In the very center of the square, a wide platform was built that night. From its very center a thick log protruded with a pointed end. Only at one glance it was easy to guess what inhuman torments awaited the one for whom this instrument of death was intended.

With the tenth stroke of the big clock, the gates of the castle swung open, and from them two guardsmen of the Milard personal guard came out, forming a wide passage to the scaffold. The Master himself went out onto the balcony and ceremoniously sat down in a chair. Behind him settled people retinue, bowed their heads obsequiously.

Yawning widely, Milard nodded to the manager, giving permission to start. The drumming sounded, and the stocky figure of the executioner appeared in the castle gates. He was wearing short woolen pants and low heavy boots. On the head is a cap with narrow slits for the eyes. The naked torso was adorned with scars and tattoos. He walked slowly, bowing in time with his steps, holding in his hands a thick rope, with which he had to tie his victim to the railings so that the unfortunate would not slip.

Drumming was replaced by a measured slow rhythm. In the aisle appeared two tall guards in black uniforms and black half masks covering the upper part of the face. They walked slowly, leading a naked girl sentenced to death on a thick chain. Her legs were encased in massive shackles, which with each of her steps made a deaf, chilling voice. The hands of the girl were shackled behind the back of a thick hoop.

A roar of indignation swept through the crowd. Guardsmen closed their ranks closer to prevent the crowd from coming to the scaffold. Approaching the stairs, Ilma slowly climbed the platform. A smile played on her gaunt face. Giving a scornful glance at the public, she turned her head to the balcony on which Milard was lounging, and suddenly spat in his direction. The executioner rushed to pacify the princess, but the Master raised his hand, and he retreated, muttering curses.

- For her count! - there were indignant cries from the crowd, - Death to the witch!

Ilma looked at Milard and smiled. The crowd burst into such a fierce cry that the Lord clutched at his head. The guardsmen, not knowing what to do, froze in place. These soldiers are accustomed to act in accordance with a ritual in which no popular indignation was foreseen. The commander of the guard in silent question looked at his Master, but he sat still.

Finally, having come to himself, Milard waved his hand. The executioner took a step towards the princess and immediately fell off the platform. A crossbow bolt protruded from his chest. The crowd gasped and froze.

The owner jumped up from his seat and disappeared behind the curtain. Soon he appeared on the square, holding a sword in his hands and turning his eyes like a wild beast. Two soldiers rushed to him, but were struck down with thin arrows. The crowd howled.

- Hey! - Milard went to the platform, - If you're not a coward, then go out to a duel!

The crowd rustled even more and began to part. Suddenly, a rider in a black cloak burst into the empty space. His face could not be seen because of the hood pulled over his forehead. The rider flew up to the scaffold and deftly jumped off his horse.

When the cloak was pushed aside, the crowd gasped and stopped. In front of them appeared a golden-haired girl, dressed like an ancient warrior: in a thin tunic that barely hid her breasts, short leather skirt and high boots. In her hand she held a short sword.

- Blacksmith to me! She shouted, "Alive!"

A tall man emerged from the crowd and slowly climbed onto the platform. In his hands he held a large wooden tool box.

- Remove the chains and collar! - ordered the girl, pointing to Ilma.

“With joy,” said the smith, with a restrained smile.

With a few blows, he knocked the shackles off the princess's legs, then freed her hands and neck.Someone from the crowd threw on the boards of the platform clothes that Ilma quickly put on.

The girl with golden hair easily jumped off the platform and approached Milard, who calmly watched what was happening.

- Look at me! - She shouted - Find out? My name is Tilla. I see that I learned. You plundered my village and killed all my relatives. I swore that I would take revenge on you, and my revenge would be just as terrible.

“It’s a pity that I didn’t strangle you then,” the young man said through clenched teeth, “But I will correct my mistake.”

He rushed at the girl, but was knocked off his feet with a strong blow and flew onto the stones of the square. Roaring with rage and indignation, Milard quickly jumped to his feet and rushed again at his opponent. There was a clang of metal, a fight ensued.

Tilla did not attack. She waited for the enemy to run out of steam. Having seized the right moment, she struck a light blow to the shoulder. Milard jumped to the side and looked at the bloody stain on the white shirt with surprise.

“Not bad,” he quipped, and suddenly made a lunge for which Tilla was not ready.

Blade blade proportional to the tunic. The girl staggered and knelt down. The weapon with a ring fell from her hand. Delighted by an easy victory, Milard raised his sword over his head to deliver the decisive blow. His sword was already falling on the neck of the opponent, when suddenly steel flashed in the air. It was Ilma, snatching a dagger from one of the guards, blocking the way to a deadly blow.

Raising Tilla's sword, she stood in a fighting stance and proudly looked into Milard’s eyes.

“Get away, princess,” he growled, “We haven't finished our argument yet.”

- Defend yourself! - shouted the girl and boldly rushed at the enemy.

She struck measuredly and evenly, step by step destroying the enemy defenses. Here Milard missed a side blow in the side, here Ilma's blade cut his thigh. Milard retreated, feeling that he was losing strength. He wondered where the tortured weak girl took such agility. Who taught her to fight?

As if having read his thoughts, Ilma laughed.

- My brothers taught me to fight for a long time, but they did not think that their science would be useful to me.

Milard was cornered. Huddling against a stone wall, he was repelled from the last of his strength by the blows of the princess. Feeling that he was losing strength, he made a desperate attempt to break free. But Ilma, seeing the gap, with a force drove the sword into the belly of the tyrant.

The young man made a deafening cry. His sword flew out of hand. Without waiting for the young man to fall, the girl pulled the blade from his body.

“You killed my father and brothers,” she said in a stray voice, “You ruined my house, and you wanted to make me powerless an insignificant slave.” But he could not conquer. And you can not!

Ilma waved her sword. Again the crowd roared again. Someone could not stand the nerves, and he cried out. Glittering in the rays of the sun, which appeared from behind the clouds, the blade fell on Milard's neck. The head separated from the body and with a dull thud rolled over the square. A decapitated body slid to the ground.

Silence reigned, and only the wind whistled in the openings of the houses. People bowed their heads, unable to watch this horrible sight. Ilma kicked the body of the fallen enemy with her foot and rushed to her friend lying on the pavement.

- How do you? The girl asked, lifting Tilla's head up.

- Where is he? The warrior asked anxiously.

“I think in hell,” the princess grinned.

“You did what I couldn’t,” said Tilla, smiling hard.

“We did it together, dear,” Ilma bent over her friend and gently kissed her on the lips.

***

The fire danced merrily in the fireplace, licking logs. The big hall sank in a light twilight, evoking a feeling of comfort and tranquility. Tilla, wrapped in a large blanket, made from the skins of the northern leopard, reclined in a large chair. Next to her, as a faithful guardian, sat with her hands folded in her lap, Feira, keenly watching her ward.

“The princess hasn't returned yet?” - asked the girl, trying to rise.

- Lie down, madam! - Feira held the patient by the shoulder, - It's not even an hour, your wound will open again.

“I'm not used to lying,” Tilla grinned bitterly. “I would have a horse ...”

- Have time to still! - strictly said ... Read more →