The Robber Knight's Love Read online

  “You have comrades out there, watching for your return, yes?” Reuben asked.

  “Of course! And?”

  “I want them to see this. I want them to remember what happens to anybody who dares to enter this castle uninvited.”

  Then he loosed his third and final battlecry and charged again. And this time, he did not hold back, did not rein in his wrath. In a furious storm of blows, he drove the mercenary backwards, down the sloping courtyard, towards the outer wall. The man tried to evade, to duck to the side, but someone with his bulk was no match for Reuben's easy, deadly grace. He was slowly being driven towards one of the towers.

  The door stood open. With a particularly heavy blow, Reuben knocked the mercenary right through the narrow doorway into the dark interior of the tower and jumped after him, screaming curses so vile they made Ayla's ears burn red.

  What the heck was Reuben doing? Was he…no, that couldn’t be. It looked like he was trying to drive the mercenary back up the spiral staircase, onto the wall. But he couldn't be that reckless, could he?

  I want them to see this. I want them to remember what happens to anybody who dares to enter this castle uninvited.

  Yes. He could.

  The idiot! Was he possessed by little demons who had sucked the last bit of brain out of his head via the ears? Apart from the fact that the fighter on higher ground always had the advantage, there was also the problem that castle towers were designed in such a way that the party fighting from above always was in a better position, because they could more freely move their sword arm. Even Ayla, who had as much military experience as a bumblebee, knew that much. Who did Reuben think he was, to think he’d be able to drive an enemy with a superior weapon up an entire castle tower in the dark?

  Five minutes later, Reuben appeared on top of the wall, driving back the mercenary along the allure with deadly ferocity. From what Ayla could see from down in the courtyard, he wasn't even sweating. He drove his grim, but still determined, enemy back from the tower to a section of the wall clearly visible from both the courtyard and the valley outside. His blows increased in intensity and speed until he seemed to be not so much a man as a living sword, to which the knight was a mere appendix. Finally, he caught his enemy's weapon behind the guard[9] and ripped it out of his grip.

  The sword clattered to the ground—but that didn't mean the fight was over. The mercenary was still holding on to the flaming torch he had taken from the wall in the keep. Switching it to his right hand, he took a defensive stance and once again spat at Reuben.

  “You'll not best me, you brat!”

  “Still not afraid?” asked Reuben mildly, as if he were talking about the weather.

  “Of you? Never!”

  Reuben smiled. “We’ll see.”

  And then, Reuben did something unbelievable. Something unimaginable. Something Ayla would never have believed if she hadn’t seen it.

  He dropped his sword.

  Firehand

  Nobody, not even Ayla, could have been more surprised by this than Reuben's enemy. The beefy mercenary gaped open-mouthed at the unarmed knight in front of him and didn't even take advantage of the perfect opening to launch an attack. His wide-eyed gaze went from Reuben, to the sword on the ground, and back to Reuben. It took him a while to comprehend what had happened. But then, a slow, evil grin spread across his face.

  “I knew you were a wimp! Can't even hold your sword anymore, can you?” he scoffed, advancing on Reuben, torch in hand.

  “No,” said Reuben, shaking his head.

  Ayla let out a little moan of despair and wanted to rush forward, up the wall, but her guards noticed just in time. Captain Linhart sprang forward and grabbed her.

  “Ha! I knew it!” the mercenary growled.

  “No, that was not the reason for dropping my sword,” continued Reuben, his gray eyes shining like tempered steel. “I dropped my sword because it was of no use to me anymore. A sword might kill you with one blow. That would be far too quick an end for a bastard like you. You will be frightened to death ere death comes and takes you!”

  “Me? Frightened of you?”

  With a bark of laughter, the mercenary lunged, striking at Reuben with the torch.

  Reuben's hand snapped up and caught it at the burning end, engulfing his hand in flame.

  Ayla stopped struggling, her eyes going wide. Her guards let go of her, staring up, just as she did, at the unearthly spectacle high above them.

  “You,” Reuben said in a low hiss of a voice that could nevertheless be heard all over the courtyard, “will be frightened when the gates of hell open for you right here on earth.”

  He took a step forward, pushing his enemy back, still holding the burning end of the torch. Tongues of fire licked around his fingers. He didn’t scream, didn’t let go. His face showed not a trace of pain—only wrath.

  “How…how…?” The mercenary's face had gone as white as a corpse.

  “You have a question?” Reuben asked softy. “Why are you being so shy? Come, come, out with it.”

  “How…?” the mercenary seemed incapable of uttering any word other than this one. His eyes remained fixed on Reuben's unflinching, flaming hand.

  “How am I doing this, you mean?” Reuben gestured leisurely to the torch with his free hand. “It isn't hard. Want to try it?”

  The mercenary shrieked and tried to let go of the torch, tried to back away. But suddenly, Reuben's other hand closed like a vice around his throat and slammed him into the wall.

  “Let me show you,” he breathed.

  Slowly, very slowly, he moved the burning end of the torch towards the man's face. Ayla watched, horror-struck, but also overtaken by a terrible sense of fascination. She knew she was seeing something not quite of this world. She also knew that there was nothing she or anybody could do to stop it.

  “Here?” asked Reuben, pausing the torch in front of the man's face. All he got in response was a whimper. Even from down where she stood, Ayla could see that the eyes of the man were tightly shut. But he had to feel what was coming, had to feel the heat of the flames on his skin.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Nothing happened in response to Reuben's command.

  “Open your eyes, I say!” he bellowed.

  The man complied. He was shaking by now, trembling all over.

  “Should we try it here?” Reuben asked, his voice soft again.

  The man shook his head, not seeming to care that, with Reuben’s hand around his throat, the motion half strangled him.

  “How about here?” Reuben asked, moving his burning hand to the man's chest.

  Again, violent shudders shook the man's head.

  “Are you frightened now?” Reuben asked.

  “Y-yes!” The word was no more than a croak, hardly audible.

  “And do you repent?”

  “Y-yes, Milord.”

  “Oh, I am a lord now, am I? Thank you for the honor, but I am just a robber knight. The robber knight. It is good that you repent, though. A priest told me once that one should repent before dying.”

  He moved his face right up to the mercenary's terrified features.

  “You were going to sell the girl I love to a monster and boasted of it to me,” he said. Although he was almost whispering now, Ayla could still hear every word that was spoken. “That…was…not…wise. You will taste the fires of hell for that. And I think now I have found the perfect place for the fires of hell to begin their work.”

  With a sudden jerk, he plunged the burning torch downwards, into the man’s groin.

  A piercing scream ripped apart the night. Reuben laughed his devilish laugh—and for the first time Ayla realized how really devilish it was. Not just charming, not just beautiful, but magnificently evil.

  The red robber knight grabbed the mercenary by the belt and hauled him off his feet.

  “Give Satan my regards!” he roared and tossed the burning man over the castle battlements, down into the darkness.

  *
~*~**~*~*

  The night had passed rather uneventfully for Conrad, the mercenary. He had been standing watch all night at the bottom of the Luntberg Castle walls. There was some shouting and noise from inside the castle now and again, but nothing that bothered him in his half-slumber—until a burning man fell from the sky and nearly bashed his brains in. That sort of thing didn't happen every day.

  “God’s teeth!” He jumped back before the flames could touch him. “What in all seven circles of hell…?”

  Aghast, he stared at the smoldering figure on the ground.

  He was dead, no doubt about it. The way his head was turned one hundred and eighty degrees backwards made that point clear. But the expression on his face…he looked like he was still alive and screaming in terror. Like he had seen something no mortal being should see.

  Conrad shook himself. What was the matter with him? If the mercenary captain was dead, their attempt to capture Lady Ayla had failed, and they needed to get out of there quickly. If he and his companion were discovered standing right below the wall, they would be an easy target for projectiles.

  He tugged his black, woolen cloak tighter around himself and gestured to the young mercenary who had kept watch with him.

  “Let's go.”

  The young man didn’t move. His eyes were fastened in horror on the face of his fallen comrade. Conrad didn't blame him. He was no novice at the cruel forms of death, having served as a man-at-arms[10] for over ten years now, but that face…

  “Come on,” he hissed. “Or I'll leave you here!”

  That shook the young soldier out of his trance. As Conrad strode away from the wall, he hurried after him. Conrad looked back only once—to check if they had been spotted and were pursued. He could see nobody giving chase. But high up on the wall, he saw the figure of a gigantic man, holding a torch in his hand and…

  Conrad blinked. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, but…no. No, what he saw simply couldn’t be. It looked like the man was holding the torch aloft at the burning end!

  He stopped and rubbed his eyes. Surely he had to be mistaken.

  But by the time he looked again, the man had disappeared. Who was he? One of Lady Ayla's castle guards? No. Instinctively, Conrad knew that that was not the case.

  “Let's hurry up,” he growled. “I want to get to the lookout we ordered to watch the castle wall. I want to know exactly what happened.”

  They had left one man as a lookout on a high tree not far away. Jos was a most agile little fellow—no good in a fight at all, but he could run like the wind and climb trees like a squirrel. From the uppermost branches of the tree, he would have seen everything that transpired on the wall, maybe even something of what happened in the courtyard.

  Conrad marched to the bottom of the tree and whistled two times.

  When, after a minute, there was still no sight of Jos, he called, “Hey, you maggot-ridden scrambler! Get your butt down here!”

  It was still several minutes before Jos, with slow, jerky movements, emerged from the foliage. He missed the last branch and tumbled to the ground. This, more than anything else, made Conrad tremble. Jos never fell. Never, ever.

  With a curse, he jumped forward to see if another one of their men had broken his neck tonight. But Jos had only a few bruises, otherwise he was all right. If you ignored the expression on his face, that is.

  “God's breath! On your feet, you damn squirrel! What's the matter? What did you see?”

  He pulled Jos up by the scruff of the neck. Supporting himself against the thick trunk of the tree, the young scout was able to stay on his feet, though he still looked liable to collapse again at any moment.

  “Did you see what happened?” Conrad demanded to know. “What happened to fat Dirk and his men?”

  Jos nodded.

  “Well? What was it then?”

  The squirrel wet his lips. “There was this man…this giant man…” he coughed, holding his bruised sides in pain, then began anew. “There was this giant, and…he was wearing red armor.”

  He told them everything he had seen. Everything on the wall, and most of what happened beyond. When he had finished, absolute silence lay over the forest. Not even the animals seemed to want to disturb the eerie quiet with their nocturnal noises.

  Finally, Conrad took the man by the shoulder. “Is that exactly what you saw? You didn't invent or dream up any of it?”

  The empty gaze of the other man was unwavering. “It is the truth. I have told you everything as I witnessed it. I swear it on every tree I've ever climbed.”

  Conrad nodded.

  “W-what now, Sir?” asked the other man, unable to disguise the tremor in his voice.

  Conrad swallowed, hard. “Send word to Sir Luca,” he heard himself say, though his voice sounded a bit strange in his own ears. “Tell him that the mission has failed. And…”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Tell him that we have a new enemy.”

  *~*~**~*~*

  Reuben didn't look after the mercenary. It was a very long drop. Instead, he picked up his sword, which had fallen from the mercenary's hand, and turned towards the courtyard. All of them down there—the guards, the villagers, and a slender figure in white—were watching him with their eyes wide open. In shock? Fear?

  Reuben couldn't blame them.

  They continued to watch as he turned and re-entered the tower. Ayla's sapphire eyes were the largest, and the ones the expression of which haunted Reuben the most. Enraged at himself, he pounded the wall with his burning fist. With each of the stairs’ steps, he struck again. Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Fool! He was an utter and complete fool! What had he done? How could he have let her see that?

  Trepidation welled up inside him, and he hastened his steps. What was the expression in those lovely blue eyes?

  Was it fear?

  Of him?

  Pain shot through his heart at that thought—pain that shouldn’t be there, couldn’t be there. His hand was aflame, and it was feeling perfectly fine. Yet his heart was writhing in pain, simply because of the expression in those sapphire eyes.

  What did she think of him now? How would she react when he stood before her once again?

  She has just seen you burn a man alive, he told himself grimly. How do you think she will react?

  Well, it hadn't been an entire man. Just his pants, really. Did that count?

  Before he could come to a decision on the matter, he had reached the bottom of the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the night.

  Nobody had moved while they listened to him descend. They were still standing just as they had been, immobile as statues, staring at him with wide eyes. He did his best not to meet her blue eyes, afraid of what he would see there, yet all the time, the question kept burning in his mind: What now? Will she fear me? Will she hate me?

  He approached the group waiting for him and then stopped, feeling suddenly awkward.

  “Um…hello everybody.” He nodded to them and held up his still smoldering hand. “Does anybody have a pitcher of water I could extinguish this in?”

  Reunion

  His hand still raised, Reuben took a step towards them. All shrank away from him. All but one.

  Ayla launched herself forward, dodging her guards’ attempts to grab her, and threw herself into Reuben's arms. She hit his chest with such force that it almost hurt. The metal of his chain mail bit through her thin gown, but she didn't care. He was safe, and she was in his arms.

  A small, frightened part of her wondered whether she should really be doing this. The image of him standing up on the wall, the torch in his hand, tongues of flame caressing his fingers, had burned itself into her memory forever. This small part of her recoiled from the image, remembering tales of witchcraft and devilish evil that wandering preachers had sometimes told.

  She remembered, too, what she had previously not let herself notice: how Reuben had never, even with the most grievous wounds, shown the slightest sign of pain. Not like
he was able to resist it, but as though he actually didn't feel it. As though some devilish force had made him invulnerable.

  Could Reuben be something inhuman? Could he be something demonic?

  Well, if he was, he didn't do a very good job of disguising the fact.

  Reuben pressed his cheek against hers, holding her close.

  “Ayla,” he murmured. That was it. Just her name.

  In that moment she realized: whether demon or man, she didn't care.

  Yes, what she had just seen him do was unearthly and maybe even unnatural. Yes, he had just set fire to a man right in front of her. But it hadn't been a very nice man, and he would have been killed anyway. Was it so much more terrible to be set on fire than to be chopped to pieces with a blade? Ayla didn't know. She had never tried either. All that really mattered was that he was safe, and she was safe, and they were together.

  She felt him raise one of his arms until he could stroke the wild tangles of hair hanging down over her shoulders. Sighing, she leaned into the touch—only when something singed the ends of her hair, did she remember.

  “Your hand,” she cried in distress. “Your hand is still burning! We have to get water!”

  She tried to move away but found Reuben's arms tightly wrapped around her, unwilling to let go. The feeling warmed her heart—yet unfortunately, since one of the aforementioned arms was still smoldering, it also warmed other parts of her which found the sensation less congenial.

  “Reuben, please let go? My dress will catch fire.”

  He released her immediately and looked at her with the most adorable, nefarious grin she had ever seen. “Oops.”

  “Oops?” she echoed. “That's all you have to say? Oops?” With one hand, she motioned at her guards. “Go and get a bowl of water.”

  When she heard no movement, not even a 'Yes, Milady,' she turned and saw they were all still standing there, staring at Reuben's hand. It wasn't really still burning. He had let go of the torch up on the wall. But the metal of his gauntlet still glowed red in places, and the leather underneath was smoking.

  “Go!” she yelled. “Water! Now! Or I will put you all in the stocks come tomorrow!”