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THE DEFENSE OF MONT COLLIER

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nunlover

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Gwyn removed his helmet atop the bodies of the peasants laying below him, looking around at his fellow guardsmen standing strong. "This is fine gear to refill our armory don't you think?" He'd announce to those around him.

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"They fought well. But alas, we fought better," said Marton.

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Blood and guts stained his silvery sabatons.

 

Surrounded by fallen foes, Sir Janos of the White Hart loomed over one lifeless heap. Scorn shone in his eyes. He cackled, panting.

 

The peasant's face was pale, and flies swarmed those eyes that stared back at the knight.

 

Hotspur spat, and lifted his great antlered helm skyward. He looked to his brothers-in-arms. "Tandem Triumphans!" he roared, glorious.

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The Lady Chancellor, adorning her gilded chain of office, did welcome the news of such a decisive Alban victory with great enthusiasm. Whatever mild celebration she felt, however, was dimmed at the rumors of castle-forged steel used against their own soldiers of the Black Banner and White Hart. For this eluded to a greater threat, of enemies who worked in shadow and raised these common men as pawns.

 

It was a mercy, perhaps, that her father would not have to live to oversee such strife within that land he had loved. She would carry the burden now, and see Alba to its next generation.

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