There was no moonlight. The clouds had darkened the sky, and the only light cast was from the torches and candles scattered around the town. Despite the late hour, the townsfolk were still in high spirits. As Amana made her way back from the Bird's Nest tavern, she could hear the singing and laughing from the homes and inns she passed. The celebrations even spilled out into the streets in places, as drunken and rowdy tavern patrons went for evening strolls. There seemed to be a mutual feeling of relief, as though Sir Reinhart's arrival would save them from all the woes of the world. I wish that I could share that sentiment. I wonder what Reinhart would make of my story. Amana shook her head free of that notion. I was lucky that Brynn believed me, and I should expect that no one else will.

With the hood of her cloak pulled up, she hoped that her identity would be concealed. The last thing Amana wanted was to draw attention, especially considering the importance of her meeting with Lloyd. She had spent the better part of the night in the tavern, listening to him explain the noteworthy details of Sargotha. His excitement had been palpable as he spouted a seemingly endless stream of information. The fatigue of the long day had taken its toll on Amana, and she would consider herself fortunate if she even remembered half the things Lloyd had told her come morning. Sargotha was subjugated following the death of... What was their king's name? And the last viceroy was kin of the royal family of Trilea. I've already forgotten his name as well. At least I remember Princess Constance. She's the most important one. The current ruling family of Sargotha had only a single daughter, the young Princess Constance. She is the princess that I have claimed to serve. Few know of her in Trilea, but those that do will likely know her name.

As Amana neared the gates of the inner wall, she let out a yawn. I must be quiet when I return to my room, Polly and Morgan are likely already fast asleep. I would hate to wake them. A pair of guardsmen stood watch outside the gates, and a flicker of recognition crossed one of the men's faces as he watched her approach. "Out late this evening, eh?" He asked with amusement. Sergeant Gailen was a warm man, and he always spoke kindly to Amana when she passed him.

"Indeed. It seems I was caught in the celebrations and lost track of the time," she replied.

Sergeant Gailen chuckled. "You're not the only one, girl. We've had a dozen men arrive for their shifts still reeling from the drinks they've had today. The captain won't be pleased when he learns of their conduct."

"Well, perhaps he will be considerate. Days like these are quite rare, after all," Amana observed.

Aye, that they are," the sergeant said with a nod. He gave a hard rap on the heavy wood behind him. "Have a good night, Amana."

One of the gates slowly creaked open and she slipped inside to the familiar grounds. Eager to put the day behind her, Amana absentmindedly walked toward the servants' quarters. All was quiet here, aside from the sound of the dirt beneath her boots. She was only a few steps away from the door when she heard it. Thud. It was the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. What was that? Amana turned and scanned the yard but found it empty. Perhaps my weary mind is hearing things. With a feeling of strange unease, she spun back around, but before she could move again another sound disturbed the stillness of the night. It was the creaking of wood, and if she strained hard enough Amana could just faintly make out the footsteps that were the cause of the disturbance. Is it coming from within the servants’ quarters? No, it’s outside. It must be the guardsmen moving atop the ramparts of the wall. Amana had never ventured up the stairs of the inner wall, though she had occasionally wondered what the view up there was like. The guards regularly stood watch upon the wall at all times, though they preferred to stay within the watchtowers at night.

The rhythmic bending of the wooden boards faded away, but to Amana’s surprise the heavy footfalls continued. It was louder now, the sound of someone moving quickly across the dirt and rock ground. It isn’t just one person, there’s several. She looked to her left, trying to identify the source of the commotion. It was coming from the southern side of the yard, opposite the gates. They’re behind the servants’ quarters, near the stable. Perplexed by the oddity of it, Amana slowly circled around the yard in the direction of the stable. She moved lightly, keeping to the shadows of the building. I've heard talk that some of the other handmaidens engage in nocturnal activity with the guards on occasion, but surely this is too bold for them. Although perhaps the girls wanted to welcome our new guests... Her thoughts froze. She could see shadows moving ahead of her. Her body stiffened.

It took Amana a moment to discern what she was seeing. She had thought the dark figures to be shadows, but realized in horror that they were not. As though she were looking in a mirror, the outlines of the black-clad individuals had come to a halt the same instance that she had. As she watched them, they watched her. She counted at least four, but that was as far as she got. One of the shadowy figures stood from his low crouch with bow in hand. He drew back the nocked arrow in a swift motion, his target the lone girl before him. Amana tried to run, but her body was sluggish. Her own feet tangled, and she wobbled over against the wall of the servants’ quarters just as the arrow was loosed. It whistled by her ear, only narrowly missing her.

the shade seemed surprised to have missed, the whites of his eyes wide. The next one he releases will kill me. As the man reached for another arrow, Amana made her move. She pushed herself back onto her feet and dashed hard toward the manor. She let out the loudest scream she could muster, a high-pitched shriek that would wake even the heaviest of sleepers. She was partway across the yard when her shaky legs buckled beneath her, and she slid down into the dirt. She looked back in the direction she had come from and caught sight of the figures as they moved across the yard. Bathed in the light of a nearby torch, Amana could see that they wore cloaks of black, their faces obscured by cloth masks and hoods. Aside from the man with the bow, the rest carried short swords. Assassins. The bowman came to a stop and took aim again, determined to deliver death to Amana. As he drew back the bowstring, his aim suddenly shifted upwards. Amana followed his gaze to door of the manor, which was now wide open. A guardsman stepped out into the yard, drawn by her shrill cry.

"What the-" the guard's utter confusion was apparent, and the assassin's arrow struck him square in the chest before he could make sense of the situation. He tumbled backwards, colliding with the manor door. Amana heard a shout coming from the direction of the gates and saw two more guardsmen approaching with swords drawn. Thwack, the unmistakable sound of a crossbow being fired. It came from somewhere on the wall, but it missed low, near the feet of one the assassins. Amana crawled towards the manor as another figure emerged from within the building. Sir Reinhart stood before her, sword in hand, his eyes surveying the yard. He was unarmored and dressed in only a simple shirt, trousers, and boots. He paused for only the shortest moment as he studied the situation, and then with confident resolve stepped forward into the yard.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

One of the assassins rushed forward to confront Sir Reinhart but was severely outmatched. The knight raised his broadsword above his head, and brought it down hard, titling his angle at the last second to prevent his attack from being parried. The blade struck the dark-cloaked man just beneath his neck, and the downward slash left a deep red cut. Sir Reinhart flipped his wrists with an incredible swiftness and brought the blade back around in a second attack. The knight caught the stunned assassin in the midsection and nearly cut him in half, sending him hard to the ground as his guts spilled out. By now the yard was a scene of pure chaos as the remaining assassins were swarmed by the Baelcroft guardsmen. From the servants' quarters spilled out a trio of Sir Reinhart's companions, half-dressed and eager to join the bloodshed. Realizing the futility of their mission, the assassins scattered in an attempt to escape. A spear wielding guard skewered on of them as he fled, and another assassin was struck by an arrow and stabbed at least twenty times as he lay in the dirt by four guardsmen. The bow-wielding shadow tried to line up a shot on Sir Reinhart, but one of the knight's compatriots plunged his sword into the bowman's back. The two remaining assassins cast down their swords in an attempt to surrender, however, an overzealous guardsman brought his axe down onto one of the men's faces and crushed his skull like an eggshell.

"Hold your weapon!" Sir Reinhart yelled. "Take him alive!"

The final assassin suffered a volley of blows and was roughly brought to the ground, but at the knight's behest was spared. The entire ordeal had lasted only a few moments, but for Amana it had felt like a lifetime. She took a deep breath to calm herself and wiped away the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

Lord Hyward stormed out into the yard, dressed in a fine robe. He held a sheathed sword in his hand. “What is happening? An attack?” He asked urgently.

"They came under the cover of darkness,” one of the guards replied. “Assassins, my lord.”

"Make safe the yard,” The baron ordered. “How in hell did they get past the gates?”

“They didn’t, my lord,” Sergeant Gailen responded. He was breathing hard, and Amana could see blood on his sword. “The gate remains closed. They must have come over the walls.”

The guard who had been struck by the arrow let out a ragged breath, and Amana realized she was near where he had fallen. He lay against the manor door, the arrow still protruding from his chest. She moved over beside him and caught his eyes. "Help," he mumbled weakly.

"Someone, please!" Amana called out. "This man is wounded." She recognized his face but could not recall his name. He was a young man, and his face was contorted in pain and fear. She took his hand, hoping it would offer a little comfort.

Sir Reinhart approached and knelt beside the man to examine him. "He needs a healer, or he will not survive," the knight said. "Lord Hyward?"

Another guard moved over to the wounded man, but the baron was still giving orders to the assemblage of men and did not hear Sir Reinhart. "Search everywhere. Scour the streets," Lord Hyward commanded as he pointed at the restrained assassin who lay beaten and bloody on the ground. "Have him thrown in a cell and tell Captain Eldred to keep him under close watch."

"Yes, my lord," Sergeant Gailen replied. He gestured to the men standing over the assassin as they lifted him up and dragged him away.

"They came over the walls!" A distant voice yelled. "The ladder is still here!"

All around Amana people were calling out and shouting. Guards were coming and going, bells were ringing, and bodies lied strewn about. Soon, Steward Randall had made his way into the yard to take measure of the situation and even Kamon had come to stand beside his father. The wounded guardsman was carried off to the town surgeon by several of his fellow men-at-arms, but by then his face was without color and Amana feared his death was certain. Her leg ached from the fall she had taken, but the pain was tolerable. She knew that it was time for her to leave this place, but could not will herself to move. She brought her knees up close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. That arrow was meant for me. I should have died tonight. She stared ahead at nothing in particular, noticing the ground before her. Footprints and blood. In front of her, several men were talking, but she took no head of their words.

"Amana," a voice said, pulling her out of her daze. Moving to stand before her was the Knight of Belrose, his expression one of concern. Their eyes met, and for a long time neither said anything. His brilliant golden eyes seemed to understand the emptiness Amana felt. He carries an emptiness of his own, as though he has been weighed down by his burdens. Finally, Sir Reinhart offered his hand to Amana. "Come with me."

✸✸✸

After being led down a familiar hallway, Amana found herself in a small chamber. Sir Reinhart deftly stepped around her and took hold of an empty chair. He spun it around and gestured toward it. There were stains of blood across his tunic, from the man he had killed. Without a sound, Amana moved over to the chair and slowly sank down. The knight returned his sword to its scabbard and placed it gently on the edge of the bed. The bed itself seemed untouched, and the room was still in the same pristine condition as it had been the last time Amana left it. She looked down at the splendid rug that covered the floor and wondered if Sir Reinhart had even noticed it.

"Are you hurt?" He asked as he turned to face her.

Amana shook her head. "No. Only my leg, from falling. But it is of no concern," she explained.

"May I see it?" The knight asked. Amana hesitated, her uncertainty visible. "I see," he said softly. "You have nothing to fear from me, Amana. I swore an oath to protect those who could not protect themselves." Sir Reinhart stepped forward and squatted down in front of her. "I am sorry you were witness to the bloodshed out there. Perhaps you think I find joy in it, taking a life. I can assure you that it has never given me pleasure. If my company displeases you, you may leave now. I will not bar your way. But you are safe here. You may lower your guard."

Amana searched his face for the truth in his words. She was reluctant to trust him, but desperately wanted to. "I did not think there were such gallant knights in Trilea. You would claim to be one?"

"No. I never have, nor will I ever. I will let others decide what sort of man I am based on my actions," Sir Reinhart replied bluntly. "My father once told me that only the gods know right from wrong. The best we can do, is to follow our hearts and accept what they have made us."

He speaks with sincerity. "And your heart tells you to fight? To kill?" Amana inquired.

"In order to save some, others must die. It is a truth that cannot be avoided. I lament that I have partaken in such deeds, but what other choice is left to me? Those who would hurt the innocent, the women, and the children. They are fit as sport for crows and nothing more," he said with heavy emotion. The knight let out a tired sigh and stood back up. "Forgive me, my words were ill-suited for a lady such as yourself."

Amana shook her head slowly. "Worry not, Sir Reinhart. You have been honest and forward with me. I believe I have now discerned what sort of person you are." She reached down and lifted her skirt, revealing her leg. Bloody specks could be seen on the thin white legging that covered it.

Sir Reinhart gave a satisfied smile. "I'll fetch a rag and some water. Also, I'll have one of my men bring some fresh clothes from your quarters'. You may sleep here tonight, if you wish."

"And what about you?" She asked with a glance over the bed.

The knight opened the door behind him. "I have too many questions to sleep. And there is a man in a cell who I would very much like to have words with."