Page 98 of The Robber Knight
“Please, Uncle, I beg you.” There was noholding back the sobs; they forced their way out into the open.This was the end. If Isenbard didn't wake now, he would never wakeagain. It would be endless darkness for him, for her, foreverybody.
Again, she shook him, although she knew itwas to no avail. He wouldn't wake. The enemy had as good aswon.
“Ayla, what is the matter? He's sick! Youcan't wake him and you shouldn't even try, you told me soyourself.”
For a moment, Ayla didn't recognize the voicecoming from behind her. Then a set of warm, muscular arms enfoldedher and she remembered. Oh yes. Reuben. Reuben was here.
“Shh,” he said, gently pulling her away fromIsenbard. Ayla was so distraught, she didn't even think to askherself how he could move in his still weakened state. “Don't tryto wake him. Don't.”
“But I have to,” Ayla wailed. “He's the onlyone. The only one who might be able to help me.”
“Help you how? Ayla, he can't help anyonejust now. What's the matter? Tell me!”
It made absolutely no sense, wasting timelike this, telling a sick merchant who couldn't even stand straightof their approaching doom, with the enemy probably halfway acrossthe river by now. But somehow the entire story tumbled out of hermouth.
“...and when they've crossed they're going tokill everyone, except me. Me they will take and bring toFalkenstein and he... he...”
Ayla found she didn't have the strength tocontinue. Reuben had held her in his arms the whole time she hadspoken. She was really glad for it, feeling safe there, warm andprotected. Of course, it was only an illusion. Nobody was safeanymore. But it was a nice illusion to indulge in. Just a fewminutes more before the soldiers came and dragged her off intocaptivity...
“They are crossing the river on woodenboats?” Reuben's voice was toneless.
“Yes.”
“Do you have lard?” he asked.
“What?” Ayla sobbed.
Reuben let go of her, and Ayla wanted toshout in protest.No! Please no.She wanted to be in his arms for a few more minutes before the end.But then he turned her around and every other thought in Ayla'smind was eradicated by the look on his face.
“Do—you—have—lard?” he asked, enunciatingeach word, his voice flaming with fiery fury. “You know lard? Thestuff that makes pigs' bottoms fat?”
“Reuben, what has that got to do withanyth—?”
“Answer me!”he bellowed, and she shrank back, her tears halting from the sheershock of seeing him like this.
“I... I think so,” she stuttered. “Thepeasants in the village... They must have some, I think.”
“Good. Now listen to me, My Lady of Luntberg.Return to the battlefield. Make them bring you lard. As much lardas they have. Wrap your arrows in rags, cover them with lard andset them on fire. Then shoot them at the boats of the enemy. Do youunderstand?”
She stared into his gray eyes, which burnedso intensely that it almost seemed they alone could burn theapproaching boats of doom down for her. He seemed certainly willingto try, no matter how insane his idea. Lard was used for baking,mostly, and in some medicinal salves. Yes, it burned well, and poorpeople used it in their lamps, but still...
“Reuben,” she said, her voice choked, “Iappreciate that you're trying to help, but...”
“Do youunderstand?”
Again she shrank back from his violent roar.She almost wanted to do as he asked just to keep him from yellingat her again.
But she couldn't. She couldn't give intohope. Not now that she had already abandoned herself. She was tooweak to continue fighting, so she just shook her head and let itsink to her chest in defeat.
A finger appeared in her field of vision,coaxing her chin up. Surprised by the gentle touch, when a momentago the owner of the hand had been shouting at her with enoughferocity to bring the castle down, she looked up into his dear,devilish face.
“Ayla, do you trust me?”
And amazingly, stupidly, she nodded. Becauseshe really did trust him, trusted him more than anybody else in herlife.
“Then go,” he whispered. “Please?”
She knelt there for one moment more, thensprang up and rushed to the door. As she ran down the corridor, hertears began to flow again. If she died today, it would not be inhis arms.
