burning the illness out of his body. Even if at the moment he still had to lie here, that didn't mean he had to stay idle. He could practice. It would do him good, take his mind off things.

  He gripped a cloth that was lying on the floor beside him. With a flick of his hand, he whipped it around so it caught on a candlestick standing on the only table in the room. The candlestick was catapulted off the table, rotating through the air. Reuben's arm shot up with almost all its usual dexterity and caught it. Ah, excellent! Some strength seemed to be returning to his arms, at least, if not yet his legs.

  Placing his left hand at his hip, he held the candlestick out from him as if it were a sword and turned it from side to side. It was a poor replacement for a real blade, of course, but it would have to do, for now. Creating an imaginary enemy in front of him, Reuben let his arm dart upwards. It moved with a fluid grace belying his still less than perfect state of health. His airy enemy blocked the strike, and Reuben moved to the side to duck and deliver a pommel strike to the man's chin. Then, in a swift left-to-right move, he cut right through the middle. Had his enemy been real, he would just have suffered a fatal blow to the gut.

  In his mind's eye, the appearance of his enemy was indistinct. Reuben didn't know yet what this Sir Luca looked like. He would have to ask. You needed to know things like that if you wanted to kill somebody.

  Or perhaps he would just go after the red armor. His red armor. The fiend had it now—but he wouldn't have it for long. Reuben repeated his attack on the air, his teeth clenched and his moves increasingly ferocious as he imagined cutting Luca into a thousand pieces.

  He was just in the middle of a particularly complicated move when, suddenly, the door swung open.

  *~*~**~*~*

  Stopping in front of the door, Ayla took a deep breath to compose herself. Now she was going to get her answers! She tried putting on a stern expression. Sister Priscilla at the convent where she had been educated had been very good at stern expressions, which she utilized in extracting all kinds of guilty confessions from the novices. Hoping hers would be half as effective, Ayla pushed open the door.

  “Now listen here, Reuben, I want to know...”

  Her voice died away as she saw him lying in bed, staring into the air with intense concentration, wildly swinging a candlestick from left to right. His head whipped around as he saw her, and the candlestick dropped from his hand.

  “Ayla.”

  “Err... yes it's me.” She regarded him, concerned. For a moment, her gaze flickered to the candlestick on the floor. “Reuben, um... are you all right? Are you feeling quite well? Has the fever risen again?”

  “What? Oh.” He chuckled, following her gaze to the candlestick. “No, I'm not crazy with fever and trying to drive invisible demons away, if that's what you think. A fly was bothering me, that's all.”

  “Must have been a ferocious fly,” Ayla muttered and carefully approached him. She was still slightly apprehensive. The way he had swung that candlestick around had looked as if he had been doing battle with a deadly enemy. His mischievous grin soon made her relax, though. It always had that effect on her.

  “It was, Milady. A terrible beast. But now you're here to protect me.” He winked.

  She stopped a foot or so away from him. Gazing into his stormy gray eyes, she wondered why exactly she had come here. She had wanted to ask him something, righ
t? Yes, that had been it. But it couldn't have been that important, could it?

  Slowly, Ayla sank onto the floor beside Reuben, not taking her eyes off him. And he, in turn, didn't take his eyes off her. They silently gazed at each other like this for a minute or two.

  “I was slightly worried,” he finally admitted in a low voice, as if confessing to a terrible sin. “For a few minutes, I thought you were going to die out there and I would never get my compensation.”

  Ayla bristled, and he winked again, causing her expression to soften instantly. Oh, he was so teasing!

  “But I need not have worried, it seems,” he continued, pointing to his bandage. “Your skills at protecting your lands against robbers, raiders, and mercenaries seem to have improved since my unfortunate experience.”

  She nodded, trapped in his gray gaze.

  Slowly, he extended one of his over-hot hands to her and grasped her slender fingers. Sighing, Ayla closed her eyes. Being held by him... It felt so right, so secure...

  But closing her eyes had been a grave mistake. Before, she had been distracted by him, by his devilish, enchanting grin. Now that her eyes were closed and she didn't have a continuous stream of images to distract her mind, she felt other images coming to the forefront. Images that she had tried to rationalize and repress during the battle, long enough to save her people. Images of boats burning and men screaming in terrible agony.

  What was the matter with her? She hadn't even seen one drop of blood today. It had all been smoke and fire. She shouldn't feel this horrible.

  But she did. The absence of blood didn't matter. It was the presence of violence that preyed on her mind and her conscience. The presence of death. God, what had she done?

  She opened her eyes again, desperate to replace those ghastly images.

  *~*~**~*~*

  Reuben saw the panic and pain flare up in her sapphire eyes as clearly as if it had been written on her face. His grip on her hand tightened instinctively. “Ayla, what is it?”

  “I... Oh Reuben!”

  And suddenly she fell forward, throwing her arms around him.

  To say that Reuben was startled wouldn't even come close to expressing what he felt. All right, he admitted to himself, he had certainly thought about the possibility of such a moment—Ayla throwing herself at him and lacing her arms behind his neck—but in his imagination, there had always been fewer tears and a lot more passionate romping. This was confusing. She was just... lying there, crying her eyes out. What was he supposed to do?

  He carefully reached out and stroked Ayla's hair. That only seemed to increase the number of her sobs, however, so he stopped quickly and attempted to push her away.

  “No,” she choked. “Don't stop. Hold me. Please.”

  She didn't have to tell him twice.

  Carefully, Reuben put his arms around her and pulled her close. Her slender body felt incredibly soft against his hard-muscled chest—particularly in a certain upper area. Reuben tried not to concentrate too much on that. He needed to think straight right now, to find out why she was sobbing into his tunic. And thinking about that particular soft area would be sure to distract him from that.

  “What is wrong?” he asked. Then suddenly an idea entered his head and his voice rose in anger. “Did they hurt you? Are you wounded?” He hadn't seen any wounds on her as she entered, but that seemed like the only reasonable explanation.

  “No. No, I'm all right,” she mewled. “It's just been so horrible...”

  Reuben frowned. Horrible? “But you won, didn't you?” he asked, confused.

  “Yes! But I had to kill so many people.”

  “Yes... but surely only the enemy,” he reasoned, his confusion increasing.

  With surprising strength for a female who had just collapsed weeping on top of him, Ayla pushed herself away from Reuben's chest and glared down at him. “Reuben! What does it matter if they were the enemy? They were still people!”

  “Err... people who wanted to kill you.”

  “So what?”

  “So you had to kill them first.”

  “Oh Reuben!”

  And she collapsed on him again, weeping harder than before. Carefully, he resumed stroking her hair, anxious about eliciting another insane reaction. Hair-stroking seemed to be fine, though.

  “Reuben?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you are a soulless bastard with the empathic capacity of a dung-beetle?”

  “Not in so many words. But a few people have expressed similar opinions.”

  He felt her face shift against his chest. Fearing that she was preparing for another round of tears he looked down at her—only to discover that she was actually smiling, while the tears were still glittering on her face. Satan's hairy ass, were all females this confusing? Surely not!

  “Why are you smiling? What's so funny?”

  “You!” She giggled and quickly put a hand in front of her mouth, trying to suppress her mirth. “You are making me laugh, even though all I want to do is cry! How do you manage to do that, make me feel better even when I don't want to?”

  “Haven't the foggiest. I only know that I'm feeling pretty well myself just now.” Pulling her closer towards him so that every curve of her slender body was pressed tightly against him, he whispered in her ear: “And I know exactly where that feeling is coming from.”

  *~*~**~*~*

  When she heard those words, Ayla's breathing halted abruptly. Had he really said that? Did it really mean what she thought it meant?

  O yes, yes please. Let him mean it.

  What if he did?

  Part of her wanted to push away, to chastise him for his brazen words, or better yet, slap him in the face.

  But another, new, deliciously daring part of her wanted to explore the possibility. Explore him.

  And yet another part of her kicked her in the derriere and screamed: You might be killed in battle tomorrow for all you know! What are you waiting for? Get on with it!

  Impulsively, she tightened her grip around his neck and snuggled against his chest. She was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath directly beneath her, reverberating through her entire being. Her heart rate quickened as she realized that maybe, maybe, Reuben really wanted this.

  She breathed in slowly, luxuriating in the thought—and gagged. Quickly, she pushed away from him and he let her go.

  *~*~**~*~*

  “What is the matter?” he asked, trembling at the revulsion on her face. Heavens, he had thought she might actually be attracted to him! But the way she was looking... so utterly repulsed... What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to repel her?

  “Err...” Ayla gestured at his chest, clearly embarrassed, and coughed. “It's the salve under your bandages. I forgot about it and breathed in. It's not a very appetizing scent. Like a sledgehammer up your nose.”

  Reuben burst out laughing. “You're telling me! I'm the one who has had to bear the stench for the last couple of days. It's disgusting.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Really? You seem extraordinarily amused about something so disgusting.”

  He shrugged, still grinning. “Well, you get used to it after a while. And...” he hesitated. Compliments and hints to desirable girls had always come naturally to him. So why was it now, when he desired this girl more than he had desired any female ever before, that he felt awkward about expressing himself?

  “And what?”

  “And... I'm just very relieved you didn't flinch away from me for another reason,” he whispered.

  He saw her face relax immediately and she moved closer, taking his hand again. “I would never flinch away from you, Reuben,” she said, her eyes big, and clear, and blue. They were filled to the brim with earnestness, and something more. Reuben was just about to respond when she added: “Why should I? I know that you're a very, very good man.”

  Reuben's heart contracted painfully. She honestly thought that? How little she knew.

  He was no go
od man. He had lied to her. If she ever found out... Well, she mustn't ever find out. If she ever had any idea who he really was, she would have him killed.

  “Really? A good man?” Trying to disguise his anxiety, he smirked at her. “I thought I was a soulless bastard with the empathic capacity of a dung-beetle.”

  “That, too.”

  “And how exactly are the two compatible?”

  Ayla smiled down at him, sweetly. “Haven't the foggiest.”

  They just sat like that for a while again, gazing at each other and holding hands. Reuben couldn't get enough of looking into her eyes. And the feeling of her small hand in his? He never wanted to let go again. It felt right. Secure. He wondered whether she could possibly feel the same.

  *~*~**~*~*

  Ayla didn't know exactly how long she had sat there, just enjoying the feeling of being with Reuben. But suddenly, she was ripped from the quiet contemplation of the rugged beauty of his face and thrown back into reality.

  With a small outcry, she ripped her hand from his and slapped it over her mouth. “Oh my God. Reuben, I'm so sorry! I've been sitting here all this time worrying you with my troubles, when you're sick and really it's me who should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

  “It's no trouble, Milady. You can come and worry me any time again.”

  “No, I shouldn't...”

  “As long as you throw yourself at me again, that is.”

  “Reuben!” This time she really did smack him on the arm.

  He shook his head earnestly. “No, not like that. You need to put both your hands around my neck. Come on. You managed it last time.”

  “Reuben, sometimes...”

  “Yes?”

  His devilish grin was so hopeful, she just couldn't be angry with him. Not when she had thought, not too long ago, that she was never going to see that grin again, the one that lit up her soul like the sun did the sky.

  “You are so exasperating sometimes.”

  “We dung-beetles are like that.”

  “Just be quiet, will you? I've exhausted you long enough with all my talk. I need to change your bandages now.”