Sir Reuben sat on his horse counting money. It was one of his favorite activities—the counting of money, not the sitting on the back of a horse. Not that he didn't like to ride. There was just the fact that if you did it long enough, it gave you a sore ass, which never happened from counting money.

“...twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.”

He closed the purse contentedly and let it hang loosely from his hand. There was nothing better than the tinkling of gold, except of course the tinkling of stolen gold.

Reuben smiled to himself.

The merchant had really been an amusing fellow. He honestly believed he had a right to keep the money he had earned. Well, maybe he had, in a strictly judicial sense. But Reuben's sword tickling his chubby cheeks had soon convinced him otherwise.

The knight was so lost in his happy reminiscences that he almost missed the hoof prints. Almost, for he was Sir Reuben Rachwild. While one eye always looked at what he wanted to see, the other kept a close look on what he needed to see. It was a talent that had kept him alive these past six years.

The hoof prints were not deep. They were also very far apart, which indicated speed. A light, nimble animal whose rider was in a great hurry. It had to be a Palfrey or a Jennet. Knights’ chargers, carthorses, and plowhorses were big, heavy animals that didn't move fast and whose hoofs left deep impressions in the dirt. Palfreys and Jennets were the only kinds of light horses. He would have given the matter no further thought, had he not suddenly reached a fork in the forest path he was riding on.

The hoof prints led down to the left.

Sir Reuben stopped his horse.

He had seen what was down there earlier, when he had come riding into this valley: nothing but a few farms and a lot of forest. It was a dead end. What would any rider be doing down there? Especially someone who rode such a light, nimble, and surely expensive horse?

Maybe it was a priest visiting his parishioners?

But then Reuben noticed a strange mark left in the dirt, inside the hoof print. Swiftly, he jumped to the ground and examined the dirt more closely. As part of the hoof print, there was the tiny print of a symbol left in the mud: a crest such as only nobles used to mark their precious horses.

Hm... no knight on his charger, that much had already been established. So it had to be a noblewoman. And for some reason she was riding to these farms, and from what he knew of noblewomen, probably not to spend the night there. She would come back soon, eager to return to her warm chamber and comfortable bed...

A grin spread over Sir Reuben's face.

This day just kept getting better and better. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than robbing people, it was robbing stuck-up, stinking rich noble people!

*~*~**~*~*

To say that Gelther the peasant was surprised when his mistress rode up to his house in full gallop would be something of an understatement. He actually dropped the ax he was holding, and it was only sheer luck that he didn't slice off his toes.

“L-lady Ayla,” he stammered, rushing forward to bow. “We are honored by your presence. Please, let me help you down.”

But Ayla had already slid off Eleanor's back. She saw Gelther's wife peering out of the farmhouse door and swallowed. This was not going to be easy.

“We don't have time for pleasantries, Gelther,” she said, her tone much more gentle than her words. “I come bearing black tidings.”

She explained how Falkenstein had declared a feud, omitting only the marriage option. She was not sure how they would take the news that she had essentially refused peace. Although she knew Burchard was right and a feud against Falkenstein was infinitely preferable to peace united with him, she could not totally silence the small voice in the back of her mind that told her she had not done her duty to her people.

As she told her story, she could see the reality slowly sinking in: with every word she spoke, the expression of the husband grew grimmer, that of the wife more horrified. Finally, she was at the end.

“And you came all this way to warn us, Milady?” Gelther's wife Margret whispered.

“Well, thank you,” her husband said, still grim-faced. “We will find a spot in the forest to hide. Maybe Falkenstein's men will not find us. Margret, get the children. We're leaving.”

“What? Now?”

“Of course now!”

“What shall I pack? Where are we going? How...?”

“Just pack some food,” he interrupted her. “We're leaving immediately, Margret. And I don't know where we're going yet.”

Ayla could see it in the farmer's eyes: he had seen death before—unlike his wife. With a short bow to her, he wanted to turn and head into the house, but Ayla stepped forward and grabbed his arm. He looked back at her and saw the determined expression on her face.

“I did not just come to warn you. I came to offer you sanctuary. My men are erecting a barrier at the dale bridge as we speak. There we will brave the threat, and you are welcome to seek refuge in the village for as long as the feud lasts.”

The farmer inhaled sharply. “Do you mean that, Milady?”

“Of course. Now get your things together! Everything you can carry. I will take as much as I can back with me on Eleanor, so don't hesitate to pack everything that is precious to you.”

The farmer made no answer. He just dropped to his knees and bowed his head for a second. Then he was on his feet again and inside the house within a second, while his wife rushed towards Ayla and showered her with thanks.

This caused Ayla to blush furiously. The effusions of the peasant's wife were a testament to the poor conception many noblemen and -women had of their duties as liege lord and protector. These two people felt themselves infinitely indebted to her for what should have been their natural right: protection for themselves and their family.

After some time, Margret was called away by her husband into the house. Ayla, feeling guilty for having to drive them out of their home, did not follow and intrude on their last private moments there. Instead, she wandered around to the back of the house, from which she could see the road leading down into the valley from the east, between the lush green vegetation.

The road was still empty—at the moment. But soon troops would be marching down that road, troops emblazoned with the escutcheon of the Margrave von Falkenstein: a sinister falcon on argent, separated by a bend from black cross.

Ayla could not suppress a bitter smile. Somehow it was very fitting that Margrave Falkenstein's falcon should be sinister. While, in theory, sinister was only a heraldic term for the left side of a coat of arms, it served as fair warning to all those who saw it: Here comes a man to fear, the hawk said. He will grab you with his claws and never let go again.

“Milady?”

She turned and saw Margret holding a small pile of objects in her arms.

“These things we would like you to take, if it is not too much for you...”

“No, no,” Ayla said hurriedly. “Come, I'll help you stow them away.”

She led the woman to Eleanor and opened the saddlebags.

Margret had been very restrained: after everything was stowed away, only half of the available space was taken. Ayla told the woman to get more, and after a short argument, protesting that it would be too much for the lady's fine horse, Margret did as requested.

Ayla returned to the back of the house. When Falkenstein's troops approached, she did not want to be caught off guard.

However, instead of an enemy soldier, she found a small girl at the back of the house, her hands behind her back, staring up at the lady garbed in fine clothes with eyes as big as saucers. This had to be one of Gelther and Margret's daughters.

“Hello.” Ayla bent down and smiled at the little girl. “What's your name?”

The girl gave a frightened squeak and ran to hide behind a pile of firewood that was stacked against the side of the house.

“You know, I'm not in the habit of eating children,” Ayla said to the empty air. “It's not something I generally do.”

No reaction.

“And even if I did,” she added, “I do it only on Mondays and Saturdays. Today's Wednesday, so you can come out.”

For a few more seconds, there was silence.

Then a big eye, topped by a tangle of black hair, peeked around the corner. “Really? Only on Mondays and Saturdays? Promise?”

“Promise,” Ayla said with a solemn expression, holding up her hand as if she were swearing an oath. “On my honor as a maiden.”

For some reason, that made the girl come out at once, which made Ayla wonder whether she looked that innocent that everybody believed her immediately when she said she was a virgin. That thought annoyed her, so she tried to push it away and bent down to the girl, who only reached up to her waist and couldn't be more than five years old.

“Are you really Lady Ayla from the castle?” the girl asked. She was a bit hard to understand because she kept biting down on a fold of the old dress she wore, probably still slightly afraid that this strange, colorful creature would eat her. “I've never seen a real Lady before.”

“Well, you have now. But it's nothing too special. I see myself every day in the mirror, and I'm none too pleased about it.”

“Why? You're very pretty.”

“Um... thanks.”

I'm blushing, Ayla thought furiously. A five-year-old just told me I'm pretty and I'm blushing. Can you get any more pathetic?

“Have you come to take Mommy and Daddy and Andris and me away?” the girl accused.

God, this was becoming uncomfortable! And Ayla used to think she was good with children! When this little thing grew up, she should join the Inquisition.

“Err... yes. But it's not like you think...”

“I don't want to go away!”

“I wouldn't either, in your place,” Ayla said with a sad smile. “But, you see, there is this evil man coming who might do evil things, so you have to go somewhere where it is safe.”

The girl scowled. “Can't you just kick him in the butt? You've got knights, haven't you?”

“Well, yes, but he has more.”

“That wouldn't matter if yours were better,” the girl proclaimed, sagely. “You see, I know. I hear from the bards every time they come to the village. A really good knight is better than a dozen bad ones. He can rescue princesses and fight dragons and bump baddies on the head and all that stuff.”

Ayla didn't know whether to cry or smile. “Well, unfortunately, I haven't got any knights like that.”

“Didn't you train yours properly?”

“Yes, that must be it. Dear me, how careless of me. I'll be sure to get some good knights as soon as I can find some.”

The little girl nodded, satisfied. The silly grown-up had obviously learned her lesson. But then she remembered her original subject. “I don't want to go away,” she repeated.

Ayla wished she could just vanish into thin air.

“Sorry,” she said. “You have to. But it's only for a time.”

“Really? You promise?”

Ayla nodded, and then wondered whether this was a promise she would be able to keep. “I'm here to help you move,” she said, trying desperately to change the subject. “I've got a horse; it can carry a lot of things away so they will be safe from the evil man.”

“Aye. I heard you and Mummy and Daddy talking.” The girl bit down on her dress again.

Ayla noticed for the first time that during their entire talk the girl had been holding one hand behind her back.

“What is it?” she asked, sensing that the girl was battling with whether or not to ask something.

“Y-you... you can bring stuff where it's safe?”

“Yes.”

“C-could you take Agnes?”

“Who's Agnes?” Ayla wanted to know.

In response, the girl pulled her hand out from behind her back and showed Ayla what she had been holding: it was a little leather doll with a painted face that could be female, or male, or could just as well be canine.

“I don't want the evil man to get his hands on her,” the girl explained. “He'll lock her up in a tower or something! Baddies do that kind of stuff to girls.”

Ah. Female.

“Yes,” Ayla said, thoughtfully. “They do.” Then she smiled and took the doll. “Of course I'll take Agnes. I'll take really good care of her, I promise.”

The little girl threw her arms around Ayla's waist and hugged her with astonishing force for such a scrawny little creature. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I hope you find a really good knight real quick!”

“Yes,” Ayla laughed, stroking the little girl's hair. “I do too.”

Under the girl's watchful eye, Ayla stored the doll named Agnes in the most comfortable part of the saddlebags.

After packing the last of their treasured goods and with many expressions of thanks from the grateful couple, Ayla said her goodbyes and started back up the same path she had come down. As she threw a last look back at the farmhouse and beyond, she thought she could see a metallic glint at the eastern edge of the valley, heading down the road.

But it was probably just a trick of the light.

Hopefully.

*~*~**~*~*

Sir Reuben heard her coming up the path long before it was necessary for him to move a muscle.

So he just sat there until he'd finished the rabbit he'd roasted over an open fire. It was really delicious, particularly with those spices he had pinched from the merchant. Every person he robbed should come with a supply of spices, he decided. It was really inconsiderate of them to only ever carry money. Oh well, as a poor robber knight you had to take what you could get.

Lightly, he sprang to his feet and put his helmet on. The shiny red armor he was wearing did not hinder his movements in the slightest. There were knights who couldn't even get onto their horse without help in full armor. But not Sir Reuben, oh no. He was a very different sort of knight.

Easily, he swung himself easily into the saddle. From the brush where he was hidden, he could hear the light hoofs of the horse, approaching fast. The rider seemed to be in a hurry. Just when the animal was about to pass him, he pressed his feet into the sides of his stallion and broke free from the brush to block the path of whomever was unfortunate enough to be his prey this day.

“Halt!” he shouted.