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. Brave, strong
Standel. He had never understood his own death.
Garrick scanned the terrain as well as his bleary eyes
were able. More of the same. Villagers were coming from
the south, away from the advancing army sent by the
Dragon Highlord. They were seeking protection from the
garrison at Ironrock. The knight smiled bitterly through
cracked lips. How long did they think a garrison of one
hundred men was going to hold out against an army one
hundred times its size? Not to mention the added pressure
of trying to feed several hundred refugees.
He steered Auron away from the group. The war-horse
turned reluctantly, perhaps sensing the grain the people
carried. The horse had been forced to subsist on what little
it could forage in this bleak area. Garrick sympathized with
its plight, his own last meal having consisted of a handful of
berries and some cheese and hardbread bought from the
innkeeper who had been indirectly responsible for Standel's
death. The lands he had traveled through since offered
nothing in the way of sustenance. The inhabitants
themselves had long ago spirited away anything edible.
He could not believe what the Order had become. The
older knights smiled patronizingly at his plaints;
some of the younger ones scoffed
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