The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(61)

“And is the siege weapon ready?” inquired Sir Luca.

“Yes, everything is ready. Only…”

“Only what?”

Conrad swallowed. Better get this over with. “I wanted to ask…are you really sure about this, Sir?”

Sir Luca turned towards him. Conrad took a step back as his commander’s small, dark beetle eyes fixed on him.

“Did I give the order to have this done?”

“Yes, Sir! You did, Sir!”

“And did I sound in any way unsure to you?”

“No, Sir!”

“Good. Proceed.”

Conrad whirled around and, only when he had turned completely away from Sir Luca, allowed his expression to show what he felt. Breathing heavily, he marched over to the cart and nodded to the driver.

“Go!” He said gruffly. “You're not wanted here anymore tonight.”

The man looked surprised. “Don't you want to help me unload?”

“No.” And be thankful for it, you fool.

“Well, suit yourself.” The driver jumped down from the wagon. “I'm going to have a drink with Bern and Otto, then, if you don't mind.”

“You do that.” And hopefully they won't tell him what he has just driven around.

After the driver had left, Conrad whistled once. From the darkness stepped a selection of men. Not the best men of the army, not those on whose loyalty Conrad would have relied most, but the vilest, the most brutal, the ones who, given enough incentive, would do almost anything.

In other words, the perfect men for this task.

“Start to unload,” commanded Conrad in a voice that didn't quite sound like his own. The men jumped onto the wagon and began unloading the projectiles. Yes, projectiles, thought Conrad. Or, better yet, “objects.” Think of them as objects, and nothing is wrong. Otherwise you might start to call them other names…

Soon there was a pile of the objects beside the catapult. It had already been positioned correctly by men who knew how to handle such machinery. All that was required now was to shoot, to shoot, and to shoot. And maybe, someday, gain forgiveness for what they had done.

“Load the catapult,” Conrad heard himself say. One of the men grinned as he picked up one of the objects, threw it into the air, and caught it with his other hand. Conrad would have liked to punch him in the face, but Sir Luca was still standing beside the siege engine, waiting and watching. So Conrad just stood there while the grinning mercenary put the object into the sling, ready to be thrown at their enemies.

“To the ropes,” Conrad heard himself command. It didn't sound like himself at all.

Several of the men hurried to the ropes at the other end of the throwing arm. They gripped them tightly and waited.

Conrad was just about to open his mouth when Sir Luca held up a hand. It was a clear sign. The hand hovered in the air for an immeasurable second, then it came down like an executioner's ax.

“Pull!”

~~*~~*

Reaching the top of the stairs, Ayla pushed the tower door open and stepped out onto the allure. It was dark now. The sun had long disappeared behind the horizon, and night had fallen.

Sir Isenbard was still standing where she had left him hours ago, on the wall, staring eastward, although there wasn't anything one could see out there now. He would probably remain standing there for the rest of his days if she didn't force him to go to bed. Ever since that incident with the intruders, he seemed to think it a better policy to stand watch on the wall all night rather than catch a good night's sleep.

“Has anything happened yet?” she asked, coming to a standstill right beside him.

“Milady!” He started and turned towards her, standing straighter than he had before. His eyelids, which had been drooping, suddenly came up. “No, nothing has happened yet. I wonder why. There hasn't been any hammering or sawing for hours. They must long be finished with their work. And still they are not attacking.”

“You shouldn't be up here staring into the night, then,” she admonished. “You should be resting for when they do attack. We will need you then.”

“I can handle it. Don't worry yourself.”

“Why wouldn't I worry? You…”

Ayla was interrupted by a whooshing noise and a wet smack from behind her. She looked into the direction from which it had come, but before she could completely turn around Isenbard had pushed her back against the wall.

“Keep down!” he shouted. “They’re shooting something, girl, so keep your head down! We have no idea what devilry they have cooked up! Guards! Guards, protect your mistress!”

The thunder of heavy boots on stone sounded through the night as a detachment of the castle guard came hurrying towards them. More smacks and thuds came from all around. They didn't sound very dangerous, Ayla thought. There was no fire, no breaking stone, nothing that could indicate danger.

“Stay here,” Isenbard hissed, pushing her even more tightly against the breastwork. “Don't move an inch, understood?”

He didn't even wait for a reply but sidled forward until he had reached the place on the wall where one of the projectiles had landed. Taking a torch from one of the brackets set in the stone, he held it so he could see what the missile was. Since he stood between Ayla and the object, she couldn't see anything. But then he turned around—and she saw the expression on his face.