For those of you who can't see chapter 49, lord knows what's wrong with it...
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Tristan raised his sword, plunging it in the stomach of his attacker. The weasel had decided to attack him from behind. Fool, even if Asher had not been behind him, the bastard would not have been able to attack him.
With the elegance of a serpent, Tristan struck his opponent. At the moment he fought with one sword, preferring to attack his enemies with an agility they could not match. Blood coated his torso, his tunic hung in tatters upon his person, a shallow cut above his cheek. Sweat coated his brow, he was an excellent fighter, but not an immortal.
The battle had raged for an hour or two, fatigue and weariness were making themselves known, but his men would persist. It mattered little that they had been been training since dawn, what mattered was protecting their people.
"Bastard!" Tristan growled as one of the men attacked Asher, causing him to whine. Lord Rivers sword sought retribution by removing the man's sword arm.
"I told you to rest!" Tristan snapped as he landed a kick to a burly man's side.
Asher stood closer in response.
Tristan ignored him as he concentrated on the battle. Lord Rivers fought three while Gerald held off two. His men seemed to be fairing well, nevertheless, the battle needed to end. He would not have any casualties.
"Who sent you?" Tristan demanded as his sword clashed against that of his opponent.
"Why should I tell ye?"
The man had a thick Scottish brogue, a fact which did not go amiss by Tristan.
"Scottish, are we?" Tristan asked, using his own brogue.
The man paled as he realized who he fought. Fear, itself, was one of the greatest weapons a man could yield. Destroying it's enemy without so much of a lift from his smallest finger.
"Laird Knight."
"Aye." Tristan grunted. "Now tell me who has sent ye. I shall consider sparing ye."
The man licked his lips nervously but continued to fight.
"I sell me sword arm." The man answered as if that should be explanation enough. Tristan was not to be vexed.
"Wrong answer." Tristan snarled as his sword ran along the man's throat, his head rolling to the ground as his body slowly followed in its wake. He needed someone forthcoming! That was the only way he would gain information!
A noise sounded throughout the field, the men began to retreat. Tristan's men stared in confusion. They could not attack from behind as cowards did, nor could they attack those who did not wish to battle. It was not the way if warriors.
"Capture them!" Tristan roared as he mounted Asher and went after the man who had seemed to be calling the rest back.
***
"Hurry yer arses!" Jack called. If these men did not hurry he would leave them, he had no desire to stay behind and have his neck sacrificed in the process. Nobility be damned.
He had gone to the forest just as Keith had directed him, an hour into the battle. There, he had found directions that would lead him to his mistress much quicker than he had anticipated. He was also left instructions to erase their path, a task he had preformed fairly well. Now, if only he could get away.
He was told to make sure none of the men stayed behind, he was to give them a tonic, making certain they wouldn't ever betray his mistress.
Jack watched the last of the men retreat into the forest, unaware of Tristan stalking him. He had a task to do, once that was completed, he would go to his mistress and she would reward him.
YOU ARE READING
My Dark Knight
Historical FictionIn the era where swords rule, where women consider their modesty their greatest virtue. Where a man would kill to find his wife warming another mans bed, a time when women would consider it the greatest of adultery or fornication to warm a bed othe...