Ayla stood on the bridge looking after the three riders who were galloping off in different directions, but all of them generally westwards, all of them going in search of one of her vassals. She hoped to God the three knights would be at home and not out hunting or something similar. The defenders of Luntberg couldn't afford to lose any more time than they already had.

Looking to the west, Ayla noticed for the first time that the sun had begun to sink towards the horizon. She had been so busy trying to save the ungrateful hide of that villain up in the castle that she hadn't realized how much time had elapsed. The day was almost over. Worried, she turned towards the east and searched the landscape for approaching figures. The setting sun tinged the forests crimson, as though it were autumn and not summer—or as though blood had painted the leaves of the forest red.

Where were the peasants from the eastern farms? They should be here by now.

“Milady?” Burchard stepped onto the bridge beside her, accompanied by a few villagers. “Do you have any other commands?”

Ayla shook her head. She couldn't waste time worrying about those seven families now. There were dozens of families in her care. So many. Too many. And they all depended on her, a seventeen-year-old girl, to guide them through the approaching darkness. For a moment, she was near tears. Then, taking a deep breath, she raised her chin defiantly, facing the sea of blood-red light which was flooding her eastern lands.

She was a Luntberg. She was her father's daughter, and she was not going to give up.

“Indeed, I have,” she said, turning sideways to face the waiting people. “Burchard!”

The steward abruptly stood straighter, hearing the unusually commanding tone of her voice. „Yes, Milady!”

“Organize the best castle guards into a watch. They are to guard this bridge at all times. Always, at least six men are to be present: one stationed on the eastern side and one on the western side, each equipped with a torch during the night.”

“And what of the remaining four, Milady?”

Ayla smiled. “Three are to be spread on the eastern bank as lookouts, one is to stay with a horse on the western bank. None of them are to have torches, and they are to keep themselves concealed at all times, so when the enemy approaches, Falkenstein's men won't be able to kill them from afar with bows and arrows. It will be the job of the three men on the eastern bank to defend the bridge until the rider has had time to fetch reinforcements.”

Burchard bowed, a proud gleam in his eyes. “Yes, Milady.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” A hard glint entered Ayla's eyes. “If, by any chance, a knight in red armor should pass this way, seize him, clap him in irons, and bring him to me.”

“Yes, Milady!”

“You.” Ayla pointed to a peasant, who took a step backwards.

“Me, Milady?”

“Yes, you. I want you to gather all the wagons and handbarrows you can find, and some trustworthy men, and bring everything edible from the village into the castle.”

Surprise and anger flitted across the man's face, before he could suppress the emotions. One could see his jaw working, as he knelt, and said: “As you wish, Milady.”

He rose and began to turn, but Ayla said: “Stop.”

The man turned back, looking even more resentful. Ayla could feel the stares of the other villagers on her. They didn't seem much happier about her order.

“Do you understand why I am giving you this order?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I think I do, Milady.”

She shook her head. “No, I don't think so. What's your name? Wait, I think I recognize you. Aren't you Berthar? Your sister is married to one of the castle guards.”

“Yes, Milady. I come to visit her sometimes.”

“So, Berthar. Why did I give you that order?”

The man looked down, avoiding her eyes. “I couldn't say, Milady.”

A smile tucked at the corners of Ayla's lips. This was a clever man. He knew how to use words. “You mean you literally cannot say—because you're afraid of offending your mistress. Don't be afraid, Berthar. I'm not having all the food brought to the castle because I plan to leave you stranded out here alone, at the mercy of the mercenaries.”

The man's head snapped up with evident surprise. “You're not? But I thought...” And then, realizing what he had said, he clamped his mouth shut quickly and looked down again. “Beg your pardon, Milady.”

“There's nothing you need to apologize for.” She took a step closer. “Berthar, look at me.”

He did as she had commanded. There was uncertainty and fear in his round, stubbly face.

“I'm going to do my utmost to keep you all safe,” Ayla said, trying to infuse the words with every ounce of earnestness in her heart. “I'm going to fight for you, your homes, and your families. But I'm not the warrior my father was. I'm young, inexperienced, and far less powerful than the Margrave von Falkenstein. There may come a time when we cannot hold out here any longer and must retreat into the castle.”

Berthar nodded. “I understand, Milady.”

“Do you?” She raised an eyebrow. “I said we.”

Berthar was quick. His eyes flew open in astonishment.

A few moments later, she heard gasps of surprise all around her, as the others understood.

“Do you mean...? You can't mean...”

“I mean,” Ayla said, her small, feminine voice easily silencing that of the man before her, “that if the worst comes to the worst, I will not flee alone and leave behind those to whom I have pledged my protection. I will take everyone along with me into the castle.”

Burchard gripped her arm and hissed into her ear: “What are you saying? You know we can't...”

She silenced him with a single look. He let go of her arm.

“As we live together so we stand together,” she told Berthar. “As we live together, so we fall together. Do you understand, Berthar?”

There was a fierce gleam in the peasant's eyes. “Aye, Milady!”

“Well? What are you waiting for? I would imagine gathering enough supplies for an entire village takes some time, so get to it!”

He fell to his knees, and all the other villagers around her followed suit. They stayed like that for three immeasurable seconds, then sprang up again and began to disperse, conversing eagerly about what needed to be done.

As soon as they were far enough away, Burchard grasped her arm again and pulled her towards him. “You foolish young girl!” he growled into her ear. “Have you any idea how quickly our supplies will be used up with the entire village quartered in the castle? You've just ruined our only chance of sitting out this siege!”

Ayla didn't reply; she just waited.

“You also,” Burchard added grudgingly, as he observed the feverish activity among the peasants, “have just gained your men's undying loyalty. Well done.”

“Thank you.”

“I only hope you didn't pay too high a price.”

Ayla threw her father's trusted old friend a sideways glance. “The price for rectitude can never be too high.”

“Bah!” Burchard spat out. “Did your father teach you that fine saying?”

Ayla grinned, proudly. “No, I came up with that all by myself.”

“Figures.”

He let go of her, and Ayla turned towards the east again. In the light of the setting sun, she could see a few figures approaching. One of them was significantly smaller than the others, but seemed to be running faster. The Lady of Luntberg Castle took a deep, steadying breath. Finally. Her challenge was approaching.

“Dilli?”

The maid, who had followed Ayla out of the castle and watched the proceedings from a distance, hurried closer. “Yes, Milady?”

“I have a task for you, too. In fact it is the most important task of all.”

Everybody still in the vicinity—Burchard, a few peasants, and some castle guards—looked up and listened intently.

Dilli swallowed. “Yes, Milady. I will do my best.”

“Good. I'll need you to make me a doll.”

Everyone, including Dilli, stared at Ayla with blank expressions on their faces.

“Err... Milady?” Dilli looked at her pleadingly. “A what?”

“A doll. You know what a doll is, don't you? The sort of thing little girls play with.”

“Um... yes, Milady.”

“You can sew, can't you?”

The maid nodded, still looking nonplussed.

“Are you good?”

“Yes, Milady, I think so.”

“And quick?”

“I believe so.”

“Then make me a doll out of leather. Paint a face on her and put her in a dress. Can you do that in, say...” Ayla gauged the remaining distance between the travelers and the bridge, “...half an hour?”

“If I have help, Milady, yes.”

“Then get to it. And hurry, we don't have much time!”

As the maid hurried off, Burchard leant over to Ayla and asked in a low voice: “Forgive my ignorance, but how exactly will this help us win the fighting?”

Ayla smiled an apprehensive smile. “It won't. But it might help me stay alive long enough to actually see anything of the fighting.”

*~*~**~*~*

Possibly her deadliest foe ever was approaching from the opposite side of the bridge. Ayla, however, didn't turn and run. Like a true Luntberg, she stood her ground and awaited the approach of the mighty one who would spell wreck and ruin if she did not give them what they wanted.

When the little girl had reached her, Ayla bent down, smiling, and said, without letting her fear show: “Hello there! Did you have a nice trip?”

“Where's my doll?” the girl demanded. “Where's my Agnes?”

Ayla winced. Right to the point. She had hoped to draw this out a little bit. Apparently, there was to be no mercy. Now, everything depended on Dilli's handiwork. If she ever got her hands on the crimson-clad fiend who had made her endure this...

“Look,” she began in a nervous voice, “there's something I have to tell you...”

“Where's my doll?”

Persistent, too. May the crows and the pestilence chase that crimson cad.

“Your Agnes may be a little bit different than you remember,” Ayla said, and she tried another smile. It ended up as more of a grimace.

The little girl's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Different? How different? You didn't let a baddy get to her and lock her in a tower, did you? I told you...”

“No, no,” Ayla assured her hurriedly. “It's just that she met this other lady doll in my saddlebag, a very fine lady doll from the... um... the Emperor's Court, and this lady doll insisted on giving your Agnes a new dress and helping her look less like a wolfhou— um... even more fine than before. So, here she is.”

Ayla removed her hand from behind her back and held out a leather doll in a fine silk dress, with a smiling face and sparkling stones for eyes.

For a few moments that lasted for an eternity, the little girl stared at the doll with an expressionless face. Ayla held her breath, awaiting her sentence.

Then, the girl snatched up the doll and threw her arms around Ayla's waist. “Thank you! Oh thank you, thank you! You've made Agnes look so much finer! She's a real lady now!”

“That she is,” Ayla said, sighing with relief. “That she certainly is.”

“Thank you so much, Lady Ayla! I gotta go show this to my mummy and daddy, yes? May I show them, please, please?”

“Yes, of course. Go on,” Ayla laughed.

The little girl ran away with her new treasure pressed against her chest, her hair flying wildly behind her.

Ayla sighed again and wiped a few drops of sweat off her forehead. “Now for the easy part,” she mumbled. “The siege.”