The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(16)
She paused, knowing that this had been the easy part of her assessment.
“But?” Isenbard probed.
“But, on the other hand, everybody is safe within the castle walls—and by everybody, I mean hundreds of people. The entire village has sought refuge here. With that many people, we cannot hold out long if that villain, Sir Luca, should decide to starve us out.”
Silence loomed between them, filling the emptiness of the great hall. An ominous and somber atmosphere lay over the scene: the cold light of the moon shining in through the windows, illuminating the slight figure of the kneeling girl in her white dress and the old but still formidable knight lying on his back, slowly stroking his beard in contemplation.
“Do you think they will attack?” Ayla finally broke the silence, her voice almost hopeful. She did not relish the thought of a battle, but she knew that, in a fight, a castle with its thick walls and solid battlements was as good as hundreds of armed men to the defenders. It would be the only way to right the imbalance between Falkenstein's huge army and her little company of steadfast vassals. And at least everything would be over quickly and she would know her fate, be it salvation or doom.
Isenbard snorted. “Attack? Not in a thousand years! Why should they? They have us exactly where they want us. Now, all they need to do is wait until we surrender or until we collapse from hunger so they can climb over our walls at their leisure.”
That was pretty much what Ayla had feared, but she didn't give up hope yet.
“What if we were to taunt the commander? We could shout rude words at him and insult his honor. He might be angered enough to attack out of rage.”
The old knight's lips twitched. “Learning battle tactics, are we? Well, that might work—if we had a true knight as our enemy. But you forget that this Sir Luca is a mercenary, meaning that he has no honor to insult.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Besides, I would not even know which words to use.” Isenbard smiled grimly. “My father did not teach me the art of insulting, I'm afraid. He probably did not consider it part of what a knight should be taught, so I lack vocabulary in that area. Are you any more knowledgeable when it comes to insults?”
“No, but I know someone who is,” Ayla muttered quietly, almost to herself.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing. So what do we do now?”
Isenbard shrugged.
“Stay where we are and pray, for now. There may yet occur something unforeseen which will save us. The fortunes of war are fickle; they easily change sides. Of course, I could tell you more if I actually were able to see the state of our defense with my own eyes, if I could walk around, bare a sword, and…”
“No chance! No, no, no chance at all!” Ayla started wagging her finger at him again. “I said you would remain on this stretcher until you are fully recovered, and remain there you will, or I will have you tied down, understand?”
Isenbard made a face. “Yes, Milady.”
“Now I'm going to get you a cold cataplasm for your head. And woe betide you if you're not still lying down when I return.”
“As you wish, Milady.”
~~*~~*
During her ministrations, Isenbard pestered Ayla with repeated entreaties to be allowed to get up and take command of his men again. However, Ayla rebuffed each and every one of them, and, having finished with caring for the old knight, charged some of the villagers’ wives, who had by now returned to the great hall, with holding the old knight down and alerting her should he attempt to rise. She made sure that Isenbard saw and heard her do this and that the women she asked were sensible, reliable, and moreover as beefy as cart oxen.
As she left and threw a look back, she saw the old knight eying his guards apprehensively and smiled to herself. He was in good hands.
Outside of the keep, Captain Linhart, the man to whom, in Isenbard's absence, she had entrusted the defense of the castle, was waiting for her.
“Greetings, Captain,” she greeted him. “How goes the defense?”
“I don't know that there's much to defend yet, Milady. But there's something going on out there. Come, you should see this.”
Curious, she followed him through the inner gate of the castle and to the outer wall. There, he held one of the tower doors open for her and let her ascend the spiral staircase inside before him, following with one of the torches he had taken from the wall.
Up on the battlements, the cold night wind greeted them. Ayla shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Down in the castle, she always felt so sheltered. Up here, she was exposed to the elements—and worse things.
“I beg your pardon, Milady,” Captain Linhart said, abashed. “I forgot how cold it is up here. Should I lend you my coat?”
Ayla shook her head, giving the captain a weak smile. “No, thank you, Captain. It isn't only the cold that makes me shiver.” Her gaze strayed down into her valley. Her valley, which was no longer hers.
With a grim expression on his face, Linhart stepped up beside her and pointed down. But Ayla had already seen it.
“What is that?” she gasped.
Hundreds of bright, reddish dots surrounded the castle, flitting from one place to another, growing brighter, then darker, then brighter again, like hungry fireflies. And there was more: if Ayla concentrated very hard, she could just make out the faint outline of something enormous—a dark ring of gigantic proportions surrounding the entire hill on which Luntberg Castle stood.