Aimil had moved as well, to the other side of the door. The signal to her was useless, her sword was already out and ready, her back straight and feet firmly planted on the ground. Aimil didn't stop to think about savouring battle, she was weary from it in truth. All she wanted was Howe's head on the end of her sword but she was willing to work for it. So she put on her serious face and readied her shield. Most of the time she left it strapped across her back, or even down on her hip, covering the ordain sheath for her blade.<br/><br/>However the fight she was expecting didn't come, the footsteps faded into a different room, there were voices no louder than the others and her sword lowered just but an inch. There was a long moment of silence, she glanced to the steward at her side, but that was her mistake. The madame cried out and ducked under the large desk and a half dozen men garbed in leathers and hoods with all manner of weapon readied were rushing through. Aimil didn't think to defend, she cried out and struck to her side at one of the men in the charge, catching him in the side and throwing him to the ground.