“Look at them, Henry.” Said the gray-haired knight as he scoffed, looking down at a group of travelers on their way to Jerusalem.
“Pigs, the lot of them.” Said a handsome young man with a perfectly clean-shaven face and an aristocratic look, his long golden hair blowing in the wind.
“My father would’ve puked if he’d saw the filth that Baldwin lets into the holy land.”
“I fought by your father.” Said the well-built, gray-haired knight. “he fought well with us during the war to retake the holy land; and we took it because God-Willed it. Now, the King sees it fit to let these heathens into the holy land.”
“He’s not allowing them into the holy land, Cyrus, he simply lets some of the lords and others allow the heathens into their communities.” Said a burly scarred man, a long slash across one eye that stretched from the crown of his head to his chin.
“That’s fine, Sir. John, but we didn’t come here to stare, did we?” asked Cyrus (the gray-haired knight).
The burly man coughed and shook his head. “No, we didn’t, but I must warn you that these roads are protected.”
“By whom?” asked the Cyrus with a chuckle as he rotated on his horse and shot the younger, burly man a look of amusement. “The Templars? I don’t see any of them around.”
“By us, Cyrus the Strong.” Came a voice from behind the party of 8 knights.
Cyrus frowned and turned, looking over in the direction that the voice had come from.
Just in front of him, not but maybe ten yards or so, stood a man, 6 feet tall, short bushy, curly brown hair that was slightly bleaching from the sun looking as if he weighed a solid 200 pounds, and was built like a mountain, broad and thick, facial hair growing slightly on his handsome tan face, a lean, shorter, wiry and athletic built, heavily tanned man, with a closely cut goatee and mustache, and short brown hair standing beside him, the two men looking as if they were brothers.
“And you are?” asked Cyrus.
“The guardians of the road.” Said the smaller, shorter of the two brothers.
“Ah.” Said Cyrus as he frowned slightly. “I see.”
Cyrus nodded once, pulled his long sword from its sheath, and stepped down off his horse, twirling the blade in his right hand as he approached the two; the two brothers stood there, unmoved by the intimidation tactic, blank expressions on their faces.
“Me this time?” asked the shorter, older looking of the two.
“No, you got the last one, so this one’s mine.” Said the bigger, younger of the two brothers as he stepped forward, kicked Cyrus in the groin, as hard as he could, then reached up and grabbed the older man’s hands with his hands, and drove the sword down and through the knight’s guts.
Cyrus let out a single breath and shook his head as he felt his life draining from him and he let out a single laugh.
“Oh.” He stated as he fell forward, being propped up from off the ground by his own sword.
The other Knights all reached for their swords and prepared to charge, shouting obscenities at the two men, but Sir. John put a hand up and they all immediately stopped.
Sir. John’s face stayed blank of expression as he stared down at the two men.
“I’m sorry for lord Cyrus, but I think it important for you to know that many men will come after you for his death, not that either of you care.”
“We’ve lived in the face of death for decades, Sir. John.” Said the older, shorty, wiry built brother. “The rest of you can either leave or die: it’s your choice.”
“Let’s take them, John.” Henry insisted, the young man drawing his sword and tapping his horse with his heels. But as the horse started forward, John reached down and grabbed the young man’s horse’s reins.
“NO!” he shouted. “Nobody move or it will be your last: I can assure you.”
Sir. John then went to speak to the brothers again, but when he turned, they had gone, the other Knights all exchanging looks and searching all around to try and find them.
“Find them, they must be dealt with.” Henry commanded.
“No!” Sir. John shouted, the Knights all stopping their horses and staring at the two men, waiting for direction on what to do.
“Don’t you know better than to defy a lord?” asked Henry. “They killed my father…”
“Your father was a fool, boy.” Sir. John snapped as he looked at the others. “Back to the city with all of you, do not pursue those men.”
As they turned, Henry scoffed. “I can’t believe you’d…”
“I saved your life.” Said Sir. John. “I saved you from making the same mistake your father made, too. He should’ve heeded the advice we both received together when we were both younger men.”
“And what advice is that?” asked Henry, his face scrunched up in anger.
Sir. John let out a breath and shook his head as he looked back behind them at the lifeless body of Cyrus the Strong.
“Never pick a fight with Angels.”
Appalachian Post 
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