The Robber Knight's Love

08. Surrounded

“Yes.” The words tumbled out of Ayla’s mouth almost against her own volition. “He is a merchant. A merchant dealing in arms. That is why he knows some things about war, I suppose.”

“I see.” Isenbard still didn't look convinced. “I could swear I saw him before he arrived here, though! And most certainly not behind a stall, selling daggers and knifes.”

“Oh, really?” Ayla tried to laugh and it didn't seem quite natural. “Well, he has a very common face, the kind of face you see everywhere.”

“Common?”

“Oh yes. And ugly. Very ugly.”

Confusion wrinkled Isenbard's brow. “Well...  he has a scar, to be sure, but I wouldn't call him ugly.”

“I would. Ugly and unpleasant,” Ayla prattled on. Silently, she cursed herself, and cursed Reuben ten times more. What was she thinking? What was she saying? She had concealed Reuben's true identity from Isenbard. She had concealed the fact that she was harboring a thief and a traitor from her most trustworthy defender! Was she insane?

And now, fearing that Isenbard had somehow seen Reuben before, she was trying to distract him with the most inane babbling ever heard in the walls of Luntberg Castle. What was the matter with her?

Isenbard regarded her sternly.

“Well, I thought he wasn't very well-behaved. But I thought you liked him.”

“I? Certainly not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Probably the way you cried your eyes out when he fell down the stairs and almost broke his neck, the other day?”

Ayla flinched as he reminded her of that.

“No, no. It's just the stress that has been getting to me,” she maintained.

Isenbard didn't swallow her excuse as easily as Burchard had. His eyes narrowed in suspicion for a moment—but then he let it go.

“We have more important matters to discuss right now. How goes the defense, Milady?”

“Well, that kind of depends on how you look at it.”

“How do you look at it?”

Isenbard never had been one to ask easy questions. Ayla forced herself to remain calm. He needed to know this.

“Well, on the one hand, everybody is safe behind the castle walls. You know Luntberg Castle. You know that it will not be easily stormed.”

She paused, knowing that this had been the easy part of her assessment.

“But?” Isenbard probed.

“But, on the other hand, everybody is safe within the castle walls—and by everybody I mean hundreds of people. The entire village has sought refuge here. With that many people we cannot hold out long if that villain Sir Luca should decide to starve us out.”

Silence loomed between them, filling the emptiness of the great hall. An ominous and somber atmosphere lay over the scene: the cold light of the moon shining in through the windows, illuminating the slight figure of the kneeling girl in her white dress, and the old but still formidable knight, lying on his back, slowly stroking his beard in contemplation.

“Do you think they will attack?” Ayla finally broke the silence, her voice almost hopeful. She did not relish the thought of a battle, but she knew that in a fight, a castle with its thick walls and solid battlements was as good as hundreds of armed men to the defenders. It would be the only way to right the imbalance between Falkenstein's huge army and her little company of steadfast vassals. And at least everything would be over quickly and she would know her fate, be it salvation or doom.