Fye tugged again on the sleeve of the pretty blonde lady and stared up at the face far above her. The lady looked funny. Her eyes were all puffed up, but Fye couldn't waste any time wondering why. She was on a mission.
The blonde lady, Ayla, wiped water from her puffy eyes and bent down, smiling, though a bit weakly.
“Y-yes, my girl? What is it?”
“I'm bored,” Fye declared, holding up her two dolls—the knight and the lady. “I'm tired of my old game and want a new one.”
“I see. And how can I help?”
“I wanted to ask your opinion. You see, at the start, I thought it would be fun to have Sir Reuben,” she held up the knight doll, “save his Lady so they could both live happily ever after.”
“Sounds nice,” whispered the blonde lady, although her smile wavered as she said it.
“No, no.” Fye scowled. “That's what I thought at first, too. But then I realized it's soooo boring. So, how about this: Sir Reuben betrays his lady and becomes evil!” She smiled, proud of her innovative idea. “Wouldn't that be much more interesting, do you think?”
Suddenly the wet stuff started to leak out of the blonde lady's eyes again. She turned abruptly and hurried away, clutching her face in her hands and wailing like a pig with a sore foot.
Frowning, Fye stared after her. Adults were really weird sometimes.
*~*~**~*~*
Sir Luca scowled up at the dark castle, silhouetted against a moonlit night sky, and muttered curses in Italian. He was not pleased about what had happened just now. Not pleased at all.
He was a renowned warrior and general, commander of the armed forces of the Margrave von Falkenstein and leader of the campaign against Lady Ayla von Luntberg. He had just succeeded in taking the bridge down in the valley and trapping his enemy inside her castle, so he should be happy, no?
But the triumph had turned sour in his mouth. He had just had a little talk with this Lady Ayla. He had impressed upon her how fully he had beaten her, how superior he was in military matters—and he was just about to proceed to detail all the horrible things he would do to her if she did not surrender when she suddenly, in the middle of the parley, asked some odd, unconnected questions, then turned and left him standing in the dark. This was not proper behavior for beleaguered damsels! They were supposed to quiver in fear of you, not ignore you and leave you standing. They were supposed to tremble before your mightiness and properly beg for mercy, which, of course, they would not receive.
Instead, Sir Luca had ended up at the foot of the wall of Luntberg castle, shouting himself hoarse for half an hour, trying to get the little zoccola to come back and listen to what he had to say. It had been for naught.
So now he was staring at the castle with as much hatred as could burn in his small, dark eyes—which was quite a lot.
“Mannaggia tua!” he muttered to himself. “If only I could attack. Then I would show her!”
Ah yes, if he could attack! For a moment, he indulged in the fantasy, imagining the war cries from hundreds of men as they stormed towards the castle walls, equipped with torches, ladders and heavy weaponry. He imagined the sound of a trebuchet as it hurled its deadly load against the home of his enemies, smashing the mighty walls of the castle to dust.
But no, it was not to be.
Falkenstein wanted the castle intact, and, if possible, also its lady.
From the left, he heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Conrad coming towards him. The mercenary bowed.
“What is it?” growled Sir Luca.
“The men have looted the village and burnt it to the ground.”
“And?”
“They're not very satisfied, Sir. There wasn't much left to loot.”
“Well, you can guess where your loot is, can't you?” Angrily, the commander gestured at the castle.
“Aye, Sir.” Conrad bowed again. “So, what now? The men are tired. May they retire for the night?”
“Retire?” Sir Luca let out a short bark of laughter. Energy again coursed through him. It had always been thus. The laziness of others roused in him the desire to whip them until they continued. One reason why he was such an excellent commander. “Tell the bastardi that tonight's work has just begun!”
Conrad hesitated. “Just begun, Sir? I don't quite understand.”
“Do you think I'm going to leave my enemies like this?” He pointed at the castle. “Strong in their position while we roam, defenseless, around the countryside like a pack of wounded dogs, or, God forbid, go to sleep? What do you think their first action would be? We have just burned their homes to the ground! They would set upon us, kill at will, and retreat into their fortress faster than a hunting hawk!”
Conrad swallowed.
“No, no. I have other plans.” With energetic gestures, the commander encircled the whole of the surrounding countryside.
“Command the men to dig a ditch that surrounds the castle, just out of bow range. Then, while half of them keeps watch, tell the other half to cross the river and go into the forest. Fell as many trees as you can without your arms falling off and bring them back here!”
“Trees, Sir?”
“What are you, Conrad, a brainless worm? We will erect fortifications around the entire castle of Luntberg. Palisades, spikes, watchtowers. We will watch them with as much vigilance as a fox does a rabbit hole!”
“But,” Conrad dared to object, “a rabbit always comes out of its hole someday. Lady Ayla may not.”
“True.” Sir Luca rubbed his hands together. “But a rabbit may have many exits to its burrow. She has none. Go and do as you are bidden!”
Without further argument, Conrad bowed and left to seek his men.
Sir Luca grinned up at the dark castle evilly. He would get his revenge. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even in a week or two. But once the inhabitants of the castle ran out of food, it would get interesting. When they ran out of animals to kill and devour, it would get amusing. And when they ran out of boot soles to chew, it would get marvelous.
He would fling a weapon at them that was a hundred times more terrible than the missile of a trebuchet: hunger.
*~*~**~*~*
“Excuse me, Sir. Have we met before?”
The question startled Reuben out of his raging melancholy. He threw the old knight, Sir Isenbard, a piercing look. “Don't think so. I think I would have remembered somebody that annoying.”
The other man pursed his lips, but said in reply only, “I do not mean that we have been formerly introduced. I only fancy that I saw you once before, many, many years ago.”
“Couldn't have been that many,” Reuben grunted. “I'm not an old greybeard like you.”
“You most definitely aren't. Tell me, Sir, were you never taught to respect your elders?”
“I was. Couldn't see the point of it, though, really. They all were too damnably stupid and easily beaten.”
“Ah!” The old knight clapped his hands together. “Now I remember! Weren't you at the great tournament in Schweinfurt, in the year of our Lord 1229?”
Reuben had to muster all his self-control not to twitch at these words. Damnation! The old fool had seen him! What was worse, he had seen him before the dungeon. Before the event that turned Reuben's life upside down and made him into what he was today.
“I doubt that very much,” he said with as much disdain as he could muster. “I'm a merchant. What would I want at a tournament but to sell wine to cheering fools and disappointed losers? And I have people who do that for me.”
“A merchant?” The old man eyed Reuben's massive figure—6 feet 7 inches of pure muscle, a hard-jawed face, and a mess of long black hair—with disbelief. “Forgive me, but you don't look very much like any merchant I have ever seen.”
“And you,” retorted Reuben with a smirk, “don't look like any fool I've ever seen. You're missing the colorful costume and the hat with bells on it. Appearances can be deceptive.”
The eyes of the old knight almost popped out of their sockets.
“Very good!” Reuben clapped. “You look slightly more like a fool now! When the siege is over, I can procure a costume for you, if you wish. I'll even sell it to you at half the usual price, since you're obviously so talented.”
“I wonder how you have survived to your current age, with a tongue as insolent as yours,” the old knight said icily.
By killing anyone who tried to cut it out, grandfather, Reuben thought, but he said nothing. He had accomplished his goal. The aged man was now fully concentrated on his anger and wounded honor instead of thinking about where he might have met Reuben before.
Though, Reuben thought to himself dryly, trying to hide who he was from this old wreck would be a wasted effort. After all, Ayla knew. One who knew was enough. One who knew was one too many. Surely, she would have told the entire castle of his true identity by now.
But then, why hadn't the castle guards come to fetch him yet?
As if in answer to his question, he heard a sound: the heavy boots of at least a dozen guards approaching. Closer and closer they came, until they were stopped by the guards before the door. Reuben's heart was hammering fiercely, and he gripped the candlestick with iron strength, not bothering to conceal his feelings. The old knight looked at him strangely as he saw emotions battle on the face of the younger man.
What did the guards want? Reuben wasn't sure, but he feared he knew. Had Lady Ayla finally decided to fulfill her promise and present him with a knotted rope?
“Halt!” The guards outside the room demanded of the newcomers. “What brings you here?”
“Orders from Lady Ayla,” Reuben heard another guard reply. “We are to bring the convalescent to her immediately.”