Page 68 of To Love

This street, and those around it, cleared.

For now.

He did not see any of his friends, but Alden did spy his commander up ahead. Running toward him, he asked Lord Stirling for his next command.

“I await Gloucester,” he said. “Follow me.”

Robert of Gloucester was Empress Matilda’s half-brother and a key military commander. Alden had not seen him personally since they’d arrived in Winchester.

Breathing in air thick with blood, sweat, and burning wood, Alden followed. Their plan had been to clear all between the east gatehouse and the next fortified position, between narrow streets and abandoned dwellings. They inched closer to Winchester Castle, but Matilda’s men had suffered heavy losses.

There were two fewer Guardians of the Sacred Oak than there had been in the morn as well, a fact that reminded Alden even the strongest and most skilled among them could be felled.

“Darien!” He watched as his friend pulled a sword from the man at his feet. So many dead. Around every turn, another of the king’s supporters. It seemed to matter little that their commander was still captive. The royalists had mustered a larger force than their own, but as Lord Stirling said, in this type of battle, among the city’s streets, the advantage of numbers was evened out. Their own force was well-trained.

“I saw the siege lines up ahead,” Darien called to Stirling. “From atop that tower. They are not far from us.”

Following their commander, gathering more of their men along the way, they regrouped, finally, the siege lines still holding strong.

“We rest here, and wait for orders,” Stirling said. “Sharpen your weapons, regroup,” he said, disappearing.

“Have you seen Gareth or Roland?” Darien asked him, cleaning blood from his sword.

“Nay, not since this morn. They should be there.” He nodded to the hundreds of others ahead of them in the siege line that stretched from one end of the city to the other, as far as the eye could see.

“So many broke through,” Darien said, looking back to the slain littering the streets.

“Too many,” he agreed.

“Did you speak to him?”

Alden shook his head. “I cannot. What is a title among all of this?” He’d been foolish to consider it.

“If he does not know you wish it, Stirling cannot give you aid in this matter.”

“Which matter?” the man they spoke of said, more gruff than usual. “Your friends are there.” Stirling pointed to a spot in the distance beside what appeared to be an abandoned bakery.

“I see them.” Darien raised a hand.

Relief, knowing his friends were safe, the shock of the battle still fresh, Alden forgot of what he spoke. Naught else mattered. They were alive.

For now.

“Which matter?” Stirling asked again. “Damn fool,” he muttered before waiting for a response. Alden and Darien exchanged a glance, not knowing whom he spoke of.

“Not you.” Stirling’s displeasure was evident. “We will lose this city if Gloucester allows more alleyways to become killing zones as he did today. Which matter?” he asked again, this time, his tone near angry.

It was not at all the time to discuss Alden’s aspirations.

“Naught,” he began as Gareth and Roland, covered in blood but appearing well, the blood seemingly not their own, walked toward them.

“Alden wishes to be knighted. You saw the way he fought this day,” Darien said.

The others caught up to them.

“There is none more loyal,” Gareth added, apparently having heard Darien.

“Not now,” Alden attempted to cut into the conversation, Stirling looking none too pleased.