The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(171)
His sword came up in an arc, surging towards what was left of Sir Adrian’s weapon.
Thwack!
Another piece of wood fell to the ground.
Thwack!
And another. All the Pole now held in hand was…well, it was certainly no pole. A stump, or little stick at best. Cursing, he threw it at Reuben. It bounced harmlessly off his helmet with a clang.
“You know,” Reuben informed him, stepping forward, “you really should learn how to behave more chivalrously.”
And, with that, he slammed the pommel of the sword straight into the knight’s face guard. The metal crumpled under the force of his blow, and the Pole was hurled backwards, crashing into the ground for the second time today. But, a moment later, he shook himself and started to rise again.
“Damn the man!” Reuben growled. “Is his head made of metal?” He raised his sword above Sir Adrian’s head and was just about to test this theory when a blow caught him right in the back. He stumbled forward, past Sir Adrian, and when he whirled around to face his attacker, there stood Sir Albin, a feral look on his face.
“You little…!” Reuben started forward. But before he could even raise his sword to strike a blow, the Saracen was there, slamming his curved sword into Albin’s helmet so hard the metal dented.
“My apologies, my friend,” he grunted, inclining his head towards Reuben as Albin stumbled sideways. “I did not expect this one to abandon our exchange to interfere in your affairs. But—”
He raised his sword again.
Wham!
“—some people simply do not know that it is not polite to interrupt.”
Wham!
The third and final blow sent Sir Albin crumpling to the ground. Unlike his brother, he did not get up again.
“Raaaah!”
Something massive shot past Reuben in a blur. A moment later, the gigantic form of Adrian Rakowski slammed into the Saracen and threw him clean off his feet. All Reuben could still see of him were the ends of his flailing limbs as Rakowski covered him, pummeling him with his massive, metal-covered fists.
“I’ve had enough of that one!” Growling, Reuben strode forward. Bending down, he slipped the tip of his sword under the leather straps that held the big Pole’s helmet in place and pulled. They ripped, and the helmet tumbled off the man’s head. Grabbing his thick mane of mangy hair, Reuben pulled back his head and placed the blade of his sword at the man’s throat.
“Surrender!”
Sir Adrian gave a roar, twisted, tried to free himself, and when he couldn’t, simply continued pummeling the Saracen, who did his best trying to shield himself from the blows.
Pulling at the hair more forcefully, Reuben dug the blade of his sword harder into Sir Adrian’s throat.
“Surrender, or I—oh, to hell with it!” He let go of the man’s head. Sir Adrian was so surprised that his head slammed forward onto the Saracen’s chest and lay there for a moment, still and unmoving—the perfect target! When Reuben’s fist came down on the back of it, it made an unhealthy but intensely satisfying crunching sound.
The Pole slumped. This time, he didn’t get up again.
Propping his fists on his hips, Reuben surveyed his work contentedly. “Finally!”
Someone cleared his throat. Looking down, he saw the Saracen trying to roll the body of the man nearly twice his size off himself. “If you would be so kind…”
“Oh. Of course.”
A knight had to help his fellow warriors if in need, right? Reuben grinned and delivered a hearty kick to Sir Adrian’s side that threw the massive man clean off the Saracen and would probably leave a nice, purplish bruise.
Sometimes it really was fun to uphold the virtues of chivalry.
Extending his hand, Reuben helped the Saracen to his feet, and together, they surveyed the battlefield. D’Altavilla was just finishing off the Teutonic knight brother in a corner and would not, Reuben knew, appreciate any help, while Sir Tomasso had driven his countryman against the stands and was giving him advice on his swordplay and showing him new moves while the youth desperately tried to land a blow.
Reuben and the Saracen strolled over to observe.
“Need any help?”
“Most kind of you to offer, Sir Reuben. But I can manage, I think.” Swiping the boy’s latest ineffectual blow aside, Sir Tomasso shook his head disapprovingly. “No, no, Lorenzo! Not like that. This is how you do it!”
“Argh!”
“See? That worked much better. Now try it again.”
Reuben cleared his throat, and Sir Tomasso glanced at him. Reuben gestured to the crowd and the Emperor.
“I don’t want to seem impatient, but we do have royalty waiting for us to finish.” Looking up at the Royal Box, he flashed a smile at the veiled woman and bowed. “And a lady, of course. Maybe it might be a good idea to—“
“Ah, yes! How inconsiderate of me.” Sir Tomasso turned, bowing to Emperor Friedrich. “My apologies, My Lady, Your Majesty. I shall finish up quickly.”
Behind him, the desperate Sir Lorenzo, seeing his chance, dove forward, striking at Sir Tomasso’s back. Without looking, the former champion delivered a backhanded blow that slammed the youth’s sword aside and knocked him flat against the stands. His head against the wood, hard, and he crumpled to the ground, motionless.