Page 4

He tried not to smile as Gareth had no wish to insult either the steward or his fellow recruits. Striding toward his bed, greeting each man as he walked by, accepting their slaps on his back and welcomes, Gareth tossed his saddlebag onto the bed just as a dark-haired man sat next to it. Like his, the man’s hair was dark brown. Unlike his, it was shaved, much shorter than was the custom.

He was large, his hands massive. What was his particular skill? Each man, Gareth had learned on the three days’ journey here, was recruited for a reason. By the look of him, the man was either an expert with the battle axe or sword.

“Alden,” he said, by way of a greeting.

“Sir Alden,” he repeated, leaning against the wall near his bed. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Simply Alden. I am no knight.”

Gareth did laugh then. “I was told the Guardians were a knightly order.”

“All are knighted but me. I am the son of a blacksmith.”

“Not any blacksmith,” another man said, passing by them. “His father is John of Dunridge.”

Gareth whistled. Any man in England who owned a sword had heard of the famous smith. “They say Excalibur was forged by your ancestors.”

“They also say you’ve never been defeated on a jousting field, but I know the opposite to be true.”

“Go on,” he urged the smith. “What do you know?”

“Englewood,” the smith’s son said.

His only loss. One conveniently forgotten by those who love to spread tales of Gareth’s feats, but a loss indeed. ’Twas a small tourney, unknown to most.

“You are from Carlsham? Or Englewood itself?” Though Gareth had heard tales of the talented smith, he could not recall from where he hailed. But if Alden knew of his loss, he was likely from the region.

“Shirston St. Mary.”

“Ahh, just north of Englewood, aye?”

“Aye.”

“So your ancestors did not forge Excalibur?” he teased, the man’s point well made.

“They did not.”

“Well, Alden of Shirston St. Mary, I am pleased to make your acquaintance anyway.”

Finally, the man smiled. “And I yours.”

“Will you tell me more of the Guardians? And this place? Why are the men not training or on missions?”

“Some are on missions,” the smith said. “As for training, there is only one thing we take more seriously here. Mealtimes. You’ve caught us just before the midday meal. Mark me well, the cook here will become your favorite person at Blackwood.”

Any reservations Gareth had about joining had just been banished. If he missed one thing from home more than his parents and two older brothers, it was the meals their cook had always prepared. When his father had been accused of treason, their lands seized, he and his family had moved to a small manor house but had retained the cook, thank the Blessed Mary.

“Once you are settled, I will show you to the hall,” Alden said. “Have you had a tour of Blackwood yet?”

“Sir Eamon and Lord Stirling escorted me here, but I cannot say I’ve seen much beyond the grounds and our quarters. I am settled and ready now.”

“Come,” Alden said. “I’ve just arrived myself not a sennight past. This hall,” he said as they stepped into the corridor, “is home to many knights of the Order.”

“And they all arrive at different times?”

“Aye,” Alden said. “As you know, each already possess a certain skill, some more prominent than others. ’Tis said they are grooming some for leadership positions and the knight school aims to ensure others have honed their skills as well.”

Gareth’s brows drew together. “I do not understand.”