Nobody, not even Ayla, could have been more surprised by this than Reuben's enemy. The beefy mercenary gaped at the unarmed knight in front of him open-mouthed, and didn't even take advantage of the perfect opening to launch an attack. His wide-eyed gaze went from Reuben, to the sword on the ground, and back to Reuben. It took him a while to comprehend what had happened. But then, a slow, evil grin spread across his face.

“I knew you’re a wimp! Can't even hold your sword anymore, can you?” he scoffed, advancing on Reuben, torch in hand.

“No,” said Reuben, shaking his head.

Ayla let out a little moan of despair and wanted to rush forward, up the wall, but her guards noticed just in time. Captain Linhart sprang forward and grabbed her

“Ha! I knew it!” the mercenary growled.

“No, that was not the reason for dropping my sword,” continued Reuben, his gray eyes shining like tempered steel, “I dropped my sword, because it was of no use to me anymore. A sword might kill you with one blow. That would be far too quick an end for a bastard like you. You will be frightened to death ere death comes and takes you!”

“Me? Frightened of you?”

With a bark of laughter, the mercenary lunged, striking at Reuben with the torch.

Reuben's hand snapped up and caught it at the burning end, engulfing his hand in flame.

Ayla stopped struggling, her eyes going wide. Her guards let go of her, staring up, just as she did, at the unearthly spectacle high above them.

“You,” Reuben said in a low hiss of a voice that could nevertheless be heard all over the courtyard, “will be frightened when the gates of hell open for you right here on earth.”

He took a step forward, pushing his enemy back, still holding the burning end of the torch. Tongues of fire licked around his fingers. He didn’t scream, didn’t let go. His face showed not a trace of pain—only wrath.

“How... how...” The mercenary's face had gone as white as a corpse

“You have a question?” Reuben asked, softy. “Why are you being so shy? Come, come, out with it.”

“How....” the mercenary seemed incapable of uttering any word other than this one. His eyes remained fixed on Reuben's unflinching, flaming hand.

“How am I doing this, you mean?” Reuben gestured leisurely to the torch with his free hand. “It isn't hard. Want to try it?”

The mercenary shrieked and tried to let go of the torch, tried to back away. But suddenly Reuben's other hand closed like a vice around his throat and slammed him into the wall.

“Let me show you,” he breathed.

Slowly, very slowly, he moved the burning end of the torch towards the man's face. Ayla watched, horror-struck, but also overtaken by a terrible sense of fascination. She knew she was seeing something not quite of this world. She knew also that there was nothing she or anybody could do to stop it.

“Here?” asked Reuben, pausing the torch in front of the man's face. All he got in response was a whimper. Even from down where she stood, Ayla could see that the eyes of the man were tightly shut. But he had to feel what was coming, had to feel the heat of the flames on his skin.

“Open your eyes.”

Nothing happened in response to Reuben's command.

“Open your eyes, I say!” he bellowed.

The man complied. He was shaking by now, trembling all over.

“Should we try it here?” Reuben asked, his voice soft again.

The man shook his head, not seeming to care that with Reuben’s hand around his throat, the motion half strangled him.

“How about here?” Reuben asked, moving his burning hand to the man's chest.

Again, violent shudders shook the man's head.

“Are you frightened now?” Reuben asked.

“Y-yes!” The word was no more than a croak, hardly audible.

“And do you repent?”

“Y-yes, Milord.”

“Oh, I am a lord now, am I? Thank you for the honor, but I am just a robber knight. The robber knight. It is good that you repent, though. A priest told me once that one should repent before dying.”

He moved his face right up to the mercenary's terrified features.

“You were going to sell the girl I love to a monster and boasted of it to me,” he said. Although he was almost whispering now, Ayla could still hear every word that was spoken. “That... was... not... wise. You will taste the fires of hell for that. And I think now I have found the perfect place for the fires of hell to begin their work.”

With a sudden jerk, he plunged the burning torch downwards, into the man’s groin.

A piercing scream ripped apart the night. Reuben laughed his devilish laugh—and for the first time Ayla realized how really devilish it was. Not just charming, not just beautiful, but magnificently evil.

The red robber knight grabbed the mercenary by the belt and hauled him off his feet.

“Give Satan my regards,” he roared and tossed the burning man over the castle battlements, down into the darkness.

*~*~**~*~*

The night had passed rather uneventfully for Conrad the merchant. He had been standing watch all night at the bottom of the Luntberg Castle walls. There was some shouting and noise from inside the castle now and again, but nothing that bothered him in his half-slumber—until a burning man fell from the sky and nearly bashed his brains in. That sort of thing didn't happen every day.

“God’s teeth!” He jumped dead, before the flames could touch him. “What in all seven circles of hell...”

Aghast, he stared at the smoldering figure on the ground.

He was dead, no doubt about it. The way his head was turned one hundred and eighty degrees backwards made that point clear. But the expression on his face... he looked like he was still alive, and screaming in terror. Like he had seen something no mortal being should see.

Conrad shook himself. What was the matter with him? If the mercenary captain was dead, their attempt to capture Lady Ayla had failed, and they needed to get out of here quickly. If he and his companion were discovered standing right below the wall, they would be an easy target for projectiles.

He tugged his black woolen cloak more tightly around himself and gestured to the young mercenary who had kept watch with him.

“Let's go.”

The young man didn’t move. His eyes were fastened in horror on the face of his fallen comrade. Conrad didn't blame him. He was no novice at the cruel forms of death, having served as a man-at-arms for over ten years now, but that face...

“Come on,” he hissed. “Or I'll leave you here!”

That shook the young soldier out of his trance. As Conrad strode away from the wall, he hurried after him. Conrad looked back only once, to check if they had been spotted and were pursued. He could see nobody giving chase. But high up on the wall he saw the figure of a gigantic man, holding a torch in his hand and...

Conrad blinked. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, but... no. No, what he saw simply couldn’t be. It looked like the man was holding the torch aloft at the burning end!

He stopped and rubbed his eyes. Surely he had to be mistaken.

But by the time he looked again, the man had disappeared. Who was he? One of Lady Ayla's castle guards? No. Instinctively, Conrad knew that that was not the case.

“Let's hurry up,” he growled. “I want to get to the lookout we ordered to watch the castle wall.  I want to know exactly what happened.”

They had left one man as a lookout on a high tree not far away. Jos was a most agile little fellow—no good in a fight at all, but he could run like the wind and climb trees like a squirrel. From the uppermost branches of the tree he would have seen everything that transpired on the wall, maybe even something of what happened in the courtyard.

Conrad marched to the bottom of the tree and whistled two times.

When, after a minute, there was still no sight of Jos, he called: “Hey, you maggot-ridden scrambler! Get your butt down here!”

It was still several minutes before Jos, with slow, jerky movements, emerged from the foliage. He missed the last branch and tumbled to the ground. This, more than anything else, made Conrad tremble. Jos never fell. Never, ever.

With a curse, he jumped forward to see if another one of their men had broken his neck tonight. But Jos had only a few bruises, otherwise he was all right. If you ignored the expression on his face, that is.

“God's breath! On your feet, you damn, squirrel! What's the matter, what did you see?”

He pulled Jos up by the scruff of the neck. Supporting himself against the thick trunk of the tree, the young scout was able to stay on his feet, though he still looked liable to collapse again at any moment.

“Did you see what happened?” Conrad demanded to know. “What happened to fat Dirk and his men?”

Jos nodded.

“Well? What was it then?”

The squirrel wet his lips. “There was this man... this giant man...” he coughed, holding his bruised sides in pain, then began anew. “There was this giant, and… he was wearing red armor.”

He told them everything he had seen. Everything on the wall, and most of what happened beyond. When he had finished, absolute silence lay over the forest. Not even the animals seemed to want to disturb the eerie quiet with their nocturnal noises.

Finally, Conrad took the man by the shoulder.

“Is that exactly what you saw? You didn't invent or dream up any of it?”

The empty gaze of the other man was unwavering. “It is the truth. I have told you everything as I witnessed it. I swear it on every tree I've ever climbed.”

Conrad nodded.

“W-what now, Sir?” asked the other man, unable to disguise the tremor in his voice.

Conrad swallowed, hard.

“Send word to Sir Luca,” he heard himself say. Though his voice sounded a bit strange in his own ears. “Tell him that the mission has failed. And...”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Tell him that we have a new enemy.”

*~*~**~*~*

Reuben didn't look after the mercenary. It was a very long drop. Instead, he picked up his sword, which had fallen from the mercenary's hand, and turned towards the courtyard. All of them down there—the guards, the villagers, and a slender figure in white—were watching him with their eyes wide open. In shock? Fear?

Reuben couldn't blame them.

They continued to watch as he turned and re-entered the tower. Ayla's sapphire eyes were the largest, and the ones the expression of which haunted Reuben the most. Enraged at himself, he pounded the wall with his burning fist. With each of the stairs’ steps, he struck again. Bam! Bam! Bam!

Fool! He was an utter and complete fool! What had he done? How could he have let her see that?

Trepidation welled up inside him and he hastened his steps. What was the expression in those lovely blue eyes?

Was it fear?

Of him?

Pain shot through his heart at that thought—pain that shouldn’t be there, couldn’t be there. His hand was aflame, and it was feeling perfectly fine. Yet his heart was writhing in pain, simply because of the expression in those sapphire eyes.

What did she think of him now? How would she react when he stood before her once again?

She has just seen you burn a man alive, he told himself grimly. How do you think she will react?

Well, it hadn't been an entire man. Just his pants, really. Did that count?

Before he could come to a decision on the matter, he had reached the bottom of the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the night.

Nobody had moved while they listened to him descending. They were still standing just as they had, immobile as statues, staring at him with wide eyes. He did his best not to meet her blue eyes, afraid of what he would see there, yet all the time the question kept burning in his mind: What now? Will she fear me? Will she hate me?

He approached the group waiting for him, and then stopped, feeling suddenly awkward.

“Um... hello everybody.” He nodded to them and held up his still smoldering hand. “Does anybody have a pitcher of water I could extinguish this in?”

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Greetings, Milords and Ladies,

How did you enjoy our encounter with Sir Reuben's devilish powers? Can you guess what hellish forces have taken him and made him what he is? ;-)

On the side I have included a picture of the devil, from the medieval Codex Gigas - just because I thought it fit the devilish mood of this chapter, and because I had never yet seen a picture of the evil one wearing only underpants... A truly gruesome sight :D :D

Your medieval and slightly diabolical storyteller,

Sir Rob

P.S: Now I have to make up my mind... will Ayla run from Reuben in terror?

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GLOSSARY:

Man-at-arms: Another expression for soldier in the middle ages. It doesn’t have anything to do with having extra arms and hands: arms, in this case, means weapons.