"Nng!"

"Arr!"

Thud! Clang!

Ayla couldn't stand it anymore. The bloody racket from outside was pure torture. Every cry could be Reuben, every death rattle his last breath.

"The first chance," she muttered, pacing up and down the narrow space. "The very first chance I get, I'm getting out of this rat hole! Do you hear me, you stubborn red-armored fool? No, of course you don't hear me because you're too busy turning people into mince meant! Well, wait until I get my hands on you, and what you're doing will sound like child's play!"

"Um... Lady Ayla?"

"Yes?" With a hiss, she rounded on the young squire, who did his best to vanish into the stone wall behind him. In her heart she knew that it wasn't fair to take her malicious mood out on an innocent young man. But right now, Ayla didn't really feel like listening to her heart. Her fists seemed much better advisers.

"Err... do you really mean to go out there if the door opens?"

"Yes!"

The squire opened his mouth.

Ayla's hand shot up, one finger extended. "And don't even think about trying to stop me!"

The squire closed his mouth again, swallowed, and nodded.

Outside, the noise of battle raged on. Ayla continued to march up and down, unable to stand still, or, God forbid, sit down for a single second. When, finally, the racket quieted down a bit and footsteps approached the tower, she was beside the door in a second, clutching a surgical knife in her hand.

"Reuben? Is that you?"

"Yes. The crossbows have had quite an effect. Things have quieted down a bit, so I'm coming in. If you've got a knife, don't stab me."

"Don't count on it!"

He had the audacity to chuckle, and Ayla's grip on the knife tightened. Why shouldn't she stab him? He deserved it! And there were plenty of places where a stab wound wouldn't do too much harm.

But, curse him, he wouldn't even feel it! So what was the point?

From outside, she heard a rustling, probably coming from a ring of keys. Then the scrape of the key being shoved into the lock.

"Is Theoderich there?" Reuben asked.

"Yes! Why? Do you think that alone I will not be able to stand the awesomeness of your presence?"

"Something along those lines, yes."

"Go to hell!"

The door swung open, and Ayla rushed forward—only bump into something hard, and heavy, and hairy. Her fingers slid over armor made from leather, not metal, and an impressive belly. This wasn't Reuben! What the heck...!

"Ng!" Grasping him under the arms, Ayla did her best to keep the stumbling man upright, but by the Apostles, was he heavy—and smelly! "Help! Theoderich, help me!"

The squire rushed forward. With his help, Ayla managed to steady the man—one of the castle guards, she saw—and lead him to a cot in the corner, Reuben stood, leaning against the doorframe and looking immensely satisfied with himself. Ayla glanced from him to the soldier's leg, which was bleeding badly, and back again.

"Would you like to come outside?" Reuben asked, fake curtesy in every syllable. Bowing to her, he gestured out onto the wall, where guards were busy dragging limp bodies out of the way.

"I've got to stop this bleeding right away, or he'll die," Ayla managed to get out between clenched teeth. Shoving her hand into the open chest, she grabbed a role of bandages, cloth, and a bottle of clean water.

"Which means you cannot come outside?" Reuben asked, just to be sure. Out of the corner of her eyes, Ayla threw him a venomous look.

"Yes, curse you!"

"Your sweet words fall on my ears like honey, Milady."

"If you stuff honey into your ears instead of your mouth something is wrong with your brain."

"It is mad with love for you, of course, Milady."

"Of course it is." Snorting, Ayla pointed at the guard's leg wound. "Did you plan this? Did you stab him into the leg yourself to keep me in here?"

"As hard as it may be for you to believe, there were actually enough enemies trying to stab our men for me not to have to do the job myself."

"How convenient. Leave the door open! I'm coming out as soon as I'm finished with him!"

"Leave the door open?" Ayla turned her head just in time to see his eyebrows rise in fake shock. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Milady. The enemy is driven back for the moment, but soon, they will attack again! I could never risk your life like that!"

"There isn't an enemy in sight!"

"You are mistaken." Reuben cupped a hand behind his ear. "In fact, I think I hear them approaching just now. Time for me to go."

"Reuben? Reuben, don't you dare close that door again, or I'll...."

Thud!

Ayla was only halfway across the room when the door slammed shut. Her fist collided with the thick oak wood, hammering an enraged rhythm. It almost drowned out the faint click as the lock slid shut. "Reuben! Reuben, let me out this instant!"

No answer.

Ayla turned back to look at the wounded man on the cot, then she turned to the door again, then once more to the soldier.

"The next time I'll get out! Do you hear me, Reuben?" One final time, she hit the wood with her fist. "The next time I'll get out of here!"

Then she took a deep breath, marched over to the wounded soldier and knelt beside him.

"Let's have a look at your leg, shall we?"

*~*~**~*~*

"Crossbows?"

The Margrave's face was expressionless. Sir Hartung didn't like this lack of expression at all. It meant that behind that calm façade, things were raging which his liege lord didn't want the commanders of the army to see.

"Yes, your Excellency, Crossbows," he confirmed, resisting the urge to whipe the sweat off his face. "And not just fifty or so, either. There were hundreds of shooters on the wall. Apparently, the whole village has been trained to use them."

"But Crossbows are outlawed!" Sir Gerlach blustered.

"I doubt very much that red knight cares about what is outlawed and what isn't!" Hartung shot back.

"So what are we going to do now?" Gerlach demanded. "Abandon the attack?"

Silence fell over the knights assembled in the command tent. Every single one of them did their very best to not meet the Margrave's eyes. Instinctively, they took a step back away from Sir Gerlach.

"Tired of fighting, are you?" the Margrave inquired in a soft voice, raising an aristocratic eyebrow. "Would you like to forget about your oath of fealty and return home?"

The color drained from Sir Gerlach's face.

"Oh n-no, your Excellency! I never meant to imply—"

"Good. See that you don't imply anything in the future, or I might impale something in the very near future. Some part of your body, for instance."

"Yes, of course, your Excellency. Thank you for your mercy, your Excellency."

"Get out!"

"Yes, your Excellency. Immediately, your Excellency."

Bowing hastily, the knight retreated from the tent. Hartung glanced around at the remaining knights. All of them looked grim, but not a single one of them spoke of retreat. They all knew that wasn't an option. Yet none seemed to be eager to make alternative suggestions.

"As much as I hate to admit it," Sir Faramund finally spoke up, "Sir Gerlach actually has a point: what are we going to do now? We can't make a frontal attack with ladders and grappling hooks again. Once we're out in the open, our soldiers will be easy targets for the enemy crossbowmen. Our army will be slaughtered."

"Something which I would like to avoid," the Margrave said, drily. "Since I would have to pay for the funeral. And, oh yes, winning this little war would also be nice."

Nobody made the mistake to laugh.

"Well..." Hartung stroked his beard, thoughtfully. "There really isn't much choice. Aside from the ladders and grappling hooks, we really only have one other option, one weapon we can use."

"For the outer gate?" Sir Faramund exclaimed. "That's a hell of a risk! We'll have to drag it all the way up the mountainside with enemy bolts raining down on us from all sides."

"A protective roof is part of the structure," Hartung retorted. "Whoever pushes it up should be fine."

The "should" hung in the air as a dark threat.

"But then, even if they aren't," Sir Widargelt pointed out, "This is war. People die in war."

"Excellent point, Sir Widargelt." The Margrave rose to his feet. "Send word to the technicians to prepare everything. I want the troops ready for attack in ten minutes!"

"It's decided then?" Sir Faramund asked. "I thought we were going to wait till later in the attack to play this card."

"Not anymore." The Margrave met each of his knight's eyes without blinking. "We're done poking at them with needles. Time to bring out the big weapons!" He gestured to Faramund. "You, Sir Faramund, will make a few small attacks on the castle, just to distract them from the gate. Once their attention is focused on the wrong spot, we will take up the hammer of war, and smash them into tiny pieces!"

*~*~**~*~*

Ayla sent her first patient downstairs as soon as he was patched up. Since the man still couldn't walk well by himself, she sent Theoderich along with him. That left her blissfully without a chaperon, perfectly alone in the round stone chamber. When footsteps approached the door again, she was ready and waiting to grab her chance of escape.

The key turned in the look, and the door swung open. Ayla darted forward—and collided with a solid form that was being shoved into the room.

"Here, catch," Reuben told her.

"Gah!"

Ayla was doing her best. But as a girl of average height, and barely average arm muscles, she wasn't best qualified to catch a soldier two times her size and three times her weight.

"Found him among the corpses on the wall," Reuben said out of the background in a conversational tone. "Thought he'd croaked, too, at first, but when I kicked him in the gut he started moaning and twitching."

"You... kicked a... wounded man... in the gut?" Ayla panted, outraged, trying desperately to keep hold of the massive, swaying man.

"Sure. How else are you supposed to find out whether they're still alive? You can stab them in the leg, of course, but I usually reserve that kind of curtousy for enemy soldiers."

"How very... kind of you!"

"Not at all. It's my gentle nature."

"Help me... get him over... to the cot!"

"Sorry, I can't. I've got a battle to get back to."

"Reuben! Don't you dare—"

But before she could finish her sentence, the door had shut in her face.

Ayla worked ceaselessly on the wounded man. She had hardly finished patching him up when the door opened again and Reuben shoved another patient at her. So she started all over. Now and again, from outside, she could hear the screams of soldiers and clatter of weapons, always coming from different directions. Whenever there was a lull in the mayhem, the door would open and another blood-stained warrior would land at her feet.

"Ha!" she muttered, wrapping a bandage tightly around the bleeding arm of one of the crossbowmen. "I see what your game is! Keeping me busy, are you? Keeping me distracted?"

"Um... not really," the soldier murmured, red in the face.

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"Oh, um... I see, Milady." He winced, when Ayla pulled the bandage tighter. "Could you maybe be a little more gentle?"

"In this life or the next, soldier? The bandage needs to be tight!"

"Of course, Milady. Sorry, Milady."

Her lips pressed together, Ayla knotted the ends of the bandage and pulled, once, hard. The soldier let out a groan, but his arm had stopped leaking, which was the main thing.

"It's not going to work, you know," Ayla murmured, shaking a finger at the closed oak door. Or rather, at the figure she knew was somewhere behind it. "The next time you send me one of these puppets of yours in here, I'll slip out! I will!"

Theoderich appeared and helped the bandaged man downstairs, where he was to wait with the others in the lower half of the tower. Beating dirt off her dress, Ayla rose to her feet and made her way to the door, where she waited for Reuben's next reappearance. She didn't have long to wait.

"Ha! Let me through, you b— Oh my God!" A gasp escaped her, and she stopped in her tracks, just before slamming into Reuben and the man he was supporting. "What happened to him?"

Ayla's horrified gaze wondered over the man. His face was pale as death, while the lower half of his body was a bloody mess. There was so much blood that she could hardly say what was the torn cloth of his trousers, and what was skin, ripped to pieces by a terrible blow.

"His leg is nearly severed, and the foot crushed." Reuben hauled him over to the cot and laid him down. "One of the men tried to stop the bleeding, but I don't think it's enough. Do you?"

"No."

Ayla shook her head. "A bandage isn't going to help here. Bring me a torch, and two strong men to hold him down. Not Theoderich—he's too innocent to see this."

Reuben raised an eyebrow. "And you aren't?"

"Get your behind moving, Reuben! Now!"

"Yes, Milady."

Only when the men's wound's had been cauterized, and everyone had left the room, Ayla realized that her way to freedom had once more been shut. Sighing, she walked over to the door, and rested her forehead against it.

"You thick-headed blaggard," she whispered. For some reason, a smile crept on her face. Maybe it was just because she was too tired to be angry anymore. Maybe it was because, while Reuben had turned her into a captive in her own castle, he had done it to keep her from harm. And he had given her the means to help in the only way she really could. Her hands were bloody, and covered with soot, and every bone in her body ached with weariness, but Ayla didn't care. She was content.

She took another deep breath.

"I love you," she whispered, hoping that somehow, even through the thick oak door and the noise of battle outside, he could hear her. "I love you, Reuben Rachwild."

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Greetings, Milords and Ladies!

Sorry for the late update. My internet connection was acting up (again), but now it is working, and I can finally bring you this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it :)

Farewell

Sir Rob