The Robber Knight's Secret

45. Burning Faith

Reuben was standing at the edge of the training grounds, watching a few dozen of his recruits train. Only about half of them were peasants and Luntberg guards—the rest were former soldiers of the Margrave. Reuben had watched them intently in the last week, and not once had he been able to catch one of them at any sign of disloyalty.

On the contrary, most of them seemed rather relieved that they had switched sides and were now sitting behind these nice, solid stone walls, not in front of them. They also seemed devoted to that smarmy, birdy-loving bastard Sir Gegor, who, in turn, was devoted to Ayla. A little too devoted for Reuben's taste. But unfortunately, he hadn't found any justification to rip the fellow's guts out yet. Not a justification Ayla would accept, anyway.

If Reuben was being honest with himself, which he rarely was if he could help it, he was fiercely proud of Ayla for having won the enemy soldiers, including that Sir Gregor, over to their side. Only a master at leadership could accomplish something like that. Although he'd rather drink a whole cauldron full of scolding hot fennel soup before admitting that to her, of course.

"Faster!" He shouted at a soldier who was just raising his crossbow at a target. "You must move faster! Or do you think the enemy is going to sit still, waiting for you to shoot?"

Actually, the man's speed had been quite good. But there was no need to tell him that, was there?

Grinning, Reuben leant back against the wall and watched the soldier struggle to load and shoot more quickly. Being an instructor was really quite fun.

Suddenly, he sniffed the air, as an unexpected odor registered in his mind.

Smoke? Was someone baking?

Alarm bells began ringing in the back of his head. Somehow, this didn't smell like a baker's fire. Destruction had its own scent, a scent which Reuben knew all too well. The air was full of it now.

Before he had even realized what he was doing he had pushed away from the wall and was running.

"Come with me!"

His voice easily carried over the noise of the firing crossbows. The zitt zitt was abruptly cut off and at least half of the men fell into a run immediately, the rest following a few seconds later. They had learned to listen when Reuben bellowed a command.

The farther Reuben got, the thicker the stench of smoke became. Around the corner of the keep, farther ahead, he could see red light flickering. Doubling his speed, he shouted encouragements to his men. When they finally rounded the corner, everyone stopped in their tracks.

Bright red light reflected off the stone walls, right and left. The flames from which it came surged out of a wooden outbuilding standing not far from the inner wall. Reuben recognized it immediately: it was the building in which the unused crossbows were stored. And next to the building, smiling broadly as if he had won a great victory, stood Gernot the peasant.

Reuben was quite familiar with murderous rage. Many times in his life had he lusted to end someone's life, to throttle them, to drive his lance through their chest or to rip their heads off with his bare hands—or do all those things at once.

But never before in his life had he wanted to go back in time and kill someone when he had last had the chance. Before, he had always taken the first chance. But that had been before Aylay.

"Men!" he bellowed. "Attention! You!" He pointed to one of the three lances of men that had followed him. "If the door isn't blocked yet, get inside there and get the crossbows out, now! You!" He rounded on the other lance. "Form a bucket chain! I want to see water here in five seconds, understood?"