The Robber Knight's Secret

31. Return Home to a Forest of Steel

Never before in her life had Ayla had to threaten her own soldiers to get them to open the gates. And never in her life had they refused, even when threatened with being dangled from the east tower on a washing line.

"Damn you!" Ayla yelled, forgetting for the moment that such words could gain you years of roasting in purgatory. "Open those gates, now!"

The nearest soldier just looked uncertainly from the bar across the gate to her and back again. He had been up on the wall, and had seen what had happened outside. It was obvious he'd been far more comfortable dozens of yards seperating him from what was approaching outside, and didn't like to thought of removing this last flimsy bit of protection.

"M-milady... I... I can't..."

"Get out of my way!"

Shoving the soldier aside, Ayla ran to the gate and grabbed the heavy wooden bar. She took a deep breath and pulled. The bar didn't move an inch.

"Mary, mother of God! Why can't this thing be lighter," she groaned, pulling again.

"Um... because it's supposed to keep people out?" the soldier behind her suggested.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! Now stop wasting my time, come over here and give me a hand, will you?"

Again, the soldier hesitated. A few beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead.

"Err... I'm not so sure that's a good ide—"

"Open this gate!" came a growl from outside the walls, in a voice Ayla knew all too well. "Now! Open it, or I'll climb over the wall and rip your heads off!"

What little color remained in the soldiers face drained away. Before Ayla knew what had happened, he had pushed her aside and put his burly shoulders under the weight of the bar. A few seconds later it thudded to the ground, sending up a spray of mud.

From behind her, Ayla could hear the sound of hundreds of heavy boots approaching. The guards and recruits, no doubt. But the footsteps stopped the moment the heavy gates began to move. An eerie creak echoed over the courtyard, as if the doors that were opening were not the doors to Luntberg Castle, but the very doors to hell. And a moment later, when light flooded in through the opening, framing a muscular, blood-splattered figure with wild, black hair and fiery gray eyes, you could almost have believed the devil had entered.

Almost.

Ayla would never make that mistake. She hated the devil. Yet she loved this man.

Reuben strode into the courtyard. Ayla saw his eyes flit searchingly over the assembled crowd. Then his gaze found hers, and flared with heat more intense than that of any red hot iron. The smoke curling up from the burn scars on his chest seemed to undulate and dance around him in triumph. Yet Ayla saw it only out of her peripheral vision. She couldn't once take her gaze off his face. She felt as though she could see the whole world in those gray eyes of his.

"Reuben..." The word was a strangled croak. Until that moment, Ayla hadn't even realized how soar her throat was from trying not to cry, not to scream.

He stepped forward, and held his arms wide open—an invitation. And in this aprticular case, a rather bloody invitation.

Raising one shaking finger, Ayla pointed. "R-Reuben... your arms... your poor arms..."

"Oh." He glanced down at the halfs of the arrow shaft still sticking out of his forearms, as if he had only just noticed them. "Sorry."

Plucking the wooden splinters out of his flesh, he held them up, questioningly. "Where should I put these?"