The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(56)

“You…!”

His face reddening, Isenbard ripped his sword into the air and charged like an angry bull. Reuben grinned to himself. Fighting honorable people was such fun! They were so easy to rile.

“For God and Glory!”

This time, the old knight did not come at Reuben head-on. Instead, he tried to come in from the side and evade Reuben whenever possible. Apparently he was a quick learner and had seen that his strength was no match for Reuben's. He must have decided that his superior knowledge of movement and sword-handling was his best chance at victory.

Reuben wondered how long it would take him to learn how very wrong he was? Probably half a minute.

The two knights commenced a deadly dance of steel. Reuben did not, for an instant, underestimate the severity of what they were doing. This was a test, not a duel to the death—but it was a test of life and death. They were fighting with sharpened swords. One blow that went amiss would mean the end for one of them. Reuben knew that if he hadn't come up to scratch, hadn't shown himself to be a true warrior right from the start, the old knight would probably have had very little inhibitions about teaching him a serious lesson.

But now, teacher was turned into student, student into teacher. As the duel progressed, Reuben slowly but steadily drove his opponent back over the courtyard, blocking every one of his blows. The old knight was a master of his craft, Reuben had to admit. But even a master had to give way before the raw, animal force and dexterity that none but he possessed.

“What are you waiting for?” Reuben taunted the older knight, knocking his sword out of the way with ease. “When will you stop dancing and start fighting?”

Isenbard just gritted his teeth and threw himself into another attack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Reuben saw people gathering. They stared at him with wide eyes, wondering who this strange knight in a red armor might be who was driving Sir Isenbard back over the courtyard as if the veteran warrior were a novice swordsman. Some of them whispered tales of the red knight’s arrival at the castle, tales of the dark deeds they had heard of being performed atop the castle wall, tales of demons and burning men.

Reuben smiled to himself, not without a hint of bitterness.

And so my legend is reborn in another place, he thought. Fear is rekindled.

He intensified his blows and changed his direction slightly with each time he struck. Now, he was not simply driving Isenbard back, he was driving him in circles around the courtyard. The longer the battle went on, the fiercer his blows became, and the smaller the circles got. Isenbard was panting by now, and sweat was running down his forehead, while Reuben was still perfectly composed.

“Getting tired, are we, graybeard?” he grinned. “Is your rheumatism acting up?”

Isenbard’s only reply to this was to try and take his head off with a swipe of the sword.

Reuben played with the older knight for a while. After all, why not? He was in no hurry, and he loved having an audience. He waited until the crowd around them had swelled to at least two-hundred people. To feel their stares on him was a thrilling feeling. This was the only thing he really missed about the old days: the admiration of the crowd! He could well remember the crowds cheering and throwing flowers at him on the tournament grounds at Senlis, Compiègne and Schweinfurt.

Nobody was throwing flowers now. But the quiet awe with which everybody followed his movements was even more gratifying.

While regarding the crowd out of the corner of his eye, Reuben never took his real focus off where it belonged: Sir Isenbard. The old knight’s panting had gotten louder, but his movements were still swift, his arms still strong.

Well, the crowd is big enough now, you've had your fun, he thought. It’s time to end this. It’s time to show them who the master is.

Without warning, he doubled the speed of his moves and tripled the force of his blows. Isenbard's sword, not made of the same impregnable damask steel as Reuben's monster of a blade, was hacked into a saw-like something as blow after blow ate away at the metal. Reuben drove his opponent backwards, around and around with ever increasing speed, until it looked as though Sir Isenbard was continually falling backwards, only just managing to hold himself upright.

The time was ripe.

Bringing up his knee, Reuben caught Isenbard's arm in a trap and brought down his sword. Connecting with the blade of his opponent's weapon, it ripped the thing out of his hand. With a clatter, it landed on the cobblestones. Before Isenbard could retreat, Reuben's foot lashed out, sweeping the knight's legs out from under him. He fell over onto the ground with an almighty crash. In the blink of an eye, Reuben knelt on his chest, the point of his sword at Isenbard's throat.

For a moment, all was silent.

And then, Isenbard started to laugh. A big, booming laugh that, unlike his swordarm, seemed just as strong as it must have been in the knight's best days. Along the blade of his sword, Reuben stared down at the old man in puzzlement. “What, by Satan's hairy ass…I beat you! Why are you laughing?”

Isenbard's laughter slowly subsided. He chuckled once more, then smiled.

“Because,” he said in so low a voice that only Reuben could hear him, “you will be fighting for her.”

Reuben, with a lump in his throat, felt the weight of responsibility descending on his shoulders. It was damned heavy!

“Yes,” he vowed. “I will.”