Their knees were pressed into the damp green grass, the weight of their armored bodies crushing the stems into a fragrant, emerald pulp beneath them. Around Sandon, the air was filled with the sound of noblemen in mourning for their pride.
Voices rose in protest. Sandon had expected as much, nothing new in that.People like to think honor and pride more important than their lives, just as many would spit on them as soon as a blade was pressed on their neck.
This was the first time most of them had been made to taste the black mud of defeat, and it was a bitter, choking pill to swallow. They had held victory in their hands, a certainty of numbers, they had it in the sack and they still managed to let it slip through their fingers like dry sand.
He instead wasn't as much disappointed; the rebels showed much more grit and courage, they deserved victory as much as anyone.
