The Robber Knight's Love

25. The Duel

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

“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 paled.

“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 passed 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'.