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upon his face. "Come now lads! Let us
dance!"
The
poleman lunged forward, hoping to skewer the
Rogue like a pig on the spit, but Timeras was ready.
Darting swiftly aside, he grasped the
Fauchard
behind the head and pulled the startled soldier
forward off balance. Smashing his elbow into the
guard's unprotected face, the Irishman twisted the
lance up and out of its owner's grip. Planting the
butt of the weapon hard into the stone walkway,
O'Cuire pole-vaulted past him.
Astonished at the daring move, the second guard could
not react fast enough as Timeras swung both booted
feet into his chest, knocking him stumbling back into
the Black Knight, who cursed darkly. Whipping around,
the Rogue whirled the pole-ax expertly about and
turned his attention back to the first guard.
Flourishing the weapon like a quarterstaff, he
feinted with the blade at the hapless soldier's legs,
then brought the haft winging down to crack him
across the skull, sending him reeling. The guard,
stunned and off-balance, pitched backwards. Finishing
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what gravity had started, the Rogue gave the wildly
flailing soldier a shove, toppling him off
the wall. Timeras then gave the
Fauchard
a glance that suggested distaste, and tossed it
after its master.
O'Cuire turned to face the remaining two soldiers,
sly grin intact upon his face. The 'bastard' sword
slipped free its sheath with a resounding ring. He
gave it an expert twirl. "Right. Who's next?"
Longshanks pulled shaft to cheek in one smooth
motion, and his vision tunneled to his target – the
dark plumage that adorned the Black Knight's Great
Helm. He would have preferred Sieghard's oily locks,
but they cowered still amongst the crowd of
guardsmen. The archer was not a discriminate man.
"Here, now, let me part that for you..." he started
to murmur, when something strange happened. The image
of the knight seemed to shimmer before his very eyes,
like the heated air over a blacksmith's coals. There
was a
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