Reuben reigned in his horse and brought it to a halt beside the Dale Bridge. Raising a hand, he made a commanding gesture to the guard on the opposite riverbank, telling him to get over here, and to get over here now.

The sun caught on the red color of his gauntlet, making it gleam like freshly spilled blood. The color was no accident. Reuben had chosen it himself, and he knew exactly what freshly spilled blood looked like. He had spilled enough of it himself, and soon intended to start doing so again. A devilish grin of anticipation pulled at the corners of his mouth.

The guard on the other side of the bridge hadn't turned to him. He was still watching the East for approaching enemies, just as he was supposed to. Reuben could only approve of such vigilance, but just now, more important things were at hand.

"Hey, you there!" He called to the man and waved to him again. "Get over here now, or I'll have my next saddle made out of your miserable hide!"

The guard gave a start, and turned towards the voice. When he saw the giant red figure atop the great black warhorse and realized who had come to pay him a visit, he blanched, sprinted over the bridge, and, on reaching Reuben, immediately dropped to one knee. Reuben noted the reaction with satisfaction. Only a few weeks ago had he taken over command of the soldiers of Luntberg, and already they were beginning to show proper respect. It was amazing what a little discipline could accomplish—well, discipline, and the threat of horrible, violent death if the soldiers didn't do exactly as he said.

"Sir Reuben," the guard panted, springing to his feet again and standing straight. "I am at your command! How may I serve?"

"Have any of our scouts returned yet?"

"One is just now coming in, Sir. I spotted him only a few minutes ago, approaching from the east. Look!"

The guard pointed towards the forest in the distance. And indeed, now that he looked closely, Reuben could see flashes of color between the trees. It looked like a solitary rider, approaching fast.

"Excellent. I'll wait here for him. I want to hear his report first hand. And as for you..."

"Yes, Sir Reuben?"

"You will damn well try and stand straighter, man! You have a posture like a rusty old sickle! It's a disgrace!"

The man tried his utmost to stand even more erect. Reuben fancied he could hear a few bones creak under the strain. He smiled to himself and leaned back in the saddle, waiting in a leisurely posture, while the man-at-arms beside him sweated his trepidation out through every pore.

Wasn't life fun?

Finally, the awaited rider shot out from behind the trees and raced over the meadow beyond the river, towards the bridge. When he spotted the gigantic figure in red armor, he spurred his horse on to a last effort, and then reigned it in, not ten feet from the bridge. He slid from the animal's back and fell to one knee, bowing his head.

"Sir Reuben," he exclaimed, breathing hard. "I am at your command! How may I serve?"

Reuben smiled to himself again. Yes, he had definitely done a good job at instilling discipline into those fellows.

"You may tell me what you learned and observed on your mission."

"Certainly, Sir Reuben. It is my honor to serve you and Lady Ayla!"

"Lady Ayla and me," he corrected, his eyes narrowing. "You serve first Lady Ayla, then, and only then you serve me."

The scout realized his mistake a second too late and nodded eagerly. "Of course! I serve Lady Ayla with all my heart! I would lay my life down for her."

"Excellent. I'll remember you if I ever need somebody for a suicide mission. Now, your report."

Bending over, the scout hurriedly began drawing lines in the dirt and arranging twigs on the ground in a complex pattern.

"We're here."

Taking up a small twig, the scout jammed it into the earth. Reuben thought it a rather poor representation of the massive mountain fortress of Luntberg Castle with its two rings of walls and high, round towers, but didn't complain. Brevity was more important than exact representation at the moment.

"The Swabian Alps are here." With his finger, the scout drew a zigzag line into the dirt that was probably supposed to be a mountain range, or maybe the footprints of a drunken owl. "And on each side is one arm of the river Neckar. When the Margrave's army approaches, it will have to cross the mountains at this pass, here."

He tapped the ground at the place where it looked to Reuben as if the drunken owl had done a little tap-dance.

"And then he will still have to circumvent the Neckar, because there are no bridges in that area. We will be able to predict quite well which way they're going to come in. Even if they should change their course, I left the two other scouts behind, and they will warn us immediately."

Reuben nodded. "Has the enemy left already?"

"No, Sir. The army is still camped out at Falkenstein Castle."

"You saw it? Saw it with your own eyes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is the camp surrounded by palisades?"

"No, Sir."

"So you were able to get a rough count of the enemy's numbers."

The scout swallowed. Sweat beaded his brow. Reuben was no great expert at reading facial expressions, but the scout's proclaimed "fear" in large, bold letters.

"Yes, Sir."

Reuben waited. When nothing came, he growled: "Well?"

"Well what, Sir?"

"Don't be daft, man! What's the size of the enemy's army?"

The scout told him.

Reuben was silent for a moment, and didn't move. Then he slowly reached up and scratched his chin. There was stubble forming on it. He should probably resume the habit of regular shaving, now that he was supposedly a respectable knight again, but he really couldn't see the value of wasting time cutting down hair that didn't do anyone any harm. He would have to cut down more dangerous things soon enough.

"I see," he murmured. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, Sir! I counted twice so I wouldn't make any mistakes."

And probably because you hoped you were wrong the first time, Reuben thought.

"How long before they set out for Luntberg, do you think?"

"Not long, Sir. They looked about ready to depart."

"And was that all you have to report?"

"Yes, Sir! I didn't see anything else, Sir. I rode back as fast as I could to deliver my report, just as you ordered me to, Sir. Your wish is my command, Sir!"

"I think you mentioned that before. Now get up and stand straight like a man! You look like a maggot, cowering on the ground like that!"

"Yes, Sir! I am sorry, Sir. It was not my intention to appear like vermin, Sir! I humbly apologize if I offended your eyes, Sir!"

The scout jumped to his feet again. Reuben was just about to send him on his way, with a few orders that would hopefully put some backbone into the fellow, when he heard hoofbeats from behind him and turned around in the saddle to see another rider approaching. The rider was still quite some distance away, but Reuben would have recognized that horse anywhere. He had once stolen it, after all, and he had an excellent memory for all his robberies. The girl on the horse's back, too, was easy to recognize. Admittedly, he had never stolen her, but he was in love with her, which probably also was a good reason for remembering.

Ayla.

A broad grin broke out over his face as she approached. She raised a hand to wave at him, and he had already half-raised his hand to respond, before he realized that commanders didn't wave to girls like love-struck fools in front of their men. He tried to put an impressive scowl on his face. But he feared he only partially succeeded.

Ayla slowed down her horse and drew up beside him. She shared one, long, deep look with him, then gave the two men-at-arms behind him a friendly smile.

"And? How has Reuben been treating you?" she asked. "Is he a good commander?"

"Exemplary!" Exclaimed the bridge guard. "We could not wish for a kinder, wiser and more gracious commander than the great Sir Reuben!"

He elbowed the scout in the ribs.

"What- Oh, of c-course, yes," he stammered, still trying to catch his breath. "Sir Reuben is the best master anybody could hope for. Kind, gentle, selfless, unflinchingly moral, a pillar of righteousness and an example to us all!"

Ayla raised a delicate eyebrow. Reuben thought the expression became her very well. He smiled.

"We are talking about the same person, aren't we?" she inquired. "You know, Reuben, that fellow over there in the red armor?"

His smile evaporated. "Very funny," Reuben growled.

Ayla gave him that smile that made her eyes sparkle like sapphires, and what little anger he had felt melt away on the spot, liquified by the warm light of her eyes.

"You certainly seem to have won your men's loyalty, Sir Knight."

"My inspired leadership skills at work, Milady, nothing more, nothing less."

"I'm sure. You two," she waved to the two soldiers. "I'd like to see you when your shift is over to give me a little report on Sir Reuben's 'inspired leadership skills'—preferably when your report won't be affected by his imposing presence. I'm interested in hearing what else he is, besides a gentle, selfless pillar of righteousness."

The soldiers looked apprehensively from her to Reuben and back again. Reuben returned their gaze, and his message was clear: Not one word, or...

"Yes, Milady." The soldiers bowed, dutifully. "Of course, Milady."

Ayla nodded and turned her horse, spurring it on back towards the castle. Reuben was beside her in an instant, his stallion Satan matching the pace of her mare Eleanor easily.

"You don't trust my skills as a commander?" he demanded. He meant his voice to sound hard, like a proper commander's voice should sound, but somehow it came out low and teasing, and one corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

"Oh, I trust your commanding skills implicitly," Ayla assured him. "I just want to make sure that my people fight for us because they want to, and not because they're afraid of you."

"Why? The latter way is much easier."

"Oh, I don't know... there's this little thing called 'loyalty'..."

"Overrated."

"Honor?"

"Not really my thing."

"Love?"

"Now that...." Reuben leaned over and gently touched his hand to Ayla's face. "That's different. Somehow I can understand why someone might want to fight for love of you."

"Can you?" Ayla's sapphire eyes were dancing. And Reuben basked in their light. "How come?"

"Because I will be in the front lines," he told her, leaning closer. "For that very reason."

They rode further up towards the castle in silence. The farther they got, the steeper and narrower the path became. At one time, it even turned so narrow that they couldn't ride beside each other anymore and Reuben had to let Ayla pass so she could ride in front.

Reuben knew he should have been watching where Satan was putting his hoofs—this was a dangerous path and Reuben didn't fancy breaking his neck. But Ayla was riding directly in front of him, her hips swaying on her mare's back in a very stimulating manner. Looking at that was almost worth giving your own neck a nice little new fatal twist.

In front of him, Ayla started to fidget, very likely feeling his eyes on her. After a while, she turned around and met his burning gaze.

"What are you staring at?" she wanted to know.

"Your backside."

"Hm. Lust is a sin, you know."

"You don't say."

"Besides, there are more beautiful sights to look at than me."

"True." He flashed her a grin. "But I don't have a mirror with me."

She scowled at him and muttered something about pride most certainly also being a deadly sin, but he thought that he saw the corner of her mouth twitch just before she turned to face the path again.

"Reuben?"

"Yes?"

What did she want now? He had done his best not to burn her backside with his stare anymore, even if it cost severe restraint.

"Why did you ride out?"

Oh. No more talk about the seven deadly sins, apparently. No, this was far worse. Reuben's jaw tightened and he sat straighter in the saddle, looking up at the castle.

"No reason, really," he lied, smoothly. "I just wanted to take Satan out for a ride. The old beast spends so much time cooped up in the stables these days, he might forget he's a warhorse."

"And that was the only reason?"

"Yes." Keep your voice even. She doesn't need to know about the scout. She doesn't need to know about the army, about the numbers...

"Reuben?"

"Yes?"

"What did the scout say?"

Damn! "What scout?"

She turned again, and this time she did smile, unmistakably. "The scout you were talking to down at the bridge. The scout whose report was the reason why you rode all the way down there."

He managed to make his face assume a hurt expression. "Are you implying that I would lie to you?"

She considered this for a moment. "Yes."

"Well," he grumbled, "at least you've learned some sense since we met."

"Thank you for the compliment, Sir Knight. Now tell me—what did the scout have to say?"

"You put me in charge of the defense of your castle, Milady. You do not need to concern yourself with such matters anymore."

She threw him a long look. One of those deep looks that seemed to burrow all the way down to his hellish soul. Her big blue eyes, larger and more beautiful than any sapphire he had ever seen, seemed to exert a force that was greater than any command.

"Reuben. Please. These are my people we are trying to defend. I need to know."

He sighed. Why try to hide it? If he didn't tell her, she would just talk to the scout later, and however much he terrified the soldiers, he would never be able to coerce them into lying to their mistress's face. They served Lady Ayla with an almost fanatical devotion.

"The Margrave's army is almost assembled, Milady. It will be moving over the Swabian Alps and towards Luntberg in a couple of days. We will probably be able to more or less predict their route."

"Well... That sounds good, doesn't it?"

Reuben said nothing.

"Reuben? That does sound good, doesn't it? I mean, it's good that we will know where and when they will be coming. That can only help."

Again, Reuben remained silent.

"Reuben? What aren't you telling me?"

A great many things. But it's better that way, trust me.

"Reuben, how large exactly is the Margrave's army?"

Satan's hairy ass! Life would be so much easier if she weren't so smart.

"The scout only got a rough count, Milady. It's hard to say at this point..."

"Reuben!"

He sighed. "A thousand men. The enemy is a thousand men strong."

Ayla's head whipped around so fast that her blonde hair followed like the tail of a comet.

"A thousand?" The color had drained from her face and her usually already pale skin was now ghost-white. "How are we to stand against such numbers?"

She obviously meant it as a rhetorical question. Reuben, however, didn't chose to treat it as such.

"I'm glad you asked," he said, suddenly cheerful. "I have one or two ideas for how to best hack our enemies into tiny little pieces. If they work, we should stand a good chance. Did you do as I asked you to before I left?"

Ayla nodded, frowning. "Yes. All the villagers are assembled in the out castle yard, as you requested."

"Just the adults? Not the children?"

"Yes, just as you asked. But what exactly do you want with them?"

Reuben shrugged, doing his best to seem innocent. It didn't work very well. "I'm the new commander of your armed forces, Milady. Don't you think I should speak a few inspiring words to your people?"

Ayla squinted at him in suspicion. "You want to give them a speech to boost their morale?"

"Something like that, yes."

"If it's just that, why do you have that evil glint in your eye?"

"Because speech will be evil—very evil."

"Now I am completely mystified."

"Really?" He gave her his best, devilish grin. "Let's demystify you then." He nodded, pointing ahead. Ayla turned to see that they had almost reached the archway of the castle gates, behind which the faces of anxious villagers were visible. Reuben's grin widened. If they only knew what was in store for them...

"Let's go, Milady." He gave Satan the spurs. "Let's show these peasants how to win a bloody war!"

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Greetings, my Lords and Ladies!

Trust me, when Reuben says 'bloody', he doesn't mean the British slang version of 'damn' - he is more than literal ;-)

Now I have to say farerwell to you, for I am busily preparing for the Wattys2015. Forward, to battle!

With a deafening war-cry,

Your medieval knight

Sir Rob