Reuben moved the moment the cask had left the sling. While everyone else was still staring towards the heavens, following the projectile's fiery flight path with dark fascination, he marched forward, towards the trebuchet. Theoderich, who had been watching the cask along with all the others, he simply grabbed by the neck and lifted from the ground, carrying him along like a puppet.

In seconds, Reuben had crossed the ground to the trebuchet, and before its mighty arm could swing down again, had ducked under the complex net of pullies and ropes into the belly of the dreaded war machine.

"What the—" he heard a voice out of the darkness in front of him. It took his eyes just a few seconds to get used to the dim lighting, then he saw him: the man standing beside the trebuchet's central axis. It was a simple soldier.

How fascinating, Reuben thought. All those protective walls, and yet they leave this most vital of posts to be manned by a simpleton. A Mistake, my dear Margrave.

The soldier seemed to have recognized the crest on Reuben's stolen armor, by now. Hurriedly, he dropped to one knee and lowered his head. "Sir Ernolf! At your service, Sir. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"Oh, it's nothing much," Reuben told him, drawing his sword. "I just have a little matter to attend to, here." His arm slashed through the air, and he decapitated the soldier with one neat blow. It had really been very nice of the man to kneel down and make things easier. "Unfortunately for you, that matter necessitates your death."

The headless corpse slumped to one side, spilling blood on the ground. It didn't offer any comments in reply.

Reuben kicked the head out of the way and sat down, leaning against one of the wooden supports. Then he noticed Theoderich standing in a corner, looking rather green in the face.

"Come on." Reuben patted the ground beside him. "Take a seat. It will take some time for the men in the treadmills to rewind the trebuchet. So we have to wait, for now, and there's no reason why we shouldn't make ourselves comfortable."

The boy looked as if he might consider the severed head next to the spot Reuben had indicated sufficient reason, but then he took a deep breath and sat down anyway. Reuben was actually slightly impressed.

For a moment, he considered whether he should use the time they had to wait to instruct the lad in the fine art of decapitation using a real life—or rather real dead—example, but then decided not to. Right now, his mission had priority, and in any case, he could always decapitate someone else later.

Hearing a squeaking noise, Reuben looked up. The treadmills on either side of them had just begun to turn. Luckily, they were sealed off from the little compartment in which Reuben and his squire were sitting with a severed head for company. The men in the treadmills had no idea of the bloody spectacle that had unfolded only a few feet away from them.

"Watch." Reuben pointed to the axis, which had slowly begun to turn. The rope that lay in coils on the floor was being pulled up to the axis, winding around it like a snake. Above them, they heard more creaking and groaning that easily drowned out the sound of the treadmills.

"What's that?" Theoderich whispered.

"The throwing arm being pulled back into the firing position, goldilocks. That's the sound of compact death in a coil."

"Um... so what do we do, Milord?"

"Wait."

"Err... until?"

"Until I say so, goldilocks. Now shut up."

"Yes, Milord."

Reuben leaned his head back against the rough wooden wall of the trebuchet and let his eyes drift closed—almost. One eye he kept half-open, and that one was trained directly on the axis and the ever-growing coil of rope around it. Quite a while would pass before the rope would be wound up again. The trebuchet wasn't exactly a rapid-fire weapon. Beside him, he could hear Theoderich's even breathing. It sounded like the lad had fallen asleep.

Reuben grinned.

Well, let's make sure goldilocks will get a nice wakeup call.

The red robber knight sat there, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, the last coils of loose rope travelled up towards the axis. Then it came. The shout from outside. The shout Reuben had been waiting for.

"Unwind!"

He was on his feet in a flash. Grabbing the little toad by the scruff of the neck, he pulled Theoderich up after him. The youngster coughed and gagged, and was just about to scream in protest when Reuben clamped an armored hand over his mouth.

"Not that I don't like to listen to your sweet angel's voice," he commented, "but if you scream, we're dead. Now get over to that rope or I'll tan your hide!"

You had to give the lad credit where credit was due: the little squirt didn't ask a single question. He stepped over to the coiled rope, while Reuben stepped over to a lever on the wall and pulled with all his might. There was a dull clonk, and gears shifted, separating the axis from the treadmills outside.

"Pull!" Reuben hissed.

Theoderich tugged at the thick rope coiled around the axis, bracing his feet against the wall.

Nothing happened.

In two steps, Reuben was in front of him. "Out of the way!"

The squire seemed only too happy to comply. Reuben grabbed the rope. His muscles bunched, and he ripped the rope backwards. With a whirr, the axis turned into a blur of motion, and coils of rope flew towards them. Theoderich caught them, staggering back under the weight.

"Keep an eye on the rope!" Reuben grunted, pulling as fast as he possibly could. "Tell me when half is off the axis!"

"Yes, Milord!"

Rope flew through Reuben's hands like arrows from a bowstring. He had to be fast. Nobody could suspect what they were doing, nobody could come to look in on them. It all depended on everything going as smoothly and quickly as if the real man for this job still had a head on his shoulders.

"Stop! We're at half the rope!" Theoderich's voice came out of the corner, and Reuben's hands froze. The next moment, he was by the lad's side and held out his arms for the coils of rope.

"Give me that!"

The tone in Reuben's voice made it clear that now wasn't the time to ask questions. Theoderich handed over the coils without a word. Wheeling around, Reuben carried them to the axis and, throwing a large loop of rope over it, slid another piece of rope through it from underneath. He repeated this process several times, each time pulling on the rope until it was securely fastened around the axis. Now, the harder you pulled on the rope, the tighter the knots would get.

Finally, after a dozen knots, the rope was secure enough to satisfy Reuben. Well, not to really satisfy him, of course—there weren't nearly enough naked females around for that. But it would do well enough.

"All right," he grunted, pulling the last knot tight, and stepping back to admire his handiwork. "That's it." Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted to the men outside: "Rope loose!"

Then he turned, and nodded to Theoderich. "Be ready, you little squirt. The first chance we get, we make ourselves scarce."

Theoderich blinked, taken aback.

"F-forgive me, Milord, but... what about our mission?"

"What about it?"

"Well... didn't we come here to destroy the trebuchet?"

"Yes. And we did. And a lot more besides."

Theoderich's eyes flickered from left to right, as if he wanted to make sure he wasn't seeing a Fata Morgana.

"But... the trebuchet is still standing!"

Reuben gave his squire a look. Even though he was wearing a helmet through the visor of which his eyes were hardly visible, Theoderich flinched.

"When you loose an arrow at someone's heart, your enemy isn't lying dead on the ground yet. But he's already dead to you." Reuben stepped towards the exit of the little compartment and peeked outside. People were running around everywhere, preparing the trebuchet for the next shot. Too many people to get out unnoticed. "Or at least he should be, if you're a decent archer."

"I can hit the bull's eye nine times out of ten, Milord."

"And the tenth time?"

"Um... I miss."

"Then you're not a decent archer." Reaching out, Reuben patted the youth on the shoulder, and grinned. "Don't worry. I'll teach you. It'll be fun."

Theoderich paled.

"I... um... look forward to that, Milord."

"You haven't really gotten better at lying yet, I see."

"No, Milord."

"No problem. I'll teach you that, too."

Reuben peeked outside again. Through the gap between two wooden supports, he saw the light of a torch approaching.

"Be ready," he hissed. "They're about to light the next missile. The moment they fire the trebuchet, run! Run as if the hounds of hell were behind you!"

"But... won't they notice us? Won't they give chase?"

"They probably will, yes."

"Then why should we run? Why shouldn't we just walk out? We're in disguise, after all."

"Because if we don't run, we'll be crushed to death, or burned alive. Or maybe both."

"Oh."

*~*~**~*~*

The good news was: the flaming barrel didn't hit Ayla squarely in the neck. But she felt the heat of the explosion as it crashed and spewed burning hellfire in all directions. And when she looked up and saw where the flames were spreading, she almost wished she had been the target.

"No!"

Jumping to her feet, Ayla rushed towards the stables. The barrel had crashed right through the front wall into the loft, that, Ayla knew all too well, was stuffed full of hell. Flames were already licking out of the roof, and the frightened whinnies of horses could be heard over the roar of the flames. Ayla fancied she could hear one horse in particular.

"Eleanor!"

Ayla had already covered half the distance to the equestrian inferno when strong arms grasped her from behind and held her in place. The guards!

"Let go!" she shouted. "We have to put out the fire! Eleanor is in there!"

"Don't let go!" Captain Linhart shouted from somewhere on the ground behind her. "She'll try to put it out with her bare hands and burn to death!"

"I am your liege lady! Let go, I said!"

"And I am your commanding officer, and I say don't let go. That is an order!"

Twisting around, Ayla threw a fiery look at the wounded Captain. "You're injured, Captain, and in no condition to be giving commands! Let me do my work."

"Fine by me, if you use your head, Milady."

"Um..." One of the soldiers beside Ayla cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, Milady, but the Captain is right. We don't have any water here. We can't put out the fire."

"Then form a bucket chain to the well!"

"There aren't enough of us, Milady. We're just five, the rest of us are scattered all over the castle." He gave Ayla a sympathetic look. "I know you want to get the horses out, Milady, but you can't. Look." Raising his arm, he pointed to where the flames had already engulfed the stable door.

Ayla returned his look with one of her own that was as cold and heard as steel.

"It is not just the horses I'm worried about, soldier. The stable is full of hay, and built right next to the wall of the keep. If the fire really gets going, the keep itself could go up in flames, and our entire supplies with it. We'd be starving within three days, and at the Mercy of the Margrave, even if we survive this night!"

The soldier paled. He obviously hadn't considered that angle.

"You see? Now let go of me, man!"

The guards' hands fell away from her without protest.

"What are you going to do, Milady?" Linhart asked, warily.

"I am going to get you to safety," she told him, signaling the soldiers to pick him up. "And then I'm going to put out the fire before my friend in there burns alive."

"But we don't have enough men!"

Motioning to the guards to follow her, she started back into the dungeons. Reaching the first door, she took the keys from her belt that opened not only the doors, but also the chains of the enemy enemy prisoners. "Oh yes, we have!"

-------------------------------------------------------

Greetings, Milords and Ladies!

Lady Ayla has devious plans! Who can guess what she is up to? ;)

Farewell

Sir Rob