The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(54)

“No!” Sir Luca's voice was like the hiss of a snake. “I shall not be threatened and cowed! Not by whores, demons, or phantasms of a fool’s mind!” He whirled around, his eyes glittering with lust for violence. “Our enemies will learn to fear me yet! I do not believe there are demons in this world, certainly not fighting for that little girl. But if there are—let us beat them with their own methods! Call your most trusted men! We are going to do a little sacrilege and desecration!”

~~*~~*

It didn’t take long for Reuben to see all he needed to see. Climbing down the tower, he thought on what he ought to do next. Go to Ayla, he supposed. He needed to discuss the defense of the castle with her. Granted, it was not likely that the enemy would attack. Why should they, when they could just sit tight and wait till their opponents starved to death? That was no reason, however, not to be prepared.

Reuben resolved to go to the keep and look for Ayla. It was the right thing to do.

Yet as he stepped out of the tower and started to cross the courtyard, he found his way blocked by an unexpected obstacle standing in the middle of the free space between him and the keep: a familiar old man with a hard face and an iron-gray beard.

Sir Isenbard stood tall and unmoving. He was dressed in full armor. One sword he wore at his belt, another he held in his left hand. He wore a great helmet, emblazoned with his crest, the gray wolf, such as a knight would only wear for two specific purposes: a battle or a duel. A dark sense of foreboding fell over Reuben.

“Good day, Sir,” Isenbard said and regarded Reuben through narrowed eyes. “I have business with you.”





The Duel

“What business can you have with me, Sir?” Reuben asked warily.

“You do not know?”

“No, indeed, Sir.”

Isenbard's narrow mouth twitched. “Why, you can actually be polite. What a surprise. Don’t worry—I shall enlighten you soon enough. Are you finished with your inspection? I wouldn't want to interrupt you.”

“Inspection?” Reuben’s face hardened. The old knight knew. “I don't know what you mean, Sir.”

“Of course you don't.”

Reuben flexed his fingers. He knew there was something coming. Better to cut right to the chase.

“I repeat, what do you want, Sir?” his voice laced with threat.

Isenbard raised an eyebrow. “To see how practiced you are with a blade, of course.”

“Indeed?” Reuben's hand slowly slid down towards the hilt of his sword, concealed under the cloak. “What makes you think I'm practiced at all? I am nothing but a simple merchant.”

A gust of wind chose this moment to blow across the courtyard. Reuben's cloak was tugged open, revealing a few glittering links of his chain mail underneath.

“Strange attire for a merchant, I would say,” remarked Sir Isenbard.

Reuben shrugged. “What can I say? Weapons come in handy. These are dangerous times.”

“They are indeed. Too dangerous for me to tolerate liars.”

Quick as a flash, Isenbard tossed one of the swords he was holding at Reuben. With a sharp woosh-woosh, the blade spun towards him, crossing the space between the two men in a deadly whirl of no more than half a second. Without thinking, Reuben caught it at the hilt with ease—then cursed himself.

He glared at Isenbard, fire in his gray eyes. The old knight looked back at him unperturbed. His quiet, penetrating gaze made Reuben feel uncomfortable.

“For a merchant, you also seem to have extraordinarily quick reflexes,” he remarked.

Reuben looked about. On the walls, he could see guards watching. He couldn't see the expressions on their faces—but he could imagine. He had seen the same expressions repeated endlessly on people's faces for the last five years. It was over. The charade was at an end.

With a casual movement, he shrugged out of his cloak and let the black gown fall to the ground. When they saw his red armor shimmer in the morning sunlight, he felt the guard's eyes widen and their faces pale.

“Ah.” Isenbard's eyes sparkled. “Sir Reuben Rachwild, I presume?”

Reuben raised an eyebrow, though he wasn't really surprised. It was only natural that his fame should have reached even this obscure corner of the Empire.

“You know me?”

“By reputation.” Raising the sword he still held, Isenbard slid into a fighting stance. “Let us see whether it is justified.”

“Very well. But not with this toothpick.” Reuben moved. The hand which had caught the sword swept up, throwing it back towards Isenbard. Before the old knight had even had time to move his hand, the sword had whistled past his face and buried itself six or seven inches deep in the oak door of the keep behind him. Reuben drew his own enormous blade. He moved into a standard front guard—but then thought better of it and, with a slight smile on his face, took the position known as 'the woman's guard.'

Isenbard’s eyes widened slightly as he saw Reuben's choice of stance. Understanding flashed between him and his opponent.

“You have chosen your position wisely, Sir Reuben.”

“I think so, too, Sir Isenbard.” Reuben began to circle the older knight. Only his feet moved. His sword remained where it was, held with both hands over his shoulder, ready to deliver a mighty blow. “It's one I think I could hold for the rest of my life.”