Another chapter, another day. It hasn't been that long since I last posted a chapter, but here it is! Chapter 11, fresh off the boat!
Don't have much to say about this chapter so I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to focus on other things I want to say. First of all; I changed my Author name. It used to be Goat13, but it had been so long since I actually used that name on anything but FF so I figured it was time to change.
Second of all; have you taken a look at the map I made with paint? It's on my profile so if you're curious, go take a look.
That's all folks, enjoy your reading!
"I have brought my report, Milady." Josephine asked as she entered the throne room. As the attendant and Servant of the kingdom's foremost magus, Josephine knew enough about the etiquette the nobles were so eager to hide their emotions behind, but she was never any good at it beyond the occasional conversation. That was the primary reason she tried to shy away from the throne room at all times, with the exception of answering her lady's summoning.
The throne room was massive, a testament to Rheged's architectural prowess. While the color was not anything special, a grey rock of common variety, the design was most impressive. Tall pillars stretched towards the roof, tapestries and shields covering the dull stone. What should have been nothing more than a lifeless stone hall during the time of King Urien had been transformed into a canvas of color after his two wives rose to power. Vivid red illuminated the eastern walls as the domain of Queen Rowena while dark blue tapestries on the western walls represented Lady Morgan.
To think, just ten years ago they would have been trapped in the grasp of the Mad King Urien and now they were spending their days in a relative paradise. If only they had realized the inherent flaws of the male gender earlier. Maybe Britannia would have been united and at peace by now.
"Yes, it appears you have. Rowena, you remember my attendant right? Josephine is in charge of our correspondence with your former husband's knight." Lady Morgan said to the queen sitting on the throne in the hall.
"Yes, I remember." Queen Rowena grumbled, but even such an inelegant thing sounded more like the songs of an angel to Josephine. Queen Rowena was the most beautiful and fairest maiden of all, everything she did, regardless of the significance of the activity, was more dazzling and charming than anything Josephine had ever seen, barring Lady Morgan of course. "Tell me Josephine, what is my former husband failing at now? We went through the effort of poisoning the water and food supply without the Saxons noticing, what else could he possibly need?"
The queen was justified in her anger, Josephine knew it. Despite having been betrayed by her husband and son, she was now forced to come to their aid. Queen Rowena's heart was truly beyond bursting with compassion and love, but it was wasted on those who did not appreciate it. The duke of Albion did not deserve her help, not after what he did.
"There has been some troubling news from the south, Your Highness. The army is progressing somewhat, but a spy for the Saxons and the Irish has been apprehended. It appears the Saxons have been paying a local merchant to spy on their army and to poison their water and food supply. He was caught before that could happen, but he was interrogated and revealed that he had been smuggling in Cornish soldiers to weaken the Albion forces from within their borders. Apparently Mark of Cornwall has struck an alliance with Ireland in exchange for the third princess' hand in marriage." Josephine spoke calmly. She hated large halls when she was out in the open, where anyone could see here. It was not a suitable environment for a spy like herself. She always kept to the shadows, ready to listen and observe. She was not accustomed to be listened to and observed in the emptiness of the throne room.
"I fail to see why this is so important? Cornwall has always been close to the Irish and it was only a matter of time before they joined forces. Although I'm not surprised Vortigern did not realize it sooner. He was always too focused on the glory on the battlefield to develop any sort of spy network." Queen Rowena said, a bitter smile on her face and Lady Morgan chuckled in agreement.
Even something so manly as chuckling was as sweet as honey when it came from Lady Morgan's delectable lips. How the gods had managed to create two perfect women so close to each other was beyond Josephine's ability to comprehend, but she was not complaining. Simply basking in the Queen's and Lady's radiance was more enjoyable than seeing the sun after traveling the Nevermoon Forest for a month.
"That… is only part of my report, Your Highness. The reason I didn't wait until it was night to return is due to the second part of my report." Josephine said awkwardly. She had no idea on how to break the news, not after she had messed up as badly as she had. For weeks she had disregarded the newcomer to the Southern Army as Sir Ludvig's pitiful attempt at raising morale, but it had been a mistake on her part.
"Oh? And what is it that made you act with such urgency then?" Morgan asked, her harmonic voice putting angels to shame.
"Ludvig… was able to recruit a magician somehow…" she spoke quietly, looking down in shame.
"What?" Queen Rowena asked, and her voice sounded like the battle cry of a thousand vengeful angels despite not being louder than a whisper. Josephine flinched at the tone, knowing that her blunder had been the reason for the queen's sweet melody to turn into a storm of rage.
"There had been rumors in the camp, about a boy capable of wielding magic to slay hundreds of wolf-like beasts called wargs…" Josephine started, but Queen Rowena interrupted her.
"Vargar, you mean? My father brought them to Albion when he invaded fifteen years ago in order to weaken the country, but they never left the forest. You mean a single magus killed the entire pack?" The Queen said and The Lady seemed curious.
"Vargar?" Lady Morgan asked. "I've never heard of them before. Any reason you failed to mention them to me?"
"They were useless beyond compare. The baron of Blackbay came to the duke for help in eradicating them, but I put a spell on him to disregard any attempts to hunt them down. Despite that, they never left the forest and kept feeding on a single village without destroying it for over fifteen years. There wasn't any reason in mentioning them, not after the waste of resources they turned out to be." The Queen answered swiftly and The lady seemed satisfied. "Go on, tell us more about this magus you've encountered."
"At first I dismissed it as Ludvig's attempt to boost the troops with courage, but as time passed the rumors grew. This alone is not strange, but the rumors were so feverish and specific that I sensed there was something strange about them. Some were about a saint while other about a demi-god, but they all seemed so very specific about what the person they were about was like. After that I discovered that the was actually a magician in their midst, a young boy barely a decade and a half in age. From what I could tell he could definitely use magic, but it was nothing compared to what you are capable of, Your Highness, Milady." She spoke quickly, a desperate to quell their anger before it appeared.
"How very interesting." Lady Morgan said, a smile on her face. What Josephine wouldn't do for the chance of seeing that smile just once a day. Her assignments took her far away for long periods of time and she could sometimes go for months without seeing even a trace of her mistress. She had lost count of how many times she had paid whores on the streets to wear a black wig and smile at her, just so that she could have a slight glimpse of the face she adored. The whores were nothing compared to the real thing though, an insulting mockery at best so she had been forced to kill them to restore her Lady's honor. It was a crime to think some women of the street could even hope to replicate her Lady's excellence, but she knew she was not alone in her attempts to bask in her mistress' beauty.
She had seen the captain of the Royal Guard enter a brothel with a woman with crimson hair set in the same way as the queen. The Captain had entered with the obvious whore, but had emerged alone, cleaning blood from her clothes. It was a good thing the brothels imported slave women from other kingdoms, otherwise Rheged would be facing a serious lack of whores in the near future. Castrated males would work too, if they were gelded in their youths. Older 'Geldings' would have far too masculine features to pass for The Queen and The Lady.
She'd have to speak to the Captain soon. Between Josephine's whore-stabbing and Isabel's whore-beating, the brothels would ban them from their establishments soon. Maybe they could set up a schedule to prolong the use of their services before they were banned. The longer time it took before Josephine would have to use geldings for her sexual needs, the better.
"So what did you make of this boy, Josephine? Did he have potential? Could we recruit him to our cause or should we get rid of him as soon as possible?" Lady Morgan asked, her bewitching purple eyes gleaming with wonder. Oh, how Josephine longed to see those eyes look at her like that. She always had that curios glint in her eyes whenever something fascinated her, but Josephine had only seen it when something new and interesting arrived. Never had that indication of interest been directed towards Josephine, her loyal Servant.
Shame on her! She was getting ahead of herself. Just because she had earned the title of Servant as the Lady's spymaster did not mean she was worthy of gaining the Lady's attention. Only a woman of equal status could ever have the chance to ask for Lady Morgan's hand in marriage. In all the lands Josephine had been to, the only woman she had seen who qualified for that position had been Queen Rowena. In a way, the only person who would be able to survive the jealous hordes of whoever married Lady Morgan or Queen Rowena would be Lady Morgan or Queen Rowena. Anyone else was sure to be assassinated for daring to lay their filthy hands on the mortal goddesses.
"I believe he is of no threat to either of you. Aside from his age and inexperience, his magic seems to be far less diverse and flexible. The rumors about him exaggerate his prowess in battle more than any magic ever could. They say he defeated a hundred wargs…" she stopped when The Queen cleared her throat in annoyance."…A hundred vargar I mean, but I found no more than six pelts from the beasts. They said he could create weapons for an army just like Jesus Christ could create enough fish and bread for his people, but all he did was shape the materials he already had. I believe my earlier assumption of him being used as a puppet to boost morale is more correct than I first believed, even though he was made the captain of the archers." Josephine said, partially out of truth and partially out of spite towards the brat. The boy had the gall to take Lady Morgan's attention for his own. She'd make sure he paid for his insolence.
"A puppet you say?" Queen Rowena mused. "A puppet could do more damage than his owner ever could if he suddenly desires to break free from his strings. From what you've seen, can you tell me whom he's been associating with. Wrong influence can be devastating."
"From what I've gathered he appears to spend a lot of time with the villagers of Blackbay, a small fishing village in the norther parts of Albion. Specifically the owner of the tavern, Rowland, and one of the fishermen, Geoffrey. He also spends some time with his second-in-command, a hunter called Hadrian from the neighboring village. Those are the only people I know he associates with, although…" she hesitated, not sure of how she was meant to deliver the next piece of news.
"Yes, Josephine?" Lady Morgan's sweet voice caressed her mind like silk on skin, quickly eroding any thoughts she might have had on the matter. Whatever fears she had about relaying her report disappeared, as there was no need to worry about The Queen losing her temper. "What did you find, my sweetling?"
"Before I left to deliver my report, I overheard a conversation between Sir Ludvig and his knights." Josephine said in a bubbly and intoxicated voice. "The boy was to be assigned to the company meant to eradicate the Cornish forces attacking the supply chains. The company in question was led by Sir Vortimer of the Southern Lions and…" She would have continued, but Lady Morgan had stepped in to stop her, putting a delicate and pale finger on her lips. Any attempt to speak was immediately discarded in favor of trying to absorb Lady Morgan's taste though her lips and inhaling her scent though her nose. Hints of rosemary, strawberry and ginger invaded her senses like a tidal wave of spices.
'I'm touching Lady Morgan! I'm actually kissing her finger! What should I do?!'
It was sad to say that in all her years of serving The Lady, she had not actually touched her more than a handful of times. It was nothing special, sometimes she would hand a letter over to The Lady and their fingers would brush against each other. Other times she would be rewarded with a pat on the cheek, like a child being rewarded by her mother in a gentle caress.
But this was more than that! This was intimate, an act normally only preformed on lovers. That Lady Morgan would do something so obvious was… was…
Absolutely amazing…
"I believe you've given your report, dear Josephine. Maybe you should go get some rest? It must have been a hard journey, to cross all of Britannia in just a day. Most people would consider it impossible." Lady Morgan whispered in her ear, the hot breath hitting her skin like the fire of a dragon.
"Yes, Milady." She swallowed. She did not dare to speak any further, fearing words would fail her. She could not say she had used the magical artefact Lady Morgan had given her, capable of unleashing winds to drive her small fishing vessel along the coast until she reached Rheged. She wouldn't be able to get anything other than whimpers and unintelligent sounds out if she tried.
Bowing to The Queen and The Lady, she excused herself from the throne room. As soon as she left the great hall she made a beeline for the nearest brothel. She needed release, now!
If only she had remembered to bring the black wig with her. It looked like whatever whore would be serving her this evening would live to see another day.
AOB
"When will that child ever cease to get in my way?" Rowena asked out loud when the Servant had left. How such a weak-willed girl was able to reach the highest rank of spy and claim the seat of Servant was beyond her, but the girl did her job at least.
"He has become a thorn in our side lately, hasn't he?" Morgan mused, picking up a silver goblet filled with wine and sipping from it. "First the boy dethrones his father to exile you and now he might have a magus under his command. I'd be impressed by his ambition if I wasn't so interested in this boy she was talking about." The Lady of Rheged spoke with interest. She was always picking at things she should leave alone, but Rowena couldn't blame her for that. It was a magus' duty to explore the unknown, but for once Rowena did not share her sister-wife's enthusiasm.
"Interested? You do realize that bumbling fool will have a magus under his thumb after the war is over if we don't get rid of him. I absolutely refuse to allow another magus to set foot in what used to be my workshop!" she whispered furiously. The thought of being driven out by that arrogant knight she called son, only to hear the brat had welcomed another magus with open arms made her seethe with anger. That precocious little hypocrite!
"Would you give it a rest already? I'm fairly sure you've already paid Vortimer back in full for what he did. Even if he survived the hemlock you tricked him into eating, he was still bedridden for a year and his father was able to reclaim the throne. Shouldn't you be happy at least one of your children is alive, even if you are the one who killed half of them?" Morgan asked mischievously. Her tone was lighthearted and soft, but the barb was not missed on Rowena. They might have been 'friends' for decades and plotted to take over Britain together, but the balance of power between magi was ever-present.
"I'd be happy if one of them was capable of using magecraft, and even happier if it was a girl. Instead all I got from being married to that fool for thirty years was eight bumbling sons incapable of even the most basic of thaumaturgy. Not even the bastard I had with the field marshal was capable of Magecraft!" she ranted, gripping the armrest of her throne hard enough to make the wood creak in protest.
"Oh, would you relax? It's been fifteen years already and we have more important things to take care of. For example, the boy magus who is under your son's command. What will we do about him? I actually want to bring him here for a bit. Mordred is feeling a bit lonely and I think a friend would cheer him up." Morgan said whimsically. Rowena raised her eyebrow in amusement, anger put on hold in favor of listening to whatever Morgan had to say about her mysterious son.
"I can't imagine why, between the way you have him isolated in his fortress and being forced to wear that cumbering armor everywhere he goes I thought he'd have all the company he could ask for." Rowena joked and Morgan laughed, a harmony of sounds unlike anything the mindless masses would ever be able to replicate.
"My thoughts exactly, but I guess he's just growing up and finding himself. Boys his age will always be rebellious, unless you have them castrated early of course." She said.
"An act you have refused to perform on Mordred for some reason." Rowena pointed out and Morgan smiled, a foxlike grin spreading across her face.
"Mordred is a work in progress, so to speak. I'd hate to act too early and receive unripe fruit. I'm sure he will mature beyond my expectations and make me proud, but I need him unspoiled for that. I'm sure you understand Queen Rowena." Morgan said with sarcasm in her voice. Rowena smiled bitterly and responded.
"Of course, Lady Morgan. Now, as you said, we need to do something about this boy after the invasion is over. I'd rather not spend more potions in ensuring the invasion fails than necessary and the boy might just be the edge they need to spare me the effort in creating more. I suggest we get rid of him, preferably immediately afterwards the attack is over. It wouldn't be too hard to make it look like an injury sustained from battle and the assassins are always eager to work." She said to move the conversation forward. Despite Rowena being the Queen of Rheged, it was still clear that Morgan and Rowena were equal in status. Rowena only gained the title of queen because she was from an actual royal line among the Saxons whereas Morgan was from a noble one. Had their births been different then their roles would have been reversed.
"Must you be so hasty, dear Rowena? From what Josephine told, us the boy is barely capable of the most basic of Magecraft, barely a threat even. Wouldn't it be more interesting to see what happens to the lad, especially if he arrives in your former husband's domain? There are, after all, so very few of us in these lands and what harm can a boy do without a teacher to guide him?" The Lady reasoned and Rowena entertained the thought. The number of magi in Britannia had decreased, this much she knew even if she was originally from the Saxon lands in the south. Female magi had been hit especially hard, with the accusations of witchcraft being the foremost cause of death. That meant the magic bloodlines were decreasing, resulting in far too many marriages being of incestuous nature in order to preserve the magic circuits in the family. Perhaps the boy would be good for the local bloodlines, a breath of fresh air in the stale cesspool some bloodlines had become. But…
"I'd prefer it if the magi in our land were to increase instead. Allowing a hostile country to gain control of a magus isn't what I'd call a good idea." She pointed out and Morgan pouted.
Yes, she actually pouted.
Not the childish version you'd expect when you hear the word 'pout', but a more mature and yet equally impressive expression which made Rowena sigh in frustration.
"Why on Earth are you so fixated on the boy? I'm sure there are plenty of inexperienced youths who would love to earn the interest of Lady Morgan, so why would a single country bumpkin whom you've never met warrant such a reaction?" she asked perplexed. She had seen Morgan act the same way a few times, but she had never been able to understand why. The objects of her fascination were always so random and peculiar it didn't make sense to her.
"It's because I knew for a fact that not a single magus lived in Albion up until now and my spies have kept a close eye on all the borders in Britannia. Whoever this boy is, the fact that he appeared from thin air is enough to interest me. If Mordred gains a playmate then who am I to complain about it?" she said offhandedly.
She monitored all the borders in Britannia? That was quite the achievement, but somehow Rowena was not surprised. Morgan had been quite ambitious when she trained her spies and she had succeeded in her efforts. Rowena commanded the majority of the army, but Morgan had complete control over the spies in the country. It was one of the reasons their partnership had lasted as long as it had and would most likely last long in the future. If they tried to wrestle control from one another then the ensuing battle would destroy them both. Neither wished to lose so they had worked on their cooperation until the friction between them had been reduced to nothing but a slight jab or barb here and there. Why, their 'friendship' could almost be called genuine by now.
"As always we disagree on the most basic of things, but I'll let you keep your pet project for now. I leave the boy's fate in your hands, although I hope you will dispose of him if he fails to keep your interest. A magus in Vortigern's hands is not something I look forward to hearing about." She said as she picked up a goblet of wine and drank greedily. She let out a wistful sigh as she felt the cold alcohol drench her dry throat. She still had to look over the kingdom's finances and the never-ending amounts of parchment she needed to oversee were just waiting on her desk in her office. That was one of the disadvantages of being the official queen.
An idea struck her mind like a bell at noon and she hid the grin as soon as she could feel creeping onto her face.
"Thank you, Rowe…" Morgan began.
"In return for letting you take care of the boy, you will take care of the kingdoms finances for an entire month without complaining or escaping it. Do that and your little pet will be allowed to live for now." Rowena interrupted her and was given the pleasure of watching Morgan's perfect façade fall apart as she desperately tried to keep her crumbling smile intact.
Was that a vein throbbing in her forehead?
"Thank you, Rowena." Morgan said while grinding her teeth in no doubt a valiant attempt to conceal her anger. "I'll do that just as soon as I've made sure Mordred has a new friend to train with." She left the hall in a hurry before Rowena was able to say anything in response.
Snickering in victory, Rowena continued to drink her wine in peace and quiet until…
"Your Highness, since the desk in your office is currently filled with requests and documents, I took the privilege of bringing the rest of the documents here for you to approve." A female attendant said as she brought in a mountain of parchment, a quill and ink in hand. "I leave you to it, Your Majesty."
She really should have made the condition this month.
AOB
"No please, I told you everything I know!" Jerad the merchant pleaded. His face was covered in bruises and his hands were broken and twisted. The chains attached to the stocks holding his head and hands in place rattled with each movement as the merchant begged him to stop.
"I can be of help to you! Take anything from my shop! The cows, the pigs, the horses and the spices, anything you want is yours!" He cried desperately, the tears running down his filthy cheeks and creating clean tracks in the process. His lips, which had been torn from the excessive beatings his interrogators had put him through, started bleeding once more, but he didn't seem to care.
When Shirou's expression didn't change, the merchant backed away as far as the chains allowed him to. "That's not enough? Then take it all! I don't need it, not when I can start over. You can take the shop and the servants, even my ship. Imagine what you can do with that much wealth! Gold, wine and women, it could all be yours." He sniffed out as snot dripped for his nose. Despair entered his face when Shirou's eyes remained cold and uncaring.
"Please, take my wife or anything you want. I just… I don't want to die!" Jerad cried out, fear overtaking his senses and he rocked back and forth. He lowered his head to the floor, childlike cries muffled into his shirt. He didn't see Shirou raise the axe, newly sharpened and reinforced to reduce the pain to an absolute minimum.
"I'm sorry." Shirou whispered.
And then the axe swooped down towards the merchant's unprotected neck.
Shirou awoke with a jerk as he tumbled down to the floor from the bed. Pain blossomed into his vision with a million stars as his forehead struck the floor with a loud *Thud*. The remarkably thick wooden floor didn't give as his not-as-thick-as-you'd-expect head collided with it. His head bounced back from the force of the descent, only to be brought down again for yet another impact when gravity took control once more.
He gripped his sore head and groaned in his pain, rolling around in some attempt to alleviate his agony. Unfortunately the room he was sleeping in was smaller than a closet and he didn't even manage to complete a single turn before his back hit the wall. He cursed and growled, as if verbally acknowledging his pain would make it go away, but the hammering migraine his brain was currently in was proving to be rather persistent.
This wasn't just pain from the impact. For some reason he was having a headache, an incredibly powerful one too, which was odd considering he usually never had headaches at all. He possessed a rather powerful immune system according to his doctor, or as Fuji-ne had put it, 'Idiots don't get colds'. Which spoke more of her than him since he had never seen her get sick while he had been sick several times after overclocking his circuits during his training.
So why was his head pounding like a drum?
The last thing he could remember was walking towards the prisoner's cell to-
-execute Jerad the merchant.
As soon as he remembered the previous night's events his world began to spin and swirl out of control. Like a macabre merry-go-round, his mind began to replay the events from last night as he desperately fought to stay upright. His stomach lurched and he heaved, but there was nothing in his stomach to regurgitate and nothing but a thick yellow liquid escaped his throat. The pain in his stomach increased as he dry heaved. Sweat ran down his face and he started shaking, suddenly feeling cold despite the warm temperature the tavern was constantly heated up to.
He remembered now. After the war council had finished and Shirou had been told to kill the merchant, he had gone to Rowland and told him what had happened. Rowland's response had been simple.
"Drink." He had said after shoving an entire bottle of wine in his hands.
Shirou had obliged, but had only been able to finish half the bottle before a soldier had arrived to escort him to the cell holding the merchant. Even as the alcohol's warm embrace soothed his nerves, he could feel the icy cold trepidation freeze his veins with each step he took. An axe had been shoved into his hands once he neared the door. A single look at the axe told him everything he needed to know. It was not a tool meant for cutting off heads, but a tool meant for cutting down trees. The axe head was dull and needed sharpening, a task Shirou demanded to be done before the act of taking a life and one he demanded to do himself. The soldier had conceded on the matter and Shirou had made certain to be as slow as he possibly could, drawing the whetstone along the blade in long and slow movements. He had hoped the alcohol would take the edge off the actual killing, but when the axe was done and the soldier declared the time to be right, Shirou still didn't feel any braver or righteous about it.
He had used alteration on the axe once the soldier had locked the door behind him. Instead of a woodsman's axe, he had been holding an executioner's axe. Designed to be as efficient as possible, Shirou had made certain the blade was supernaturally sharp. Quick and painless, just like a Band-Aid. Except he was killing a man, not ripping off a piece of glue and textile.
He had tried to ignore the merchant's cries and apologies, he really had. He reasoned that if the merchant thought he didn't care about his begging then he would stop talking. Except the merchant had simply tried harder and harder to beg for his life, the only thing Shirou couldn't fault him for. No matter what kind of crimes a man had committed, he was always allowed to beg for mercy even if mercy was impossible.
He had swung the axe once the Jerad the merchant had been looking down and wasn't expecting it. Perhaps it would be more pleasant if he didn't know what had happened, rather than to see the blade coming down for him. A tiny, dark part of his mind felt glad the man wasn't looking at him when it happened, that he wasn't forced to look the man in the eyes when he took his first life. He tried to beat the thought out of his mind, to snuff it in its crib, but he couldn't say it was wrong. He didn't know if he could have done it while looking him at the merchant's face, to see the man's eyes go from terrified to lifeless. It was a feeling Kiritsugu had spoken of many times, but Shirou had never truly understood the meaning of it. Not until yesterday he hadn't.
After the 'dirty deed' had been done, he walked back to the tavern not even bothering to return the axe to the soldier. He had dumped the bloodied weapon along the way, unsure of whether it had been closer to the camp or the village. Regardless, he doubted he'd ever see the bloody thing ever again. Not that he'd ever want to, it'd just be a reminder of the life he had taken.
Rowland had drawn up a bath for him in advance and had given him the rest of the bottle he had been unable to finish. Shirou had spent the next few hours drinking wine while trying to wash off the blood which had been clinging to his skin like dry paint. He had traced steel wool to scrub off the red liquid, but the damn blood never went away. He had kept on scrubbing until he had realized it was his own blood he was furiously trying to remove and the skin had since long been dissolved, revealing red muscle and yellow fat. When his bath water had turned red from the accumulated blood he had jumped out and washed off with the clean bucket he had drawn from the well. The water burned his self-caused injuries, but it helped in a way. It gave him focus and a way to remain in control, something he desperately needed at the moment.
The last thing he had done before going to bed was to throw his old clothes into the fireplace and watching them go up in flames and smoke. He couldn't wear them again, not after the blood of the merchant had been covered in them. He had fought wargs and traveled through time in them, he had seen them get torn apart only to fix them up again using thread and needle, but after killing a human being and getting them covered in blood couldn't wear them without feeling like he was covered in blood. Human blood.
"Oi, Laddie! Ya up yet?" Rowland's booming voice resonated from the staircase. Even with the door closed, Shirou could still hear the man like he was standing right next to him. It made the migraine even more unbearable than before.
"Yeah, I'm up!" He yelled back, wincing as the sound reverberated inside his skull like the thunder after a lightning bolt. It was a shame they didn't have aspirins in the middle ages. It would have been wonderful if he had something to take the pain away.
"Good, get your arse down here! We're havin' breakfast late today and unless ya get up now you'll be waitin' for lunch to get somethin' to eat." Shirou groaned at the response and tried to stand up. His legs were wobbly and his vision was a little unstable, but he was able to make it downstairs without incident, not counting the wine bottle he knocked over since he was actually able to catch it in time.
Rowland smiled when he saw the way he held his head, as if he was trying to stop the room from spinning.
"Your head feelin' alright there, lad?" The large man asked innocently, probably knowing that every sound was a living nightmare for Shirou. He was rewarded with Shirou's annoyed growl when his words proved too loud for the magus' headache.
"Yeah, sure. Do you have anything to cure headaches? Magecraft doesn't really help with hangovers." Hangovers and tumbling out of beds were two things he'd never thought he'd need help with, but fate had a way of proving him wrong.
"Aye, but it stinks worse than Geoffrey's breath after he's been drinkin'. Wait right here, Ah'll go and get it for ya." He said as he put a bowl of something on the table and slid it in Shirou's direction. In the dim candlelight all Shirou could see was a brown pudding with something which looked like honey in the center. It didn't look very tasty, and if his nose was correct, the honey was merely there to add something to the bland taste of the… stew.
Was something wrong with Rowland? For Rowland, the chef who was so proud of his culinary skills that he wouldn't even let Shirou take a single step into the kitchen, to make something as boring as this was rather strange. Even when the man was hungover and suffering a pounding headache the tavern owner was able to cook up something enjoyable for breakfast. This was not something he'd call enjoyable, but he wasn't complaining. Food would have tasted bland no matter what he ate, even as he took a bite from the grey pudding he knew it wouldn't have made a difference if the honey had been missing. He didn't even register the taste as he chewed and swallowed mechanically, each bite being processed in his mouth like a machine processed food in a factory.
Rowland came back, holding a pouch filled with what he assumed was herbs judging by the floral scent wafting for the leather. Sure enough, as the man poured a couple of herbs into a mug of steaming water the smell intensified until it was almost cloying.
"Here it is, lad. Don't bother smellin' it, ya already know it stinks enough to make ya puke." The gruff man said as he handed him the mug, scoffing when he saw the empty bowl of bland pudding. "Hungry, were ya?" he asked.
"I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. What was that? Some kind of local delicacy?" He doubted it was a delicacy, but he didn't want to be rude in case he was wrong.
"Bloody hell, lad! Ya really think we'd want to eat somethin' so disgustin' as a delicacy? Nah, it was gruel made from oats and as bland as it gets. Ah'd figured ya wouldn't want to eat somethin' fancy like ya normally do. Ah've never met a man in me life who wanted to eat something rewardin'after killin' a human for the first time in his life." Rowland said sadly, his age finally showing its years.
"You've seen many people who've recently killed for the first time?" Shirou asked curiously. The thought that others had gone through the same thing he was currently doing lit a spark of hope in his chest and he felt warm for the first time since he woke up.
"Aye, plenty o' them too. It's not somethin' easy like they tell ya in trainin', is it? Takin' a life, it leaves a scar on your soul. It keeps ya awake at night, wonderin' if the man ya killed really deserved dyin'. Ya spend your time punishin' yourself by eatin' less, drinkin' less and fuckin' less, as if ya not livin' your own life will make up for takin' someone else's." Rowland said, a grim frown on his face.
"The most important thin' to remember is that ya had to do it and there is nothin' wrong with takin' a life if it means savin' other lives. The merchant you killed was responsible for the deaths o' dozens o' people. He was a casualty o' war, and there will be plenty more to come before the invasion is over. Just make sure that you're savin' good people by killin' evil men, and not killin' good men by savin' evil people." The aging tavern owner said confidently as he started eating his own gruel, grimacing at the bland taste.
Shirou pondered over what he had been told. It had been very similar to what Kiritsugu had taught him, to save ten by killing one. It was short and simple, and the cold which had been freezing his body seemed to diminish slightly. He was following his father's footsteps, he was going to become a hero of justice one day. He had simply hit his first roadblock.
"Does it ever get easier?" He asked. The thought of killing someone again wasn't a pleasant one, but Rowland's words and Kiritsugu's lessons were helping him think again.
"Killin'?" Rowland said. "Sure it does, Ah've seen men who cried like babies after their first kill slaughter dozens o' men on the battlefield just months later. The problem is the guilt ya have to live with afterwards. If ya can live with the guilt then you're fine, but the problem is what you're supposed to do if you can't. Some turn to the church, some kill themselves. Some find a way to work off the stress they work up by findin' somethin' fun to play around with, but that's to each their own. What you're askin' is if killin' a man gets easier after you've done it once and the answer is yes." Rowland said as he finished his gruel, a constant grimace on his face. "Yuck! Ya better cheer up soon lad, because Ah'm sure as hell not makin' shite again. Tomorrow it's pork stew for breakfast." He grumbled as he plucked the dirty dishes form the table.
He wouldn't say he had cheered up, not after what he had done the night before, but he wasn't feeling quite as awful as he had done just minutes earlier. The feeling of guilt was still there, but it wasn't the crippling weight he had been under since he woke up.
"I'm looking forward to it." Shirou said and he genuinely did. Nothing would come from moping over his loss of innocence. He was about to fight a war, even if he wasn't going to be in the heart of the battlefield. Killing would be a part of it all, even if he hated the act of it. If he had to dirty his hands to make sure the village of Blackbay was safe then he would do it, because that's what Kiritsugu would have done.
"Ya better lad, Ah'm cookin' one of the pigs ya brought back from shamblefields. Old Henry gave us one o' the sows as a reward for buyin' 'em, the softie even tried to make it sound as if the pig was too small for him to use. Good thing too, 'cause you've never eaten pork like Ah make 'em." He said from the kitchen. Judging by the sound of water splashing about, the man was cleaning the dishes. "The herbs Ah use are just perfect for pigs! Nothin' beats me when it comes to pork!" The tall man laughed from the kitchen. Shirou chuckled as he heard the man's words.
"I guess you're the king of pigs then, aren't ya?" Shirou called back and a loud laugh echoed from the kitchen. The hangover cure must have been working since it didn't feel like his eardrums were popping.
"True, but does that mean you're the king o' sheep?" Rowland asked. Looking back at Rowland, Shirou was confused by his words. Sheep? He had never said he was good at cooking sheep. He was good with fish and chicken, but sheep? Nope. He was about to ask the old man about it when he received his explanation. "Cause you're gonna feel mighty sheepish when ya realize you're not wearin' any clothes!" The tavern owner barked out, a boisterous laugh echoing in the empty tavern.
Looking down, Shirou realized the balding man was right. After he had torched his old clothes he had gone to sleep, but had forgotten to put on anything after he woke up. He was only wearing his underpants at the moment, black boxers which had been put through considerable wear and tear the last few weeks. Feeling his face heat up like a Christmas tree on Christmas eve, he raced back up to his room, Rowland's laughter following his quick retreat. Closing the door behind him, he thanked his lucky stars that the tavern had not opened yet. The first guests to arrive were usually women, sent by their husbands or fathers to give Rowland a part of the day's catch. If he had been seen in only his boxers he doubted he'd ever live it down. After the incident with Skullcrusher his reputation had been a bit in the dumps. Not in a bad way, considering he was still seen as the town's hero, but teasing remarks had become the norm rather than the exception whenever he spoke to a villager.
Sighing in relief over not being seen by anyone other than Rowland, he stalked over to the clothes he had been given by Ludvig the day before. Not that he was ungrateful for the gift, but the reason behind them was why he had preferred to keep his old clothes. Since he had burnt his school uniform to ashes the night before, he had no other option, but to wear the clothes Ludvig had graciously provided him.
The first thing he noticed was the color. It was all black, from the shirt and the leather tunic to the trouser and boots made from thicker and harder leather. Not a single drab of white or red, the only exception was a dragon outlined with blue thread, made from fabric on the left side of his chest, right where his heart should be. The dragon itself was black, except for its blue eyes. What the dragon represented he didn't know, but he was betting on it having some sort of deep symbolic meaning.
He thought it looked cool so he kept it on. No point in removing it if he liked it and he could always ask Rowland or Vortimer about it later.
The trousers were more or less what he was used to wearing so putting them on was rather easy. Put your feet in the leggings and pull up and then secure with a primitive belt, it was no big deal for him who had spent his life wearing pants (That sentence sounded a lot weirder than it was supposed to). The problem he had with the pants was the fact that they were rather baggy. It took him a while to understand that he needed to secure them inside his boots to stop them from flapping around each time he took a step. Even then he had to cut some of the excess fabric away to make them fit properly. The shirt, made from linen and remarkably thin, was also quite easy to squeeze into at first, but proved to be a bit problematic, seeing as it was oversized and he had to roll the sleeves of the shirt up in order to make use of his hands. The tunic followed the same function, but he had to secure the tunic with another belt, this one more intricate and decorated than the one for his pants. Why the belt for his tunic was more important than the belt for his pants he did not know, but Ludvig would probably say it was for some pompous reason and he really didn't look forward to seeing that man. At least the tunic had a series of silver buttons so he could close it properly. In that way it resembled a vest more than tunic.
He could tell right from the start that these clothes weren't new and they weren't meant for him. The shirt was somewhat too large for him and the trousers were much too baggy for them to be meant for a child. It could be the norm for the Middle Ages, seeing as having something tailored would have cost more than they could afford, but he couldn't see Ludvig being a cheapskate when it came to boosting morale. If Shirou was right about the man then he would either not pay at all or make sure he got the full set. Buying whatever he found didn't seem to suit the Commander's image, not when he had been so adamant in turning Shirou into the army's 'saint'. Most likely the clothing came from some local noble who didn't have any use of them and would be happy to make room for newer clothing.
Well, one man's trash is another man's treasure.
Feeling confident he wasn't wearing anything incorrectly, he walked back downstairs.
…Only to be greeted by Vortimer talking to a frowning Rowland.
"Did I miss anything?" He asked the duo, unsure of what was happening.
The two men turned to him and Vortimer's smiling face appeared rather dim. "Quite a bit, I'm afraid. Ludvig summoned us to the war council this morning, but when you didn't show he decided to continue regardless. We have a lot to discuss, but little time to do it in." The knight said grimly, but his smile returned when he noticed Shirou's new outfit. "I see you finally managed to wear something other than those rags you called clothes. Good thing too, traveling to the western forest with a beggar would not have been a pleasant journey." He joked and Rowland reluctantly joined in.
"So what did Ludvig talk about? Was it about the soldiers attacking the supply chains?" Vortimer had been ordered to clear out the Cornish forces disrupting their deliveries and Shirou had been assigned as his subordinate. Last time they had spoken to Ludvig they had been ordered to leave as soon as possible so that probably meant leaving today or tomorrow.
"Yes and no, with emphasis on both. He told me that we are supposed to depart before dawn tomorrow at the latest, and he has given me a total force of over four-hundred soldiers. Seeing as I have two companies under my command I'd figure you would be in command of the vanguard, Captain Emiya. Would that be agreeable to you?" Sir Vortimer asked and Shirou couldn't help but feel a hint of pride at being given such an important role, aside from the archers he had trained.
"Of course, I'd be happy to, as long as we go through to plan beforehand. I'm having a hard time keeping track of all the signals and what they mean." He had been taught all the different signals used under the course of battle, from the trumpets to the flags being waved. The knights who had taught him were old and stern swordsmen, raised from birth for the battlefield. While they disliked teaching some no-name child when they could have been practicing their swordsmanship, they were better teachers than Geoffrey who skipped important parts of the lessons he was supposed to be giving.
"Yes, that would be prudent. Your second-in-command told me you do not possess any armor of your own so I asked a blacksmith to forge some basic armor for you. While a full set of chain mail or plate armor would be preferred, I'm afraid that would take time and resources we do not currently possess. Chainmail and plate armor are expensive and time consuming, coupled with the lack of blacksmiths in the army and it appears you'll have to make do for now." Vortimer informed him and Shirou felt shocked at the gesture. He had already prepared himself for the thought of fighting in his normal clothes with only reinforcement to protect him since forging armor took a lot of time and there were a lot of soldiers who needed armor more than he did.
"Thank you, but you didn't need to do that. I'm perfectly fine without armor and I'm sure there are plenty of people who could use the protection better than I would." He explained politely and Vortimer scowled at his answer. It was an odd thing to see on the face of the usually jolly knight.
"Armor is the second most important thing to bring into battle after your weapon. Without armor the odds of being run through by a spear or sword increases tenfold, something which is unacceptable in our situation." At Shirou's confused look the knight sighed in frustration. "Please tell me you realize why we cannot afford to fall on the battlefield."
"Uh, because people die when they are killed?" He said, unsure of the actual reason why. If he died saving the village then he wouldn't have any regrets about it. His answer only seemed to frustrate the knight.
"Yes and if we die then the men under our command would lose morale and break formation, resulting in a ruined flank which in turn means the enemy can strike us in our weakened state. Captains and Commanders are more than just soldiers on the battlefield, they're beacons of hope. As long as they stand tall the men behind them will follow. If they die then the men will lose their bravery and fall into disarray. That's why kings and nobles on the battlefields always wear distinct armor and are protected at all costs. If the leaders fall then the battle is lost, and you are one of the unofficial leaders, saint 'Shiro Emija'." He lectured Shirou, using the false name Ludvig had created as a final nail in the coffin. It seemed like such a rude and vindictive thing to do, very out of character for Vortimer to use the rumors surrounding him to make sure his opinion was heard.
"Is something wrong?" Shirou asked, changing the subject. The knight was acting weird and he seemed very annoyed for some reason.
"What do you mean?" Vortimer asked in return. He didn't seem very used to being angry, that was for sure. Unlike Rowland and Ludvig who were able to switch from furious to calm in less than a second, Vortimer seemed to be the type to simmer in anger for a long time. Either he didn't have the talent for being a merchant (something he and Shirou would have shared) or he simply didn't have the same experience as the older men.
"Well, you seem agitated for some reason. Did something happen at the war council?" It wouldn't have been the first time Ludvig had made some outrageous demand and pissed off some noble with his words. He just didn't think Vortimer would have been so affected by Ludvig's words. He always seemed so calm and collected.
"I… I apologize, my temper must have gotten the best of me. I can't tell you exactly what is the matter, but the Commander informed us that the duke would be arriving in a few days and… Well, I'm not on good terms with the duke at the moment so I must have let my emotions run a bit too wild." Vortimer apologized and the polite knight Shirou had grown used to seeing was back, though the smile on his face was rather weak in comparison to the large grins he was accustomed to.
"It's nothing, but does that mean you actually know the duke? As in Duke Vortigern?" Shirou asked and Vortimer grimaced at the question. Shirou realized only after he had asked it that Vortimer was on bad terms with the duke. Asking something like that was probably very rude. "I'm sorry you don't need to answer."
"Thank you, Sir Emiya. I'm afraid I can't tell you at the moment, though it's probably considered an open secret by now. You'll have to wait and find out later, but I do need to get back on topic. You really do need to wear armor, both for your own sake and for the men under your command. Even if you're assigned to the archers, you still run the risk of saxon forces breaking away from their formation and attacking you. You are responsible for the lives under your command, don't throw away their efforts simply because you want to be stubborn." Vortimer said tiredly, running his hands through his blond hair.
"I guess you're right. Okay, I'll wear the armor if it means that much for the army. Where is it?" There was no point arguing. Even if he didn't think he should be wearing the armor, if it meant the soldiers would be at more confident in their formation then he would wear it.
"It's at the blacksmith, but it's nowhere near finished. They're still forging all the necessary equipment for the war so it'll take a few weeks before the pieces for your armor is ready. You'll have to try and keep yourself intact without armor and hope for the best for now. This is the thing I want to ask you though, how good are you with a sword?" The question was random, but understandable. The thing which confused Shirou was why he was asking it now. Ludvig had said he was a 'capable' swordsman after seeing him do a few exercises, but he hadn't been able to spar with anyone ever since he had arrived in this age. The last time he had been able to have a proper spar was with Fuji-nee two days before he had been kidnapped and thrown into the middle ages.
"I'm decent, I guess." He wasn't being humble. He had seen the Sir William practice his swordsmanship and while he was pretty sure he could hold his own against the former knight, without reinforcement he was destined to lose due to the difference in strength and skill.
"Decent is better than nothing I suppose, but if you are to take command of a company then you'll need to be able to hold your own in battle. Would it be alright if you sparred with one of my men? I'd like to get a measure of your skill before we depart." Vortimer asked and a thrill of excitement rushed through his body. A spar with a real soldier?
"Of course, that would be great! When and where will we spar?" He asked, failing to contain his newfound energy. Vortimer chuckled at his exhilaration.
"Right now if possible, my men are waiting outside and they have been feeling rather bored lately. A spar would do wonders to ease their boredom." The knight smiled as he walked to the door. "I'm looking forward to seeing your skill with a blade." He said before leaving shirou alone in the tavern.
AOB
The fight was very disappointing. His opponent wasn't a knight or a veteran soldier. He had been a mercenary before Vortimer had recruited him and it showed. His strikes were fast for a normal person, but were way too slow to hit someone who sparred with the Tiger of Fuyuki. Even his skill with a blade was subpar, much too rough and unbalanced to be considered a genuine style. All the signs pointed to him having started swinging sword one day and having some modicum of talent for it, but never having the energy or motivation to develop anything out of that talent. His experience with a sword was probably the only thing keeping Shirou from ending the spar in less than thirty seconds. Unlike him, Shirou was not used to swinging a real blade at a human being and he had to stop himself from attacking out of fear for hurting the man.
Whenever Shirou left an opening the man would lunge for it, regardless of how obvious the trap really was. The man had the basics down in terms of defense and offense, but other than that he was not the swordsman Shirou had been expecting. Anyone with a decent grounding in kendo would know such a lazy feint when they saw it, but Shirou's opponent hadn't studied kendo, or any style of fencing for that matter it seemed. Shirou didn't even need to use the wooden shield he had been given most of the time, instead opting to sidestep the attacks with minimal effort.
In the end he had simply shoved the pommel into the chainmail-covered stomach of the armored soldier and let the impact do the rest. The sound of vomiting echoing inside the opponent's helm told him the spar was over and he removed the thick jacket which served as light armor.
The point of the entire duel had been to test Shirou's skill with a blade and to do that he had to use a real steel sword. His opponent therefore had to wear a complete suit of armor to minimize the risk of fatal injury whereas Shirou wore a thick jacket stuffed with tanned leather to protect himself against the opponent's dulled blade.
He hung the jacket on the fence surrounding the makeshift dueling ring and took a deep gulp of water from a canteen. He ignored the stunned looks the soldiers around him were giving him, they were probably farmers or carpenters and had never seen a real swordsman before. Seeing a child take down a full grown man in armor was probably an impressive sight all in its own, but when they knew the man was an experienced fighter the feat was made even more amazing.
"If that is what you consider to be decent then I shudder to think of what you consider to be good. That was some pretty impressive skill you showed there." Vortimer whistled in admiration. "You're almost skilled enough to be a knight, though the stance you took was most unusual. May I ask where you learned how to wield a sword?" the knight asked curious.
"My neighbor taught me most of it, though my dad was the one who taught me the footwork." Amongst other techniques, Shirou added in his head. They had just captured one traitor, it wouldn't be wise to reveal all his tricks when the risk of there being another spy close by existed.
"Well, I have to admit that you're a skilled swordsman, something we sorely lack at the moment. I'm almost tempted to demand Ludvig assign you to my company for the entire invasion. It was as if you knew what the man was going to do before he did it." For all of his flamboyant acts, Vortimer was sharp. Shirou's style was focused on trapping his opponent and controlling the flow of battle. It had been a trick Kiritsugu had told him about the day he had first defeated Fuji-nee in a spar. If the opponent was faster, stronger and more skilled than you then you would require other means to win. Tricking them into attacking what looks like an opening while turning it into a trap was the most basic of tools he had developed over the years and it was his most useful in beating Fuji-nee. She might be the strongest kendo practitioner amongst the living, but she had never been able to figure out if his openings were fake or real. And like he had said, his dad had taught him the footwork, the part of his body where he actually needed a stable stance.
If Fuji-nee had been unable to defeat his fake-opening style then he doubted some farmer-turned-soldier would have much luck. A knight on the other hand… It looked like Shirou needed to increase his training if he was to have any chance to spar with a real knight.
"You flatter me, but I'd prefer to stay with the archers for now. It's what I've been training for the entire time I was here so I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to Ludvig." He said respectfully, careful not to sound too demanding.
"I understand." Vortimer acknowledged. "But that is a matter for another time. You have probably already figured out why I wanted to see you spar, am I correct?" The knight asked, confident that Shirou had been smart enough to realize the point of the duel.
Shirou had indeed realized why Vortimer had wanted him to spar with his men, or at least he thought he had. The vanguard was in charge of leading an army, though a vanguard was not usually needed when the force was as small as four-hundred men. Therefore it was safe to presume that it would be the vanguard who would be first to face battle against the enemy. If Shirou was to be in command of the vanguard then he would need to be able to fight with a sword until the main force arrived to help them.
But why would he need a vanguard with a force of only four-hundred? It was reasonable if it was closer to a thousand, but four-hundred? Obviously Vortimer had some sort of plan, but Shirou couldn't figure out what it was.
"Why do you need a vanguard?" He asked and Vortimer's smile spread from ear to ear, figuratively speaking.
"I'm once again impressed by your intelligence and insight, sir Emiya. I didn't think you'd be able to see through my plan so far with so few a clue. As you surmised, a Commander needs to be able to fight with a sword if they command the vanguard, but with such a small force a vanguard would be insignificant in its small size. However, in this case the plan I have created relies on the Cornish forces doing what they've always done: attacking our supply chain to weaken us. So my idea was to disguise the vanguard as servants meant to deliver those supplies and have the attackers fight the vanguard…" Vortimer explained.
"Locking them in place long enough for the main force to engage them." Shirou finished for him. "Because if we waltzed through the forest with the entire army the Cornish forces would retreat and be more careful in picking their targets. However that would mean the vanguard would be smaller than the Cornish attackers, much smaller in fact. Most caravans aren't larger than twenty people and the soldiers in the forest were somewhere around a hundred. Even if you're just a few minutes away there's no way twenty men will hold off a hundred long enough for you to arrive." He pointed out. Even with Shirou using Magecraft to back them, five against one was impossible without some pretty damn good tactics and strategy. Fighting from a castle might be possible, but out in the open? That was merely assisted suicide.
"Yes, I thought so as well until I spoke with Sir Edmund. But it would be better if I had a map to show you with. Can we go inside again so I can show you what I mean to do?" the knight asked and they once more entered the tavern. After having a short spar with someone of mediocre skill, Shirou felt slightly disappointed at the lack of actual challenge. Having spent so much time forging weapons and training archery, his skill with a sword had not been used much lately. However he knew better than to put his own amusement before what needed to be done. If Vortimer wanted him to go inside so they could go through the plan then that was what they were going to do.
After a few minutes of shuffling around and finding a table good enough to unfold the large map on, Shirou was staring at what appeared to be the western parts of Albion, with Blackbay being nowhere to be seen. Exactly how far was it to the western forest?
"According to the merchant, the Cornish forces are located in the eastern parts of the Western Forest. They wait near the fork of the roads and attack the caravans who travel through the forest. As you said, caravans rarely exceed twenty people and they might get suspicious if a caravan of a hundred men comes close. So my plan is this: you and twenty men will travel in one caravan while another caravan of another twenty men travels behind you. Two caravans meeting on the road is not rare and even quite common in times of war. Instead of supplies the cargo in the wagons will be more men, hopefully another ten in each wagon if possible. That would bring the vanguard closer to eighty men, a more realistic number if you're fighting the Cornish bandits. If you're attacked then you will fight back and kill as many as possible until the reinforcements arrive which should take less than a few minutes. Meanwhile, I and the Lions will flank Cornwall's forces and seal off their escape route. The only advice I have to you besides not to die is to try and capture their leaders if possible. Knights and Commanders tend to hold more information than mere infantry." Vortimer explained quickly without pause.
It was a simple plan, but simple plans were usually the best. Kiritsugu had told him never to use complex strategies unless they were absolutely necessary for the situation. 'Always overthink, never overcomplicate' had been Kiritsugu's motto, a motto one could tell from the way he executed his missions without failure. Kiritsugu could predict the actions and emotions of his target and plan accordingly, but he never spent more energy than needed when hunting. Creating a plan with multiple scenarios in mind was good, but creating a plan which relied on the actions of the several factors was doomed to fail right from the start. Planning fifty steps ahead was good in Saturday animes, but in real life it was a good way to find yourself wondering what happened when you lose yourself in the different scenarios.
In other words; Keep it simple!
This was about as simple as it could get. Shirou would the bait along with a small vanguard while Vortimer ambushed the bandits from behind. Judging by the map, Shirou and Vortimer would have to split up about three kilometers south of the forest. Shirou would take the eastern road and head into the 'ambush' while Vortimer would take the western road and flank the Cornish soldiers. The thing which worried Shirou was the soldiers he'd be commanding.
"Did Jerad…" saying the name of the man he had killed brought a bitter taste to his tongue. "…Say anything about the different kinds of soldiers he brought into Albion?" If Shirou was to fight the Cornish forces using the disguise of a caravan then he'd be forced to fight with infantry only. Caravans and merchants could not afford a large retinue of knights and cavalry to follow them around. If he was lucky then he might be able to bring as many as ten cavalrymen with him, but anymore and the Cornish soldiers would get suspicious of the mysteriously large caravan with a unusually large guard. If that was the case then he'd like to know just what kind of enemies he'd be fighting… Killing…
"According to the merchant, most of them were simple infantry albeit heavily armored ones. There were very few heavy cavalry troops, but plenty of light cavalry. If they used the armor taken from Sir Williams then I think the forces you'd be fighting would be made up of mostly infantry with a small force of light cavalry and a commanding core made up from heavy cavalry. The dense forest makes archery difficult so very few archers would be employed. You're thinking about the structure of their forces, are you not?" Vortimer said interested.
"How long do you think the vanguard can hold out against a hundred infantry and cavalry? The reinforcements would have to be very close to the battle in order to be able to make it in time and help us. Five minutes would the absolute limit, any more than that and we'll be slaughtered even with Magecraft." Shirou said, looking at the map. What kind of terrain would there be on a forest road? boulders and mountains? Fallen trees and roots?
Shirou believed he could take care of himself against people older and larger than he was, his fight with Scarface had proven that, but he was under no illusions of being able to beat back an entire army with a force of lesser quantity and quality. The dense forest would mean the enemy wouldn't be able to fire their arrows, but the same could be said for him. His normal arrows wouldn't do much of they could hit the target unless they were standing ten meters away and his RPG-arrows (He really needed a good name for them) would be useless once the opposing forces clashed. So he would be forced to use reinforcement and his skill with a sword to fight, but that wouldn't let them beat a force larger and better equipped than they were. They would need more men in case Vortimer wasn't able to make it in time.
"Do you think we can add a third caravan just in case? If the third caravan hangs back a bit further they'll think they haven't even seen each other yet. We could add another forty men that way." Shirou suggested. If that was the case then the two small armies would be of somewhat equal size and it would increase their chances of survival in case Vortimer was delayed. Getting lost in the woods wasn't very uncommon after all and it would take time to march through a forest with several hundred men in tow.
"It might alert the enemy, but… with any luck they might assume the caravans have sought safety in numbers. It's not uncommon for merchants to pool their resources and higher a larger amount of guards than they would be able to do separately. Now that war is upon us, it wouldn't be odd for the merchants to feel insecure while traveling the trading routes." Vortimer said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Very well, a third caravan will be added to vanguard, but it will travel behind the other two in order to keep the disguise."
Shirou sighed in relief. The thought of fighting and killing brought a chill to his bones, but at least he wouldn't be hopelessly outnumbered this way. Unlike what he had been taught by Kiritsugu, now he'd be fighting as a part of a large group, but the enemy he'd be fighting against was much larger than what his father usually fought. His father could destroy an entire army if he wanted to, but through careful planning and dirty tactics. Destroying their food supply, spreading false rumors and poisoning their water were his basic methods, but his father had other more creative techniques to pick his targets apart piece by piece.
The difference was the instruments at their disposal. The modern equipment Kiritsugu used wouldn't be invented for another one-thousand five-hundred years or so and Shirou wasn't quite as skilled as his father when it came to assassinations considering he had never killed another human being until the night before. If he was to help the people of Blackbay, or Albion and Britannia in general, then he would have to work with larger groups of people, maybe even nobles. Hence the reason he was in the vanguard and trying to improve the chances of survival of the people around him. Not to mention improving his chances of finding a way home as well.
"Thanks, I appreciate the reinforcements. I don't know if I would be able to do much in a forest when my archery is next to useless, or at the very least severely limited." He said truthfully. Vortimer seemed to disagree with him however, as he shook his head with a smile.
"Not at all, asking you to fight a superior force outside of your element is my failure as a Commander." Vortimer assured him. "Speaking of fighting, there is one thing I want to ask you. Do you possess a sword by any means? I've only seen you wield that monster you call a bow, but a swordsman of your skill must have a sword somewhere." He pointed out as he looked around the tavern, as if he would be able to find a sword lying around a dusty old hut.
"I do… Well, in a way at least. I use my Magecraft to create a sword through projection so I don't own a real sword, but I never felt the need to get a real one." He answered truthfully. It wasn't like projection was a very advanced branch of magecraft so it wouldn't be too much of a secret. He'd be fine as long as he didn't reveal how much he depended on that particular branch of thaumaturgy.
"But projection requires prana, no? And you use prana for reinforcement and other Magecraft? It seems to me that it would be a waste of magical energy to spend it on something as basic as a sword when you can just use a real one. Wouldn't that leave more power for your other Magecraft?" Vortimer pointed out and Shirou paused. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.
"But forging a sword could take weeks considering the work the blacksmiths need to do first, not to mention the lack of steel we're facing right now. Where would I find a sword when everyone is looking for something to fight with?" He asked and even though he already knew the answer, he was curious as to how Vortimer would answer.
Vortimer merely smiled and pulled something wrapped in cloth from behind his cloak.
"That's what you have friends for, Sir Shirou." he said as he unraveled the package. Shirou took one look at the contents and his eyes widened to the size of saucers.
"Since its previous owner won't be needing it anymore, I took the liberty of bringing it here. It's a beautiful blade, is it not?" The knight said as he put the sword on the table.
There, unsheathed in all of its shimmering glory, laid the sword of Sir Williams. A hand-and-a-half sword, with a blade as pristine as silver and the pommel resembling a crescent moon with the tips almost grazing each other in a very near circle. The blade had a length of ninety-three centimeters and was little more than five centimeters in width. The handle was made of wood from an apple tree, covered with black leather and was almost twenty-five centimeters, pommel to cross-guard. It had been forged by the finest blacksmiths centuries ago and the sheer presence that it demanded was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He knew the name of this sword very well, more than any factory-made blade he had bought in his own time. The name of this sword was…
"Curtana."