The Robber Knight's Love

70. Iron Tidings

This herald was nothing like the last one—that was the first thought that ran through Ayla's mind when she looked down at him from her father's high chair on the raised platform in the great hall. The last one had been small, narrow-eyed and shifty. This one was large, with a pale, bony face and a mustache that solemnly drooped at both ends. His hands were very hairy and looked too large for the small scroll and leather pouch he carried.

All in all, he reminded Ayla a bit of Bardo—only that the gigantic carpenter's shoulders weren't weighed down by a thousand worries, as this man's shoulders clearly were, and that Bardo wasn't quite as old. Gray streaked the hair of this man, and there was a sad wisdom in his eyes that only people who have seen too much possess.

What is he doing here?, she wondered. What message could the Margrave possibly want to send me? What need is there for words, after we've exchanged blows, and Luntberg has emerged victorious?

The herald walked down the hall with hesitant steps. Before the raised chair he halted and licked his lips. Obviously, he was none too happy about the message he had to deliver.

"I... I bring you greetings from the mighty Margrave von Falkenstein, oh worthless harlot who..."

Before he could get out another syllable, a red-clad figure streaked past Ayla and grabbed him by the neck. The herald was a large man—but nowhere near as large as Reuben. The Red Robber Knight kicked the man's legs out from under him and slammed him into the floor, face first.

"Show proper respect to the lady!" he snarled. "If I hear another foul word from you I'll cut your throat! And don't think I won't recognize them, I know foul words like old friends!"

"Please, no! Please, Sir Knight, do not kill me! Please, Lady!"

The man tried to raise himself to his knees, but Reuben increased the pressure and he stayed where he was, his breathing hectic.

"Reuben?" Ayla raised a hand, her eyes fixed on the man at the floor. She wasn't surprised at the insult—it was what she had expected from a herald of the Margrave. What had surprised her was the man's obvious reluctance. "Let him up. And you, man, had better keep a civil tongue, or I cannot guarantee for Sir Reuben's actions. He gets... easily excited."

The man scrambled to his knees and remained like that, kneeling in front of her. He had nothing in common with the other herald. Ayla wondered why the Margrave would have chosen such a man.

She had her question answered almost immediately.

"I am so sorry, Milady," the man panted, pleading in his eyes. "The Margrave forced me to say this. He forced me to come here, threatening he'd kill my family if I didn't. None of the other heralds would go, they fled when they heard what the Margrave wanted them to tell you rather than face your anger, but he knew he could use my family as leverage to force me. Please, if you have to torture me, do so, only do not kill me. Without me, my family would..."

Ayla held up a hand to stop his desperate flood of words. Outwardly, her face was calm. But inside, she was filled with rage. A man who did this to one of his own vassals, merely to deliver a series of insults did not deserve to call himself a knight, much less a margrave. He did not even deserve to call himself a man!

"Speak the words your master has sent you here to speak," she told the herald in as gentle a voice as she could. "Here at Luntberg we do not punish the messenger for the insolence of his master."

"Speak for yourself," Reuben growled. He still hadn't let go of the man's neck. "I for one could think of some interesting ways to punish this worm."

Ayla sighed.

"Reuben?"

"Yes, Milady?"

"Let go of the man's neck."