The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(70)

This made the noises which drifted up to castle even more eerie than they would ordinarily have been. Unearthly howls and screeches were accompanied by metallic clangs and noises the origin of which Ayla could not, for the life of her, determine. As she watched, Reuben and Isenbard on either side of her, the figures in white continued their march around the castle, not even seeming aware of the people watching from the castle wall, apparently gripped by some demonic trance.

“Who…” Ayla whetted her dry lips and rephrased the question. “What are they?”

“Enemy soldiers,” Reuben replied, off-hand.

Ayla stared up at him. Was he being serious?

“But…” She gestured down towards the white figures. “They don't look anything like soldiers. They don't have chain mail, helmets, or even weapons. They don't even look like normal people!”

Reuben shrugged. “It's not that hard to find white cloaks and hoods. Just ask the Cistercians.”[16]

“You mean those are enemy soldiers, dressed up?” Ayla could hardly believe it. It was hard to associate the weird, ethereal, white figures down there in the valley with the rough mercenaries that made up the Margrave's army.

“They are.”

“But those noises…” Ayla shook her head, not quite ready to believe it. “This otherworldly clanking and screeching…”

“Probably cooking pots and other metal objects they have concealed under their cloaks, where they rub and bang them together,” was Reuben's reply. He didn't seem very distressed about the whole thing. As if a column of white creatures—that to Ayla at least still seemed not entirely human—marching around her castle was something perfectly normal.

“And the camp?” Ayla gestured towards the black nothingness. “Where has their camp gone?”

“It's still there. They have just put out the fires for tonight.”

“Why,” inquired Ayla incredulously, “should the enemy army put out their campfires, discard their weapons, and march around my castle dressed in white cloaks, wailing like tortured demons from hell?”

Reuben looked at her, and Ayla didn't need to hear the answer. The moment she had finished the question, she remembered what he had told her earlier.

“They do it,” she whispered, looking up at Reuben with wide eyes, “to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies.”

He smiled at her, and for once, his smile was neither devilish nor cunning—it was full of pride. “Just so.”

“Well, they won't have any luck with that,” Ayla said determinedly. “Flying heads—all right, that is scary. But a bunch of people dressed up in funny white cloaks, wailing all night… Nobody will be afraid of that once they hear the explanation, will they?”

When nobody answered, Ayla looked from Isenbard to Reuben and back again. Neither of the knights were paying attention to the enemies outside, but looking into the courtyard where a crowd of anxious villagers had gathered once again, whispering and pointing to the sky from where the wailing appeared to come.

“They won’t, will they?” Ayla repeated desperately. “Reuben? Isenbard?”





Sleepless Nights

The rumor spread through the castle like wildfire: the spirits of the dead themselves had risen from the earth to conquer Luntberg and plunge all of them into eternal darkness.

Proof? Weren't the severed heads and the creepy howling proof enough? Those were the spirits of the dead out there, that was as clear as daylight.

Reuben found this rumor very interesting, especially since it had been the heads of Luntberg soldiers which had been catapulted over the wall. Ergo, if their spirits were indeed wandering around the castle, one should rather expect them to defend it rather than attack it, shouldn't one?

The villagers didn't seem to share this optimistic view of the supernatural. They kept as far away as possible from the old pigsty where the gruesome missiles were temporarily stored.

Well, apart from one particular villager.

“Sir Reuben?”

Reuben looked down. Then he looked a little farther down. Finally, his eyes found the little girl in front of him. She couldn’t have been more than five years old, with a mass of black hair hiding most of her face, except for the eyes and the stubborn mouth. In each hand, she clutched a doll.

“Yes?” he asked, not really paying attention. “What do you want?”

She pointed to the old pigsty. “To get in there.”

That got her Reuben’s full attention. He frowned. “There are parts of dead people in there.”

“Aye, I know. I want to know what chopped-off heads look like.” She pouted at him. “But the guard in front of the door won’t let me!”

“Fancy that. What a cruel man.”

“That’s what I said! So I thought maybe you could bash him on the head to make him let me go inside.”

As tempting as the idea was, Reuben could already see Ayla chatting with the guard at the pigsty, who was explaining to her with expansive gestures what had happened. The lady of Luntberg threw a suspicious glance at him and the little girl.

Hm…maybe no head-bashing today. It was probably more than his life was worth.

“Fye? Fye, come here. I need to talk to you.” Determinedly, Ayla strode over towards them.