Page 142 of Queen of Sherwood

Seconds later, I recognized why Sir Gregory had called the dog off—why he’d stayed my hand. Because as long as these two fought in the center of the glade, at least four or five soldiers were kept captivated watching the bout. Either they were waiting for an opening themselves, to attack Gregory, or . . .

No. They simply want to see the outcome, the fools.

I gripped my blades hard. I had half a mind to skirt to the other side of the glade where our enemies were encamped and start cutting them down as they watched.

But then the battle took a turn, before I could react.

Gregory swung fast and hard, lunging with his blade.

The Templar parried, riposted with a counter-lunge.

Gregory ducked away on his back leg—

Rocketing forward with momentum in his front leg after Sir Montford finished his attack.

This time, Gregory caught the Templar by surprise, moving fast for an old man.

It put Montford on his heels. He screamed, “God will smite you and inherit the earth! You shall fall!”

“You are not God, lunatic,” Gregory bellowed back at him. “And you won’t be inheriting a damn thing while I still have breath in my lungs!”

Their swords clashed. They moved faster now, spurred by their drive and renewed motivation. The Templar had the upper hand, being larger and a few years younger, perhaps. Gregory had the experience of age.

My eyes danced as I followed them, darting between the two with every whip-snap strike of their swords. I watched their footwork, noticing their impeccable strides, pivots, and repositions.

Montford spun and swung—

Gregory twisted with him, abruptly going back-to-back with the knight.

Montford pushed forward to get away from the dizzying trap.

Before Gregory had fully wheeled around, he stabbed backward, beneath his arm pit and behind him, with a firm jab—

His blade plunged past the joint of the Templar’s hauberk, and blood spilled.

Montford grunted, snarled, and wheeled into a defensive stance to face Gregory—

Who was no longer there.

Black cloak billowed to the side.

Montford pivoted—

And caught Gregory’s greatsword across the helmet.

A dark slash sparked across the full helm.

Montford yelled and stumbled back.

The other soldiers closed in—

I reeled, cocked my arm back, and threw one of my blades. It spun end over end, cutting through the fabric of the air itself—

And lodged into a soldier’s chest like a battleaxe.

Eyes turned toward the sudden carnage I’d caused.

Sir Montford hesitated long enough to get his bearings, but Gregory was already pouncing on him, meaning to put an end to this whole thing.

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