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

fight.
    After a pause Sir Leon threw his head back in a throaty laugh. There was little humour in the sound and neither man backed away. He then asked quietly, ‘What is your name, young cleric?’
    ‘I am Brother Torian of Arnon, cleric of the quest and nobleman of the One God,’ he said proudly and with deeply held conviction.
    ‘That’s a long name for a little man.’ This comment left Sir Leon feeling rather pleased with himself and he flashed a wicked grin at Brother Torian, challenging him to react.
    There was no anger as the cleric spoke. ‘Your squire insulted me, Sir Leon. I stand before you wanting recompense and all I am given is further insult.’ He narrowed his eyes and continued, ‘You realize that you give me little choice but to kill you, old man?’
    Sir Leon replied quickly and with venom. ‘The two women I fucked last night might be a fairer fight for you… they stink of piss too.’
    A man sitting nearby let out a sudden, involuntary laugh, causing all eyes to turn towards him. He began sweating and hurriedly turned his body away from the confrontation, focusing on his drink and curling up into the smallest ball his table and chair would allow. The laugh did little to defuse the situation and when the others’ eyes returned to them, Sir Leon and Brother Torian were nose to nose.
    Torian spoke first. ‘You’re a fat, old, stinking drunk,’ he looked the knight up and down, ‘with ill-fitting armour, an antique sword and no respect for your betters.’ He moved quickly, his right hand striking Sir Leon sharply across the jaw. His fist was gauntleted and the blow caused blood and a sharp intake of breath from the old man.
    Before Sir Leon straightened, the cleric had dropped his armoured shoulder and shoved the knight backwards. He fell heavily on to the wooden floorboards, his breastplate making a resounding clang as dust rose from the tavern floor. Sir Torian took a step forwards and quickly drew his longsword. ‘You have one hour, Sir Leon.’ He levelled his sword at the knight’s neck. ‘I will await you behind the tavern. If you are late, I will enter the tavern and kill you like a dog.’
    Randall moved quickly to his master and helped him into a seated position. There was blood around his mouth and in his beard. He was winded and panting heavily. The Purple cleric held his sword an inch from Randall’s face. ‘And you, young man, maybe watching your master die will teach you humility.’
    He deftly sheathed his sword and turned, looking taller and stronger now, as he strode from the tavern. The remaining patrons breathed a sigh of relief as it became clear they would not have to watch a man die while they were drinking. Duelling was forbidden to common men, but a frequent practice amongst nobles and churchmen.
    Sir Leon let out a pained laugh. ‘I wonder what I could have done to offend the little piss-stain.’ Leaning on Randall, he breathed heavily and pulled himself to his feet. ‘Right, I think I need a drink.’ Still leaning on his squire, he shuffled towards the bar. ‘I can manage from here, lad. Just needed to catch my breath.’ He sat heavily on a bar stool, causing it to creak under his weight, and banged a metal fist on the wood. Pointing at the tavern keeper, he bellowed, ‘Drink… here… now!’
    Despite what he had just seen, the tavern keeper was not confident enough to deny the request and placed a large goblet of wine in front of Sir Leon. He then asked hesitantly, ‘Er, should I expect your squire to pay for this, sir knight?’
    Sir Leon shot the tavern keeper a glare and grabbed him by the throat. ‘I expect to be dead in a little over an hour, you little shit. Sorry if I think this drink should be on the fucking house.’ He paused, breathed in several times, and released his grip on the man, shoving him away.
    Randall waited several moments, allowing the old knight to drink deeply from his goblet. He knew his master well and didn’t want to