The Long War 01 - The Black Guard Read Online Free Page B

a steel helmet, and he raised his chin as he spoke. ‘Good morning, Sir Leon. I believe we have business to settle.’
    The old knight stepped forward and appeared to consider his words carefully. He puffed out his chest. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’ His mouth curled slowly into a defiant grin.
    Brother Torian returned Sir Leon’s smile with one of his own, though his was colder. His sword was already in his fist and he took a step backwards and flexed his arm, causing the blade to swing skilfully from side to side. Randall began imagining all the ways in which luck could play a part in the encounter. He thought that Sir Leon was the larger man and that his strength might prevail. The cleric looked like a true fighting man, but maybe he was green and would lack experience against a clever swordsman like Sir Leon. Either way, Randall estimated that skill, youth and fortitude would have to play a minimal part if his master were to emerge victorious.
    Brother Torian kept his eyes on his opponent as he walked nimbly from side to side, stepping one foot over the other in practised fashion, his sword point held low. Sir Leon just stood there, not posturing or displaying any particular skill as he drew his treasured longsword.
    ‘I was wrong, Sir Leon, I called that sword an antique. It seems I judged the blade by the state of the man who wore it.’ Brother Torian looked at their swords. ‘I would judge that our weapons have both seen much combat, though yours is of nobler lineage.’
    Sir Leon did not respond with his customary humour. He raised his sword to look at the cleric over the cross-piece. ‘This is the sword of Great Claw, an old noble house of the east. My father wore it before me and it has killed Kirin, Ranen, Jekkan, Karesian… even Ro.’ Sir Leon was proud of his sword and the weight of nobility it bestowed upon him. An old drunk he might be, but he was still a knight of Tor Funweir, and whether he was to die in a stable or not, a knight he would remain. ‘I don’t apologize or ask for quarter, cleric.’
    Torian came on guard. ‘The time for apologies is gone and no quarter will be given. I mean to kill you, old man.’
    Sir Leon attacked first, a clumsy overhead blow accompanied with a grunt of exertion. The sound of steel on steel was loud as Torian easily brought up his blade to parry the attack. He responded by kicking out forcefully at the off-balance knight and sending him back several feet, causing him to breathe heavily.
    Neither man spoke as they began circling each other, Torian swinging his sword, while Sir Leon held his ready and low to the ground. Randall stepped back as far as he could to stand by Sir Leon’s horse, well away from the fight. Both men looked dangerous. The sweat already flowing down Sir Leon’s face made him look fierce, and Brother Torian was moving like a predator.
    Again, it was the old knight who attacked – a thrust this time – aimed at the cleric’s chest. Torian stepped to the side and deflected it, giving Sir Leon the chance to fall over if he was too off balance. He kept his footing, though, and pulled back his sword in time to parry an answering blow to his head. Brother Torian did not back off this time but pressed the attack, launching a series of high swings at the old knight. Each block that Sir Leon managed weakened him a little more and Randall thought the cleric needed only to wear him down in order to win. The attacks became relentless, the difference in fitness beginning to show.
    The squire watched helplessly as the fight became one-sided, with Brother Torian slowing his attacks and forcibly pushing the old knight back until he was practically standing against one of the mangy horses. Sir Leon was panting and his face was bright red and moist with sweat. He’d parried every blow levelled at him and shown glimmers of skill, but he had not been able to find any small opening through which to test the cleric’s defence.
    Tentative