The Robber Knight's Love

31. The Deadly Fear of Cooking Pots

More than once, Reuben was tempted to just pick Ayla up and carry her the rest of the way. Every time she winced as she took a step forward with her wounded feet, the impulse grew stronger. However, he knew she wouldn't have wanted that, and for some strange reason, he didn't consider what he himself wanted most important where she was concerned.

 With a little of his help, rendered so gently that she probably didn't even notice, Ayla managed the way down the courtyard and through the inner gate. When they passed under the archway, he heard her whisper: “Don't let go of my hand, please? I'll have to see them again soon, and I need you.”

He knew right away what she was talking about, and his heart ached for her. She should never have had to see any of the horror the enemy had flung over the castle walls.

Some part of him was seriously considering implementing the plan he had outlined to Ayla only in jest. If he could kill all her enemies himself, that would be immensely satisfying. Not quite as satisfying as some other things he could think of doing in regard to her, but still immensely so.

“They are just dead pieces of meat and bone,” he tried to comfort her. “There's nothing terrible about them.”

In the darkness under her arch he couldn't see her face, but her voice quivered slightly as she answered: “I try to tell myself the same. But then I look into their eyes, and I know differently.”

Yes, killing all her enemies himself would definitely feel great.

The gates to the outer courtyard swung open, and a flood of utter confusion hit them with the force of seven thunderstorms. Heads—rotting, split in half, grinning ghastly at everyone around—were littered around the courtyard. People were milling around everywhere, the women wailing and crying, the men shouting senseless orders nobody paid attention to. There were even, Reuben saw, one or two children, staring with empty eyes at the horrible, empty eye-sockets of one of the skulls.

Reuben thought that Ayla would start crying. That she would run back into the inner fortress and try to hide. He felt her body stiffen, and anticipated having to support her if she collapsed.

Only then did he notice that her eyes were not fixed on the grizzly heads scattered over the courtyard, but on the children.

“You there!”

Suddenly, Reuben found himself standing alone under the archway. Ayla seemed to have forgotten that her feet were covered with painful cuts. She was striding, as determined as a soldier on the march, towards the young boy and the girl, and with a swift movement engulfed them in the loose folds of her dress, covering their eyes.

“You people,” she called to several villagers standing nearby, yammering. “Have you lost your senses?”

The yammering stopped abruptly. Everyone turned to stare at their liege lady dumbfounded, like they had not expected to see her in the world of life again. One middle-aged woman raised a shivering hand, pointing out over the outer wall, towards the origin of the strange, unearthly wailing that was still wafting over the castle.

“It is the dead, Milady!” Her twitching hand wandered to the severed heads of the Luntberg soldiers all around the courtyard. “The spirits of the dead are angry with us! They have come to take us all into hell!”

“I might very well take you to hell myself if you don't get these children out of here immediately,” Ayla hissed, thrusting the two youngsters into the woman's arms. “And while you are at it, rid yourself of your foolish superstitions. The souls of the dead are either in heaven, hell or purgatory, and they will stay there and not bother us. Now go!”