The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(169)

“Your servant, My Lady, Your Imperial Majesty.”

The other knights, too, inclined their lances.

“A worthy servant who observes the rules of chivalry.” The emperor inclined his head back. The dark beauty—for she was beautiful, Reuben was sure of that regardless of the veil—lowered her head in agreement. “Continue. Herald, tell us who shall be fighting whom this fine day.”

The herald pulled out two bags, one red, one blue. Inside each, Reuben knew, were the names of four knights inscribed on shards of pottery, put there by the herald’s assistant while wearing a blindfold. Nobody, not even the herald himself, knew which knights would fight on what team today.

Opening the red bag, the herald sank his hand into it. The crowd held its breath.

“Sir Reuben von Limburg!”

Roaring cheers rose from the stands. Reuben smirked. How nice. He knew he was on team red. Only, everyone else had still to be assigned, so that was of little help.

The herald opened the blue bag and pulled out the name of Reuben’s first enemy.

“Sir Adrian Rakowski!”

My, my… The day had started off well.

If only my first ally isn’t his lovely brother…

The red bag was opened again.

“Sir Tomasso di Zaragoza!”

Well? Reuben grinned. His day had just gotten a whole lot better than “well”! Locking eyes with the tall Sicilian, Reuben slammed a fist to his heart. The other man, his gaze as clear as his smile was bright, returned the gesture.

It was the blue’s turn again.

“Sir Albin Rakowski!”

Will you look at that? The two nasties were in a bag together. How splendid!

And red…

“Amir ibn Sharif ibn Alhasan Abdul-Ahad al-Arabi.”

Hm…interesting.

And blue.

“Sir Hermann von der Hagen.”

They could have him. Reuben didn’t particularly regret the loss.

Red…

“Lord d’Altavilla!”

Well, he didn’t particularly rejoice over this gain, either. Neither did the narrow-eyed Sicilian lord, to judge by the look on his face. Well, he’d just have to deal with it!

And the final blue…

“Sir Lorenzo d’Ortigia!”

Fish bait. Nothing more than fish bait. If there were any fishes in the courtyard, that is.

“The order of the fight has been announced,” the herald proclaimed. “The teams have been determined! Knights of the Empire, take your places!”

He gestured to two small, roped-off areas. Reuben gave his Ajax the spurs, cantering into the one over which fluttered a red flag. Sir Tomasso, the Saracen, and Lord d’Altaville followed, while the others took their places in the demarcated area at the other end of the courtyard, under the blue flag. Pursuivants awaited the knights, ready to take their lances. Unlike yesterday, today, these had just been for show. The melee was not a game aimed at throwing the opponent out of the saddle. The melee was a battle, fought with bludgeons, swords, and axes.

“We have to come up with a strategy,” Reuben said as soon as their horses had settled down behind the rope. “And fast!”

He threw a look at the herald. The man was busy holding a speech about upholding the values of chivalry. But there weren’t that many values of chivalry, and the speech would probably not last long.

“Agreed.” Sir Tomasso nodded, picked up his helmet from where it hung on the saddle, and set it on his head. “Will you have my back, Sir Reuben?”

“It would be my honor.” Reuben looked at d’Altaville. “You had best—“

The Lord cut him off, ice in his voice. “I’ll die before I take orders from a beardless boy like you!”

Reuben held his gaze for a moment—then shrugged. “Fine. Then die. Or fight and survive, but go do it alone.”

His gaze traveled to the Saracen.

“I, too, best fight alone,” said the dark-skinned man in a smoky voice that seemed to come from far-away. “No insult to you intended. It simply is the way I fight. I am quick. I am nimble. But only when I am alone.”

“I see.” Reuben nodded. “Quick, you say?”

“Yes. My horse, too. Bread for quick runs and turns, it is.”

“Then you had better take on the little rat.”

“Pardon?”

“Rakowski. The little fellow with the rat face.”

The Saracen’s sharp eyes swept over the opposing team until they found Albin Rakowski. “A wise choice. I shall attend to him.”

“And I think his brother wishes to have a little discussion with me,” Reuben growled. “I’ll be only too happy to give him the pleasure.”

“I shall most certainly not content myself with that one,” Lord d’Altavilla growled, gesturing to the young Lorenzo d’Ortigia, who seemed rather nervous at having ended up in the melee—and on the side opposing two tournament champions, no less. “I shall cross blades with the knight brother. The rest of you had better stay out of my way.”

Reuben exchanged a glance with Tomasso. The tall Sicillian shrugged. “Then I shall take care of my countryman. It seems fitting.” Through the slits of his visor, Reuben saw pearl white teeth flash in a grin. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to teach the young man a few valuable lessons?”