We hold here
by the last league stone
the highway's cobbles gleam
in the slanted lights of morning
mists shearing through the breeze
With Banners high unfurled
we will march to drums
onward to the field of dreams
and death
And looking round I see
companions crouched in ranks
I see ages in their eyes
and the gleam burning hard
smeared by experience
with the hard edge of Empire's sword
honed by a worrior's vow
loyalty unstained to the end
