The Crusader's Crown (Tales of the Brotherhood Series Book 1) by James Mercer (ink ebook reader txt) 📗

it had been a twig. Before the servant of the Order could draw his sword, Schaffer had swung his own blade, ripping it across the man’s chest.

  Elizondo too had just reduced the enemy’s number further by bringing his mighty Templar broadsword down from above. Its blade dug in between the man’s coif and shoulder and virtually ripped him in half.

  Schaffer smashed his shield into his next opponent, lifting the man off his feet and causing him to collide with the wall of the building. The battle joy was upon him and he brushed the man aside as if he were a mere sapling. With Elizondo combating one of the last of the Order knight’s men-at-arms, Sir Frederick closed in on the knight.

   “For Sir Marcus Malay of the Brotherhood!” he roared.

  The force of the swing of his sword severed the lower part of the Order knight’s shield but missed his middle by only inches. The attack had caused Sir Frederick to over balance and he only just managed to block the strike intended to take off his arm. This young knight would be a worthy opponent.

Esca’s bloodied hands scrabbled desperately in the blackened hole that had been below the two slabs. Beside him was the body of Defoe, blood oozing from his body where the Cardinal had stabbed him numerous times and then slit his throat for good measure. Where was it?

  He knew he had only moments before either Chevalier or Garcia would appear and have his head. Then his hand found something. Grasping it in his sticky hands he could feel the course fibres of textile. Wrapping his hands around the hidden prize he pried it loose and pulled it from the hole, holding it to his chest.

   “ESCA!” bellowed the voice of Chevalier.

  The Order knight was coming for him.

  Scrambling out of the pit he glanced behind to see Chevalier closing down upon him. The anger and hatred etched on the knight’s face caused every bone in the Cardinal’s body to quake with fear. Then just as the knight was only seconds away from ending his life, an arrow slammed into his shoulder causing him to roar with pain and fall to the floor.

   “A sign from God. He was destined to have it” he said to himself, whilst pushing past a man-at-arms and running for the deserted alley way.

With the aid of the dark shadow of the tree canopy and Ruscar’s arrows, Robert, the Commander and their fellows had been able to dispatch seven of the rogue Templar’s men. Now joined by Ruscar, who had just let fly his last arrow to take a knight in the shoulder, the six of them started to close in on the enemy.

  Robert could see that Taillefer, Quintos, Fitzbois and Schaffer had arrived and had done exactly as they had hoped. The Templar’s ambush had failed and now they were trying to defend their dig site on two fronts.

  Still without their armour, Robert, Cherik and Jurgen were using their agility to aid them in cutting down the mail-armoured sergeants. The Commander had edged closer to the area Garcia’s men were trying to defend and was swapping blows with a Templar knight. Cherik and Jurgen had also started to skirt the surviving Templar sergeants and flank them on the right.

  Robert was left at its centre and two new challengers slowly approached him. He was exhausted after facing and killing a well-armoured sergeant, followed by what he was sure had been a Templar. As the two new opponents moved towards him he had no doubt they were more than confident of their advantage, convinced their unarmoured assailant would be dead in a matter of moments.

Fortunately the Moor appeared causing both men to halt abruptly. The glow from the torches reflected off the marvellous full coat of armour worn by the mighty warrior. His helmet with its fine mail ventail protecting the neck, and the long spike on its top only made him look more ferocious.

  Ruscar drew his dangerous scimitar and started to walk towards the two as if he were on a casual stroll. The first of the two tried to lunge with his sword, only to have it swept aside by Ruscar’s own blade and in the same motion, sweep it across the man’s back. The strike had killed him instantly. Seeing what he thought was an opportunity, the second of the two had raised his sword, intent on crushing the infidel’s skull. Little did he know that the expert swordsman had expected such an attack. He caught the strike on his shield and gracefully thrust his scimitar into his foe’s gut.

   “Rest a moment friend Robert,” he said in his deep voice.

  Robert took a deep breath trying to fill his lungs with as much air as possible. A few seconds passed before he felt able to re-enter the fray, then he looked to the left of the pit. A man in a cleric’s robe had scurried from the pit to an alleyway. His eyes then quickly darted to the knight who had received the last of Ruscar’s arrows. The knight was trying to get to his feet with the assistance of his blade to push himself up.

   “Esca!” he heard the knight shout.

  A new energy then surged through him. They had found it. They had found it and now the Cardinal responsible for so much death, now had it. Discarding his shield, Robert ran to his left and sprinted down a small side street that followed in the same direction as the alley in which the Cardinal had taken.

Garcia did not want to believe it. He had scorned Chevalier and his compatriots for thinking so highly of the Brotherhood knights and their hire-sword allies. How could such a ramshackle assembly of men be gaining the upper hand against