Two weeks and two days since the resplendent green of Warwickshire was behind her. The long road to Dover eerily uneventful. The channel crossing on the other hand had been treacherous, surely a sign of things to come Cassandra pondered from her seat on the sand before her tent.

"Vikings." Malcolm, her cousin - a redheaded, freckled face, seventeen year old cousin and adamant companion - precipitated unnecessarily. That the new arrivals were Vikings was obvious before they landed on the beach. In true Viking fashion they could be heard before they were seen, clattering shields and wooting bellows of war cries. How they were so successful with such a ruckus proceed was beyond Cassandra as she and Malcolm watched the party land and greet the nervous priest.

She may have even found the holy man's discomfiture amusing however she was too filled with her own disquiet to pay too much attention to the scene before them.

"Blois." Cassandra said flatting the map on the sand before them, diverting Malcolm's attention back to the matter at hand. "That's where Renard d'Mon said the regiment was heading. That's about eighteen leagues give or take."

"Yes but that was over a week ago. Who knows where they are now." Malcolm replied. He had been adamant about joining her. The seventh son of a prosperous Earl, his prospects were pretty low. No lands or money to inherit, only an ecclesiastic career awaiting the young man. Ergo when he discovered Cassandra's plan he imbedded himself into it.

Of course the young lady had no intention of dragging anyone else along on this suicide mission but now she was grateful to have her young cousin by her side. He made it considerably easier for her to pass off as man. It had been Malcolm in fact who suggested that if she wanted any chance for anyone to believe she was in fact a male she need to cut her long, silky locks.

It had been painful but she had done it. She had to find her father. Though now the silvery stands rested just below her shoulders. As for the beasts, they had been sat on this beach for a day and a half now and had seen nothing. They were in fact starting to think that there were no beasts at all. Just fables and myths creating unnecessary panic but she still had to fine her sire.

"Well we won't know until we get there." Cassandra sighed, rubbing her temple with a mucky hand. It hadn't occurred to her when she had set out how difficult it would be. Her life had been a very sheltered one, as she was quickly coming to realise.

"And who might you be, a knight? a thane? a thrall?"

"Christ!" The pair gasped, taken unawares.

"Good God man!" Cassandra cried, placing a reassuring over her thundering heart under the thin plates and chainmail covering her torso. "I mean err . . . ahem . . ." Cassandra coughed clearing her throat and deepening her voice when Malcolm elbowed her in the ribs. "Yes! I-knight, I mean," She smiled nervously as the pair rose to their feet and straightened their spines. "I'm Cassius . . . of Manderville, Knight of the house of Warwick and this is my . . .err . . ."

"Squire." Malcolm offered helpfuly.

"Yes, my esteemed Squire. Malcolm d'Elencourt. Pleasure to make your acquaint-"

Her words were cut short by shrill squeaks splitting the air, followed by cries to arms and just like that Cassandra and Malcolm found themselves in the heat of battle. The sound of iron unsheathed was a symphony across the camp, one joined by Cassandra and her companion.

"Let's see what you're made of Viking." She challenged with a small smile that quickly disappeared as the demonic creatures came into view. It took all of her might not to grip onto the pommel too tight as the creatures barrelled into view and dispersed in every which direction, destroying every and anything or anyone in their path with unmatchable strength. "We have to stick together!"