The organized pulse of the drumbeats had disintegrated some time ago, as both sides' formation's crumbled into an all-out meelee. Turaz had the misfortune to have been placed in the front of his assault column; he had never been more scared in his life when he saw the veritable wall of Verâdîm gunfire explode in their general direction. Lord of Heaven, have mercy! Almost everyone else in the front was dead. The arquebusiers and crossbowmen behind him had fired back, and then the two lines slammed into each other. Turaz's pike had broken in two, or maybe had been cut in two, it didn't matter now. It had been an eternity of a few terrifying seconds as he scrambled to draw his dagger. The screech of metal on metal had sounded, something knocked him off his feet with the force of a battering ram. Fuck! He wasn't sure if he shouted it in his head or out loud. Everything was blurring, he couldn't breathe. Turaz coughed, and tried to get his lungs moving again.

Aha! There was something in Turaz's hand; stick or spear, he didn't care which. No, that wasn't a stick, that was metal. That was a greave. That was someone's leg. Turaz looked up and saw an armored man above, struggling with some other soldier. Green! The armored man had a green surcoat; he was the enemy; a Verâdîm. Somehow, Turaz's dagger was in the back of his knee, through a gap in the plates; the man screamed and fell. He jammed the dagger through the gap between the helmet and gorget, again, and again, until he was gone. Good God... Turaz didn't have long to reflect on the dead, nor his deeds, he still needed a weapon. There, in the dead soldier's hands, a halberd. Halberds were good.

Turaz picked it up, and got to his feet. The man he had saved was gone or dead, maybe both. Time seemed to flow into nothingness; all that existed was the battle. Enemies came, enemies went, his hands were red and sticky. There was no telling what was going on anymore. He yelled in alarm as a something bounced off his breastplate again, but nowhere near as strong as earlier. Another man with a green badge was attacking, sword in hand. Idiot! Turaz scolded in his head, as the man slashed at him. He brought the halberd up to turn away the next blow, and headbutted the swordsman. The peaked visor of Turaz's helmet drew blood, and sent the enemy reeling back. Then the swordsman's head came half-off, and his body was shoved to the ground. Turaz turned to the newcomer in shock.

His armor was a dull, metallic grey, and edged in gold. The man wore no surcoat, but on his breastplate was emblazoned a five-petaled blue flower, surrounded by a white field. Loiar! He had a real knight fighting alongside him, sworn to the King's house itself! A primal instinct made Turaz duck, as something flew over his head. He lurched backwards, now side-by-side with the knight, turning to face yet another terrifying sight: A very tall soldier, clad in shining silver armor, dented in a dozen places from arquebus shots, still partially adorned with the green of Verâd. Somewhere behind the circular eye holes of his helmet, there was a cold glare. He was bringing around a long warhammer for another swing. Where the fuck did he come from?!

The knight readied his sword, gripping it with both hands, and prepared for combat. Turaz continued to backpedal, searching for anything that could make a difference in this fight. Follow your nose! something inside his mind commanded. But there was too much- Wait, there it was. The telltale clash of metal sounded behind him, his savior knight had entered into battle with the towering menace. There wasn't much time... Turaz slammed the spike of his halberd through the back of another green-coated soldier, feeling the shriek of pierced metal and hearing the shriek of a dead man. There! Turaz prayed to God that the match hadn't gone out. Heaven was with him, the match yet burned! Turaz hoisted the arquebus, and stuck the halberd into the ground. If this isn't loaded... The silver knight had knocked the grey knight on his back, and was readying his hammer. The one on the ground, his ally, seemed too dazed to raise his sword. It was now or never. Turaz dashed towards the tall one, jammed the arquebus into the left eye hole of the helmet.

He pressed the firing lever against the stock, and a blast of smoke obscured the hammer-wielding man. By the time it had cleared, the body was laying flat on the ground. The grey knight seemed to stare blankly for a moment, before rising up from the ground. He nodded to Turaz; both looked around for the next opponent.

Suddenly, a golden sound filled the air, a triumphant, marvelous roar of a horn. A distant thunder of hooves rose through the air. “Impeccable timing.” The knight said breathlessly, to no one in particular. The green and silver-clad soldiers began to fall back, some in organized retreats, some dropping their weapons and running. And there it was, in the distance:

A white and yellow flag, with the blue flower of Loiar. Prince Reshîv's banner!

Several hundred of the finest knights and lords in the Kingdom of Athair, bearing down on the Verâdîm army, led by the famed Prince himself. Turaz dropped the arquebus, and retrieved the halberd from where he had stuck it. The battle was done. The brave soldiers charged after the retreating enemy, the smart ones took their rest.

“You there.” Spoke a commanding voice. Turaz turned; it was the knight sworn to house Loiar. The knight unlatched his visor, and pulled it up. “What is your name?” He asked. Turaz shivered when he looked into those pale grey eyes.

“Turaz, sir.” Replied he, nervously. “Of Surana.”

“A commoner?” Asked the grey-armored man.

“Aye, sir.” Affirmed Turaz, nodding quickly.

“Then know this, Turaz of Surana: You have saved the life of Aharôs Loiar.” Oh fuck. The fucking firstborn son of the King! Aharôs Loiar! Reshîv's own brother! Turaz's mind reeled at the magnitude of what he'd done. He should have known by that blue flower! “Kneel.” Stated Prince Aharôs. Turaz dropped to his knees, half out of his own shock. He still held the halberd. “Turaz of Surana: I, Aharôs of house Loiar, do-” Then his voice shifted into a woman's: “...said, get up, you lazy lout!”

Wait, what?

Turaz opened his eyes, blinking in the bright morning light. Overhead, his wife scowled at him. “You were supposed to be awake an hour ago.” She scolded. The knight looked around, and was briefly surprised the battlefield had been replaced by his chambers in the inn. Goddamned dreams, cursed he. The former commoner always found himself dreaming of the day he was knighted; the day the heir to the Kingdom almost died, had it not been for him. No one else ever knew.

“Lord of Heaven have mercy, woman!” Groggily protested Turaz. Kaira meant well, of course, she always did. “Can't you let a man sleep?”

“No time for sleeping, porter. You have to talk to the mayor.” Right, the mayor of Sturaj. Sturaj was the purpose of Nikadîon's vigil, a river port near enough to the sea to be useful, but inland enough to be safe from the worst of storms. The knight pushed himself up.

“Figures I'd wake up late. Something always goes wrong...” He sighed, thinking of ways to delay his entrance into the cold morning air. Kaira snorted, and tossed his clothes at him.

“Without me, your life would be messier than the wharf back home.” She stated, referring to their native Surana, capital of all foods containing crab. “And it'd all smell twice as worse.”

“I don't doubt it.” Agreed Turaz, as he forced himself out onto the floor; it felt more frozen than the North in winter. The next few minutes were spent rushing, as the knight practically jumped into his clothes and fumbled around with the variety of layers a proper noble wore. As Turaz stumbled down the stairs into the inn's common room, Kaira yelled after him:

“Apologize to the mayor for being late!”

“What am I, five?” Shot back Turaz, rushing out the front door. Whatever Kaira's response was, he didn't hear it. For the best, I suppose. The knight looked around, getting his bearings. He was on the aptly-named Fifth Street, five streets in from the river, and the city hall was on High Street, some ten blocks distant. I could walk there... Why not? Sturaj wasn't so different from Surana, except for a slightly better smell; or perhaps a slightly less offensive smell was more accurate a description. Like any city, Sturaj was marked with the stench of mankind. Shit, death, and smoke: the three harbingers for human settlement. It was a familiar mix of scents to him.

The sun that Celestia, the alicorn princess, supposedly brought up each day was already an hour or more into its flight across the sky, and the city was rising with it. Another thirty minutes or so, and the streets would be filled with commonfolk going about their business. Turaz still considered himself a commoner at heart, despite his knighthood. His whole life had changed on that battlefield, Prince Aharôs had given him a chance to be something greater. Much more importantly, Prince Aharôs had given his children a future he and Kaira would have never dreamed of. For that alone, Turaz swore to himself, to the Prince, and to God that his loyalty would be to no one else. Knighthood was no small matter, though, especially to a man as serious as Aharôs. Turaz's life was a never-ending series of tasks and dangers he had to overcome, leading to far more absences from his family than there had been while he was carrying boxes in Surana. Of course, it's nowhere near as bad as serving as a simple soldier. First, sent to Tilai, then to Equestria, then to Verâd. Six years, I only came back once.

That was not his proudest act. But then, what choice did he have? Times had been tough, the pay had been good, and really, what was the chance that he'd die among thousands? With two other mouths to feed, and a third on the way... Damned fool, that's what I was then. At least it paid off, against all odds.

“Out of the way!” Shouted a cart driver from behind, breaking Turaz's musings. He turned to face the offender, and put on his best unamused face. “Oh, t-terribly sorry, sir! Continue on.” The driver bowed his head and did not look up, once he had caught a glimpse of the white shield and blue flower sewn on the left side of Turaz's coat, that denoted him as one of House Loiar's personal bannermen. Rank certainly had its privileges. Eventually, Turaz had fought his way through the growing crowd, to the aptly-named High Street, sitting at the top of what had once been a ridge in days ancient and dark. There, looming like the strange child of a manor and a castle, was the town hall. Turaz walked straight in through the opened doors, looking every part the royal official.

“Sir, welcome to Sturaj. I am Desîf, secretary to the mayor.” Said someone, another official probably crawling their way up the rank of command. He was a small man, balding and wearing some kind of lenses over his eyes, seated behind a desk. Obviously, it was his job to deal with new arrivals.

“Yes, yes.” Dismissed Turaz, throwing his cloak over a shoulder. “I am Sir Turaz of Surana, sent on behalf of the Prince.”

“Prince Reshîv sent you?” Asked Desîf, confused. “But he's in Verâd...”

“The Crown Prince. Aharôs.” Turaz corrected himself, using the proper but archaic title of his liege. No one says Crown Prince anymore. No one born after 1412, that is...

“Oh, of course, our watchful protector in Nikadîon, defending us against storm and rain and the occasional Equestrian.” Nodded the official. He leaned forward, looking curious. “Tell me, do the Blackwinds still reside up in that gloomy place?”

“They do.” The knight replied, looking up at nothing. “We've got two Blackwinds, and six other assorted Equestrians.”

“Reclusive bunch, aren't they?” Desîf said, more like a statement than a question. He carefully wrote out something on the ledger before him, in the bold, clean strokes of a calligrapher.

“Well, Queen Tempest has always been a more quiet girl...” Agreed Turaz. “Difficult, irritating, but quiet.” Impossible little pony, the knight grumbled in his head.

“You must be close to our Equestrian visitors, then.” The official guessed, finishing his writing. “Perhaps you could tell me more about them, sometime. But, you have business with the mayor.” Desîf gestured to a door to the side of his desk; Turaz nodded and departed. The manor-castle was stone on the outside, but made of wood within. It was much warmer than Nikadîon, in both temperature and design. This place is more of a home than a fortress. Aharôs would hate it. Beyond the hallway was a larger room, with a larger desk, and a larger chair. In that chair, of course, was the mayor, Jai Pashal, a middle-aged man with a long face.

“Hail, Mayor Pashal.” Turaz bowed as he entered.

“Hail.” Responded the Mayor, inclining his head as well, but not standing. “What brings a knight of Loiar to my city?” No pleasantries? Thank God.

“Forgive me for my lateness, Mayor. Prince Aharôs is calling on you to fulfill your oath of loyalty. We're going west, into Verâd, and ending this rebellion once and for all.” Stated Turaz, as plainly as he could make it. This seemed to amuse Mayor Pashal greatly.

“What makes Aharôs think he can end the war any sooner than his much more capable brother can?” Questioned Pashal incredulously. “Prince Reshîv is the one to be ending this war, not Aharôs.”

“Prince Reshîv is about to be attacked by the Verâdîm lords that swore loyalty to him.” Said Turaz. The Mayor sighed.

“Predictable. It looks like we'll need Aharôs after all. Perhaps he can distract the Verâdîm long enough for Prince Reshîv to win the victories he needs.” Pashal replied, in a deriding tone.

“I find it troubling to see how little faith you have in our future king.” Turaz said, narrowing his eyes at the Mayor.

“I mean no disrespect,” Began Mayor Pashal, obviously meaning to disrespect, “but Aharôs is not exactly deserving of any faith.” We'll see about that. The knight felt his fingers brushing on a sword hilt that wasn't there; the habit of a someone who spent most of their time outside of cities, where weapons were not carried. “Nevertheless, I am not an oathbreaker. Aharôs will have Sturaj's troops, as many as can be spared.”

“Thank you for your cooperation. And it's Prince Aharôs.” Turaz notified the Mayor.

“And when a knight arranges to meet with me, I expect him not to be three quarters of an hour late.” Coldly answered Pashal. “You may go, sir.” Turaz bowed again, and went out the way he came in. All this just for a few words with the Mayor. Couldn't we have just sent a letter? Such things were not for a mere knight to decide, though. Aharôs wanted him to deliver the message in person, as befitting for the dignity of Jai Pashal's office. Politics, politics... Sighed Turaz. It always comes back to politics.

“That was a short meeting.” Desîf remarked, as Turaz came out.

“Not much had to be said.” Answered the knight. “Looks like Sturaj will be going off to war, Desîf. Best be prepared.”

“Oh, monstrous, monstrous!” Lamented the official, straightening his eye-lenses. “But, with summer soon upon us, it will be nice to get out of the city. As long as I don't get too close to the front lines, yes?”

“A wise course of action.” Turaz agreed, smiling. “The Prince will be taking the Blackwinds with him, you may be able to meet an Equestrian for yourself.” The Mayor's secretary looked thoughtful.

“I would not mind that at all. Until next time, Sir Turaz of Surana.” Desîf lowered his head respectfully; Turaz returned the motion.

“Until next time.” With that, the knight walked out the open doors, into the early morning sun. Even after those short few minutes, the city was noticeably more active than before. Turaz decided to take a longer way back to the inn, in case Kaira was still displeased with him. He'd have to keep an eye out for something nice for her, as this would be the place to find that something.

Sturaj was a city of merchants, though nowhere near as influential or wealthy as more southern ports, which themselves were nothing compared to the western ports beyond Lazkadai. But, this was a jumping-off point to get to Tashan, the port closest to Bôsamîon, the easternmost fortress below the Far North. Sturaj's main connection was to Vathshîn-Kur, the outpost on Athair's furthest holdings: the Barrier Islands. Said islands were about two hundred miles into the Eastern Sea, and had once been used to guard against alicorn retribution, a very real threat over a thousand years ago. Now, they would have to keep watch for Celestia's proclaimed vengeance, if it ever came.

Turaz saw many things as he walked through the city, none of which were out of the ordinary for Sturaj. Fish for sale, grain for sale, an old zosha for sale, not that anyone would buy the downtrodden beast for the price offered. Then, something happened that he was not expecting.

“You are Sir Turaz.” Said an unremarkable voice belonging to an unremarkable man. The knight stopped, and raised an eyebrow. Now who would recognize me?

“Yes?” He asked, curious at this strange encounter.

“One of Crown Prince Aharôs's own.” The man stated again.

“Do you have business with me?” Turaz questioned.

“Yes and no.” Replied the man. He was clad in plain grey and brown clothes, peasants' attire. The stranger was not very tall, but he was not very short either, and his hair was a shade somewhere between black and brown that was so common to the lowborn, Turaz included. “I would like business with your liege, if I might be so bold.” That caught Turaz off guard, almost as much as the man's strange introduction.

“But you're...” I was no better off than him once; give him a chance, Turaz. Talent isn't related to birth, after all. “What do you think you can offer Prince Aharôs?”

“Much and more.” The stranger proclaimed, in a reserved tone. “I've traveled all of Sarathûl, and even gone into Equestria.”

“You fought for the Blackwinds too?” That certainly elevated Turaz's opinion of this man. Veterans of the Equestria expedition were rare, for good reason. The stranger smiled, every so slightly.

“You could say that.” He nodded, before placing a hand on his chest. “But where are my manners? I am Sidâl, world traveler and studier.”

“And you already know me, Sidâl, though I know not how.” Admitted Turaz.

“You're quite famous in the circles I frequent.” I'm famous? That'd have to wait for later.

“What makes you think that Prince Aharôs would have need of your services... Whatever they may be?” Questioned the knight. Turaz was intrigued by this fellow, but one did not simply suggest themselves into being an adviser for the heir to the kingdom.

“These are turbulent times we live in, Sir Turaz. Cold winds howl in the Far North, dissent brews across the continent, the Emperor does not have a male heir, and most disturbingly, two great lights have been extinguished from the world.” Sidâl explained, calmly. Two great lights- No. There's no way he could-

“What do you know of what's happened in Equestria?” Turaz took a step closer, and lowered his voice. Again, he reached for a sword hilt that wasn't there.

“The Grey Shadow crossed the sea, good knight. Princess Celestia has called her realms to war, and means to carry through on her letter.” The unremarkable but curious man folded his hands. “I knew of this long before you or Aharôs found out. Affairs are so much easier when you have friends in distant lands... Even amongst those who would be your enemy.” He's a spy. Of course... World traveler with friends everywhere; he has to be a spy. A good one at that. Turaz narrowed his eyes. A good spy offering his services, one with at least a single source in Equestria. That was too great an opportunity to pass up.

“I think Prince Aharôs would be most interested in what you have to say, Sidâl. We ought to return to Nikadîon as soon as possible.”

“I am inclined to agree.” Nodded Sidâl. “Although, Prince Aharôs may be concerned that I managed to find out exactly where you'd be today. He might not like the idea of someone having access to such exact information.”

“It's a risk.” Turaz agreed. “But who ever got anywhere without taking a risk?”

“A true point, good knight. A true point.” Sidâl then bowed, and turned to leave. “I travel quickest alone, we shall meet again at Nikadîon.”

“Very well.” The knight continued on his way back to the inn. What a strange occurrence. Perhaps this trip wasn't a needless waste of time after all? There'd be only one way to find out, and that was to meet Sidâl again, and take him to Aharôs. Turaz got the eerie feeling that he was a pawn in someone else's game. This was just too convenient. There's always a plot to be found in the company of lords and princes. Always.

Author's note: This was supposed to be out a week ago, but then I took a vacation to the writing process. Then I got distracted with other affairs. But now I'm back, and things will continue as normal. This chapter was mostly filler (already resorting to filler on chapter 4, oh my), but Turaz is a vital character with vital perspective, who needed to be introduced sooner than later. Fear not, this is going somewhere. I'm looking forward to your comment, Nightwatcher!