Page 34 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

G areth unsheathed his sword.

Squeezing his knees into the sides of his horse, he raised his sword into the air and charged.

Fitzwilliam beside him, the other men at their back, the charge was exactly as they’d planned.

Still sitting in their circle around the fire, the enemy became aware of them only as Gareth and the others emerged from the trees.

In this, they had the advantage. But their opponents quickly realized what was happening, some readying their weapons, others untying their mounts.

Gareth and Fitzwilliam did not hesitate to maneuver between them, slashing anyone in their way.

The clang of steel rang out, as did the shouts of warning that ensured they would be surrounded in very little time.

“The hill,” someone yelled, realizing where Darien’s arrows that rained down on them were coming from.

His friend would be overrun soon if they did not get through quickly to the gate.

While Gareth was engaged with one man, another slashed at his leg from the other side.

While his armor protected him from the attack, the force of a broadsword hitting him broke his concentration.

“Gareth,” a voice called out.

Fitzwilliam? Alden? He could not tell, but neither could Gareth look to the sound.

He felled the first opponent only to find himself being charged by another.

This is what he’d trained for. Though not a lance, his sword held steady as Gareth did not hesitate.

He spurred his mount forward at such a speed his opponent actually reared back.

But not for long.

He could not see how much progress they made or how close they were to breaking through. Gareth’s only duty at the moment was to stay alive. As he and his enemy collided, he managed to do that, but was unseated in the process.

Jumping to his feet, he looked briefly at the man lying in the dirt and then up to the scene before him. They were, perhaps, halfway to the gate. He needed to remount, yet there were two men between Gareth and his horse.

While he engaged with the first one, Roland came from behind him and so quickly felled the second man that Gareth could hardly believe his own eyes had just seen such a feat. No man’s sword had ever moved so quickly.

But they were not done.

Nodding to his friend, Gareth remounted.

It was as if the Guardians were a wall of steel.

As the enemy forces advanced, they were cut down more easily than he ever could have imagined.

These men truly were the best of them, the finest knights in all of England.

Their determination unwavering, one final thunderous charge, Gareth’s battle cry the catalyst, allowed them to break through the enemy lines toward the postern gate.

Already, one of their men was through it, Matilda’s forces meeting them.

With their forces meeting, reinforcements beginning already to stream in from the back, the Guardians had done their job. If they were to remain secret, they could not stay for accolades. “Move out,” he commanded, “move out.”

His fellow knights began to do just that, turning from the direction they first came, riding swiftly toward the hill where Darien made his stand. They would ensure his safety and that of the others and ride out, back to Castle Blackwood.

But first, Gareth had to be certain none of their own had fallen. Still fighting his way through the opponent, he assessed the damage. None appeared to be injured enough not to be able to ride.

“Over here,” a voice called.

Gareth rode to it.

There, two of their own were lifting a man up from the ground. He knew already both Roland and Alden were safe, and from the look of it, the man was dead. Riding toward them, he said, “Hoist him here,” indicating his lap.

They did, and quickly. Pulling the fallen up to him, Gareth yelled, “Your back,” to one of the men, who turned just in time. They had to leave, and quickly. “Go,” he yelled as they remounted.

Grabbing the fabric of the man’s surcoat, Gareth followed the men away from the fray. Now that they’d broken the siege line and their allies were not worried about being seen, they continued to surround Stephen’s forces.

Please let Darien be safe.

He could see the hill where their men gathered in front of them, but Gareth did not see his friend. If Stephen’s men had made their way up here, they’d left to join the fray outside Lincoln Castle’s postern gate.

Finally able to look down, Gareth slowed and turned the body in his lap toward him.

Sir Adrian Fitzwilliam.

His stomach sank. He held the body of the most experienced knight in mounted combat, a man whose family had been the most legendary of all jousters in England.

Dead.

There would be time to mourn after they were far away from the castle grounds. How many others had he gotten killed this day? Would Darien be among them?

He urged his mount up the hill to find out.