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.
One of them called out, FOOTMEN! LISTEN TO THE
VOICE OF THE DRAGONARMIES! Melodramatic, yes,
but effective across the mist and the dead land. Our
bowmen ceased fire, glancing at one another nervously.
FOOTMEN! the man shouted again. HOW DO YOU
LIKE BEING FODDER FOR THE KNIGHTS? An old trick,
spreading dissension in the ranks, and indeed some of the
knights - Lord Derek, Lord Alfred, our own Sir Heros -
were outraged, Heros reaching back to me for his sword,
Derek preparing to charge the stand of trees, alone if
necessary, Sturm and his strange companions bristling in
their wet saddles, until the loud voice of Breca stilled the
bravery and muttering in the column.
I EXPECT I COULD EXPLAIN IT BETTER OVER HERE.
PERHAPS YOU COULD, the dragonsoldier shouted back.
BUT ANSWER ME THIS: HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A
DEAD SOLAMNIC KNIGHT?
It was as though the eyes of the world had refocused.
We knew it was a lie, A BASE IGNOBLE CHARGE, as
Heros would have said, and I thought of our father returned
on his shield. I thought of the centuries since the Cataclysm,
of the Code, the Kingfisher, the Crown the Sword and the
Rose, of the sacrifices. But all of that meant nothing after
such a question, do you understand? For it was Breca's
answer, not Sturm's or Hero's or Derek's, we awaited, had to
await
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