The Field of Honor

His breath came in ragged gasps as the pain laced again and again through entire length of his body. It hurt even to move it seemed to him. All around lay the bodies of the comrades that had fallen in the last Drow charge. They had succeeded in driving them back, but at terrible cost. There was nary a Knight that was not wounded in more than one place, some severely. They had fought like warrior poets, like true Knights, but the treachery of the day had erected a barrier to much even for these brave and mighty fighters. Their magicks had been spent in repelling the first charge, but the cost that the volleys of arrows and bolts of fire had taken had scattered their ranks and eaten up the heavy infantry that had been accompanying Nasher’s entourage. The Knights had rallied bravely and fought fiercely enough to cause the attacking Drow to fall back and regroup. Four more charges had been blunted on the shield of the Knights gallant defense. Nasher’s personal guard had whisked him away when it become evident that treachery would be their undoing. That thought brought him some small comfort as he watched the guideons flutter across the field signaling reinforcements and regrouping for the Drow. A bitter smile flitted across his face as he ministered as best he could to the dying. Trust the Drow to see to having the advantage of vastly superior numbers. There were barely a score of Knights left that could heft a sword. He exchanged grim glances with them as they hurriedly finished their ministrations and began to gather at the rocks for what they all knew would be their last stand. There were hand clasps and brief eye contacts as gruff Knights tried to exchange the feelings of years of mutual admiration and respect. Then each, seemingly by unspoken agreement turned their thoughts inward for the final moments of peace they had left.

His thoughts turned to his dear wife and children. The six dear little ones that he would never see grow up. He thought of his five beautiful daughters, his heart breaking as he thought of weddings and grandchildren now to be denied him forever. Each daughters face came to his mind in turn as he thought of her peculiarities and precious uniqueness. Their laughing, childlike innocence, Their curiosity and countless questions. He thought of his son’s precious face. He was not yet a year old and he remembered the games and the joy of just bouncing him on a knee. His children, his pride and joy! He thought of the confusion and their questions that he would never now be able to answer. He thought of the seventh child, as yet unborn, whose face he would never see, who would never know the father that loved him so dearly. He choked back a sob and wiped a tear from his cheek.

The beautiful face of his wife floated across his mind’s eye. Her voice coming unbidden to his thoughts. He caught a brief trace of the scent of fragrance she almost always wore. He almost felt her embrace and knew that he would miss her gentle caress and the comfortable and reassuring sense of her just being near. He remember all of the good times with her, the joys at the births of their children and at celebrations and birthdays. The quiet walks and the pleasures of love. The ache in his heart brought a lump to his throat. He remembered her care of him in times of sickness and wounding. He thought of her tears at death of their second child and ached for what he knew she would feel when she learned of his death. He reached into the sleeve of his right gauntlet and withdrew the kerchief of hers she had given him on their last anniversary. He lifted it to his lips and his shoulders slumped as he took in her sweet fragrance one last time. Reluctantly he tucked the kerchief inside his breastplate, next to his heart and turned to look out over the clearing to where the enemy was in the last stages of forming a line to come and kill him.

He bent down and picked up his helmet, adjusting the plume to the proper angle. He wiped a bit of mud off of the crown and placed it on his head, securing the chin strap to hold it in place. He secured his buckler to his left arm and then picked up the sword that had served him so well, for so long. He handled it almost lovingly as he examined the blade for nicks and mars on the blade, satisfied when he saw none. He turned to his fellow Knights, and beckoned for their attention, wondering as he did what he would say to them in this grave hour. Almost unbiddencame a scene from long ago, an earlier and happier occasion, the Knighting of his first squire. He remembered just a portion of the words he spoke then and thought them appropriate to speak anew.

"Dear fellows hear me now, in this perhaps our final hour. If indeed we are mark'd to die, we are enough to do our noble guild the loss; and if to be so, the fewer Knights, the greater share of honor. By the gods, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires. But if it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive.”

No, faith, my fellows, wish not another man’s aid! Tyr's peace! I would not lose so great an honor as together our stand will claim for us. In this dread hour we do brotherhood proud. Our fellowship is call'd the Knights of KORT. He that be here with us today, and stands and carries duty to its dying measure, his sons will stand a tiptoe when this day is nam'd, And rouse them at the name of KORT and will always at the mention of this noble fight ‘gainst evil’s treacherous intention regale his neighbors, and say Mine own dear father was there!, he was a part of that noblest breed. Then will he speak of valor and of might, and say 'He gave his all while fighting there to bane and scour evil’s hateful form!' Old men may forget; yet all shall be forgot, but this they'll remember: What feats we did for KORT and King.”

Then shall our names, familiar in their mouths as household words, be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; and Feast day shall ne'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered We few, we valiant few, we band of brothers; for he that sheds his blood for good, for King shall forever be remembered. And gentlemen in the Realms who take no part in this noblest of fights shall perchance think themselves accurs'd they were not part, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks of them that fought with us this noblest of battles for the Good of the Realms!.”

And now dear brothers, make thy peace with he who is above all. For faith, we all do know what fate awaits us ere this days work is finished.” His head turned as the brassy sound of trumpet sounded from across the clearing and the distant roar of the coming charge sounded to the accompaniment of the thunder of onrushing feet. He turned once again to the watching Knights. “The hour is upon us my dear, dear brothers. No more will mere words do, ‘tis time for our swords to speak again and speak they shall! Quit ye the day fair Knights, Quit ye like men! Quit ye like the bold men of KORT ye are! Let the Drow rue the day they ever set themselves against so noble and so mighty a band as we! Onward! For God, For King, For KORT” He paused as the assembled few Knights raised a defiant cheer. “For the Good of the Realms!”

Lord Sir Tuvor rode sadly looking over the scene of the battle, past now for some days. The local villagers had taken the bodies of the KORT Knights & Squires that had died here and buried them, as was the local custom. The corpses of countless Drow, however, they had left for the fowl and local scavengers to eat. A wounded pikeman, left by Nasher’s personal guard as they retreated to save Nasher’s life had told the story of the treachery that had cost the lives of 24 Knights and numerous Squires. He surveyed the battlefield, seeing what looked to be hundreds of Dead Drow infantry, archers and warriors. The evidence of a Calvary attack on the Knight’s position was clear and just a clear were the telling marks of the breaking of that charge by the gallant defenders. Had it not been for this stand, Lord Nasher and his family would not now be safe in Neverwinter, but would be in some Drow dungeon, or worse. As he rode the scene, his heart broke as he thought of his dear friend. A bit of dirty white cloth attracted his attention from where it was almost buried beneath the muck of the ground. Tuvor dismounted and knelt, tenderly taking the kerchief in his hand. He choked back tears as he turned over and saw the telltale initials in the corner of the cloth, leaving no question in his mind as to its former owners identity. The tears fell freely down his cheeks as, head bowed for a moment, emotions surging to his throat. He raised his eyes to heaven and blinked as he scanned the cloudy sky. “Good Bye dear friend” he murmured. “I’ll remember you always, I’ll never forget...” He stood and mounted his horse once again and with a last glance at the field where his friend had died, he turn his mount kicking him into a gallop as the sun parted the clouds and shone brightly down once again on this, the field of honor.