A banner of glory, and a symbol of status.

Swaying in the wind, dozens upon dozens of coat-of-arms fluttered like flags upon the pikes they were hoisted on. Knights carried them on s.h.i.+elds, n.o.bleman had them embroidered on their expensive silken sheets. It was a tempest of symbols. Lions, bears, dragons, roses, and the symbol of a lone wolf lying in wait atop an old baron's manor.

The Knight's of Wolfred marched in sync.

Kay, and Sir Ector, with a little hobble in his steps, walked at the front. It was a show of comradery, for even though the other towns sent many men, not all were trained in the same conditions. Some were farmers from the poorer towns, some were trained, and some had come along seeking fame and glory. They did not possess solidarity of any kind. Unlike the Knight's of Wolfred, they didn't live together, eat together, or train together.

Trust only comes from experience. It was a shame really, that not all of the company of Knights were able to come, around fifty or so left behind to serve as fort guards.

They were given a wide berth as they walked, the atmosphere around them, formidable.

Their destination however, was questionable. While others walked in the direction of the coming battle, they were walking in the opposite, towards the back of the marching line. More specifically, towards a certain wagon trailing behind, and the boy it carried.

s.h.i.+rou stared up from the diary he was reading. "…Is there something you all need?" He asked carefully, unnerved by the intensity of the gazes directed at him. Kay and Sir Ector just sighed as Sir Anders stepped forward with much enthusiasm. Then again, he was always like that.

"We've been a.s.signed our placements, and are simply awaiting orders from our leader," Sir Anders spoke.

s.h.i.+rou hummed in thought, glancing down at the diary before glancing back up at the Knights. He pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to close the diary. Leaning back, he scratched the back of his head and stated the obvious. "Then why gather here when the military generals are over there?" He pointed to the group of bickering n.o.bleman.

"Well," Sir Anders visibly flinched as his gaze fell upon the bickering lot. He turned his gaze back at s.h.i.+rou and smiled nonetheless, very much thankful of the current circ.u.mstance. "Like I've said. We've been a.s.signed our placements and are awaiting orders from our unit leader." s.h.i.+rou's brow twitched as Sir Anders placed a hand over both his shoulders. "That would be you."

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They were mere moments away from the battle, and had decided to set up camp to rest before moving out at mid-afternoon. However, the main objective in and out of itself wasn't to rest, it was for tactics.

In a tent, a map was laid out across a long table with numerous men seated at each side.

"Your placements are absurd, Baron Frederick." The man speaking rubbed at his temples in irritation. His eyes were pointed and an air of seriousness seemed to surround him at all times. This man was a war general who had been and lived through many battles. For Baron Frederick, a man of little war experience, to have been granted the right to form placements, irritated him. "You can't honestly expect to hold the front line by thinning our numbers. I see that your success in recruitment has dulled your mind, or perhaps it was already addled to begin with?"

"I agree," Another man spoke. He was elderly, white haired and skin full of wrinkles. "My great grandfather was in the Roman army before he retired. His war texts have taught me all that I know. We should stick to Roman tactics, something proven effective through history. Not whatever the h.e.l.l this is! If we're going to deploy by a river, we should d.a.m.n well use it. Reinforce the left flank, and leave the right pressed up against the currents. All other men at center march."

There was a short silence that followed, the room filled by the hostile stares of each n.o.bleman. All, had their own opinions, and all wanted to lead the entire army. Fame and recognition were riding in the air.

"Now now, although we do see the point of your arguments, Baron Barwheld and Carnick, we're more interested as to why a line of infantry is missing from the placements." Baron Ferdenand, a n.o.bleman of Breckon spoke as a representative of the other n.o.bles behind him. "The Knights regiment of Lord Wolfred, two-hundred strong, and una.s.signed."

Frederick scratched at the back his head, a bead of sweat trailing down his brow.

"Well-"

"I stand corrected. They are a.s.signed, but why place command to some runt from a backwater Town? Sure it's a central trading hub, but I mean-"

"Backwater, Ferdenand?" Barwheld spoke as he glared at Ferdenand, a fire burning in his eyes. "You should watch your tongue. We owe a great deal of respect for that town, or have you forgotten who's land that town belonged to,"

Ferdenand clicked his tongue, and reclined back in his chair, arms crossed. "It doesn't matter, they're already dead with no man to lay claim to the name."

Frederick saw his chance, his justification lying flat on his lap. "And if such a thing were false?" He asked tentatively.

The air stilled, the room going silent once again. It was Lord Barwheld who broke it.

"This is not a joke, Baron Frederick," Barwheld spoke softly, but pointedly, like a knife ready to pierce through flesh. The tension in the air was nerve racking, the matter of war pushed aside as if it were insignificant.

Charles of Deadsacs swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He had only come to the discussion as he was also of n.o.ble blood; not that spending another second with that imbecile had anything to do with it. But he wasn't exactly expecting this. He pressed into himself and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

"I hope you understand how dear they were to me," Baron Barwheld continued. "And to be given even a notion of hope…" he drew his sword, the gleam of candle light reflecting ominously off a polished edge. "I will kill you if you're lying to me."

Frederick smirked. This was his field, his level of expertise. What happened in Bristol, was not the type of man he was. Anger had clouded his judgment, and now with the threat of bringing a wizard after his family, Baron Frederick of the Silver Tongue was back. And he had just realized how he could atone for his mistake. A lord, no, even better than that. A King. King Ashton, ruler of the land. He would bring about the end of the power of the local Kings, and return it to one worthy of being Uther's successor. As he was an Ashton, even better.

"Settle down, Sir Barwheld. The answers in which you seek are already before your eyes. Think, and think harder of the battle placements I have proposed." Baron Frederick stood up before grabbing a quill and dipping it in a small jar of ink.

With practiced movements, his hands began to move the quill all throughout the map, lines and large arrows meant to symbolize the movement of each garrison appearing in heavy strokes of ink. An air of curiosity, replaced the air of tension. The more Baron Frederick moved his hands, the more speechless the other n.o.bles became. T-This was, this was!?

"A variant of the old Eagles formation, a cla.s.sic Ashton maneuver." Barwheld hummed. As the main army's numbers are thinned, it presents a tempting opportunity for the enemy to strike. Just as the eagle spreads its wings, the placements are spread thin on either flank to encircle the enemy. But that itself was the rues. Leaving a single opening in the formation for panicked enemies to flee.

And the Eagle strikes from the north after the prey has been routed.

But that was the job of the leading detached unit, the eagle's talons. Then that would mean-! "The Knights regiment of the old Baron."

Baron Frederick smirked, before nodding cryptically. It wasn't rea.s.suring in the slightest. In fact, it only stemmed more important questions, but what truly mattered at this moment was one simple thing.

"T-Then the leader of the detached regiment is-"

"Exactly," Baron Frederick said as he placed down the quill, the sound reverberating within the stillness of the room.

Baron Barwheld's eyes hardened. The leader of the eagle's talons was the leader of the entire army. And in that position, there was only one who could fulfill it, but that man was dead.

"You may not believe a word I say, but should you not hold your judgment till after the battle?" Baron Frederick said.

Baron Barwheld grunted before sheathing his sword. "A slippery snake you are, but I will concede your point. Should this be a lie…" The message was clear.

"Then you may have my head," Baron Frederick spoke with confidence. "I trust there's no more to discuss here, and if you'll excuse me, I bid you all adieu."

Baron Frederick slipped out of the war tent and disappeared into his carriage. Now, all he had to do was decide how to best go about getting the Ashton to act accordingly. But the Ashton was a wizard, so regardless, he had no worries.

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"You're asking me to steal your sword away from my papa?" Emily furrowed her brows, the intensity in which Arturia was staring at her was beginning to frighten her. Her parents were out, and she was slightly overwhelmed with what to do.

"Can you do it, or can you not?" Arturia pressed. She needed her sword to fight, and the dull end to knock some sense into her family's heads. It would be little tap over the head, just enough to knock them unconscious until she could decide on a further course of action.

They went to war.

They went to war!

She didn't know what she would do the next time she saw either Kay, or s.h.i.+rou. Sir Ector was out of the question as he was already growing old, but those two? Oh, she could come up with something. Many things.

Emily backed away, thoroughly floored with the deranged half-smile on Arturia's face. Nonetheless, she pressed on. It would have been rude to run away, and from a Knight's son no less.

"It's not about whether I can or can't, it's about why?" Emily began as she scratched her head. "Would you steal from Sir Ector without a reason?" She argued.

"N-No," Arturia relented.

"Then why?"

"They went to fight a war!" Arturia burst, letting her emotions dictate her choice of words. It was a first for her to express herself so openly, and in front of an acquaintance no less. Still, containing it for small things such as Kay's teasing and sty duty was simple, but leaving to fight a war, and Sir Ector portioning her food was entirely different. "Sir Ector, Kay, and s.h.i.+rou…They all left without me."

Emily stood still, her face blank. He went to fight a war? She frowned, but still had a few more questions to ask before making any judgements. "And did you consider why?" She asked.

"They all must think I'm weak." Arturia reasoned weakly, her shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. In fact, if Emily looked hard enough, she'd have noticed the small quivering of Arturia's lower lip.

No, not at all.

Emily recalled all the praise s.h.i.+rou had for Arthur. His quick learning ability, his dedication, and his tenacity. There was no way s.h.i.+rou considered Arthur weak by any account. Therefore, the same should apply with Arthur's family, which means-!

She looked Arthur in the eyes and decided to convey what must have been the truth. "Or they wished to protect you." Growing up, her papa, after getting lessons from Sir Ector, read to her in her sleep. They were always stories about how the hero rescued everyone, but what she truly understood was the hero's reason for fighting.

To protect those, he left behind.

Arturia fell silent before speaking softly. "I don't need to be protected," she said. She could understand what Emily was speaking of; she had been the same when Kay would constantly bully Liamrei. However, what mattered to her was the most basic of desires. "I just want to fight beside them."

Emily could agree with the sentiment. After all, it was something she herself had envisioned when her father read to her in her sleep. Why should the hero fight alone? She thought of s.h.i.+rou fighting to protect Bristol, and then to s.h.i.+rou fighting to protect only her. She paused in her musings, her blood rus.h.i.+ng to her face. T-That last thought wasn't so bad, but she clapped her cheeks, drawing a raised brow from Arturia. Now wasn't the time.

"If I help," she started, determination setting into her eyes. "Then I'm coming with you." Even if she couldn't fight, she could be there to sew his broken clothing, or cook him a feast, or something useful. The hero shouldn't fight alone. That was the job of the hero's friends to fight beside him. Then her job was to care for him, like a princess and her knight.

Her cheeks coloured once again.

Arturia didn't like the look in Emily's eyes, but she had no other way to get her sword. "F-Fine," she spoke.

Emily nodded, before running back into her house and into her father's room. She knew where he kept everything important: beneath his bed covered under a small stack of hay that was intended for a dog to sleep on had they decided to get one. It was a secret camouflage that she had convinced her mother to share with her. Although, stealing behind her father's back probably wasn't the expected purpose.

So, it was with a modic.u.m of guilt that Emily felt around under her father's bed, and pulled out a small, yet heavy, steel sword. She whispered a silent apology, but reasoned that she was only following her own mother's advice.

Follow your heart.

"Here," She said as she tossed the sword to Arthur. "We best get going before momma comes to check on us."

Arturia nodded, just happy to be reunited with her weapon. Now all that was left was to chase after the trio of idiots, but how?

A thought struck her then and there: Liamrei. She had definitely grown large enough to carry both her and Emily after the past few years.

Decision made, she and Emily quickly made their way back to her home without getting seen. However… The son of Wolfred was waiting there, arms crossed in front of him. "You're going after them," he stated. "And I'm coming with you."

The son of Wolfred had known since he had seen Arthur storm out of his father's study that he wasn't going to take a 'no' lying down. Therefore, his next course of action was obvious. Be that as it may, what troubled him the most was finding Arthur's home in the first place. He had never taken the initiative to find something per say. It was always easier to send someone else to do the scouting, and then simply follow when all things are well and good.

That is to say, he was exhausted when he finally found the house, and beyond frustrated when he realized the person he was looking for wasn't even there. Yet, he was still man enough to not show his frustration, and it had paid off when the very person he was looking for appeared at that very moment.

Arturia took one look at the son of Wolfred, and answered thusly. "No," she answered quickly, Emily hiding behind her.

Unperturbed as his father had raised him in the arts of politics where even the slightest sign of hesitation could cost one dearly, he smiled condescendingly. "But I know where they'll be."

It was like lightening had suddenly struck Arturia, her face going completely blank. It was true that she and Emily could chase after the idiots, but in what direction? She didn't know what she would do if she found out that she had been riding in the wrong direction.

Grudgingly, she accepted him into the group, but soon came to the largest problem. Liamrei didn't have enough room to carry three people, not without dragging one on the ground, and that was certain death.

"So, why's the peasant coming?"

The son of Wolfred interrupted her thoughts. She balled her hands into fists. "Her name's Emily, not peasant, and if you continue to call her that, then location or not, you're not coming."

Th son of Wolfred clicked his tongue.

"Then why is she coming?" What does she have to gain?

Come to think of it, Arturia didn't know either. She turned her gaze on Emily, waiting for an answer.

All attention brought onto her, Emily fiddled with her thumbs and couldn't bring herself to answer. Her heart couldn't possibly take such a ma.s.sive blow as to admit she had come to simply watch over a single man.

It was silent until Arturia shrugged at the son of Wolfred. She was in Emily's debt and would not press her for her motives.

As for the son of Wolfred, he would have pressed the issue further, had he not considered what it would mean for him. Currently, he needed them to get to the fighting. Otherwise, he'd just remain beneath his father's shadow as the son of Wolfred.

Arturia brought a hand to her chin before pursing her lips. It had been several days since she'd learned of her friend and family's escapades, and now she was at a hopelessly far distance away. With the son of Wolfred, she could find their location, but how was she going to get there now that Liamrei was out of the question? Leave Emily? Nonono, it was dishonourable.

At that moment, a great shadow loomed over them.

The beating of wings.

The flurry of the wind.

A gaze of horror.

And a gaze of recognition.

"Beast!" The son of Wolfred called, stumbling back along with Emily.

Arturia's reaction was different. She stepped tentatively towards the ma.s.sive glowing hawk, now almost six times her height, a hand reaching forward.

"E-Efret?" She called.