1. Kester and Lugos

Keith fought for honor and for his lord, not for himself, and while he tried to keep his mind on the future and on the glory he would bring himself, sometimes it was hard to rationalize his own actions. The stink and sweat of the battlefield that brought tears to his eyes, the deafening clank of swords around him and of his own armor, the bodies that lay on the ground—they all simply served to remind him that the field of battle was not the field of glory and the Lord, but a place of death. He wondered how many of the men here would really rest upon the bosom of the Lord when their spirits left their bodies.

Then he pulled himself together. He would get nowhere by thinking of the metaphysical. What mattered was what he could see through his visor and what he could feel beneath himself: the energy of the horse that was his closest friend. The visor bounced up and down, and he imagined ripping it off and riding into the fight with his helm alone.

"Easy," he muttered to the horse that wanted to break into a gallop. He brought the horse into a canter and made a circle, looking for those that wore the colors of his lord's enemy. He spotted one such man across the field, wild'y riding on his mount, loose and fast. "Let's do this."

Keith rode at the rider in blue, holding his lance straight, aimed for the rider's chest. If he could just unseat the man, then it would be near impossible for him to rise again without any aid. All of this armor could make it hard for a man to regain his footing. But the rider kicked his horse and galloped out of the way, and Keith rode by. Angrily, Keith made a turn on his horse, and when he did, the rider in blue was waiting for him, lance outstretched.

Keith couldn't see another option. He straightened his own lance, aiming for the other rider. Either of them could have hit the other. Both of them could have gone to the Lord. But neither happened. The other rider's horse simply reared up. The rider's lance aimed into the air far above Keith's head, and Keith's lance hit the horse's belly and made a tremendous crack. The horse went down, crushing the rider beneath it, and began wildly kicking. Keith, feeling victorious, maneuvered his own horse around the kicking legs.

The rider in blue hadn't stood a chance against Keith's superior skills. He could be as wild and fancy as he wanted, but Keith had the real talent and control when it came to riding a horse, and that was why he would always win against an untrained idiot—

And then Keith's horse buckled under him. Keith rolled, sliding down the neck of the beast and onto the hard, bloody battlefield.

He was still for a moment, and then rocked side to side until he was able to roll onto his front. He tried to push himself up, his own body refusing to obey him under the weight of the armor. Keith tore off the helmet, and that allowed him to rise. He stumbled towards the horse, desperately trying to balance, and knelt to feel for breath. There was none. Instead, an arrow was buried in Keith's horse's throat.

A sense of bereavement hit him. That horse had been his best friend, the thing in the world that he could most trust. Red clouded his vision as he looked at the archers that had taken to the field. And then the rider in blue managed to rise from the remains of his own steed. Keith heard an excited laugh of victory and joy.

Him. That man's side had killed Keith's steed. Keith growled as he drew his sword, charging the cocky knight before remembering that he had no helmet.

The other knight drew his sword, and their blades clashed, sparks flying off. Keith went on the offensive, swinging for the left shoulder, a blow that was blocked and forced down. Keith separated their swords and stabbed again, this time at the throat, where there was a chink in the armor where the helm met the gorget. The other knight brought his sword around the front and block the blow, stabbing at Keith.

Keith moved his arms, but he wasn't fast enough, and the blow struck him in the throat. He screamed in agony, every nerve in his body on fire. He could feel the warmth of his own life leaving him. It was a horrifying sensation.

But he was a man that fought for glory and his lord, and he stabbed upward as he fell to his knees. The Lord had guided his blow, because it struck the other knight, and he sunk to his knees, clutching at himself.

Keith's vision went dark.

In 1306 two righteous men killed each other for glory, independence, and their lords.