At first, Ayla didn't realize what was going on. She was utterly fixated on Reuben, facing away from the gate of the inner wall—so at first, she didn't have a chance to see the two soldiers with the struggling bundle in between. Even when she did, she couldn't believe what she saw. That couldn't be a child they were carrying, could it? An innocent young boy? And Reuben couldn't have said what she thought he had just said, could he? He loved her. No man capable of love would contemplate killing an innocent, young...

No! It wasn't possible!

But then he strode off towards the child, sword raised. Fear gripped Ayla, binding her in chains of terror. She couldn't move an inch or make a sound. She was paralyzed.

"Sir Reuben!" Volvrad, the father of the boy, was pale as death, and his voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper. "Surely you don't mean..."

"I mean exactly what I say, peasant," Reuben told him without faltering in his step. "Now be silent!"

"Sir Reuben! Tell your men to let my boy go!"

"Since when do serfs give orders to their masters, peasant? Be silent and watch a true knight dispense mercy!"

"Sir Reuben... please... Please, Milord..." Volrad's voice was hardly audible now. Out of the corner of her eye, Ayla could see he was shaking badly and couldn't take his eyes off his boy up at the gate.

"That's better," Reuben grunted. "Begging befits a maggot like you. Get down on your knees and grovel! Now!"

Obediently, Volrad sank down on his knees. It didn't look like his legs could have supported him for much longer, in any case. "Please, Milord! Please, I beg you. Spare my boy!"

"Oh, I will." Reuben made a sign to the soldiers, and one of them let go of the boy's arms and instead gripped his legs, lifting him so that he was suspended in the air and totally helpless. "I already told you. I will grant him the mercy of a quick death. It will spare him a great deal of suffering."

"No! Please, Milord! Please, I beg you..."

But Volrad didn't get out another word. At that very moment, a figure pushed him to the side and darted up the hill: a small woman with mousy brown hair. His wife! Ayla watched, spellbound, as she ran up the hill faster than a hare and threw herself onto Reuben, grabbing his swordarm. Her face was contorted in fear bordering on madness.

"Please! Milord, please! Don't hurt my boy! He's all I've got in the world. Please! I'll do anything! Anything! Just don't..."

"Men!" Reuben bellowed. A few soldiers sprang forward. They grabbed the woman by the arms and started dragging her away, ignoring her pleas and desperate attempts to free herself. Some dispassionate part of Ayla's mind noted that these weren't Luntberg men-at-arms she had known since she was little: they were former members of the mercenary army that had attacked Luntberg, men to whom Reuben had granted quarter. So, incidentally, were the soldiers holding young Peyr, son of Volrad, up at the gate. Reuben must have known that they would be prepared to do anything he commanded.

They are the only soldiers who would always take his commands over mine. He has planned this well in advance and thought it through thoroughly.

Suddenly, a high scream pierced the morning air. Ayla's eyes flicked up and saw that up at the gate, the little boy had managed to spit the gag out of his mouth. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, begging for help. Reality came rushing back in a tidal wave. What was she doing, still standing here? She couldn't let this happen! Hot, angry moisture threatened at the corners of her eyes, her gaze flitting between the little boy and Reuben. What madness had seized him? She knew he'd been an evil once, but she had thought that...

No matter! She had to stop this! There was a child's life at risk.

She raised her hand, preparing to shout out to the soldiers to let the boy go at once, or to put herself in Reuben's path if need be. She would let him cut her down before she let him touch a hair on that child's head! But before she could do anything, another scream tore at her ears. This one wasn't a boy's scream, though. It was a man's roar—a roar of rage.

A figure darted past her, so fast she almost didn't recognize him. Even when she did, she could hardly believe her eyes: It was Volrad. Volrad, the peasant, with a sword in his hand. He had picked up the blade Reuben had left lying on the ground and was running uphill, towards Reuben and his helpless victim.

Reuben didn't even seem to be aware of him. He continued to walk up the slope towards the child at a steady, determined pace.

"Lay him on his back," he called to the two soldiers. "Make sure he doesn't struggle. It's best if I sever his neck with one quick blow."

"Yes, Sir!"

The men both indicated a bow and forced the boy down to the ground, holding him in place.

"And stuff that gag back in. His squealing is getting on my nerves!"

"Yes, Sir!"

The boy's screams cut off – which only meant his father's roars could be heard more clearly now. He was chasing uphill, even faster than his wife had been, and with considerably more momentum. Ayla thought it a miracle that he hadn't cut himself in half with the sword yet, he hardly seemed to know at which end to hold it. But he was still in one piece, and closing on Reuben fast, his eyes, so fearful a moment ago, now blazing with determination.

Reuben was now barely a few steps away from the child on the ground. He raised his sword.

Behind him, Volrad did the same.

"Let... him... go!" he shouted, gaining a final spurt of speed as he closed the last bit of distance between him and the giant figure in red armor. Despite everything, despite what he was about to do, Ayla couldn't help feeling a surge of fear for Reuben. The man, Volrad, was armed, and clearly half out of his mind. Who could blame him? And Reuben just stood there waiting, not even turning to defend himself.

"I said," Volrad growled, raising his sword even higher, directly behind Reuben, "Let him go!"

"Or what?" Reuben scoffed. "You'll not milk your cows? Or maybe you'll hit me with a bunch of celery? Be off with you, peasant!"

But Volrad didn't leave. Instead, he plunged forward and his sword swung down in a deadly ark towards Reuben's unprotected back. Once more, Ayla heard a scream, and for a few moments didn't realize: it had been her own.

There was a clash of steel against steel. Suddenly, Reuben didn't have his back to Volrad anymore. He was facing the peasant, a devilish grin splitting his face.

"So," he breathed, slowly pushing Volrad back, all his weight bearing down on the smaller man who stood further downhill. Even Ayla knew enough of swordsmanship to say that that this wasn't a good position for Volrad. "You have some fire in you, after all, peasant. Enough to kill me before I cut your son's heart out?"

He shoved. Volrad was flung backwards off his feet and sailed through the air, landing on the ground with an unhealthy crunch. The sword flew out of his hand and stuck in the damp earth, a few feet away.

"Somehow, I don't think so." Reuben turned to Peyr again. The whole time, the soldiers hadn't moved an inch. They were still holding the boy to the ground, waiting for further commands. "Hold him still and let's get this over with."

"No!"

Ayla had never in her life seen a man move so fast – not a courier on a prize horse, not an expert archer, not even Reuben. Volrad was back on his feet in a split second, the sword somehow in his hand again. This time Reuben didn't wait for him to attack. He turned, and met the peasant's attack head on. Blows rained down on the red knight like shards of ice in a hailstorm, but he deflected them easily. His giant sword seemed to be everywhere, countering every inexpert blow of the peasant with deadly proficiency.

"Is that all you've got?" Reuben's grin widened, the devil dancing in his eyes. "With such a miserable performance, what do you think your son's chances of survival are? Two seconds? Three? Four at most, before I cut through you and ram this blade into his heart!"

Another roar clawed its way out of the peasant's chest and he doubled his furious efforts to somehow get at Reuben.

"Come on!" Reuben growled. "Come on! Your technique is miserable! You're swinging that sword around like a flail! I'm not a sack of corn! Move faster, and keep your free hand behind your back!"

Reuben's sword came whistling down and Volrad pulled his left hand back, just in time, growling an oath.

"I said to keep your free hand behind your back!" Reuben barked. "It's empty! Useless! Just another target for me to hit. I'm not a sack of corn: I kill! And now move your miserable ass before I cut you into pieces!"

Volrad jumped to the side, his hand behind his back, and swiped at Reuben. He, however, easily deflected the blow with the flat of his blade and spat at Volrad's feet.

"Not bad. But you'll have to do better if you want to catch me off guard."

Again, Volrad swung his sword at Reuben, but the red robber knight knocked his blow aside easily.

"Is that all you've got? You fight like a craven hedge-pig!

"Raaaw!"

With a bestial cry, Volrad threw himself at Reuben, trying to duck underneath the knight's blade to stab into the gap between his armor plates. Ayla opened her mouth to shout a warning—but Reuben had already jumped aside, and Volrad landed face first in the dirt.

"No, you're no hedge-pig." Reuben laughed. "They're much quicker than you. Besides, they make 'oink', not 'Raaw'! I know what you are. You're the son of mongrel bitch! You growl like one, and I'll bet when you're kicked, you howl and run away!"

With one quick step, Reuben was above the fallen man. Before the peasant could even think of getting up, his sword whistled down. Volrad was just able to raise his own blade before Reuben's sword found its aim. The blow was so powerful that Volrad's sword was thrown back and he almost was decapitated by his own weapon.

"Never get on the defensive," Reuben told him, giving the man on the ground a solid kick. Volrad muttered a curse.

"Good! I see your language is getting more vigorous. Now just get your ass off the ground and do the same for your swordplay!" Reuben hacked down again, and again, Volrad just managed to evade the blow. "Do it! Now! Or I'll hack you to pieces!"

The only answer was a strangled groan.

"No? Well, I guess I'll cut your son into pieces instead, then." And Reuben turned around.

Volrad was on his feet so fast, Ayla had hardly seen him move. But although he moved incredibly fast, Ayla could see a subtle difference in his movements: he kept his hand behind his back and angled his body, so he would be a smaller target. Slowly, something started to dawn on Ayla. She watched the peasant racing towards Reuben, her eyes jumping from knight to peasant and back again.

"No," she whispered. "It couldn't be... He wouldn't..."

Volrad didn't stop for a second. He ran straight for Reuben, who was marching up the hill and, once more, presented the peasant his unprotected back.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed. "I'll kill you, you fly-bitten codpiece!"

His sword came down.

And suddenly, Reuben wasn't there anymore. He was two steps to the left and had knocked Volrad's sword to the side. Without a moment's hesitation, he went from defense to attack, raining blows on the peasant like hailstones in a hurricane. Volrad desperately tried to block the blows, but each iron strike made him cry out in pain, as his arm was battered by a force it had never been meant to withstand.

"Don't meet the attack head-on, you beef-witted fool!" Reuben growled. "You're expending needless energy. Deflect the blows to the side! And never, ever, catch a blow with your sword's edge! That's what the flat of the blade is for. Or better still, hit the flat of your enemy's blade with your own edge. That gives you more power. Like this! And this! And this!"

Ayla watched in incredulity as Volrad followed the instructions of the man he was trying, with every fiber of this being, to cut into tiny little pieces. It was clear to her now—there was no longer any doubt. Reuben was teaching. He was teaching Volrad how to fight.

And Volrad was learning. He adjusted his stance, quickened his movements. Still, he couldn't possibly match Reuben's overwhelming strength and speed.

"I think it's time to change partners," Reuben said, yawning, and deflecting another blow with ease. "You're not quite as hopeless as in the beginning, but this is starting to bore me."

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

"Not today, my friend."

Reuben's left hand shot forward from behind his back, grabbing Volrad by the throat and lifting him off the ground as easily as if he were a child's doll.

"Always," the red robber knight told his opponent, "remember that you have two hands, even if you keep one hidden. Use it if the opportunity presents itself."

With a jerk of his arm, he pushed Volrad away. The peasant stumbled backwards, desperately fighting for air.

Reuben, meanwhile, calmly stepped back and lowered his sword.

"Guards!"

Three guards sprang forward at Reuben's command. One had already drawn his sword and began to engage Volrad. Reuben took another step back and sat down on the ground, leisurely crossing his legs. Then, he glanced over at Ayla for the first time since they had entered the courtyard.

"Do you want to join me?" he asked, patting the ground beside him. "This is probably going to take some time, and we might as well enjoy the show."

Ayla stared at him, dumb-founded. Was he really inviting her to watch two of her subjects fight each other to the death for fun? Was he serious?

Well, this was Reuben. So yes, he probably was.

She shook her head, mutely.

"If it's the hard ground that has you worried, Mildady, that's no problem. I can call your maid and make her bring you a cushion. We might as well make ourselves comfortable."

"N-no, thank you."

"As you wish, Milady." He winked. "We can always make ourselves comfortable later, when we're alone."

He glanced over at the two combatants, who both were bleeding from several small wounds by now.

"If you step out of the way of the sword, you won't start bleeding," he advised.

"Shut your damned tooth-hole!" Volrad growled.

"So you already knew that? How nice. At last something obvious I don't have to teach you."

"I said shut your tooth-hole, or I'm going to murder you!"

"You already promised that about five times today, peasant, and haven't gotten around to it yet. You really mustn't promise me things you can't keep, you know. It's bad manners."

Volrad's answer consisted of a string of curses so vile that Ayla covered her ears after the first two words. She was sure the rest were swear words, however, from the appreciative expression on Reuben's face. He was obviously pleased by the progress his pupil was making.

Volrad and the guard continued to fight, with Reuben shouting occasional advice and encouragements—which mostly came in the form of blistering insults to one of the contestants. The villagers watched, spell-bound, as one of them held his own against a trained man-at-arms. The expressions of mingled fear and disbelief on their faces slowly morphed into something else. A ferocious kind of hope that Ayla had never seen on a peaceful peasant's face before.

She saw Reuben watch their faces, too. He watched the ferocity grow, watched their eyes widen and starting to gleam. At the same time, he watched the fight in the middle of the courtyard. Where the guard had, in the beginning, been the undoubted superior, Volrad was now slowly but surely gaining ground. His eyes were fixed, like those of a sinner seeing the doors of paradise in reach, on the figure of his son, bound and gagged, on the cobblestones only a few yards away. And there no longer was a knight in his way. Just this single guard, this one man he had to cut down. Then, his son would be in reach. His son would be safe.

Ayla could read every one of these thoughts in the peasant's madly shining eyes. He redoubled his efforts, and the guard found himself slowly retreating, stumbling back up the hill, driven by the iron determination of his opponent. The distance between father and son grew ever shorter, and with every step he took, Volrad's strength seemed to increase. He cursed at the guard and bellowed words Ayla had never heard before, not even out of Reuben's mouth. His sword turned into a blur. And then, it happened.

The guard took a step back—and his foot caught on an uneven cobblestone. For a moment, he swayed, then a blow from Volrad rushed towards him and he threw himself backwards with a cry of alarm, just in time to avoid the gleaming blade.

"Yes! Die! Die, you god-damned bastard!"

Ayla watched in horror as the guard crashed to the ground. Volrad raised his sword, true madness shining in his eyes now, preparing for the death blow—and suddenly, Reuben was there. His arms were around the peasant in the blink of an eye and he had plucked the sword from Volrad's hand before the other man knew what was happening. It clattered to the ground.

"Let me go!" Volrad shrieked. "I'll kill him! I'll kill you! I'll kill everybody! Don't you dare go near my son, or I'll kill you! Do you hear me? I'll gut you and hamstring you like the beast you are!"

Reuben didn't pay the least attention to the man's shouts. Instead, holding Volrad in a vice-tight grip, he turned to face the assembled villagers.

"Look!" He shouted, shaking the raging peasant, who was still trying to get free, like a living trophy. "Look at this man, and then let anyone step forward and tell me that you cannot fight! He just tried to eviscerate a trained soldier in front of your own eyes! Now look at me, but don't look at me with the eyes of sheep! Look at me with the eyes of men, and tell me: who among you will do the same for your child? Who among you is ready to kill to protect their family and loved ones? Speak!"

For three long seconds, nothing happened. Then a young man, pale-faced but determined, stepped forward, a wicked-looking sickle clenched in his hand.

"I am!"

Another stepped forward.

"So am I!"

And another.

"And I!"

Soon, the two crowd of peasants was rushing forward, brandishing cudgels, farm tools and God only knew what else. Their voices rose up in a confused tumult around the red robber knight.

"Are you all willing to do what is necessary?" Reuben roared, easily drowning out the voices of the hundreds of others beneath him. "Are you all ready to kill?"

A bloodthirsty cheer went up from the crowd.

"Then I swear to you: I will show you how to kill, and kill and kill! And together we will make the enemy rue the day he ever dared to raise his hands against Luntberg!"

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Greetings, Milord and Ladies,

The Wattpad Team has asked me to spread the word about a contest being held on wattpad - The 'So you think you can write' Contest, hosted by Harlequin! The lucky winner receives a book deal from Harlequin for their wattpad story. Unfortunately, I cannot participate, because people from continental Europe are excluded, but if any of you would like to participate, I wish you the best of Luck! :) You'll find the contest rules at the wattpad profile HarlequinSYTYCW

Good writing! :)

Farewell for now

Sir Rob