They met up with the party of squires and footmen just after midday and decided to make camp mere on the plains.
Several of the knights who had been wounded during the brief battle had been treated in Halton, but some of them had wounds that were best treated by the keep's healer who had joined the squires on the journey.
These knights were quickly attended to while the rest took the opportunity to remove battle armor and change into fresh clothes.
And as the day wore on and food and drink were consumed in abundance, the knights began to relax. While they had had the opportunity to rest inside Halton, they were still required to maintain the dignified appearance expected of the Knights of Solamnia. But here, among their fellow Sons of Paladine, the mood was considerably more boisterous as they truly celebrated their victory.
'How on Krynn did the ogres think they could actually get away with such an insane expedition?' asked Petr Hallis, a squire assigned to the Knights of the Sword.
Soth considered the question as he and several of the knights sat under the shade of a tree late in the afternoon.
'Ogres aren't known for their ability to think a plan through to its end,' he answered. 'They more than likely found themselves short on supplies for the coming winter and their only thought as to how to procure supplies was to steal them from those who had them in reserve.
It's unlikely that thoughts of purchasing supplies or bartering for them with goods of their own making ever entered their mind.'
'Why did they think they could get away with it?
Halton has been protected by the Knights of Solamnia for years.'
Soth looked at the young squire. 'Criminals seldom think that they will fail. Their thoughts are almost always concentrated on the success of their venture, not on the repercussions of being caught in the act.'
The young squire nodded in understanding.
Soth's eyes caught Caradoc's glance and for a moment he was reminded of his own past deeds. He imagined what might have happened if they had been caught, or implicated in any way in the murders of his half- siblings.
A slight shiver ran through his body.
'But enough of this,' said Soth. 'Ogres are little more than bullies at heart. Bullies who quickly turn out to be cowards when confronted by those unafraid of their size, strength and most odorous smell.'
A laugh rose up from the group surrounding Soth.
'A toast to a victory for the Knights of Solamnia.' He raised his tankard. 'A small victory for us, but none were ever larger or more important to the good people of Halton.'
'Cheers!'
Wine and ale flowed well into the night and the minor cuts, wounds, aches and pains obtained during the fight were slowly, and easily, forgotten.
A dozen knights, squires and footmen gathered around the fire, telling stories as a way to keep them all amused.
Although some of the tales concerned the exploits of bawdy women, most of the tales featured Knights of Solamnia both real and imagined and ranged from humorous anecdotes illustrating the stupidity of ogres, to more somber tales illustrating the wisdom of Paladine, or the benevolence of Mishakal.
Currently the young squire Arnol Kraas was telling a tale, one he'd no doubt recently learned as part of his studies as an aspirant knight.
'A young Knight of the Sword ventured upon the road to visit his friends in Vingaard Keep,' the squire began.
'Along the way he came upon a young woman lying by the side of the road, weeping. Quickly, the knight dismounted and went to her side. When he lifted her up he saw that she had been severely beaten.'
All of the knights were familiar with the tale, having studied it as squires themselves. Nevertheless, none interrupted him. The telling of the tales, even the most familiar, reminded them all of the lessons to be remembered.
'When he asked the woman's name, she told him it was Stalen Lamplight.
The knight was shocked. He knew Stalen Lamplight, and truth be told, had loved her from afar for many years, had considered many times asking her to be his bride. Her beauty had been well-known throughout the land, but now it was gone, taken away by the weapons of the ogres who resented all beauty, whether it be in humans or their Irda brethren.
'The knight took the young woman in his arms and prayed to Mishakal to restore Stalen's beauty, promising to marry the woman and protect her for the rest of her days if she would only grant his wish. Mishakal answered the knight's prayers, appearing before him as a glowing ball of soft white light.
'I will restore her beauty,' Mishakal told the knight, 'but I will leave it up to you to decide whether you wish her beauty to return during the daylight hours when others might see her, or during the dark of night when you alone will be by her side.'
'The knight was unsure which of Mishakal's offers he should accept.
Certainly he would want her to be beautiful as she lay by his side, but then again he couldn't force her to show her hideously scarred face as he presented her as his wife during daylight hours.
'In the end, he could not decide. In fact, he wasn't even sure if it was his decision to make. And that is what he told the Healing Hand.
'Mishakal,' he said. 'I can not decide the woman's fate for her. I leave the decision up to her, and will stand by my offer of marriage whatever she decides.'
'The glowing light that was Mishakal shone brighter.
'You have chosen correctly,' she said. 'It is not up to you to decide another's fate, but to allow her to make her own choices in life. As a reward, she will have her beauty restored… both night and day.'
His story finished, Kraas looked around. The knights, who were expecting a more polished ending to the tale were caught slightly off guard, but recovered by giving the young squire a polite smattering of applause.
Kraas seemed satisfied.
Soth took the opportunity to put another piece of wood on the fire. The familiarity of Kraas's tale had calmed the knights. Perhaps it was time to make their blood run faster. 'How about a tale from you. Knight
Grimscribe?' asked Soth.
'Yes.'
'How about it?' chimed the knights.
Derik Grimscribe was a Sword knight originally from one of the small villages surrounding Dargaard Keep. A knight of average skill on the battlefield, Grimscribe was a master of words, able to tell stories or negotiate between warring clans with equal amounts of tact and skill. A story from Grimscribe was a treat to be sure.
'Very well then,' said Grimscribe, moving closer to the fire to give his face an eerie sort of otherworldly glow. 'A new story… of terror.' He looked around at the knights, his face a mask of twisted light and shadow.
'A long time ago, before your grandfather had finished suckling his mother's breast…' he began in a low voice.
The knights rolled forward to listen more closely.
'… a Rose knight of Solamnia had lost his way after a long and exhausting battle with an especially foul blue dragon.'
'A battle he no doubt won,' quipped a footman.
'Yesss,' hissed Grimscribe, 'but as the knight left the dragon for dead, the evil blue spoke words in an ancient tongue, placing a powerful curse on the knight.'
The knights were silent. Although there were no longer such things as dragons, all of the knights respected the power they were credited with in the stories told of the great dragon wars.
'So, the knight entered the Darken Wood in search of his fellow Sons of
Paladine. But the forest was so dark, even in the middle of the day, that it wasn't long before the brave knight was utterly lost.
'Still he carried on through the darkness, hoping to come upon one of his fellows, but after a few hours he finally conceded that he was indeed hopelessly lost.' Grimscribe paused after the word to let the thought sink
