Read Online Knight of the Cross by Steven A McKay - Free Book Online Page A

force of the sergeant's admonition, so Richard made the most of the opportunity, reaching out his gauntleted hand to grasp the man around the neck in a vice-like grip.
    “You fucking heard the sergeant!” he roared, his voice deafening in the charged atmosphere. “Move your arses out of our way or we'll move them for you!”
    Outnumbered more than six-to-one as they were, Sir Richard expected the guards to back down. Instead, he found his blade instinctively swinging up across his body as one of the tunnel guards tried to cut him in half.
    As the steel met with a dull metallic clang the Hospitaller roared in anger. “Attack!” He batted his opponent's blade to the side, hammered his left, gauntleted fist into the man's face then stabbed him in the stomach.
    The Greek guards appeared to have no fear of death though, throwing themselves recklessly at the Hospitallers, swords flailing wildly with cries of hatred bursting forth from their lips.
    Jacob ducked as a sword whistled past his ear, rising to slam his right shoulder into his attacker's chest, throwing the man stumbling backwards. The sergeant pulled his arm back and rammed the point of his sword into his attacker's midriff.
    The man fell to the ground, blood trickling from the side of his mouth, black eyes staring up at Jacob while making a strangely disturbing groaning sound that seemed to come from deep in his chest. 
    On his other side, the dour Yorkshireman, Stephen, traded blows back and forth with another of the Greek guards, the sounds of steel on steel reverberating deafeningly in the arid night atmosphere before the guard slipped, falling to one knee with his sword hand outstretched to break his fall.
    Stephen's longsword swept mercilessly down, hammering into the guard's neck with horrific force, the jolt shuddering along the Hospitaller's arm as his victim's neck was shorn through and the head toppled to the ground in a hideous gout of blood, only a long, thin flap of skin keeping it attached to the body.
    In the space of a few moments the guards' numbers had been whittled down by more than half, but the remainder came on despite that, screaming in fury, their black eyes cold and apparently fearless.
    Sir Jean de Pagnac stabbed his blade into one attacker's thigh, while Sir Richard turned and batted the final guard's weapon aside and leaned in to smash his forehead against the man's face.  As he fell, blood already beginning to stream down his face and around his thick lips, the Hospitaller leaned forward and slid the point of his sword into the man's neck, opening a huge wound that carried his life away in a wave of crimson.
    In the calm that followed the shocking violence all that could be heard was the sound of laboured breathing as the victorious Hospitallers sucked in air, trying to regain their equilibrium.
    The fight had been an easy one. Not one of the Hospitallers had so much as a scratch on them – indeed most of them hadn't even had to strike a blow.  And yet...
    The ferocity and single-minded fury of the tunnel's unskilled defenders had shaken the soldiers who still had to make their way down the staircase in the sands and enter the foreboding tunnel.
    Whatever drove these devil-worshippers was enough to impel them to fight to the death even against insurmountable odds.
    “That was...strange,” Sir Jean said, looking at his knightly counterpart. “Badly outnumbered, and by this lot,” he waved a gauntleted hand back at the impressive-looking force behind him. “Yet those men chose to give their lives in defence of this shrine or whatever it is.”
    “They fought like they were possessed,” Stephen agreed, looking around at the shadowy village. “This place has an evil, twisted feeling.”
    Sir Richard wiped the blood from his blade on a dead guard's gambeson before sheathing the weapon and turning to face the rest of the men. “Indeed,” he looked at Sir Jean and Stephen. “Whatever's going on down here has pervaded the entire