“Milady!” Someone started hammering against her door. “Milady, come quickly! The enemy is approaching!”

Ayla scrambled out of her bed and reached for her dress.

“Milady!” Again, the fist hit the door. “We need you!”

No time! Grabbing a cloak that hung over the armrest of a chair, she threw it over her thin nightgown and rushed out of the room. Outside, a soldier was waiting, carrying a torch in his hand. The acrid stench of the torch bit into Ayla's nose and she almost choked from the smoke, but she didn't say a word about it. The expression on the soldier's face told her that just now, there were much more important matters to attend to.

“They are coming?” she demanded.

“Yes, Milady.”

“Lead the way.”

Without another word, the soldier hurried ahead, lighting her way through the pitch-black castle. The moon wasn't shining this night. It was hiding behind a thick clump of clouds. If not for the flickering red light of the flame, Ayla would have been lost in her own castle.

“Where are they attacking?” she asked while they hurried down a flight of stairs. “How many are there?”

“I do not know, Milady. I was sent up here as soon as our guards spotted the enemy. Captain Linhart thought it best to inform you at once and not waste any time counting the approaching forces.”

“That was the right decision. How long did it take you to come up here?”

“Only a few minutes, Milady. I used our fastest horse. And we should be able to return in about the same time. When I arrived, I gave orders to the stable boy to bring out two horses for us.”

“Well done, soldier.”

“Thank you, Milady. Here's the door.”

Holding up the torch, the soldier pushed the keep door open for her. She stumbled out into the front yard and looked upon a foreign world:

Apart from flickering red dots here and there, Luntberg Castle was in utter darkness. The walls rose up on all sides, a deeper, more menacing black, competing with the stormy gloom of the sky above. Men were running around, shouting and cursing, all carrying some small light, like fireflies about to be swallowed up by a giant predator. As the soldier emerged from the keep behind her and the light of his torch shone a little more brightly, Ayla could just make out the forms of two horses in the yard. In the dim light, she thought their large eyes glinted fearfully. Or maybe that was just the reflection of what was in her own eyes at that very moment.

She jumped into the saddle and didn't wait for the soldier to do the same before she pressed her legs against the horse's sides and urged it forward, towards the first gate. The stable boy who had been holding the horse's reins jumped back with a startled yelp, and horse and rider dashed off into the darkness.

Ayla's vision narrowed, until all she could see were the two small flames burning on either side of the inner castle gate. Behind her, she could hear the clatter of the other horse's hoofs on the cobblestones, and she urged her ride to go even faster. This was a race against time, and she was losing. Ayla was an experienced rider, but she wasn't used to the big horses that made up the majority of Luntberg's stable. Instead, she was used to small, agile animals. To one animal in particular...

Furiously, she shook her head. No, she couldn't allow her mind to dwell on Eleanor now. She had a task before her.

Somewhere on the mountain path down into the valley, the soldier caught up with her. He was obviously an excellent rider, and perfectly capable of handling large animals, which was probably the reason why he had been chosen as courier. Ayla was angry because it meant he was faster than she, but she was also grateful. There were things she needed to know.

“How many men are at the barricade?” she panted, not taking her eyes off the path. Letting the horse make one false step would be deadly here.

“The usual watch of twenty,” came the soldier's gruff reply.

No more than twenty. That was what Ayla had expected. It was also what she had feared.

Please, oh Lord, don't let the enemy attack in full force, she prayed, desperately. Please let this only be a small skirmish.

She wished now that she had made the regular watch bigger. But in her heart she knew she couldn't have. She had only sixty men at her disposal, and soldiers needed their sleep. She also couldn't have taken more men out of the castle, just in case the enemy found a different way to cross the river and made a surprise attack. It was as it had to be: twenty soldiers, no more.

“What about the rest of the soldiers?” she asked, desperately.

“Marching not far behind us, Milady. I left instructions with the sergeant to march as if the devil was burning his ass off.”

“Soldier!”

“Sorry, Milady.”

They approached the bridge in a whirlwind of flying dirt and water. Down in the valley, near the river, the ground was wet during the night, and Ayla was splattered with mud by the time she brought her horse to a halt in front of the bridge.

Mud, she thought. Soon it will be blood. No play. Real blood.

The bridge was alight with flames. Open fires had been lit behind the barricade, illuminating the ladder leading up to the walkway and the grim faces of the soldiers at the top, waiting, their weapons at the ready. Only the enemy was nowhere in sight.

Frowning, Ayla slid off her horse and approached Captain Linhart, who was standing at the very edge of the bridge, leaning over the railing to see around the barricade.

“Captain, what is the matter? The alarm was sounded, but I see nothing of Sir Luca or his army.”

“That's because they approached in darkness,” he said grimly. “Trying to catch us off guard, I suppose. We can thank the Lord that our scouts have sharp ears and caught their approach.”

Ayla looked out over the water, on which strange, hellish reflections danced in the red torch light. The light lasted only for a few feet all around the bridge. Beyond that was only darkness. God alone knew what horrors it held.

She threw an anxious glance over her shoulder. Somewhere on the path down from Luntberg Castle, she could see torches moving. Those must be their reinforcements. But in the dark, she couldn't measure the distance.

Slowly, she returned her eyes to the blackness across the river.

“You mean to say that they're out there? Right now?”

“Oh yes,” the captain affirmed. “I imagine they'll drop the pretense soon enough. We've made it pretty obvious that we know they're here.”

As if in response to his words, flames began to light up everywhere on the opposite bank. Ayla trembled at the sight. Flames, which only a few days ago had saved them from destruction, were now heralding their doom.

“There are so many,” she whispered.

“Aye,” the captain agreed. “If every sergeant is carrying one, I'll guess at least three hundred men.”

“Three hundred? That's not the full...”

Ayla's voice cut off as, suddenly, more flames appeared on the opposite bank. And more. And more. The land seemed to be awash with them.

Beside her, she heard Linhart draw in a sharp breath. “God's teeth!”

And for once in her life, she couldn't find it in herself to rebuke a man for cursing. Her chest tightened as she watched hundreds upon hundreds of blades, glinting wickedly in the torchlight, being drawn and raised towards the sky in a bloody promise.

“Rally!” she yelled, panic welling up inside her. “All rally to me! Defend the bridge!”

And the enemy charged.

*~*~**~*~*

The tent in which Ayla had worked during the last battle was still up, and she dearly wished she could use it. But there was little enough light under the open sky, let alone in an enclosed space where no torches could be lit for fear of suffocation. So she had to operate in the open, and the men she cared for had to watch their comrades fight and die while they fought for their own lives.

Ayla did her best not to look towards the barricade. She was needed. She had a job to do, and couldn't afford distractions. Yet every now and again, she couldn't help it. Her eyes flitted up towards the merciless waves of attackers pounding against the barricade. Every time their numbers seemed to be larger, every time the defenders seemed more tired and...

“Aaaarr!”

Terrified, Ayla looked down again at the soldier lying in front of her. Had she done something wrong? Brought him pain because of her distraction? No, she hadn't even touched him yet. Grimacing, the soldier pointed to his leg, where several pieces of mail had been driven into the flesh by the savage blow of some blunt weapon. Suppressing the urge to look away from the gruesome sight, Ayla handed the soldier a piece of hardened leather.

“Here. Bite down on this, so you won't bite your tongue off while I attend to your leg.”

He put the piece of leather between his teeth, then looked at her and nodded.

Picking up a pair of pincers, Ayla proceeded to pull out the metal links one by one. It was no easy task: the pieces were meshed together by the force of the blow and the soldier kept jerking and twitching, moans escaping his throat again and again. Ayla's heart constricted every time she heard his pain, but she steeled herself and went on. No time for crying now. Later, when this was all over.

Finally, she was finished, and put the instruments aside. Washing the wound, she noticed with appreciation that the soldier had stopped jerking. He was a strong man.

“There,” she sighed, wiping the water off. “That's it!”

When she got no reply, she looked up and saw that the soldier had passed out.

Soldier? For the first time she noticed that he was really quite young, only a few years older than her. He was hardly more than a boy. And yet, there were rings under his eyes. The past few days had clearly been too much for him—as for everybody else.

Looking up further, Ayla saw Captain Linhart and Sir Waldar atop the barricade. Captain Linhart was commanding the men, while Sir Waldar was swinging a gigantic mace and grinning madly, as if this were a giant orgy and not a battle for life or death.

Linhart, in contrast, did not smile. He just stood there, directing his men with calm, determined efficiency. For a moment, his eyes looked at Ayla and she thought he looked... sorrowful? Apologetic?

Two men appeared at Ayla's side, taking the unconscious soldier with them and placing another wounded man in front of her.

We cannot keep this up all night, Ayla thought, depressed. We are few, and they are many. No matter how well we fight, they will grind us into dust like a millstone does the corn.

The moon chose this moment to appear from behind the clouds and Ayla gasped. In the white light of the nocturnal celestial majesty, she could, for the first time, see the true extent of the enemy army. They truly had come in full force. It looked to Ayla like even more soldiers must have joined the Margrave's army in the gloom of evening—the murderous mass of steel stretched all the way from the wood to the forest, clamoring for advance, for attack, for blood.

On the same hill as before, Ayla saw the figure of the robber knight, not red now, but in the night, which robbed all things of color, as black as his stallion, as black as his accursed soul that he had sold to the devil! The Lady of Luntberg still couldn't see much in the faint light of the moon, but she could see the figure on the horse, outlined against the shimmering sky. She could see him raising a hand, staring directly at her.

The message was clear. He had come to crush them.

Would he succeed?

*~*~**~*~*

Reuben stirred in his sleep. Something... something was near. The night wasn't as silent as it was supposed to be. Night? Why was he waking in the middle of the night?

His eyes snapped open—and he beheld a dark figure in the shadows, towering over him, spattered from head to toe in mud and gore. His hand went to his belt lightning fast!