Ayla stopped at the door of another dungeon, just steps away from the exit.

"Wait here," she told her new vassal. "I don't think we have enough men yet."

"But Milady, we've got more than enough people to build a bucket chain. We should—"

"Enough for a bucket chain, yes. But not enough to win this feud." She met his eyes, steadily. "The Margrave has made a critical error in shooting at his own men. I mean to exploit that error to the fullest."

Sir Gregor bowed.

"As you command, Milady."

Stepping aside, Gregor let Ayla unlock the door and push it open. She entered, and was once again faced by a sea of surprised faces.

In as few words as possible she explained the situation. She was terribly aware of the flames burning away above her, working their way towards her beloved friend Eleanor in the stables. Yes, she wanted to win over those men in front of her to win the feud. But at the moment, that didn't feel nearly as important to her as saving her beloved mare.

When she was finished with her explanation, she marched down to the first soldier in her path and unlocked his chains. They fell to the ground with a dull thunk. The man looked from her to the chains, and back again. His hands flexed. For a long moment, he gazed at her in silence. Nobody moved.

Suddenly, Ayla realized that she hadn't been in this dungeon as often as in the other. She didn't even know the name of the man she had just freed. A cold shiver of apprehension travelled down her spine.

"Well?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Will you help me?"

"Why would I?"

"Because if you don't, you'll most likely burn to death."

"You could be lying," the soldier pointed out, his eyes narrowed in distrust. "This could be a trap."

"Well, it is not."

He took a step forward. "Says who?"

"I do, soldier." At the sound of the deeper, masculine voice, all eyes turned again to the entrance of the dungeon. Ayla didn't need to look to know that behind her, Sir Gregor had entered.

"Sir!" The soldier dropped to one knee, bowing his head. He obviously belonged to Sir Gregor's lance. Deep inside, Ayla breathed a sigh of relief. "How came you to be free, Sir?"

"Lady Ayla gave me my freedom—and I have sworn an oath of fealty to her."

"You did what?"

"You heard me. The Margrave is bombarding the keep with flaming missiles. He is trying to burn innocent women and children alive, and along with them the very men who have risked their lives for him." Stepping further into the dungeon, Sir Gregor threw the door wide open. "Here! Can't you smell the smoke? The stench of treachery?"

And indeed they could. Ayla could smell the bitter stench herself, and she could see it on the soldiers' faces. Jaws tightened, fists clenched.

"If this is how the Margrave rewards loyalty, I will have none of it!" Sir Gregor said, his voice low and dangerous. "What about you, men?"

The kneeling soldier rose and bowed to Sir Gregor. "I am with you, Sir. Always. You know that." Then he turned to Lady Ayla. "And, it seems, now also with you, Milady. Forgive me my earlier words."

She inclined her head, accepting his apology.

"What about the rest of you?" called out Sir Gregor. "What shall it be? Freedom, or chains? Justice or evil? Right or wrong?"

"One thing's for sure," grumbled a soldier somewhere at the back. "I've eaten better since I've been thrown in this hole than the whole time I've been stuck with basted Blasius. That ain't right."

Another soldier nodded. "Aye. And there ain't half as many rats down hear as in my cottage back home. Will the meals be as good once we get out of the dungeon?"

Ayla nodded, unable to suppress a smile. "Yes, until we run out of food. And if we manage to drive off the Margrave, they'll be even better. I take care of my people."

"Will there be beer?"

"Yes. Lots and lots!"

"That settles it," decided another soldier. "Three cheers for our new mistress, Lady Ayla!"

The soldiers raised their arms, still rattling with chains, and soon the dungeon resounded with her name. Ayla felt a flood of relief and triumph rush through her.

Sir Gregor, looking relieved, but also slightly melancholic that his men would rather fight for a full stomach instead of noble, chivalrous ideals, sighed. "All right men! Form lines. Lady Ayla, if you would be so kind..."

"Of course. Show me your wrists, men."

They held out their arms, and Ayla quickly went from one to the next, unlocking their chains. There were two dozen men in this dungeon, and not a single villager. The soldiers were freed in a matter of minutes, and Ayla climbed up back the dungeon steps to the door.

"Follow me! The fire is this way!"

Some hesitated, but when Sir Gregor fell in beside her, they rushed after her. And if any had doubted her words down in the dungeon, that doubt vanished the moment they saw the destroyed courtyard, lit by the flames of the burning stables. Brightly blazing debris from the burning projectile was still strewn all over the craters and cobblestones.

"Milady!"

The roar of Burchard's voice was enough even to drown out the roar of the flames. He waved at her from atop a pile of rubble, from where he was coordinating the firefighters. People were rushing all around him, carrying buckets, bowls, beer-tankards, and whatever other containers could hold water. Ash had settled all over Burchard, dying his usually black moustache a startling gray-white. It looked even more threatening like this and gave Ayla an idea what she would have to contend with in twenty years or so.

If she lived that long, that is.

"What in St Peter's name is he doing out here?" Burchard growled, jumping from his pile of rubble and stabbing a finger at Gregor.

"He's here to help. And don't curse in St Peter's name! He is the saint that brings the rain, and if we ever need him, it's tonight."

"To help? What is that supposed to mean? He's a damned commander of the enemy, he is! And I know St Peter is the saint of rain, Milady. That's why I curse on him. I'm hoping he'll take offense and piss on us."

Ayla opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of this way of appealing to the heavenly saints, when a frightened whinny cut through the crackle of the fire.

Oh no! Eleanor!

"We don't have time for this! Burchard, continue what you're doing. Sir Gregor, you and your men are with me!"

Before Burchard could utter another word, Ayla rushed towards the stables. She had to stop when she was about ten feet away, because the intense heat threatened to burn her skin off. Desperately, she looked for a way in. But the door was already in flames, and the back of the stable, where a second door was, had turned into an inferno. It was there that the most hay was stashed, and where the hungry demons of fire found enough food to last them a lifetime. The only part of the stable that wasn't on fire yet lay to the right, facing east, where the horses and water troughs were.

And that was the only part of the stable that didn't have a door.

Ayla ran around the flames until she had reached the east wall, and started hammering against the rough wood.

"Eleanor? Eleanor, are you in there?"

Another desperate whinny came in reply. Relief flooded through Ayla—but also terror. This whinny had sounded much weaker than the one before.

"Milady?" Sir Gregor appeared beside her, worry etched on his face. "What's wrong? Is someone trapped in there?"

"My mare, Eleanor, and... oh God! Satan is in there, too!"

The knight's eyebrows shot up.

"Satan? Are you saying the evil one himself set fire to your stable?"

Behind Sir Gregor, the former soldiers of Falkenstein exchanged worried looks. Their new mistress had more powerful enemies than they had reckoned with.

"No! Satan is Reuben's... oh, forget it! It would take too long to explain. We have to..."

Wildly, she looked around for a solution. By pure chance, her gaze settled on the gate of the inner castle wall, and on the massive wooden beam that was used to bar the gates against enemy attacks. Her mind flashed back to a conversation she and Reuben had had about siege weapons once. Catapults, towers, and... battering rams!

"Sir Gregor! Get me that beam! Now!"

"Beam?" Confused, Sir Gregor looked around. "What beam, Milady?"

"The one holding the inner gates closed. Get it over here! Can you and your men use it to break down the east wall of the stables?"

Raising his fist, Sir Gregor beat on the wood. It shuddered under the impact.

"I think so, Milady. Wait here! We'll be back directly. Men, follow me!"

They ran as quickly as they could, but still, to Ayla seemed as if they were moving like snails. With every moment that passed, she could practically feel the flames creeping nearer towards her beloved Eleanor and the other horses inside the stable. Lord, if only she could get them out in time! She would even be happy to see that great, black beast Satan!

"Milady! Please step back!"

Finally! They had returned. Helped by three of his men on the one, and four on the other side, Sir Gregor was carrying the great wooden beam towards the stable wall. For one moment, Ayla contemplated offering her help, but she knew she would just get in the way. There were many things she was good at—using a battering ram was not one of them.

"Ready yourselves!" Sir Gregor barked. "We start on one. And... one!"

The beam swung back on eight powerful pairs of arms, and rushed forwards again. It crashed against the wall with a force that made the whole stable shudder.

"And... two!"

Again, the beam swung in a pendulum motion, and smashed against the wooden wall. Ayla's heart made a leap when she saw tiny cracks appearing in the wood.

"Go on!" she shouted. "It's working! It's working!"

Sir Gregor nodded grimly, his teeth clenched in concentration.

"And... three!"

When the beam hit the wall the third time, a plank broke, and a startled whinny came from inside the stables.

"We'll be right there!" Ayla shouted. "Hold on, Eleanor! We'll get you out of there!"

"And... four!"

This time, the plank was ripped clean away and tumbled into the stables. Ayla already wanted to rush forward, but Sir Gregor's voice held her back.

"Stop, Milady! The hole isn't big enough for a horse yet. We need to break off another plank."

"Hurry! Can't you hear? The flames are coming closer!"

Sir Gregor nodded. "Again, men! A bit more to the left now. And... "

"No, wait!" Raising her hands, Ayla stepped in front of him. "Let's try something else. This will be quicker. Push the beam through the hole in the wall."

"What? But, Milady, why...?"

"Just do it!"

Wordless, Sir Gregor motioned for his men to obey. They pushed the wooden beam partly through the narrow gap in the wall.

"Now pull sideways."

Understanding flashed in Sir Gregor's eyes, and he nodded. "Do as the lady says, men. One three. One, two... three!"

Grabbing the beam as hard as they could, they pulled one end towards them. The other end of the thick wooden bar was suddenly smashed with the combined force of eight strong men against the inner stable wall. The nails holding it in place popped out and two planks at once were levered clean away, creating a gaping hole into the interior.

"Brilliant, Milady! How—"

Ayla didn't hear any more of what Sir Gregor said. She was already inside the stable, and untying the rope that was holding Eleanor in her assigned place. The air was thick with smoke, and as soon as she inhaled, she had to cough. Quickly, she pressed her sleeve in front of her mouth and nose, but it didn't help much.

Sir Gregor appeared beside her. His men had apparently decided that they preferred fresh air to smoke and stayed outside. Quickly, Gregor untied another horse, a big brown gelding that Ayla sometimes lent to the villagers if one of their horses fell ill. When she rushed out with Eleanor, Gregor and his charge were hot on her heels.

"That was brilliant, Milady!" the knight exclaimed, as soon as they were free of the poisonous smoke. "What made you think of using the beam as a lever?"

"I can't take credit for it, I'm afraid," Ayla said, with a humorless smile. "It would have to go to your former master. He gave me the idea."

"W-what?"

"The trebuchet. It's a giant lever, isn't it? That's how it manages to get enough power to smash us to pieces and burn us to ash."

"Oh. I see."

"Yes. Now are you going to help me to get the rest of them out or not?"

"Certainly, Milady. But here, take this first. You there!" He waved over one of the firefighters, and, dunking a piece of cloth he had ripped from his surcoat into the bucket of water the man carried, handed it to Ayla.

"Tie that around your mouth and nose. I'll do the same."

"Seems I'm not the only one with a head on my shoulders. Good thinking, Sir Knight."

"Thank you, Milady."

Only moments later, Ayla was back in the stables. Sir Gregor entered behind her, a wet cloth now covering most of his face. He made his way through the smoke to a gigantic black horse to the left, and was about to reach for its reins, when Ayla recognized the animal.

"No!"

Her shout was the only thing that saved Sir Gregor from having his arm bitten off. Satan's teeth closed on thin air where, a moment ago, the knight's elbow had been.

"Bad, bad, horse!" Ayla marched towards the big, black stallion, waving a warning finger. Lord! They didn't have time for problems like this. The flames were getting closer; she could feel it on her skin. They had to get out of here.

"You'll better leave that one to me," she told Gregor. Satan regarded her with eyes as black as the darkest pit of hell on a bad day. He was clearly contemplating which part of her would be most juicy to chew.

"Don't you dare try that with me, understand?" Grabbing the giant stallion's reins a little more tightly, she pulled herself up until they were on eye-level. "If you even take so much as nibble on my dress, I'll tell him."

Satan snorted.

"And don't you think he'd pick you over me! He loves me more than you," she told him with absolute certainty. And she was absolutely certain. Well... maybe ninety-nine per cent.

The stallion gave her a look that said plainly: I could bite you any time I want, but you're not worth the effort. Besides, I'm sure you'd taste terrible.

Then he let himself be grabbed by the reins and led from the stables.

"Yours, Milady?" Sir Gregor asked, once they were outside and had removed the wet clothes for a breath of fresh air.

"God, no! He belongs to Reuben."

"The red knight?"

"Yes."

Sir Gregor eyed the monstrous form of Satan, silhouetted against the burning stables. "I suppose I should have guessed."

It didn't take the two of them long to bring the rest of the animals outside. The horses were only too eager to leave a stable which was suddenly quite a bit too hot for their liking. They looked at Ayla accusingly, as if she should know better than to let their home catch fire. Only Eleanor's eyes showed nothing but understanding.

When the last horse was safe, Ayla ran to her friend and hugged her as tightly as she could. For one moment, she let herself revel in the feel of the mane tickling her neck, and the heavy yet slender head resting against her back.

"You're safe!" she mumbled. "Oh my God, you're really safe!"

In reply, the mare began to nibble on her sleeve. It almost made Ayla cry with joy.

"She's a fine one." Out of the corner of her eye, Ayla saw Sir Gregor step closer. She didn't let go of her friend, just nodded. "Yes, she is. The best."

"Here." Pulling his hand from his pocket, the knight held up something red and shiny.

"An apple! Where did you get that?"

"I have my ways."

"Your ways? You have been locked in a dungeon for the last few weeks!"

He winked at her. "They're very good ways. Here you go, girl."

For a moment, Ayla thought he was talking to her. Then he held out the apple to Eleanor. Immediately, the mare abandoned Ayla's sleeve for the tastier alternative.

Ayla watched them for a moment, smiling. Then her gaze wandered to Burchard and the other men who were still battling the flames. They were all covered in splotches of black and grey from head to toe, and rivulets of sweat ran down their face, but they seemed to be getting the fire under control. So far, it hadn't spread up the vines on the keep wall and into the interior of the keep. If all went well, the fire should soon be extinguished. Then they could get back inside, where they would be safe from—

Her thoughts stopped in their tracks as she suddenly remembered. Good Lord! She had completely forgotten about the trebuchet! Horrified, she glanced up at the night sky. Not a trace of a missile was visible, flaming or otherwhise. But that was no excuse. She should have sent someone up one of the towers to watch for danger. No—not sent someone. She should have gone herself.

Well, it wasn't too late yet.

Handing Eleanor's reins to Sir Gregor, she turned towards the east tower.

"Take care of her for me, will you?"

Sir Gregor tensed. "Milady? What are you planning to do?"

"It's been too long since the last missile hit. Another one will be coming any minute now, and when it does, we must be able to warn the firefighters down in the courtyard in time so they can take cover. I won't have my men or yours risking their lives to rescue the castle, only to be burned to death for their bravery."

"You don't mean that you're going to go up on the wall yourself, Milady?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"But what if one of the missiles hits you? What if enemy archers approach the castle, and one shoots you down? No! Milady, I can't allow you to go up there alone!"

"I will go with her."

Startled, Ayla turned her head and saw Dilli, dirty and sweaty from helping to fight the flames, approaching with a determined look on her sweet, gentle face. Sir Gregor opened his mouth as if to express his doubts about having Ayla protected by her maid—then he caught sight of Dilli's expression and closed his mouth again. Ayla couldn't prevent a smile from playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Very well," he told them. "But not on the outer wall, understood? The inner one. You'll see well enough from there."

"All right, Sir Knight." Nodding her ascent, Ayla started towards the east tower, Dilli close behind her. "Tell Burchard that as soon as I call out, they should run for cover. The stable is empty now. I'd rather that it burned to the ground that one of them was injured."

"Yes, Milady!"

Hastening her steps, Ayla made her way downhill, over the craters strewn across the courtyard, to where the door of the east tower gaped open like the maul of a giant worm of stone. She hesitated, looking back at her maid.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Dilli? I know you're not over-fond of heights."

The maid's face was set. "Those beasts tried to burn us alive, Milady! To burn you alive. I won't leave your side until you're safe in the cellars again."

She looked ready to bite if argued with, so Ayla didn't even try. She just entered the tower, took a torch from the wall and started up the steps. She would have been lying if she didn't admit that the flames so close to her face didn't make her nervous. She knew it was irrational, knew it wasn't the same fire that was being hurled at them from out of the sky—but right now, she felt as if all fire was her enemy.

When she reached the top of the tower, she put the torch into a bracket on the wall. She hadn't let it show towards Sir Gregor, but she was very well aware of the dangers of enemy archers. There was no sense in making a target of herself if she could help it. She looked down at herself, and smiled wrily. Well, at least the soot that covered most of her dress would be a wonderful disguise in the night. She doubted, however, that that would make the castle's washerwomen any more pleased about the garment's state, when she next sent it to those formidable ladies.

Oh well. One battle after another.

"Come," she told Dilli. "And be as quiet as you can. I don't think enemy archers have made it into the courtyard, but you never know."

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out onto the walkway.

The night air that bit into her face the moment she stepped outside was cold as ice. Only then did she realize how much heat the fire in the courtyard gave off, turning the inner castle into a veritable oven. Up here, you could tell that winter was approaching, and that it wouldn't be gentle when it came.

Well, maybe she wouldn't even live to see it. A cold grave would be even icier than a cold winter.

Sweeping her gaze across the country outside, she searched for the enemy camp. It wasn't hard to find: sitting on the riverbank, it looked more than a giant, evil eye than ever, the iris burning with bright, red fire now around the dark, jagged pupil that was the trebuchet.

She could see the inner palisade, too, which the enemy had erected as an additional wall of protection around their instrument of destruction. And high up on the palisade, so far away that he was almost indistinguishable, stood a lean figure, clad in black. Her breath caught.

Beside her, Dilli stiffened.

"Milady... Is that...?"

"Yes." She didn't know how she knew. It could have been a knight or a simple guard. But somehow she felt the cold certainty deep inside herself. This was him. Falkenstein.

With effort, she tore herself away from the sight of her enemy. It was the trebuchet she needed to focus on right now, not some man who might not even be her enemy, except in her imagination! Quickly, she scanned the gigantic siege weapon for any sign of damage. Had Reuben managed to sabotage it yet?

Her hopes sank when she saw not a single blemish on the wood. The soldiers around the siege engine, too, appeared calm and unconcerned.

Where are you, Reuben? The thought came from deep inside, and she couldn't fight against it, as much as she tried. He must not have gotten there yet. Either that, or he had been—

No!

She couldn't think that. She could never ever think that, or she would break.

Suddenly, light flared up at the center of the camp, contrasting sharply against the darkness of the black-clad figure and the dark wooden palisades it stood on. Ayla felt her skin tingle, so tangible was the threat that emanated from this man. She hadn't been wrong. This was Falkenstein, the man who had hounded her and made her life a misery for the last few months. And now he was here.

Her eyes flitted to the origin of the light behind him, and with horror she saw a man raising a lit torch over his head. Not far away, two other men were carrying a cask full of a foul-looking back liquid towards the trebuchet.

"Dilli?" she asked, not taking her eyes of the horrible spectacle.

"Yes, Milady?"

"Do you think Sir Reuben has been able to sabotage the trebuchet yet?"

"It doesn't look like it, Milady?"

"But... he's been gone so long already. What could be stopping him?"

"I couldn't say, Milady."

The man with the torch approached the trebuchet. Oh God! It was going to happen. Ayla felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

"Come on, Reuben," she murmured, her voice half plea, half command. "Do something, you lazy beggar!"

But nothing happened to intervene. The torch was lowered, and flames flared up as it kissed the black fluid in a hellish embrace. The flames rose to form a diabolical aura, throwing the shadow of the man in silver and black down from the palisade all over the outer camp and down to the river. Around the sinister shadow, the red light danced on the water.

"All stand back!"

The camp was hundreds of yards away, separated from her by a rushing river, and yet Ayla still thought she heard the faint command, carried to her by the wind. Her heart pounded faster, and she through a quick look over her shoulder. Her men were by no means finished putting out the fire in the stables.

When she looked towards the enemy again, the soldiers had retreated, and the Margrave was raising his hand, preparing to give the signal.

"Now would be a really good time, Reuben," Ayla muttered. "Do something!"

Nothing happened.

The Margrave's arm came down in a sweeping arc.

"Loose!"

Ayla watched as the great arm of the trebuchet shot skywards, the fiery load in toe. She was just about to turn and give the alarm—when the arm of the trebuchet stopped in mid-air.

Ayla stared, her mouth agape. Suddenly, she felt cold and hot and awestruck all over. It was as if the hand of God had reached down from heaven to stop the mighty siege weapon in the middle of its movement. There was a moment, suspended in time, when the momentum of six tons of rubble and earth in the counterweight strained against the unseen force holding the arm in place—then it snapped back, falling towards the ground and releasing its fiery missile into the air.

The flaming cask did not fly towards the castle, though. It sailed straight up, vanishing from Ayla's field of vision to burn a whole in the night sky above. The trebuchet itself was thwrown backwards by its on force, teetering dangerously. For one moment it looked as if it were going to remain upright. Then, the arm smashed against the ground and split in two, showering splinters everywhere. People screamed, and started running. They started running even faster, when the trebuchet gave a great groan and keeled to the side, rushing towards the ground.

The thunder as it hit the ground was like nothing Ayla had ever heard. It was ten times as loud as the thunder of stone hitting her own castle had been, and a hundred times as sweet. It sent a tremor through the earth and up Ayla's spine. The tremor didn't go away when the earth stopped shuddering. Because Ayla had just realized that this spectacle of wonderful terror might not be God's work after all, but someone else's.

And then it came: fast, red-hot, unforgiving—the burning cask dropped out of the sky like a falling angel set aflame by God's wrath and smashed into the remains of the trebuchet. More screams went up as fire spewed in all directions. Within minutes, the ruin of wood that had once been the doom of Ayla's castle was on fire. It fell apart, broke into charcoal and ash, spewing clouds of sparks in all directions. Before the enemy knew what was happening, several tents were on fire, and the people who hadn't gotten out in time died a witch's death.

Soon, the smoke was so thick and black that Ayla couldn't even see flames anymore. Only a malignant flicker of red behind the plumes of ash and dust hinted at the pandemonium unfolding where once the center of the enemy camp had been. There was no sign of the Margrave, or of any other living being. If anything was left alive down there, it had to be the devil, dancing among the flames.

High up on the walls of Luntberg, silence reigned. Finally, Ayla forced her clenched jaws to open. Still, she could hardly get the words past her lips.

"I-in God's name, Dilli..." Crossing herself, Ayla grasped the breastwork for support. "W-what was that?"

"I think that was Sir Reuben doing something," Dilli whispered.

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

My dear Lords and Ladies,

I hope you enjoyed Sir Reuben "doing something"? ;-) It was quite difficult to get the hang of medieval trebuchet physics. I hope I conveyed it authentically. Can you figure out what Reuben did?

And in the next chapter... (drummroll)

Sir Reuben in the Margrave's camp!

Excited?

Yours Truly

Sir Rob