Page 81 of The Robber Knight's Love
“Oh yes,” Ayla mumbled. “Honor. I'm surethere's a lot of honor in attacking innocent people and threateningto burn their homes to the ground. Blackguard!”
She felt Dilli tug at her sleeve, but at themoment she had eyes only for her foe and his forces, slowlyapproaching the bridge.
Again, Dilli tugged at her sleeve. “I can'tgo back, Milady. I... c-came to help. Please... let me help withthe wounded.”
That got Ayla's attention. She turned tostare at her maid and friend. “But you're terrified of anythingthat bleeds, Dilli. Once, you walked by farmer Albert's house whenhe was beheading a chicken, and you almost fainted. You camerunning back to the castle in tears.”
Dilli squared her tiny shoulders and nodded,her brown curls bobbing up and down with the motion. “I know. But Istill want to help.”
“Err... I'm touched, Dilli. But your placeisn't here on the battlefield.”
“My place is by your side, Milady, whereverthat is.” The smaller Dilli looked up at Ayla with big, begging,doe eyes. “This is my only chance to help you. Please, Milady, letme stay.”
Across the river, the men who had beenmarching so far broke into a run. A fearsome battlecry rose up fromhundreds of bloodthirsty throats. The red robber knight urged hisstallion into a gallop.
To her surprise, Ayla found herself grinningat Dilli. But was it really that surprising? In all probability,every last one of them was going to die. Why not meet death with asmile on your lips and a friend at your side?
“Do you promise not to puke all over me?” sheinquired.
Dilli returned her smile, weakly. “I promiseto try.”
“Fair enough. Go into the tent and startunrolling the bandages that are stacked there, will you. We'regoing to need them.”
The maid nodded and hurried into the tent.Ayla thanked the Lord for her friend's innocent mind. It preventedher from guessing the true motive behind Ayla sending her into thetent. The enemy army, still gathering speed, had now come withinrange. Dilli would see enough blood today. But she didn't need tosee this. The hammer of attack was about to strike the anvil ofdefense, forging war.
On the barricade, the strange iron figure shehad still trouble thinking of as Isenbard, raised an arm.
“Nock! Mark! Draw!”
Ayla shuddered, knowing what would comenext.
“Hold... hold... loose!”
If Ayla had expected the arrows to have thesame devastating effect as last time, she was bitterlydisappointed. Where last time the arrows had been as bolts oflightning striking down impudent mortals, this time they were likethe sting of a fly to a hydra. The many-headed monster of SirLuca's army moved on, trampling the few who had fallen under itsfeet. They reached the barricade in a matter of minutes. Stoneswith ropes attached flew through the air, ladders were thrustupwards. The defenders hacked furiously at the ropes, tried to pushback the ladders. Still, a few remained long enough for men toscramble onto the guard walk. Most were cut down immediately,falling under a storm of blows. But some remained upright, fought,and stood long enough for a second and a third man to followthem.
What was most terrible and most surprisingthough, in all the mayhem, was the absence of blood.
Ayla had expected fountains of blood to spewforth, but no such thing happened. The thick mail and leather armorthe soldiers wore seemed to protect both sides from the sharp edgesof the enemy's blades. It did not, however, protect them from thestrength of the blows.
Ayla winced every time she heard it: thesickening crunch of breaking bones. Never in her life had sheimagined a battle to be like this. Not a glorious duel to thedeath, but a violent brawl where you just hit hard enough to breakyour enemy’s bones and trod him down into the dirt, not caringwhether he was still alive, because he was in too much pain to harmyou anymore.
Concerned, Ayla looked for Isenbard in theclamor. Finally she found him, fending off three enemy mercenariesat once. She had not seen much swordplay in her life, but from thevery fact that he was fighting three enemies and was still alive,she deduced that his had to be extraordinary. Itlookedextraordinary, too: Somehow, his sword, agraceful silver bringer of death, kept all three enemies at bay,dealing blow after blow, until two finally collapsed. The third hegripped by the throat and threw off the barricade, accompanied bycheers from his men.
“I-is it over yet?” came Dilli's timid voicefrom inside the tent.
Ayla didn't know whether to laugh or cry.“They haven't even brought us the first wounded man yet, Dilli.This is a battle. What do you think?”
“I was just asking.”
Ayla's concern grew. Yes, Isenbard washolding his own. But he was tiring, it was obvious. As the fightwore on, his movements became slower, his blows weaker. Once, anenemy struck him on the ribs, another time in the stomach, whichcaused the old knight to bellow in pain.
If Ayla hadn't been three hundred yards away,she would have used her surgical knife there and then on thatmiserable mercenary—and not to perform surgery.
At the foot of the barricade, a few men werelying in a tangled mess. Other men hastened to help them, graspedtheir arms and legs and started to carry them towards Ayla. Shetensed, knowing why they were approaching.
“Prepare yourself, Dilli,” she called. “Ithink they're bringing us our first patients.”
“Y-yes, Milady.”
