The Robber Knight's Secret

02. How to Kill Children

Reuben galloped into the outer castle courtyard as if it belonged to him. It didn't, of course—it belonged to Ayla's father. But when he was acting as the commander, it at least felt as if it belonged to him. When he was the commander, it felt as if the whole belonged to him and was just waiting to be taken.

The villagers were waiting for him, huddled against the courtyard wall, muttering anxiously among themselves. Reuben let his eyes wander over them derisively. Compared with his six foot seven of solid muscle, these were lice waiting to be squashed. He would be taller than any of them without any effort on his part, but still he took the time to ride a leisurely circle around the gathered crowd until Satan stood high up on the slope above them, between them and the inner walls of the castle. Now there was no escape. Now he towered over them.

From atop his quite literal high horse, he could see their eager, grimy little faces: the faces of sheep, not of wolves. There was a certain kind of dumb hope in those faces. The sheep had heard of him, of course, the ravenous wolf who had torn apart an entire battalion of soldiers on his own. Now they stared up at him with a mixture of apprehension and reverence. The sheep thought the wolf was their messiah. They thought he had come to save them single-handedly.

They were about to find out how very wrong they were.

"My name," he called out, his deep voice carrying effortlessly over the distance and silencing the mutters of the crowd, "is Sir Reuben Rachwild. I am the new Commander of all the armed forces of Luntberg." Slowly, almost absentmindedly, he drew his sword from its scabbard, and twisted it from left to right, gazing at it. "I have been given this post for a very good reason. The task of a commander is to kill. To kill as many of the enemy as quickly as possible."

He levelled a gaze at the villagers that made them try and retreat a few steps, until they remembered the wall right behind them.

"I," Reuben told them, "am very good at killing."

With a fluid movement, his sword left his right hand, flew over his head, into his left hand, around his back into the right again and vanished back into its sheath before anybody had had time to blink. The villagers watched him, awe-struck. Reuben nodded to himself.

I'd say they believe me.

"There is nobody better at killing than me," he continued. "I tell you this because it means you need me. If I die, so will you. Remember that."

His mouth twitched.

"Remember that well—because in just a few minutes you will burn with the desire to kill me yourself. You will ache to choke the life out of me with your bare hands. I wouldn't advise it. You will die. If not today by my hand, then tomorrow, at the hands of your enemies."

Out of the corner of his eye, Reuben could see Ayla staring at him, her mouth hanging open. He assumed what he had said so far didn't exactly fit her idea of an inspirational speech. Well, she had heard nothing yet. He was just warming up.

"I have news for all of you," Reuben declared. "What we had only suspected before has just been confirmed: an army of the Margrave is approaching. Did I say an army? I meant the army. This isn't just some paltry force of Italian mercenaries, like last time. If I am right in my suspicions, then the Margrave has called a levy. This means seasoned men-at-arms, archers, heavily armored knights, merciless killers and machines of war that would make a nightmare-spirit scream in terror. At the head of the army will ride not a mercenary commander, but the Margrave von Falkenstein himself. And he isn't coming to conquer, this time. He isn't coming to acquire this land. No, he is coming for revenge. He is coming to plunder, burn and murder everything that stands in his way."