The Robber Knight's Secret

27. Stained Crimson

They got about five feet before hell broke loose behind them. Reuben felt a fist of air slamming into him from behind, pressing him forward, heralding more to come, and he threw himself forward just in time, grabbing Theoderich by the collar and dragging him along.

"Down!"

The arm of the trebuchet sailed over their heads, missing them by mere inches. Reuben felt the force of the mighty weapon in every bone of his body. Yet he knew this was nothing compared to the forces that would be unleashed in a few more seconds.

"Run!" Dragging Theoderich to his feet again, he pushed the brat forward, sprinting away way from the trebuchet as fast as his legs would carry him. Around him, men laughed and pointed, making bets on how soon the girl he loved would be burned alive. But he didn't care. They would be dead soon enough. The dead don't laugh.

He heard the sound he had been waiting for just as he reached the edge of the free area around the trebuchet: a snap, followed by an unearthly groan as the rope attached to the end of the arm went taught and stopped it in mid-throw. Reuben didn't need to look over his shoulder to know what would happen. The young fool Theoderich, though, tried to stop and look back.

Grabbing him by the neck, Reuben shoved him forward.

"Run!" he roared. "When I give an order, I expect you to obey! Now run, if you want to live!"

Theoderich hesitated for just a second. Then, the thunder of breaking wood and a cacophony of screams behind them made him change his mind. He followed Reuben into the sea of tents. They hadn't gotten far before a red glow appeared behind them, growing brighter and brighter the farther they ran. Heat boiled in the center of the camp, and over the crashing and splintering of wood they heard a rush like from a fallen angel plummeting towards the earth.

Now, even Reuben couldn't withstand the temptation of looking back for just a moment. He turned just in time to see the cask of liquid fire hit the trebuchet at full force, spraying its contents into all four corners of the earth. One corner of the earth unfortunately happened to be right in Reuben's visor slits.

"Satan's hairy ass!" Jerking back, Reuben clutched his helmet, trying to rip it off.

"What's the matter, Milord? What has happened?"

"I got the stuff on my face! That's what has happened!"

"But..." Theoderich hesitated. He had heard the rumors about his knight master. "C-can you feel it?"

"I can smell it! You try living with half a pint of burning pitch up your nose!"

"Oh."

"Yes! Now help me get this damned thing off!"

"Yes, Milord. Of course, Milord."

A moment later, the helmet was off Reuben's head. Cursing, he wiped the burning stuff, and probably a good-sized patch of burned skin along with it, off his face. Then he looked up, and directly into the eyes of the Margrave von Falkenstein.

The Margrave stood dozens of yards away, still on the palisades around the inner camp. He had turned to stare in outrage at the destruction of his most deadly weapon. Through the fire, the smoke, the tangle of broken wood and screaming, wounded soldiers, his eyes found Reuben's, and took in his giant form, bearing the arms of one of his vassals.

"There!" he roared, and somehow his voice was audible over the mayhem—cold steel cutting through the fire. "There! Catch the intruders! Get them! I want them alive!"

"That means they want to slowly torture us to death," Reuben explained to his squire, cheerily. "I haven't had someone want to slowly torture me to death for weeks now. It's about time!"