《Broken Lance》


 Chapter 1-Hans Draiger

    Hans Draiger. 9 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    Hans Draiger could tell there was dead souls ahead. Three of them, wyverns from the looks of them. He didn¡¯t see them, or feel them, but sensed them just as sharply as if he¡¯d noticed them through his eyes or ears or fingers.


    There were other souls with him, still alive. One was not a rational being, but an animal, the tyrant sicklehawk they were here to kill. Another was Uln, his wife. The rest would be crows, watching in the trees, waiting to move in on the carrion.


    He opened his physical eyes, squinting against the glare of the snowbank that lay between himself and the dead bodies, and shut his third eye. The forested wilderness around him was entirely white, the tall pines and ground and the distant mountain range that they were in the foothills of all coated in snow.


    They¡¯d been tracking the sicklehawk all day, stalking it by its two toed footprints and the blood it was dripping. Eidre, their landlord, had shot it after she¡¯d gotten sick of it taking sheep and cattle, and then paid them to come out here and finish the job.


    ¡°Corpses, three of them, wyverns. And something that I suspect is our sicklehawk.¡± Hans said.


    He forced any concern about the bodies out of his mind and focused on his prey. He had a job to do.


    Uln nodded, crouching beside him. ¡°What did them in?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. We¡¯ll have to deal with the sicklehawk, if we want a closer look.¡±


    ¡°Shit. You take it down with witchcraft, I go in and pike it?¡± Uln asked.


    Hans smiled at his wife. ¡°Like we always do.¡±


    They moved as quietly as possible up the snowbank, keeping one hand on their 8 foot hunting pikes and the other on the ground.


    The only sound was that of bone crunching and flesh tearing. He winced, but he knew the dead wyverns would approve. The faster a corpse was destroyed, the faster they believed the soul could escape and be reincarnated.


    They reached the top of the slope. He quietly put down his pike, and unslung his musket, while Uln removed her raven feather cloak and unbuttoned her light woollen coat, for freedom of movement. She was a woose. Her people had been in Carfane for forty thousand years if the wyverns were to be believed, and after that long they¡¯d gotten rather good at dealing with cold.


    He blinked his eyes shut, letting his mind briefly concentrate on seeing through his third eye. The sicklehawk¡¯s soul still hadn¡¯t moved.


    He slowly slid up to the top of the ridge and looked down into the clearing, levelling his musket.


    Three wyverns lay dead on the ground, their corpses dark grey with red painted scales, contrasting starkly with the white snow and the darkening blood spattered around them.


    The sicklehawk stood over them, a sleek, avian predator half a ton in weight. Its wings had taloned hands poking out from under spotted brown feathers, while the muzzle was scaly and full of small, needle sharp teeth. The sicklehawks up north were barely bigger than a dog, The sicklehawks up north were barely bigger than a dog, but tyrant sicklehawks, like this one, were the biggest land predators around-so big that they were named after proper tyrants, hulks of muscle and feathers that stalked the steppe far to the west.


    It had a torn off wyvern¡¯s tail in its mouth, and there was dried blood in its feathers.


    ¡°Damn¡±, Uln muttered besides him, frowning.


    ¡°The flesh is strong, but the sprit is weak¡± Hans said, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach that came from looking at such a fearsome predator. He¡¯d done this hundreds of times before, hunting reapers and tarandrus, wargs and gryphons, but the feeling that this could be the time it all went wrong was always with him.


    He shut his physical eyes and opened his third eye, letting his mind manipulate his soul, instead of his body.


    He reached out a tendril of his soul through the roiling aether, aiming for the pinprick of a soul that the sicklehawk had.


    He felt his soul¡¯s arms wrapping around the sicklehawk¡¯s spirit, trying to strangle it. More skilled witches could manipulate a soul, letting them influence or even possess a victim, but Hans focused on trying to stun it¡¯s mind and body with the raw psychic backlash of having its soul attacked.


    Uln¡¯s soul moved from his side.


    He jerked his eyes open, trying to see with all three eyes at once. The sicklehawk jumped down from the corpse and tried to charge Uln, only to pitch over as its leg caught on the wyvern¡¯s wing, its sense of balance ruined by his witchcraft attacking its mind. As it staggered to its feet, Hans squinted down the sights of his musket and fired. The heavy crack shattered the silence. The ball hit in a puff of feathers and blood, but it didn¡¯t deter the predator as it continued to rise. The sulphur scent of black powder hung in the air.


    He hit it again, this time with his soul, watching it fall into convulsions. Uln stalked into striking distance, her pike held ready. It staggered to its feet and hissed. Eidre had shot it through the thigh; that must have stopped it fleeing, but it could still fight.


    It charged in a savage, lurching rush, trying to dodge left around Uln¡¯s hunting pike. Uln leapt back and to the side while thrusting with the pike, moving with the speed and balance of a fencer despite her squat, burly frame, driving it through feathers, hide and muscle with unnerving ease. It slumped to the ground, croaking in pain and twitching. Uln stepped back, let go of the pike, unslung and cocked her musket, and shot it, point blank through the head, kicking up a spray of blood and brains. It was all over in seconds.


    The soul seemed to jerk in his tendril¡¯s grip as its mind and body died.


    Hans pulled himself up, grabbed his pike and musket, and slogged down the slope.


    Uln staked her pike into the ground, her face still flushed from victory, her eyes gleaming from under her thick brow.


    ¡°Well, that was easier than I thought it was going to be¡± Uln said.


    She lunged forwards and hugged him, slamming the air out of his chest, then went for a kiss. Hans managed to pull back. ¡°Not now, the wyverns¡­¡±. He had the feeling that his guts were trying to climb up out of his belly and strangle his lungs.


    ¡°Yeah¡± muttered Uln, coming down from the rush of close combat.


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    Hans staked his pike down next to Uln¡¯s, slung his musket, and padded over to the nearest corpse. The one the sicklehawk had ripped a wing off. The wyvern was clearly a warrior, with razor edged steel war spurs strapped to her clawed legs. He crouched down next to her triangular head. The patterns of ritual scars on her snout were easy to read, for someone used to dealing with wyverns. She was a warrior, born to the West Point clan, with five kill markings. A member of the Commonwealth army¡¯s auxiliary forces. She had painted her grey scales red and yellow down her back; the markings of a skein leader. A veteran.


    Hans winced. There was a fair chance he¡¯d talked to that wyvern at some point or another.


    ¡°Arrows!¡± Uln yelled.


    He saw Uln standing over the second wyvern, with a thin, short shafted arrow in her hand, and padded over to her.


    She passed it to him. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like a local arrow¡± Hans said. It was thin, fletched with grey feathers he¡¯d never seen before, and tipped with a needle point, like a bodkin. Not anything like the broad heads the local Carfani militia used.


    ¡°Another arrow in the hip. This one got stuck twice. Any arrows in the others?¡± Uln said.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t see any on the body I checked out. This one only got feathered?¡± Hans asked.


    Uln shrugged. ¡°Can¡¯t tell. Scales might be hiding some¡±. Wyvern scales were concave, and able to fold in and out, trapping layers of warm air against the body.


    Hans nodded, kneeling down to check the markings on this one¡¯s snout. Nothing unusual.


    ¡°Whoever did this knew what they were doing. Got all of them on the ground, before they took off¡± said Uln.


    ¡°Makes sense¡± Hans said, his voice deadened.


    Uln scratched her head. ¡°I¡¯ll check this one for gunshots, you check the third body?¡±. She pulled out her hunting knife.


    Hans nodded and walked across to the third body. This one was male, judging by the fact that the long, thin scales on his wings were bright red.


    That¡¯s odd. Male wyverns weren¡¯t normally warriors, although this one was. He had war spurs like the others, and there was dropshot, razor sharp pieces of flint intended to be released onto enemies from above, gripped in his claws. All the bodies had a faint metallic smell of blood about them, the usual smells of death delayed by the cold, but this one smelt like a copper coin was being forced into his nostrils. He checked the face, and retched when he saw what had happened to the wyvern. The left side of the head had been blown open, spattering blood and brains and bone across the snow. Hans had killed, skinned and butchered plenty of animals in his time, but he¡¯d seldom seen anything like this done to a rational being.


    There was another trickle of blood, coming down from the shoulder. Hans stuck his finger in it, trying to control his sense of disgust. It felt too ragged to be a sword or pike wound. ¡°Gunshots got this one!¡± he yelled to Uln.


    ¡°No gunshots on mine. She got piked through the lungs from above after they feathered her, though¡± Uln shouted back.


    ¡°Father above¡±. That meant they hadn¡¯t just been killed in battle-someone had finished at least one of them off.


    Murder. Hell, not just murder. An act of war. His heart was beating faster, and he realized that he was unconsciously fingering the blade cover on his hatchet.


    ¡°Could you check the first corpses for shots? I¡¯m going for tracks¡± Hans said, forcing himself to think like he was tracking a predator, not a near witness to murder.


    ¡°Yeah, alright¡±. Uln was crouching by one of the corpses, levering up its scales with a knife.


    He began to search the killing ground in ever widening circles. There were crows perching on the snow covered trees that surrounded the clearing, watching, waiting for an opportunity to feed. He walked with the fast, methodical pace he always had when angry.


    He soon found what he was looking for. Footprints of at least two people, with blood smudged into them. They¡¯d walked right up to the wyverns, though the snow around them must have been too disturbed to clearly track their movements. The fact that the footprints hadn¡¯t been obscured by fresh snowfall, or melted away suggested that they were fresh. From today, most likely.


    Hans followed them out into the pines and brush around the clearing. He quickly reached a point where the two sets of tracks were replaced by a dozen or so, creating a trampled mass of snow. He followed that, until it became even messier, with horse dung lying on the ground.


    He retraced his steps, back towards Uln and the killing ground. When he passed the point where the tracks were replaced, he realized that wasn¡¯t what had happened at all. The single set of tracks split out into a fan, a half dozen fighters spreading out from single file and taking up positions along the tree line. Only two of them had actually moved out into the clearing, though.


    Finishing the wounded.


    He walked back into the clearing. Uln was digging about in the first wyvern, the skein leader. As he approached, his wife lifted up a bloodied hand, holding a tiny, flattened lead ball.


    ¡°Looks like rifle shot¡± Hans said.


    Uln nodded. ¡°Right under the left wing¡±


    ¡°Bows, guns, pikes. Must have been a lot of them¡±


    ¡°Or one very well armed attacker¡± Uln said.


    Hans laughed despite himself.


    ¡°I found the tracks. They must have fired all along the treeline, after coming in single file. They knew where the wyverns were, since they fanned out ahead of time. They had horses and what looks like carts too¡±


    ¡°Reckon we could track them?¡±


    ¡°Possibly. They wouldn¡¯t be long gone. Don¡¯t fancy catching up with a dozen armed and mounted killers, though¡±. He forced himself to think pragmatically. They would be no use to the wyverns dead.


    Uln patted the hilt of the two-handed falchion hanging from her belt. ¡°I reckon we could take them, if we could get on top of them without being spotted¡±


    Hans shook his head. ¡°They¡¯ve probably got a witch with them, if they could stop all three wyverns taking off. It¡¯s too damn risky¡±


    ¡°So what now?¡± Uln asked.


    ¡°We find out who did it¡± said Hans.


    Uln stood up and pulled him close. He could feel the warmth of her body through their layers of fur and wool.


    ¡°And then we make them pay¡± Uln finished for him.

 Chapter 2-Tane Bayder

    Captain Tane Bayder. 11 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°At the strife of Camlann, in the year 537 in the reckoning of the old world, Arthur did fight the forces of the rebel Medraut, and slew many of them, and put the rest to flight, and killed Medraut himself with a single terrible thrust of his slaying-spear through his mail shirt. Before expiring, though, Medraut struck a dolorous stroke with a treacherous sea-wolves knife through Arthur¡¯s belly¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Why the hell did it have to be Trackford? Bayder thought to herself as she ducked yet another chunk of thrown brick. Of all the cities in Carfane that could have been under occupation, it had to be this dirty, crowded, riot strewn hellhole. Kasilisk had it in just as much for Commonwealth troops, of course, but at least they did it with angry pamphlet readings rather than by pelting sentinels with brickbats and ¡°snowballs¡± that were more like chunks of ice, and the buildings were much nicer than the dreary, disordered masses of grey, rotting wood and red brick that formed Trackford¡¯s urban landscape.


    ¡°Cap?¡± Bayder twisted in her saddle as Gryff, her company Lieutenant rode up behind her. He was a short, heavily built man, with blonde mutton chops and moustache, and he was pointing into the crowd.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Those Billmen up there, it looks like they¡¯re getting pissed. We should break them out before they decide to do it them-¡°


    Gryff swore loudly and viciously as a chunk of ice skipped off his breastplate.


    Bayder saw that the man who¡¯d thrown it, more of a boy really, had run out from the front of the mob to get a better throw. She spurred forwards, her brown gelding instantly accelerating to a canter, and sent the man scrambling back to within the mass of humanity that constituted the mob ahead of them. Her mount¡¯s hooves skidded on the half-frozen mess of mud and manure that caked the streets as she reined in to a halt and trotted back up to Gryff. She continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.


    ¡°Agreed. Get the troop ready to charge at the trot, with batons on my signal¡± She stood up in her stirrups, trying to get a better look at the billmen. One was jabbing at the crowd, trying to force them back with his hooked polearm, while the other tried to shield himself with the shaft of his weapon.


    One of them is a fighter, the other just wants to stay alive. Good to know.


    Half her company formed six wide and six deep in the street, drawing the assortment of basket hilted singlesticks and wooden batons they carried. Good for both training and riot control, standing orders were to always carry them within the city. The other half was back at quarters, under the tender ministrations of Quartermaster Bydevere.


    Bayder centered herself in the front ranks of her troop, right besides the Cornet, Sace Cale, the short young woman nervous as she shook out the squadron banner from the tip of her lance. The mob must have realized something was about to happen, because more of them were shoving towards the Horse Grenadiers, onto the street they were deployed on.


    Bayder lifted her whistle, blew it once, and spurred forwards. The whole troop rode forwards fast and hard, moving boot to boot with singlesticks and batons held ready like backswords. All the fight went right out of the outraged crowd when they saw the solid mass of flesh and metal and leather coming right at them. Even up on horseback, Bayder could feel the vibrations of the horses advancing. Her heart beat faster and her vision took on a strange clarity, as it always did when about to charge.


    The mob broke and ran, their backs turned to the horsemen, almost tripping over each other to avoid them.


    Some fool rushed out of the mob with a hatchet, aiming to attack the horses. He didn¡¯t get a chance to swing, as the Horse Grenadiers rode straight over him, pounding him into the mud.


    Bayder bellowed for the troop to keep moving, to not get bogged down, and her subalterns and corporals joined in the yells, mixed in with someone in the mob screaming, not in anger but in fear this time.


    Tane barked out ¡°Halt, circle up on the billmen!¡±, and the troop followed, reining in their horses to a walk and surrounding the sentinels with admirable speed. Bayder took stock of the situation. The mob was swarming back in, surrounding them once again, and this time they were good and pissed from the man who¡¯d gotten ridden over. Bayder couldn¡¯t tell if he was dead or just stunned-he lay motionless on the ground- but either way, it wasn¡¯t good. They were getting rapiers, cutlasses and the long chopping knives that had become fashionable lately out, and the mood had gone from semi-jovially tormenting outnumbered sentries to getting ready for a real fight.


    ¡°No more Queens!¡±


    ¡°Carfane free from Tyranny!¡±


    ¡°Farmers before Wooses!¡±


    ¡°Lobsters go home!¡±


    The mob was chanting their slogans in unison, narrowing down from a litany of yells until the entire throng was bellowing ¡°Sod. Off. Lobsters.¡± over and over.


    ¡°Oi, Cap, someone¡¯s got a musket. Permission to try and take him out?¡±


    Corporal Haynes had ridden up besides her, pointing to a man in the crowd who was waving a rusty old fowling piece.


    She answered with ¡°permission denied¡± to Haynes, and then bellowed out ¡°Do not fire unless fired upon!¡± to the whole troop.


    If they want a bloodbath, let the blame be on them.


    Bayder barked out ¡°Morgan!¡±, and the company Grey Witch leaned over. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°That guy who got ridden over? He still alive?¡±


    She shut her eyes, using her third eye to examine his soul. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s still breathing.¡±


    ¡°And that hostile with a musket? Can you drop him?¡±


    ¡°No, too much risk I¡¯ll get the wrong shade.¡±


    If this had been a battle, she could have cooked the lot of them and been done with it. Bloody crowd control.


    She barked orders for Corporal Carrow and five other men to dismount and secure the Taxation office. She couldn¡¯t risk the mob deciding to settle for burning the tax records, probably wiping out the investigations of dozens of local smugglers and local miscreants.


    Carrow¡¯s Lance(1) quickly dismounted, grabbed their muskets and pistols off their saddle holsters and shoved open the door, bellowing orders to the people inside. The rest of her group were forming up again, with four now riderless horses-the other two were ridden by the billmen, clearly awkward on horseback-at the centre of the group. Horses were herd animals; they would run with the rest of the herd.


    Another volley of brickbats and ice chunks came in, along with at least one axe. Her horse stamped and reared as a snowball skipped off his head. Someone raced up to her, trying to grab at her reins, his friends moving behind him, only to be struck across the face with her baton. He stumbled back, clutching at his bleeding nose and screaming bloody murder. His friends turned and fell back, into the safety in numbers that the mob presented.


    ¡°Sod off Lobsters!¡±


    ¡°Butchers!¡±


    ¡°Farmers before Wooses!¡±


    ¡°Carfane free from tyrants!¡±


    There was a jarring crack and the buzz of a musket ball flying past her head.


    For a brief moment, she saw the world in slow motion, her mind shifting from the frustration of riot control to the terror of coming under attack from an unknown quarter.


    ¡°Shooter!¡±


    ¡°Left, he fired from our left!¡±


    ¡°Jesus!¡±


    ¡°Kept Moving! Do not fire without orders! Morgan, wards up!¡± Tane barked, moving quickly to restore order. The last thing she needed was a breakdown in discipline in the middle of a riot.


    ¡°Mindbreaker!¡± Morgan yelled.


    ¡°Brace for witchcraft!¡± Tane shouted without thinking, and Sace and Gryff and her corporals echoed it, Sace¡¯s voice almost comically girlish against the leather lunged bawling of her other officers.


    Shit, shit, shit. All it took was one enemy witch warp-spasming one of her troopers, and she¡¯d have a repeat of the original Trackford massacre on her hands.


    She ran through the drills she¡¯d done to protect her mind from witchcraft, trying to use the link between mind and soul to fortify her soul. The only problem was that it was rather hard to concentrate on that, while also keeping an eye on the rest of her troopers and the mob ahead of them. ¡°Witch is in that tall red building to our left!¡± Morgan grunted, clearly under the strain of holding a hostile witch¡¯s tendrils off.


    She glanced across, saw someone drawing a pistol, heard Corporal Haynes bellowing ¡°hold fire!¡±, a second muzzle flash and puff of smoke; heard the crack of the musket shot, a series of rapid pops as her troopers let fly with a ragged pistol volley, aimed at nothing in particular, and beneath it all civilians screaming.


    ¡°Cease fire, cease fire!¡± she roared, followed by ¡°Wheel left, on me!¡±, riding across the front ranks, trying to block their line of fire and get them to wheel on her.


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    ¡°You heard the fucking captain! Wheel left!¡± Gryff yelled.


    ¡°Morgan! We got someone who¡¯s mindbroken?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°No!¡± she answered, calm under pressure as always.


    She spurred her horse around towards the red brick building. Her horse grenadiers wheeled cleanly behind her, moving to engage the witch. The mob that was between them and the shooters position, though, was even denser, and they were actually pushing forwards, hurling bricks and planks of wood at them.


    She could feel the pressure building at the back of her mind; Morgan was only barely holding the witch¡¯s attempts at mindbreaking back.


    The pressure suddenly subsided.


    ¡°You got him!¡± Tane yelled at Morgan.


    ¡°Not me. Third witch¡±


    What?


    The only other friendly witches would be with the Marine corps troops who were blocking the southern end of the lane they were on, nearly two hundred yards back. Well out of the reach of all but the best spellcasters.


    ¡°Morgan! Do you have the witches signature?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°Is the witch immobilized?¡±


    ¡°Tilting got her, I think. The musketeer too¡±


    ¡°Good¡±


    If someone else has put down the witch, that means we can get out of here before the group on tailor¡¯s street regroups and traps us here.


    She stood up in her stirrups, scanning the square for a way out. The mob on the northern end of governor¡¯s lame was pressing forwards; another part of the mob was still blocking Tailor¡¯s street. The south end, though was almost clear, except for the blocking detachment of marines.


    ¡°About face! Gryff; you take command! Head for the marines!¡±


    There was no time or room to turn by wheeling or countermarching; they simply turned around, the bringer-ups now the file leaders, and Lieutenant Gryff now leading the company from the front while she followed behind.


    As they turned, the mob took that as a sign of defeat and began to surge forwards, their mindset changing from that of dogs fighting a rival for territory to one chasing down a fleeing victim. Someone tossed a stick at her face; she slapped it away with her baton, then wheeled off, her horse briefly galloping to catch up to the rest of her company.


    She could barely see what was going on ahead; the armoured backs ahead of her blocking the view, but she could hear screaming and the thud, gunshot loud, of a horse slamming into someone. Another musket shot rang out; she winced as she heard the metallic clang of it bouncing off a backplate, the force of the bullet slowed by Morgan¡¯s wards to the point where it couldn¡¯t even dent good quality armour.


    She cantered past a civilian lying on the ground, struggling to stand, with bloody hoofprints leading away from her.


    Horus, Christ, Mithras¡­


    They swept past Tailor¡¯s street, and she noticed the pikes, bills and helmets poking up from behind the mob. After that, they were pounding down Governor¡¯s lane, with the few civilians still on the street scrambling out of the way.


    She heard a faint yell of ¡°get clear!¡± from up ahead, and then red coated marines in the corner of her vision, flattened against the walls of the buildings. The Grenadiers slowed to a walk and then halted. She followed suite, unused to not having to set the unit¡¯s pace. The marines swept back in, forming in three deep close order across the width of the street, dagger bayonets fitted across their musket barrels.


    ¡°What the fuck happened back there?¡±


    Tane looked down at Captain Artorius Ap Glyn, a short, wiry man with a cutlass in one hand and a pistol in the other, his face a mixture of concern, confusion and excitement.


    ¡°Sharpshooter. Fucking witch. Some of my grenadiers tried to open up without order¡±


    ¡°Shit¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Gotta get the company together. I¡¯ll explain what happened tonight¡±


    She trotted to her company, barking orders for the grenadiers to get back into regular order rather than the reversed formation they¡¯d been in. The years of seemingly pointless parade ground exercises payed off, as she quickly got the company back into order, waiting in reserve to move up and support the infantry. The mob was being pushed back onto Governor¡¯s lane by now, towards the north end of it. The only escape from the trap created by Artorius¡¯s marines blocking the south end, and the pikes pressing down through Tailor¡¯s street.


    She turned back to face her half-troop. ¡°Anyone injured?¡±.


    ¡°Yeah, I got shot, but the backplate skipped it¡±. Aurene Slach. One of the Valadian mercenaries in her company.


    ¡°Get it looked at by the surgeon anyway. Reload discharged arms!¡± Tane said.


    She took note of who reloaded.


    Andros. Gywn. Cessene. Herrel went for his pistol, then stopped when he saw that she was watching.


    Tane didn¡¯t relish the thought of having to punish her troopers. They¡¯d done their best in a difficult situation. But she had to make it clear to her troopers that orders had to be followed, no matter how much pressure they were under, and to the Carfani that the Commonwealth soldiers weren¡¯t above the laws of army and nation.


    The pikemen were clearing the street, their armoured backs to her. They had their pikes held high, driving back the crowd by shoving shoulder first.


    She watched and waited, in case they needed cavalry support. It didn¡¯t look like they would.


    Finally, an officer from the pike company came jogging back to them, telling her and Artorius that the mob was dispersed and they were free to go.


    She turned the half-troop around-no mean feat in the tight confines of the street-and headed off for quarters. She stayed alert. Once word that her troops had opened fire spread, they could be a target for riots or another attack by a witch.


    The cavalry rode down from Harrow¡¯s Hill, into Dockside, unimaginatively named after the docks and wharves it adjoined. If the architecture in Oldtown, surrounded by walls and hills, was uninspiring, the buildings of Dockside were downright desultory. It was a mess of sagging wood, cramped lanes, and muddy, icy streets. Flophouses, brothels and taverns lined the streets, alongside warehouses and the occasional workshop. The people here were sailors and stevedores mostly, from the local fishing fleets and merchant ships(that doubled as smugglers), the commonwealth navy, and even a few men from a Fusangese trading Junk. The others were the people who served them; tavern workers, hawkers of cheap trinkets, singers, and whores.


    On her horse, armoured in leather and metal and surrounded by loyal soldiers, Bayder felt a faint feeling of disdain for the masses around her.


    Bloody hell, I¡¯m thinking like a goddamn proper noble again, not a bastard who got lucky with a rich father.


    They reached their quarters, a winesink that had had it¡¯s stables and boarding rooms taken over for the use of her Grenadiers. The owner had been reluctant to turn it over to the army, but she had been persuaded with a fat bag of silver and the fact that the presence of soldiers would ¡°protect it from arson¡±. It stank of mildew, and the gaudy blue paint it had been adorned with was badly peeled. She worried for the integrity of the roof, what with the immense load of snow over it. Bayder was glad she had separate quarters.


    She wheeled around in front of the grenadiers.


    The rest of the company, most of them out of armour and not carrying any weapons but their swords, came out to watch, along with the assortment of farriers, armourers, surgeons, laundresses, grooms and pages that kept the company functioning.


    ¡°Well, that was something. Andros, Cessene, Gywn, Herrel. If I order you not to fire, that means do not fire. I don¡¯t care if you were coming under fire. Do that on a battlefield and you¡¯d waste your shots outside effective range, potentially getting us all killed. As it stands you might very well have killed innocent bystanders. You¡¯re confined to quarters for your own safety and on half pay, and there¡¯ll be worse if it turns out anyone was killed.


    Cessene and Gywn barked out a loud ¡°Yes Ma¡¯am¡± from their position in the first rank, while Andros looked very pointedly at his horses neck and Herrel looked distinctictly sheepish.


    ¡°Madoc, Valt, at least try to avoid running over innocent bystanders in future, even if said innocent bystanders attack you with a hatchet and I¡¯ve spent the last two years telling you to run over any infantry stupid enough to get in your way.¡±


    Some of the soldiers laughed nervously.


    ¡°Alright then. Bydevere, record the pay deductions and punishments on the company logs. Sace, get the banner stowed. Gryff, set sentinels for the quarters. Officers, dismissed¡±


    She suspected she was going to have a long day ahead of her explaining this.


    1: The cavalry equivalent of a squad. 3-10 troopers under a corporal or lance-corporal. Based on the historical ¡°lance fournie¡±, a medieval tactical unit with a man-at-arms supported by pages, light cavalry and mounted archers.

 Chapter 3-Hans Draiger

    Hans Draiger. 11 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Foothold.


    ¡°Woose, although many consider them human owing to their human-like visage and intelligence, are not in fact truly human, but rather a species of humanlike beings-demi-humans, one might say-created before the original human. This can be evidenced in many ways. In a cross between human and woose, it is common, especially when the male woose impregnates the human female, for either conception to never happen or the child to be miscarried¡±


    Ciornio of Ararta, A Discourse on Humanity and the Divine.


    ¡°So, to reiterate. Three wyverns were killed, likely in cold blood, seven miles north of here. And what do you think the response should be? To do nothing?¡± Hans said as he stood before Foothold¡¯s town hall.


    ¡°Let me get this straight.¡± Old Bran, the town baker, spoke up. ¡°You want us to get up in arms because a couple of scalies in service to the Commonwealth got nailed? Really?¡±. The man was notable for his disdain for anything that wasn¡¯t human. And he had a rather narrow definition of human.


    Draiger sighed in frustration. ¡°So what if they fought for the Commonwealth? Plenty of us fought for the Commonwealth against Teres, back in 67¡¯. Doesn¡¯t mean we all deserve to get killed¡±


    A few people, Eidre and her husband Lorne amongst them, called out ¡°Hear, hear¡±. The rest were silent or booed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a damn. They¡¯re still wyverns fighting for the lobsters(1). Might be the Commonwealth saved us from Teresian tyranny. Fat lot of good that did us, since we¡¯re under Commonwealth tyranny now¡± Bran yelled back.


    ¡°And what if the Teresians try and invade again, and we¡¯ve alienated the wyverns and are independent from the Commonwealth?¡± Eidre asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll throw them back with horse, pike and shot, same as we did last time¡± Connor Ferrene answered. He was one of the town¡¯s militia sergeants, and looked the part-a tall, burly, red headed man.


    Hans was beginning to think that Uln wasn¡¯t missing out on much. As a woose, she wasn¡¯t technically a citizen of Foothold, and therefore couldn¡¯t attend town hall meetings. Hans didn¡¯t normally attend either, but this time around they¡¯d decided that trying to get something done trumped solidarity.


    ¡°You forgot the Commonwealth airships and West Point wyverns. They won that battle, not us¡± Lorne said.


    Hans tried to raise his voice above the noise.


    ¡°Listen! If we don¡¯t bring the killers to justice, the wyverns will. And they will bring justice with fire and talon, not with judge and jury¡±


    ¡°We can take them¡± said Connor Ferrene again.


    ¡°Yeah, kill the scalies¡± someone else yelled, and then the whole hall was a cacophony of noise.


    ¡°They had it coming if they wanted to fight for the Commonwealth!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill them all myself!¡± screamed one of the youths at the back of the hall.


    ¡°With my pocket knife!¡± someone else yelled.


    ¡°Eyes on the prize. We should turf out the bloody Commonwealth¡± growled an old woman sitting near the front.


    ¡°Hell, let¡¯s declare war now and get it over with¡±. The man who¡¯d said that stood up and hefted his musket. Everyone in the room was armed with muskets, bills, pikes or longbows; a town hall meeting doubled as a militia muster, and they had an alarming habit of turning into riots.


    Another stood up, and then half the town was standing, waving muskets and swords and bills.


    Hans shouted out ¡°You people want murder and war?¡±, his voice shaking as he realized he could be moments away from getting tarred and feathered.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Adair Ap Caradoc, Militia Captain and Justice of the Peace walked to the front of the hall, his stiff maroon corpcoat rustling.


    ¡°Now, Hans Draiger here has kindly informed us of a certain incident, probably of little import. I have received news of something rather more important. Last night, Fort Highhome was raided, both the wardens knocked on the head-though they are quite unharmed-and all its guns taken¡±


    Hans gulped as he realized that Highhome was less than ten miles from where he¡¯d found the wyverns dead.


    Why didn¡¯t I think of that connection?


    ¡°Now, either the Commonwealth or some militia or another did this act. If it is the Commonwealth, then I deplore them killing their own fighters in order to steal weapons that are the rightful property of the people of Carfane. If it is a militia, well, they are now the proud owners of several eighteen pounder siege guns, and I must congratulate them for taking their defence into their own hands, whether against Teres, wyverns, woose or the Commonwealth¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re fine with murdering wyverns and bludgeoning innocent watchmen unconscious?¡± Hans snapped.


    ¡°Now, don¡¯t jump to conclusions, we don¡¯t know the circumstances of the deaths. As to other matters, we received this petition, put out by the Patriot¡¯s Brigade protesting the occupation of Trackford¡± Adair said in his most condescending voice.


    Hans returned to his seat, shaking with frustration and red with humiliation.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°The petition?¡± Adair continued, nodding to a couple of servants in half plate who stood near the hall¡¯s doors, holding the longest roll of paper Hans had ever seen.


    They passed him the paper, and he unrolled it while clearing his throat. ¡°We, the People of Carfane, condemn the illegal occupation of Trackford, the Commonwealth use of convict labour, thus denying honest people jobs, the many unfair tariffs, the lack of parliamentary representation¡­¡±. It went on and on like that, listing a long series of grievances.


    None of them involved triple murder, as far as he could tell.


    Finally, Adair called for the petition to be signed.


    The entire town filed up, the literate signing in their names, the illiterate signing it with crude marks.


    Hans very pointedly remained seated.


    The looks he received didn¡¯t help with the feeling he was about to be run out on a rail.


    When it was done, Adair boasted that they¡¯d added two hundred signatures to the petition.


    Hans left early, hoping to avoid getting caught up in the hubbub of people leaving. He loathed crowds.


    He squinted against the glare of sunlight reflecting from the snow. Spring was coming, and that meant him and Uln would need to be getting ready for trapping season. They spent winter based out of Foothold, doing odd jobs for people who didn¡¯t want to risk travelling in the depths of winter; while summer would be spent out in the wilds, hunting for fur and feathers to clothe the aristocracy of Genia, and trading with isolated squatters and Woose clans.


    He found Uln sitting by a tree in the public gardens, one of the few unused plots of land in Trackford.


    ¡°You were right. They didn¡¯t give a damn¡± he said as he walked up to her. She was carving another kill marking into the stock of her musket.


    She looked over and smiled when she saw him coming, pulling a clump of red hair out of her face. Most people thought of the Woose as being ugly, but Hans thought her, if not beautiful, then attractive in a rather rugged way.


    She stood up, dusting snow off her knee length skirts and leggings.


    ¡°It was worth a shot¡± said Uln.


    ¡°I know. But they were going mad in there. Some of them wanted to kill all the wyverns¡­¡±


    ¡°Fuck, I reckoned it was only squatters who wanted to do that¡± Uln said.


    ¡°Yeah, me too. Bloody idiots. West Point is the only reason we aren¡¯t under Teresian rule right now¡±


    ¡°Good chance that the dead ¡®verns were a local job, then¡± Uln said.


    ¡°Someone hit the fort at Highome and took all the artillery. They¡¯re probably connected¡±


    ¡°So we just see who has a couple of cannons in their barn, and we have the killers. Fuckin¡¯ easy¡±


    Hans laughed. ¡°When you put it that way¡­¡±


    ¡°Draiger?¡± someone called out behind him.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Uln asked.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking to you¡± the person said.


    Hans turned around, and faced Aled, Eidre¡¯s son.


    Aled was tall and blonde, with his mother¡¯s smooth features. He had a black feathered cloak around his shoulders.


    One day Hans would have to take him aside and explain the origins and importance of that particular garment.


    ¡°Sure I¡¯m a Draiger¡± Uln said.


    ¡°Fine then. Hans Draiger?¡± Aled repeated.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Hans said, anger tinging into his voice.


    ¡°About those wyverns. Why do you reckon we should give a damn? They ain¡¯t human. Just smart animals¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Hans said, too baffled to say much else.


    ¡°I¡¯m saying, they¡¯re smart animals, not humans. Like the difference between you and your Woose¡±


    ¡°Did you just call me an animal?¡± Uln said.


    ¡°Yes¡± Aled said, smirking.


    She grinned. ¡°Yeah, I am. So are you. So is Hans. We all are¡±


    ¡°Aled?¡± someone asked.


    Hans looked up. Eidre and Lorne, armoured and on horseback, with a dozen other armed servants surrounding them. Barely ten yards away.


    Aled turned around. ¡°Yes, mother?¡±


    Eidre and Lorne trotted up to them, their armour rattling.


    ¡°Did I ever tell you that antagonizing people who¡¯ve faced far more dangerous things than boys with rapiers is a bad idea?¡±


    ¡°Why do think I was antagonizing them?¡± Aled asked. ¡°I was just asking some questions.¡±


    Eidre rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Did you get the sicklehawk?¡± Lorne asked.


    ¡°Yeah, we found the bodies when it went to scavenge on them. Easier than I thought it would be to take it down, actually¡± Hans said.


    Eidre nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll have your payment ready tonight. I¡¯ll have more work for you, if you¡¯re interested¡±


    ¡°Better than sitting around watching snow melt.¡±


    ¡°Alright. This about the wyverns, or something else?¡±


    ¡°Turn up and see¡± Lorne said.


    1: OTL, this was slang during the English civil war for 3/4th armoured cuirassiers, and during the American revolution, redcoats, both from the colour of their coats and their bloody backs after flogging. Here, the Commonwealth has both red coated infantry and heavily armoured cavalry, so it¡¯s an obvious nickname for their military.

 Chapter 4-Tane Bayder

    Captain Tane Bayder. 11 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°Seeing their captain slain, the treacherous men of Mordred, alongside the Saxons and Jutes he had invited to join him, began to waver. Gwachalmei rallied the forces of Britain to avenge their king, and they shattered many shields, hewed many heads, fed many slaughter birds, and the sea wolves fled, and the traitors were killed. After, though, Arthur was found alive but terribly wounded and weakened, and could not stand. All his surviving warriors gathered round him, to hear his final words¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    ¡°So that¡¯s how my company got attacked by a mob, a sharpshooter and a witch, in that order. Any questions?¡±


    Tane leaned back in her chair, watched by a dozen slightly drunk officers in the whirling prop. They were virtually the only people who¡¯d bothered to brave the cold night air and the whispers of a riot about to begin, leaving the normally busy loyalist public house almost completely empty besides them.


    Gwar, a Lieutenant of Foot, raised her hand. ¡°The witch. Did your grey witch get that one¡¯s signature before they got taken out?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Morgan can recognize the witch¡¯s soul¡±


    ¡°Good. My company got hit by a witch about a month ago. One of our guys got mindbroken and tried to attack our ensign with a falchion. A couple of my soldiers got cut up disarming him. Nasty stuff¡±


    Tane remembered the incident; she¡¯d never thought to connect it to today¡¯s attack, though.


    ¡°You reckon it¡¯s linked?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Well, witch drives one of my soldiers crazy, witch tries to mindbreak one of your soldiers. The connection writes itself¡±


    ¡°A few of my horses panicked for no reason a while back and nearly stampeded into a crowd. My witch picked up a hostile witch tampering with them. He scrammed before we could do anything, though¡± said Caradoc, a Captain of Cuirassiers with the King¡¯s Own 3rd Regiment of Horse.


    ¡°A few people swore up and down they took sharpshooter fire before the Trackford massacre got underway.¡± Artorius said.


    Tane winced. That bit of magnificent fire control from the Commonwealth Foot cost seventeen lives three years ago. Seven Trackford civilians had been shot during a protest much like what she¡¯d seen today, and the ten soldiers responsible for the shooting hung for murder. Their commander had been cashiered for failure to control his men. The rumours that a musket shot had been heard moments before the infantry opened fire, and that one of the victims had been shot in the back, with a ball of the wrong calibre, had started almost immediately and never quite vanished.


    Tane rubbed her head as she realized just how much worse things could have gotten.


    ¡°Anyone heard anything about the casualties?¡± she asked.


    There was a lot of shaking of heads. Gwar said she¡¯d heard rumours of dozens killed; Artorius said someone had asked if his marines had a surgeon with them, but he¡¯d had to turn her away. Scaithe, Caradoc¡¯s wife and fellow Captain, said that General Veulnor had intelligencers out looking for information on the exact number of casualties.


    Tane sighed. ¡°It didn¡¯t seem like the shots were aimed at anything, and the trample victims still seemed to be breathing¡±


    ¡°The only thing now is to wait and see¡± Sace said. She was sitting quietly by the table, reading a pamphlet on the Long War in the northern sea. Unlike the other female officers, who mostly wore breeches and coats or doublets even when not in their fighting harness, she had the petticoats and bodice of a civilian woman on, and was armed with a dainty Teresian smallsword rather the long, heavy rapiers and backswords the others favoured.


    ¡°Yeah. Damn, I hate waiting¡±.


    ¡°Congratulations, you¡¯ve been enlisted in the 3rd Regiment of Officers Who Hate Waiting. I think we¡¯ve got enough for a full brigade now¡± Artorius said. The officers all laughed; the fact that the tension of waiting before battle was often worse than the fighting was so often noted that it had become first a clich¨¦ and then an in-joke.


    Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She snapped around, one hand going to her dagger on reflex.


    ¡°Horus, Morgan!¡±


    ¡°Sorry¡± Morgan said, though her tone suggested she very much wasn¡¯t. ¡°General Veulnor wants to see you, and soon¡±.


    Tane stood up and began to make for the door, grabbing her cloak and hat from where they hung by the door. ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a lovely night explaining how I almost caused a massacre to you fine people. Now I have to go explain it to the Captain-General¡±


    *


    Veulnor¡¯s headquarters were easy enough to find-a tall limestone townhouse, with a pair of cuirassiers standing guard outside, pollaxes on their shoulders. She vaulted down from horseback, grunting as the impact hit her knees, then tossed her reins to Boudace, her page, and told her to get the horses stabled.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to see General Veulnor¡±


    The guard wordlessly opened the door.


    Tane hung up her cloak, coat, hat and sword belt inside the door-the room was warm enough that they were unnecessary, then was led upstairs by a military servant.


    He opened the door into Veulnor¡¯s office, and Tane stepped inside.


    Captain-General Breuce Veulnor, military governor of Trackford, 17th Baron Hainswick, sat ahead of her. He was tall and what was politely known as ¡°well fed¡±, with a long, plain face and thinning hair hidden by a black wig. His buff coat had laces for securing armour attached, but Tane hadn¡¯t seen him fully armoured in years. His face was a picture of mild annoyance.


    An awkward silence reigned for a few moments.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been called here about the taxation office skirmish, I presume?¡± Tane said.


    Veulnor nodded. ¡°Yes. Could you explain what you did and saw, starting from the beginning?¡±


    For the second time that night, Tane explained how she was attacked by a mob, a sharpshooter and a witch, in that order.


    Veulnor nodded along thoughtfully.


    ¡°Do you know who the third witch was? The one you said took out the mindbreaker?¡± Veulnor interrupted when she explained the witch attack.


    ¡°I know about as much as you do¡±


    Veulnor rubbed his head.


    ¡°Which isn¡¯t a lot¡±


    ¡°I figured that¡±


    ¡°I presume you dealt with the troopers who opened fire?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve put them on docked pay and they¡¯re confined to quarters. If there turns out to have been any deaths, I¡¯ll order more serious punishments¡±


    Veulnor nodded. ¡°There were five injuries. Three trampling, and two gunshots. No deaths¡±


    ¡°Good¡±


    ¡°Yes. If you¡¯d killed anyone out there, this would have been a repeat of the Trackford massacre. And we all know how that went¡±


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.Tane ran a hand through her hair. She had no desire to get cashiered. The amount of time and money she¡¯d invested in getting her commission as a Captain of Horse Grenadiers in the 3rd Horse Guards had been considerable.


    ¡°Of course, a few injuries is better than getting the entire taxation office tarred and feathered¡­¡± she said.


    Doing that to the cities governor during a riot had been the final straw, that had led to the imposition of martial law on Trackford.


    ¡°This city is under martial law. We cannot maintain order amongst the civilians if we cannot maintain order amongst ourselves.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, we cannot maintain martial law if we let them have the monopoly on violence and not us.¡± Tane snapped.


    ¡°They have bricks and sticks and swords. We have pike and shot and cannons and airships and grey witches and bound demons. We still hold the monopoly on violence. But we cannot use that to go about gunning them down on the street. That would only inflame the situation further.¡±


    ¡°What is inflaming the situation is us occupying their city, but never retaliating when they attack us-even when it¡¯s with guns and mindbreakers, not just bricks and sticks. They hate us, but they don¡¯t fear us.¡±


    ¡°And what are our other options? A war, or losing Carfane as a source of revenue, since we can¡¯t protect tax collectors here otherwise. The Lord-Protector General or the High Queen won¡¯t accept either of those.¡± Veulnor said.


    So the blame goes downhill, but the real problem goes uphill. Figures.


    Tane shrugged. ¡°Take out the leaders of the Patriot¡¯s Brigade and other insurrectionists, but do it quietly. I¡¯m sure they¡¯re all up to their ears in smuggling. Use that. If we¡¯re going to enforce martial law, we should use the law against them. Gunning people down on the streets isn¡¯t the answer, but neither is sitting still while they take potshots at us¡±


    ¡°That could escalate the conflict¡­¡± Veulnor said.


    ¡°And? They¡¯re attacking us with sharpshooters and witches now. If they want to escalate, let it escalate and see how much they like it¡±


    ¡°It still poses a risk. We¡¯re sitting on a powder keg here, and you want to play with fire. I can¡¯t allow that.¡±


    Tane briefly considered going on a rant about how it was whoever that sharpshooter was that was loading with a lit match, but decided against it. It was too late for a serious argument.


    ¡°Fair enough, General. Do you want me to further discipline for the shooters?¡±


    Veulnor shook his head. ¡°If the victims try to press charges, we¡¯ll let them go to court, but other than that, I think we¡¯re fine¡±


    Tane nodded. ¡°Am I dismissed, Sir?¡±


    ¡°I think you are¡±


    Tane saluted as she left, then grabbed her cloak and hat and weapons at the door.


    She stepped outside, and the cold washed over her like musket smoke. She moved quickly for the stables, fumbling her leather gloves on, swearing under her breath as they caught on numb fingers. There were only a few people on the streets, but the signs of nightlife were everywhere, from the hubbub of talking and singing drifting from the public houses, inns and dance halls of oldtown to the sight of moving silhouettes in lantern-lit windows. The stables were easy to find, considering the convenient sign hanging out into the street, and the strong smell of horse drifting from within.


    Not that I don¡¯t smell like that, of course. With leather and oil added.


    Boudace Haynes, her page, was playing cards with a group of other pages and grooms. She scrambled up, an embarrassed look on her plain face.


    ¡°Sorry, Ma¡¯am¡­¡± Boudace said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I¡¯d be doing the same if I was stuck watching a bunch of horses out here¡±


    Boudace laughed nervously.


    Her horse, an even tempered grey mare 14 hands high, was still saddled. They mounted up quickly and rode out, heading for her lodgings, only a few streets away.


    ¡°What happened, exactly?¡± Boudace asked once they were underway. Alongside the second half of Tane¡¯s company, and the assortment of camp followers and noncombatants who kept them all functioning, she¡¯d stayed back at quarters, while Tane and the company officers had led a half-company against the Trackford mob.


    ¡°I was told that a mob was surrounding a couple billmen, and received orders to saddle up a half-company to break them out¡­¡±


    ¡°I know that part, ma¡¯am¡±


    ¡°Fair enough¡±


    For the third and hopefully last time that night, Tane explained how she¡¯d gotten attacked by a mob, a sharpshooter, and a witch, in that order.


    They rounded the corner up into her lodgings, a local gentry families townhouse. They¡¯d ranted and raved about the overbearing Commonwealth soldiers when she¡¯d first moved in, but they¡¯d warmed up to her when they realized she had no intention of seducing any of their sons, stealing their silverware, or billeting an entire company in their house. She checked the door. Locked.


    ¡°Servants entrance, Ma¡¯am?¡± Boudace suggested.


    ¡°Good idea¡± Tane said.


    She checked the back door. Unlocked. That wouldn¡¯t have been a problem; she¡¯d once had an old hand show the Horse Grenadiers a dozen ways to get through locked doors. For the purposes of outflanking the enemy in street fighting, of course. She¡¯d never consider letting her company engage in a spot of looting, if the people in question had it coming.


    She stumbled through the dark halls, swearing as her rapier scabbard scraped against the furniture. The guest room that she was quartered in was at the top of the stairs. She only narrowly avoided tripping as she felt her way through the house.


    I can evade someone¡¯s point and put my own through their chest with a single movement, but I can¡¯t climb bloody stairs in the dark. Wonderful.


    She finally stumbled into her room and got the candle lit. The room was chaos. Her weapons-pistols, her heavy military backsword, her buckler and armour, her training foils and singlesticks-were stacked against one wall, while a chest of clothes was thrown against the other. A dozen books were stacked against the wall, drill and fencing manuals, a history of the war of the Cessosi succession,


    Papers littered her desk-company muster rolls, half written letters to her family and friends in Genia proper, scribbled notes on a fencing drill she was writing. Her bed was unmade, with a letter dumped on the bed. She picked it up. It had the sloppy handwriting of someone self-taught, but it was the words that got her attention.


    If you want to know who attacked your company, come to the warehouse off the Kraken¡¯s Corpse Quay, midday tomorrow. Signed, the reason you aren¡¯t dealing with a second Trackford massacre.


    ¡°Oh, fuck me¡± Tane muttered.

 Chapter 5-Hans Draiger

    Hans Draiger. 11 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Foothold.


    ¡°Of the known rational creatures, Wyverns are perhaps the strangest. Woose, Selkies and the like are clearly imperfect precursors to humanity, but wyverns are wholly different in body, more similar to dragons than to humans, demi-humans, or even tengu. Wyverns, however, are still clearly rational. They possess the gift of languages, and of tools. They construct buildings, and unlike Woose they learnt this art on their own, rather than in imitation of humans. Therefore, wyverns are very clearly rational, and also animals.


    Ciornio of Ararta, A Discourse on Humanity and the Divine.


    A pair of airships drifted through the evening air, their running lights aglow and the white on green three spoked wheel of the Commonwealth trailing behind them. The machines, barely two miles up, eclipsed the moon behind their canvas coated bulk.


    ¡°The Commonwealth ain¡¯t fucking around¡± Uln whispered as they trudged through Eidre¡¯s lifeless apple garden. Come spring, it would bloom back into life, but for now they were virtual skeletons.


    A lone servant walked out from the front of the manor house, stuffing her hands under her apron to cope with the cold.


    The Manor house was a two story fortified building of stone and wood, it¡¯s lower windows little more than slits while the upper windows, made of glass, were protected with iron bars. A squat turret poked out over the building¡¯s roof, the red tiles concealed by white snow.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to leave your weapons at the door¡± the servant announced as she opened the thick doors to the building. Hans passed her the hatchet he had under his coat, and the knife he had at his belt, while Uln unbuckled her two-handed Wolzuk falchion. He¡¯d bought it from a cutler as a gift for her; it had apparently been looted at the battle of Halidon¡¯s Hill. She placed the weapons on the weapon rack, alongside the pollaxes and blunderbusses stored to defend the home against sudden attack.


    When they were done disarming themselves, the Draigers continued into the building, along a gallery lined with loopholes. Outside, Hans had become so used to the cold that he barely noticed it, but in here it suddenly seemed stiflingly hot, even if he knew it to be merely a normal temperature. He quickly pulled off his gloves-both the thicker woollen mittens and the thinner linen gloves underneath, and tucked them through his belt, then began working on unbuttoning his coat and unwinding his scarf. Uln was doing the same, stripping down to her skirts, shift and sleeveless bodice.


    The servant-Draiger realized he needed to find out her name-led them into a waiting room. Like most of the lower floor, it would have been gloomy during summer, but, thanks to the overcast sky, was now very thoroughly dark. Draiger sat down. The first servant left, and then another servant-a short, wiry man in Eidre¡¯s green and white colours-entered and set up a candle on the table, then offered to remove their coats, gloves and scarves to the coatroom. Hans let him.


    There was very little noise except for his own and Uln¡¯s breathing and the noise of servants preparing dinner outside.


    ¡°What do you reckon she wants us for?¡± Uln asked.


    ¡°If I were her, I¡¯d be trying to find out everything possible about those wyverns, so I could distance myself from the attack or nail the killers and get in West Point¡¯s good graces¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Yeah, makes sense. Wouldn¡¯t want to be her if West Point decides they want to burn shit down¡±


    They both knew how wyvern justice worked. It made an eye for eye look lenient.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be fun for her. Stuck between the Commonwealth, the wyverns and whatever mob of bloodthirsty morons the killers round up¡±


    ¡°Which is probably why she¡¯s hauling us into this¡± Uln said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll just have to wait and see¡± Hans answered.


    Hans felt the weight of Uln leaning her head against his shoulder, and put his arm around her. The silence resumed, until a maid knocked on the door and informed them that dinner was ready.


    They followed her out, into the already set dining room. Neither of the O Mathuna¡¯s were in their formal dress. Eidre had her blond hair done up and was in a plain but clearly well tailored green and white riding dress, while her husband Lorne-a quiet, balding man, a farmer Eidre had married for love-had a similar green doublet with white breeches and hose. Aled was also there, and visibly scowled when he saw Uln.


    This may be awkward.


    Hans took his seat at the table, Uln sitting beside him. He knew it was customary for couples to sit across the table, but if he¡¯d cared about custom he wouldn¡¯t have married a Woose, and if Eidre cared about custom she wouldn¡¯t have a couple of woodsrunners at her table.


    ¡°How was the hunt?¡± Lorne began.


    ¡°Not as easy as we were hoping¡± Draiger answered ¡°But I¡¯ve seen worse. We might have lost it if it hadn¡¯t stopped to scavenge. But we killed it anyway.¡±


    ¡°You always do¡± Eidre added.


    ¡°Well, you wounded it, I knocked it down and Uln killed it¡± Draiger answered.


    Uln grinned. ¡°Pity it got right back up and kept coming, and poor old me had to do all the real work¡±.


    She¡¯d pitched her voice down to the lower, Carfani accent she adopted when dealing when dealing with ¡°respectable¡± company.


    Hans laughed. ¡°True enough¡±


    There was silence for a few moments.


    ¡°Did you hear of Herene Calwere¡¯s marriage?¡± Aled eventually asked.


    ¡°Yes. A very good match-very rich, but not much in the way of lands¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°I still reckon she could have done better¡± Aled said.


    ¡°I do believe you have an apology to make¡± Eidre interrupted sternly.


    Aled scowled. ¡°Really. I told you, I just asked them where they¡¯re loyalties lay.¡±


    Hans considered telling them exactly what Aled had said, but decided it was more amusing to give him enough rope to hang himself with.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t sound like it. Besides, I don¡¯t see why it¡¯s your job to go about interrogating my tenants¡± Eidre said.


    Aled got back to his food in silence.


    ¡°Gennene has my compliments. The food is excellent¡± Eidre said, though she sounded like she didn¡¯t mean it.


    Hans ignored the small talk. It felt half-hearted and forced. He knew what everyone in the room wanted to talk about, and it wasn¡¯t marriages or hunting.


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    Eidre put the dinner conversation out of its misery.


    ¡°I do believe we have more important matters to discuss¡±


    Finally, Hans thought.


    ¡°Finally¡± Uln whispered under her breath.


    *


    They retired to Eidre¡¯s Cabinet, leaving Aled behind.


    ¡°Would you trust a fourteen year old who¡¯ll say anything to impress his friends and reckons killing wyverns shouldn¡¯t be considered murder with the secret mission about wyvern murdering?¡± Lorne said when Hans had asked.


    Hans knew that Lorne and Eidre where less than impressed with the young man their son had grown up into, but he¡¯d never known it was this bad.


    Granted, the bastard deserves it, and he¡¯s doing a hell of a lot better than I was at his age.


    ¡°So what are we really here for?¡± Uln finally asked when they settled into the room. It surprisingly spacious for a private room, but still felt cramped with four people crammed into it. There was a writing desk up against one wall and an artist¡¯s stand with a half finished sketch of a harpy on another, with a small meeting table in the middle.


    A suit of battered harquebusier¡¯s armour hung from a stand in the corner, alongside a pair of pistols, a rapier and a carbine with a burst barrel.


    ¡°Envoys¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°What sort of envoy?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°The sort of envoy who apologizes very profusely for their ally¡¯s undiplomatic actions¡± Eidre said.


    ¡°I¡¯m no ally to whoever did that¡± Hans said.


    Eidre stood up from the seat she¡¯d taken, looming over them.


    ¡°Not the real killers. Us. Foothold is the closest settlement to where the killing took place. The Commonwealth or West Point will go to us first, when they come looking for justice or retribution. And I don¡¯t want lobsters or war skeins on my lands. Besides, I need to know how the wyverns are reacting. Knowledge is power.


    ¡°So what do I tell them? It wasn¡¯t Foothold? That¡¯s at best making shit up, and at worst a lie¡±


    There¡¯s a fair chance people I know did that, he thought. His stomach tightened.


    ¡°If we make it clear some of us are willing to talk and that they have potential allies, they¡¯ll be less likely to take things into their own hands or bring in the Commonwealth.¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°The wyvern aren¡¯t stupid, they won¡¯t believe us without evidence, and chances are, the attackers are connected to Foothold.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think that?¡± Eidre asked.


    ¡°Half the town wants to kill wyverns or a war with the commonwealth, Adair himself doesn¡¯t give a damn, we¡¯re less than a day¡¯s walk from there, and nicking a couple of artillery pieces seems like the sort of thing a bunch of rogue militiamen would do¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Do we know for sure that the same people that did the weapons theft did the killing?¡± Lorne asked.


    ¡°Seems like a waste of effort to go out, kill the wyverns, go back, go out again and make off with the guns¡± Uln said, leaning against the wall. She¡¯d never gotten used to chairs, and avoided sitting on them whenever possible.


    Lorne chuckled. ¡°Fair enough. Though people who want a fight with the Commonwealth may not be the sharpest knives in the kitchen¡±


    ¡°Besides that, I saw tracks that looked like wagons or guns being hauled. They must have gotten the guns, and then were bringing them in when they ran into the wyverns¡± Hans said. He paused after that, unsure of what to say.


    ¡°Are you willing to risk war with West Point, or getting into a conflict with the Commonwealth while they have West Point on their side?¡± Eidre finally asked. ¡°We all know what they¡¯re capable of.¡±


    Hans still remembered the sunsets stained red by ash, and the glow of fires on the horizon from the ¡¯67. He¡¯d seen wyvern warriors in action, though thankfully on the hunt rather than in battle. He had no desire to end up on the receiving end of their attacks.


    ¡°No¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Then what do you suggest we do, if not go out there and try and explain things?¡± Eidre asked.


    ¡°Tell them we don¡¯t know who did it, but we can find out given time. Tell them they have allies. Tell them if they do this carefully and subtly, they¡¯ll be able to get actual justice and not just a pile of bodies with nothing to show for it.¡±


    He hoped the conviction he felt showed through in his voice. He didn¡¯t place any bets.


    Eidre considered it for a moment. ¡°So exactly what I wanted you to do, but frame it as laying out hard truths rather than begging for mercy¡±


    ¡°Yes¡± Hans said. ¡°The only wyverns wintering at West Point will be warriors. They like strength and honesty.¡±


    And flattery about their talent for killing things, if Scar & Rye are to be believed. Of course, being merchants, those two may not be the most objective judges¡­


    ¡°Alright, but who did it anyway?¡± Uln asked.


    ¡°Patriot¡¯s Brigade, local militia, or Commonwealth false flag.¡± Lorne rattled off. Hans guessed from how fast he said them that he¡¯d already gone through the options.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Brigade, most likely¡± Lorne added


    ¡°Who?¡± Uln asked.


    ¡°Patriot¡¯s Brigade. They¡¯re a group of republicans who want to throw out the Commonwealth by force. They¡¯ve been trying to recruit me for years. I told them if war comes I¡¯ll fight, but until then I¡¯ll be looking for peaceful solutions.¡± Eidre explained.


    ¡°Damn¡± Hans muttered. He hadn¡¯t thought about it before, but it did make sense. The brigade had been rumoured to be involved in a number of weapons thefts, and he¡¯d once had the misfortune of hearing a self proclaimed member of them rant about how it was humanities destiny to inherit the peninsula from the rational animals that currently inhabited it. The man had virtually fainted when Hans had told him he was quite happily married to a Woose.


    ¡°I found an arrow that might show who did it, if you could match it with a similar arrow¡± Hans said.


    ¡°What sort of arrow?¡± Lorne asked.


    ¡°Not local. Bodkin point, grey feathers like I¡¯ve never seen before, short, thin shaft¡±


    ¡°Do you have it here?¡±


    ¡°No¡±


    ¡°Well, leave it here before you go. That will give us a start on plugging the leaks by finding out who did this, while you bail water¡±

 Chapter 6-Tane Bayder

    Captain Tane Bayder. 12 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°Arthur told his warband, and his three wives, and all of the survivors of Camlann, of his great grief at the deaths of many loyal men and of even of his treasonous nephew. His companions then each swore their loyalty to him, and he bade Bydevere, who had lost a hand while glutting the carrion crows, to throw his sword into the lake, for he had no trueborn sons to inherit it. Then Morgan the half-fey offered him a cup of a silvery liquid, and bade him drink.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    ¡°Is this the place?¡± Morgan asked as they trotted up to the meeting place in the letter.


    ¡°Yeah, this is the Kraken¡¯s Corpse Quay¡± Corporal Haynes said. ¡°A hundred years back, a fuckin¡¯ Kraken washed up and the name never went away¡±


    ¡°That must have been a pretty sight to wake up next to¡± Blodwen, one of her troopers said.


    ¡°Could have been worse. Could have woken up next to a Grenadier¡± another soldier said.


    Tane heard a gale of laughter from behind her. She¡¯d decided to go in heavy, with her cuirass and pistols under her coat and a half-lance and Morgan riding escort.


    ¡°Which warehouse?¡± Tane asked. There were two of them, one on either side. Both were squarish buildings of slowly rotting wood. The sinking ground had resulted in their southern ends being flooded at high tide, as it was now. The only difference was that the one to her right was freshly painted dark red, while the one to her left had a few scraps of blue paint over greying wood.


    Half a dozen tall ships were docked out on the quay that ran out from between them-merchantmen, a Commonwealth frigate, and what looked like a Taxation office revenue cutter. In summer, with calmer seas and no risk of icebergs, even more ships would dock. Trackford was a critical stop for anyone looking to resupply before sailing down the southern coast of the continent, or rounding the Genian Cape, and after the silver had dried up, it was the only thing keeping Trackford¡¯s economy running.


    No wonder they want to make it a merchant republic for the southern ocean.


    ¡°Probably the blue one. There¡¯s a single person in there. Looks like a witch. There¡¯s a few people in the other one¡±


    ¡°You recognize the soul?¡±


    Morgan paused and thought for a moment. Probably seeing through her third eye.


    ¡°Yes. The other witch from yesterday¡±


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll go in and deal with them. Morgan, you keep an eye on that witch¡¯s soul. They try anything, lock them down and get Hayne¡¯s lance in. Any of the city folk try anything, warn me. Under no circumstances except immediate threat to life and limb should you use live steel or shot. General¡¯s Orders¡±


    "Yes Ma¡¯am¡± Morgan said, snapping to formality.


    Tane tossed her reins to Blodwen, the lance¡¯s designated horse-holder, and dismounted.


    The door to the warehouse was slightly ajar. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw a few people watching her. A Commonwealth officer with a fully armed lance, entering a warehouse alone, wasn¡¯t exactly ordinary.


    Still, in case of threat from a riot, they had the frigate on the quay to fall back to.


    She pushed the door open further, and checked the gloom. Light shone through an unpatched hole in the roof, and glinted off the seawater that lapped across the floor there.


    There was a second floor directly above her, but it must have collapsed on the south end of the warehouse.


    Tane stepped in, one hand reaching under her coat for her pistol, the other hand going to her backsword. She steeled her soul against witchcraft.


    She immediately turned left, checking the blind spot there, then swung around to clear the area behind the doorway. Nothing.


    Her fencing mistress had taught her more than just how to handle a sword.


    No point being the best damn blade in the world if you get stabbed in the back before you can draw it.


    The ground floor of the warehouse was empty except for a mountain of barrels stacked in one corner. Tane guessed no one was dumb enough to pay good money to store goods on the ground level of a building that flooded. She moved up onto the stairs that led to the second floor. They creaked alarmingly under her weight.


    She turned in a half-circle when she reached the top, checking the second floor, her hands still ready to go for her weapons.


    Tane saw movement and began to draw, moving on instinct.


    ¡°Really? What¡¯s the point of coming here if you¡¯re just going to shoot me?¡± a woman¡¯s voice asked.


    She turned to face the ¡°attacker¡±, a black haired woman a little shorter than her in a black coat and petticoat breeches. She had her hands up were Tane could see them, far away from the basket-hilted dagger hanging in the small of her back.


    Tane tucked her pistol back under her coat, and let go of her half drawn rapier, letting it slide back into the scabbard.


    ¡°Can¡¯t be too cautious. That letter was some fine cloak and dagger bullshit¡±


    The woman laughed, hanging back in the gloom. ¡°Sensible. Captain Tane Bayder, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Your name?¡±


    ¡°Mene. Not telling you my family name until I know I can trust you¡±


    ¡°And why should I trust you?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°I probably saved you from getting cashiered and your men executed¡±


    ¡°Alright, so you cleared out the sharpshooter and the witch. You with the army? Navy? Taxation Office? Loyalist?¡±


    ¡°Free agent. Though I was working for the Office when I took down that sharpshooter¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know the TO employed witches¡±


    ¡°Not employed. Working for. I¡¯m a thieftaker. They hired me to try and break in, to test their security¡±. She shrugged. ¡°It wasn¡¯t very good¡±


    ¡°You know who the witch is?¡±


    ¡°No. Though I¡¯m willing to guess¡±


    ¡°Who is it then?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Most likely, he was working for Traharn Hast the younger. My brother¡±


    Tane raised an eyebrow.


    Traharn Hast was the son of a mercenary captain fighting for Bryad and Teres in the western brushfire wars, who¡¯d continued in his father¡¯s career. Said captain had grown up in Trackford, and his son¡¯s return after nearly fifty years had been the source of much gossip, according to people who¡¯d had the misfortune of being in Trackford a year and a half ago.


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    ¡°So you wanted to give me that information? You know, there are ways to do that that wouldn¡¯t leave me fearing I was letting myself get lured into an ambush.¡± Tane said, trying not to let annoyance tinge into her voice. She failed.


    Mene stepped closer, into the light shining through a window. Tane took in her features. Grey eyes, black hair, pale skin. Long face. Pretty, in a boyish way.


    ¡°That¡¯s not all. Traharn¡¯s a rich man; a burgher and gentleman and broken lance. He inherited everything from our father. He¡¯s had holdings sitting here for years, with no one living in them except a few servants. All the while, me and my mother were struggling not to starve in Trarabac. I want to bring him down, and I want you to help me.¡±


    ¡°And how do you suggest I do that?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s simple. First, your trooper¡¯s turn up at a protest, the sort of thing that¡¯ll attract an attack. The shooters do the usual pop off some shots and go for a mindbreak routine. But this time you¡¯ll be ready for it. You¡¯ll flatten them with witches, and get in there and take them prisoner. Then they implicate Traharn, get him charged with conspiracy and treason, and forfeit his property¡±


    Tane turned it over in her head. It would work well enough, presuming they could lure the shooter into attacking them, and capture them. The only risk was that it could turn into a repeat of yesterday, or worse, that Mene was trying to lure them into some sort of trap. Even if Traharn wasn¡¯t involved, they¡¯d have still brought down the shooters.


    ¡°And what would your role in this plan be?¡± Tane asked.


    Mene shrugged. ¡°Intelligence. Extra third eye. Negotiator, if it comes to that¡±


    ¡°Fair enough¡± Tane said. ¡°How do I contact you?¡±


    ¡°I live above Cad¡¯s bakery. Twist street. In the bog¡±


    *


    ¡°So that¡¯s the plan. Any objections?¡±


    The others in her staff room-Gryff, Sace, Bydevere, Morgan, Artorius and Mene-paused in thought for a moment.


    ¡°No offence, but how do we know that we can trust Mene?¡± Artorius asked. Tane had brought him in as an opinion from outside her company.


    ¡°She put down the attackers. I reckon that¡¯s a good enough reason to trust her, if she¡¯s not lying about that¡± Gryff said.


    ¡°I recognize her soul from the riot. She isn¡¯t lying¡± Morgan said.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that hard. There were only two witch¡¯s souls to keep track of back there¡±


    ¡°One other issue¡± Gryff said.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°What happens if we get our riot, but the witch gets clear? We¡¯ll look like a pack of fools¡± Gryff said.


    ¡°Then we try again. Not that hard a concept to understand¡± Bydevere said, his voice dripping with condescension. The quartermaster was a stiff, brown haired man, trying and failing to maintain the dignity he believed he ought to have as a gentleman.


    ¡°Not if Veulnor decides that one failed attempt is enough and gives us a good bollocking.¡± Gryff said.


    There was little love lost between the two men. Gryff was a veteran promoted up from the ranks, as was Bydevere; but Bydevere had started out as a gentleman volunteer and bristled at being an NCO while a man who had been twenty years ago been a farmboy on a stolen horse had become the 2nd in command of a guards cavalry company.


    ¡°Dealing with that is simple enough. We keep throwing lines, until our fish bites. It¡¯s not as if not getting shot at is a bad thing¡± Tane said. Much as she was loath to admit it, Bydevere was right.


    Gryff nodded. ¡°What if we do get shot at, but the attackers get away?¡±


    Tane considered for a moment. ¡°This is war. We have to expose ourselves to danger to avoid greater danger¡±


    ¡°Fair enough¡± Gryff said. ¡°We¡¯ll have overwhelming force. Two witches, both of them bloody good if your showing at the riot is anything to go by¡±-he nodded at Mene-¡°to their one, and if it¡¯s in a less confined space than governor¡¯s lane we can get a charge off on them¡±


    ¡°Exactly¡± Mene said. ¡°You people will know the details of this sort of thing better than me, but that¡¯s the idea¡±


    ¡°Alright. Mene, you¡¯ve got contacts, yes? Use those. Find out when the dissidents are planning their next protest. Gryff, Morgan, get the company up to speed on their counter-witch drills. Bydevere, Sace, no special duties. Artorius, I have bugger all authority over you, but try not to tell everyone what we discussed. Dismissed.¡±


    The officers stood up and filed out of the repurposed Inn¡¯s private room.


    Tane walked out after them, careful to avoid catching her rapier against the doorway. There were a dozen grenadiers in the common room down below, dicing or sitting around in boredom. More would be out, socializing or working bit-jobs taken because peacetime pay was barely enough to cover the costs of living, let alone giving them enough money for any small luxuries or to send it home to their families.


    When she got to the overcrowded stables, with thirty odd horses crammed in, Mene had somehow gotten there ahead of her.


    ¡°Something else that needs dealing with?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Uh, yes¡± Mene said. She was fidgeting, and showed none of the confidence she¡¯d had yesterday.


    ¡°Before I go after Traharn, I want to give him a chance to back out. A declaration of war, if you will¡± she continued.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to tell him what we¡¯re planning?¡±


    ¡°Would you give all your plans over when you declare war? I¡¯m going to tell him I want my fair share or else¡±


    ¡°And where are you going to do this?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s a ball on. Some attempt to get officers and the local gentry and burghers at the same event, in the name of promoting peace. Traharn will be attending¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just going to lead to half a dozen drunks getting pumped for information and at least two people parrying a rapier with their face. Not that there¡¯s anything wrong with that.¡±


    That had been her experience of the sort of balls that soldiers and spooks attended back in Trarabac, anyway. Perhaps Trackford was different, though everything she¡¯d seen so far made it unlikely.


    ¡°I know. That¡¯s why I¡¯d prefer backup¡±

 Chapter 7-Hans Draiger

    ¡°Humanity, of course, is the descendant of the first human, created in the image of the Father after many failed attempts that we know now as Woose, Fey, Selkies and the like. Being made in his image, we are both blessed and cursed with the ability to be judged after death, rather than having our souls fade into the aether. Therefore, unlike the Woose and Fey, who have no reason to be moral and therefore act only for themselves, humans have every reason to follow divine law.¡±


    Ciornio of Atratra, A discourse on Humanity and the Divine.


    Hans Draiger. 20 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Carfani Southern Coast.


    A dozen dead eyes stared up at him from the stone grey beach, from a dozen dead squid almost a hundred feet long from tentacle-tip to mantle. The tips of their arms, webbed together, bobbed in the waves.


    Krakens, Draiger thought with a shiver. He¡¯d seen Woose spearheads barbed with their hooks, and even some that were so rotted they looked like dunes from a distance, but never a whole school of them, more or less intact. He shut his eyes for a moment, sensing their souls . The souls were decayed, the stuff that naturally accrued around thinking beings slowly becoming part of the aether, but it was clear that the Kraken had a higher degree of thought when alive than most of the invertebrates or even fish Draiger had seen.


    Perhaps those fisherman¡¯s tale of them making gardens of bones beneath the waves aren¡¯t as mad as I¡¯d thought.


    ¡°We should get out of here. Scavengers. Besides, there¡¯s a storm coming¡± Uln said, pointing to a pair of mangy Wargs loping down the beach, one with a cub poking its head out of her pouch.


    Hans glanced out to sea. A great mass of cloud, so grey it was almost black, covered the southern sky. Lightning flashed here and there.


    ¡°Shit. You see any cover?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°Go inland, and hug those hills. There¡¯ll be caves or overhangs there¡±. She nodded at a series of forested hills, rising up above the snowy dunes and below the mountains on the horizon.


    Out here, there was no sign of human civilization. Not even squatters and sealers had pushed this far west, into the heartland of the West Point clan. There was still people though, Woose and Wyverns, and signs of it were everywhere if you knew where to look. Mounds that turned out to be piles of fishbone and shells. Fallen trees with burnt rings precisely every three years. Caves with rooves covered in ochre handprints, and discarded flint flakes littered across the floors.


    The Wargs ignored him. They had food aplenty; why risk a fight with dangerous, unpredictable humans over a near infinite resource? In his years of hunting, Draiger had found animals always acted logically. More logically than humans and Woose and Wyverns and god knows what else rational beings, anyway. It was often crude, brutal logic, but everything animals did had some link to survival or reproduction.


    But what about Krakens beaching?


    His thoughts were interrupted by a harsh scream.


    He looked up just in time to see a blue-bellied dragon crash into a harpy, the two dragons tumbling through the sky in a blur of scales. The bluebelly flared its wings, pulling out of its dive before impact. The harpy caught in its talons struggled and screamed, flapping furiously before the dragon bit down on its head. The other harpies scattered, flitting overhead. They were like wyverns, but smaller, with short, broad faced snouts good for ripping meat and fruit alike. Flying monkeys, he¡¯d heard them called, though he had no clue what a monkey was beyond being some sort of climbing animal halfway between a human and a squirrel.


    The bluebelly wheeled back towards them, dragging its limp harpy.


    ¡°Get Down!¡± Uln yelled, grounding her pike against a diving attack. Hans ran to her side, digging his own weapon in.


    The dragon swept overhead. As its name suggested, it¡¯s belly was sky blue, with a long thin tail and talons that put a sicklehawk¡¯s to shame. Its wingbeats kicked up a fine mist of snow. As it flew overhead, it rolled slightly, revealing the brown of her back.


    She only has to conceal herself from her prey. Nothing can attack her from above, or see her. Males fly lower.


    ¡°She¡¯s beautiful!¡± Hans laughed, watching the predator sweep past. Blood hammered in his ears, and his hands gripped his pike shaft like they were hanging on for dear life. Years of hunting had made his body react to animals moving towards him like they were trying to attack him, even if his mind thought it the most magnificent thing he¡¯d seen in years.


    They¡¯d been picking their way along the long, narrow coastal strip, with mountains to the north-the same range that led into the Hendiot in Genia proper-and the ocean to the south. He relished being out in the wilds, away from civilization, with nothing their clothes, supplies, weapons and each other to rely on. Despite his concerns that it would take weeks to reach West Point, especially with the snow and stormy waters, they¡¯d made good time, travelling to the nearest port in a tiny schooner bringing supplies out and seals back in.


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    The port was a tiny sealing station, fortified with a palisade. The whole place had stunk of seal, even worse than the ship had. They had armed sentries on the walls, bearded men and a few women in hides and sealskins with muskets and longbows over their shoulders, glowering at Uln. Woose scalps hung from under the gates. Hans was willing to bet more than a few of those scalps were taken in massacres, not in combat. They¡¯d left as fast as possible.


    They kept moving, angling inland, for the main nesting ground and trading post at West Point. They¡¯d marched 10 miles already today, leaving the sealing station behind, and had 20 miles to West Point to go. He guessed they¡¯d reach it by sundown tomorrow, even with delays.


    *


    It was a short but slow march to the meeting ground-a central cleared area, suitable for landing glider-travois. They trudged through snow turned into slurry by the rain, passing the stone huts that served as the local shelter for the few wintering wyverns, and Woose and human traders staying there.


    There were relatively few wyverns here; most had gone north for the winter. What Hans did see as he crested the final hill, though, wasn¡¯t the gaggle of Woose traders and wyvern stay-behinds he expected. Instead a pair of heavily armoured commonwealth airships were anchored at the center of the field, alongside a few empty glider-travois. The craft were true colossuses, a canvas outer envelope over a balsa frame with steering fins mounted near the back. Gondolas hung underneath, attached by struts and cables, mounting the ship¡¯s rocket projectors, guns, and propellers. He read the names painted on their envelopes: Spear-shaker and Shield-Splinterer.


    ¡°Bloody commonwealth got here first¡± Uln muttered.


    They continued trudging down the slope. There were a few wyverns and Woose milling around, but no one payed them much attention. They probably thought they were just another group of trappers.


    ¡°We should find Rye and Scar, they¡¯ll know who to talk to¡± Draiger said. Both of them were traders who hauled glider-travois; he¡¯d worked with them before, and they stayed south in winter, buying up food, ammo and tools out east and hauling it to Woose clans and trapping stations.


    He heard wingbeats and the crunch of a man-sized flyer hitting gravel behind him.


    ¡°Are you Hans and Uln?¡±


    Hans turned around and saw a trio of wyverns standing behind him.


    ¡°Yeah. And you?¡± Uln responded.


    The lead wyvern answered ¡°You people can call me Captain. These two¡±-she bobbed her head at the other two-¡°Are Glaive, my wingwoman, and Wheat, my Memorialist¡±


    He¡¯d met Glaive and Wheat before. Glaive was probably the most famous wyvern on the peninsular amongst humans; she¡¯d delivered the news of the victory at Halidon¡¯s Hill to Kasilisk.


    The wyverns here were a skeleton crew, staying back while the rest of the clan migrated to settlements in the north. They were merchants, running supplies to isolated human squatters and Woose clans, in return for promises of trade goods in the future, or warriors protecting the settlements, nesting grounds and ritual sites that were scattered across the valley.


    Hans bowed his head politely at Glaive. ¡°I heard about your feats in the last war. Seven kills in one battle?¡±.


    As he remembered the story, she¡¯d fought in Captains war-skein, ripping up a Teresian dragooner squadron, and burning a first-rate air destroyer. He¡¯d heard the story when Rye and Scar had ended up trapped in Foothold by a thunderstorm, and Hans had amused himself by trading hunting and war stories.


    ¡°One wyvern, One Dragooner, and I helped burn an airship and helped Hillside kill a stone hill warrior who nearly killed Captain¡± Glaive said.


    She paused when she mentioned Hillside, her reptilian face unreadable.


    ¡°In any case¡± said Captain, ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d know who killed them. Pine. Pollaxe. Hillside.¡±


    Hans blinked. This was personal for Captain, he realized, not just an abstract matter of justice and honour.


    ¡°I have a few guesses, but nothing solid.¡±


    Captain bobbed her head in what Hans suspected was a nod.


    ¡°You¡¯re most likely tired, yes? We¡¯ll discuss this tomorrow¡± Captain said.

 Chapter 8-Tane Bayder

    Captain Tane Bayder. 21 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°Arthur was reluctant to drink, but Morgan told him it would heal some of his wounds, so he drank. It staunched the blood coming from his belly, but he still could not move his legs. He called her a liar, but she said there was more of the liquid, and that it would heal all his wounds, if only he would gather an army and storm the other-world. Arthur did not believe her, and in great grief at surviving when so many of his men had died, retreated to his tent.


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    ¡°You ever learn to dance?¡± Tane asked, nodding towards the dozen people on the floor.


    They swirled and mingled and reformed in lines again and again, like cavalry in close action, only to the tune of a fiddle and leather shoes squeaking on the polished dancefloor rather than gunfire and hoofbeats and the screams of men and women and horses going down.


    ¡°Never had the chance to learn, being poor in Trarabac and all¡± Mene said.


    ¡°See, that¡¯s why I reckon being a gentry bastard is the best station there is. All of the fancy education and wealth, no chance of getting married off to some git you¡¯ve never met because mommy and daddy want his money.¡±


    ¡°Strictly speaking, I¡¯m a gentry bastard too, and I ain¡¯t doing so good. Whole reason we¡¯re here, really¡± Mene said.


    ¡°Alright, being a gentry bastard to a father who sets your mother up as a respectable mistress is the best station there is.¡±


    Mene grinned. ¡°You learn quickly.¡±


    ¡°That I do. You see Traharn anywhere?¡± Tane asked.


    Mene shook her head. ¡°Can¡¯t see him. That¡¯s Hoja Klass over there, though.¡±


    She nodded at a hulk of a man, completely hairless except for a massive moustache, who was talking with Arace, General Veulnor¡¯s wife. They stood apart from the rest of the crowd, over near one of the stands of drinks. Arace had a worried look on her face.


    ¡°Traharn¡¯s lieutenant from back when he was leading Arluks(1) out west. For the Teresians and Bryadians. Whichever one offered him a bigger share of the loot.¡± Mene continued.


    ¡°What did he haul a mercenary down south for?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°I reckon he wants extra muscle.¡±


    Tane nodded. ¡°You know, if I was trying to forment a revolution, I¡¯d be bringing Gryff along for the ride.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve met?¡± someone asked. Tane turned to face a skinny, handsome looking man in a green coat, worn unbuttoned to show the yellow doublet underneath, with brown hair clipped short in the Carfani fashion.


    ¡°Captain Tane Bayder, 3rd Regiment of Horse Guards¡±


    She neglected to mention Mene¡¯s name. She had no desire to reveal her identity.


    ¡°Avon Heveria, Gentleman of commerce.¡±


    And pamphleteer and likely patriot¡¯s brigade member, but she didn¡¯t mention that.


    ¡°Mene Callow. Thieftaker¡±


    Avon raised an eyebrow at her profession. ¡°You keep good company.¡±


    ¡°And what about your company?¡± Mene asked.


    ¡°Men and women of reason¡± Avon said.


    Tane mentally rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Did you hear about the dead wyverns?¡± Avon asked.


    ¡°Yes. Very unpleasant business.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Indeed. Although really, we don¡¯t know who carried out the attack. The people blaming the republicans are getting ahead of themselves. It could have been weapons thieves, or a Commonwealth false flag for all we know.¡±


    He paused after he said it, looking self satisfied.


    He¡¯s trying to get a rise out of me.


    ¡°Bullshit¡± Mene said. ¡°If the Commonwealth tried something like that, it would be to implicate the Brigade and the other republican factions. They wouldn¡¯t kill the wyverns. If even one of them escaped, that would mean war with West Point. No one wants that. That must have been a cock up of some sort, and the Commonwealth could have easily avoided it by just ordering any patrols to not be in the vicinity of the raid.¡±


    ¡°Of course, that would mean that no one would expect the Commonwealth army. Besides, it could still be thieves.¡±


    ¡°What kind of thief has the firepower to kill three wyverns before any of them can escape, and is then too stupid to get rid of the evidence afterwards?¡± Mene asked.


    ¡°The Patriot¡¯s Brigade?¡± Tane helpfully suggested.


    ¡°My point exactly.¡±


    ¡°The Patriot¡¯s Brigade is dedicated to freedom for the people of Carfane, not stealing artillery in the night¡± Avon snapped.


    ¡°Getting your ¡°freedom¡± would be a lot easier if you had access to big guns.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°That would be implying it will come to war.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve read your pamphlets. You¡¯re not fooling anyone. You reckon it¡¯s the people of Carfane¡¯s duty to prepare for a war against ¡°tyranny¡±, and you reckon the Commonwealth constitutes tyranny. Ergo, you¡¯re preparing for a war.¡±


    ¡°Prepare for a war, not start one. There¡¯s a difference.¡±


    Avon walked off, shaking his head and laughing.


    ¡°Bloody republicans. Run off as soon as you think you have them pinned.¡± Tane muttered.


    ¡°Yeah. Myself, I don¡¯t give a damn who runs Carfane as long as they run it well. Which absolutely nothing I¡¯ve seen of the republicans indicates they would¡± Mene said.


    Tane gave the crowd another look over. Only a few of the officers were there; General Veulnor talking with a couple of older Burgher women, Lieutenant Gwar getting very drunk with a young man, a few Foot officers she didn¡¯t recognize. A tall, lanky man with the hair on either side of his side tied up into a braid and a sabre like Klass¡¯s, caught her eye.


    ¡°That Traharn?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Yeah¡± Mene answered.


    Tane nodded. ¡°Looks like a hard bastard.¡±


    He had the look of a trained soldier about him; confident, alert, with a stiff but balanced way of moving. A western sabre hung from his belt.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I brought you along. Bring a hard bastard to avoid getting murdered by a hard bastard.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m a bastard, but I¡¯m not sure about the hard.¡±


    Mene shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s what the cuirass is for.¡±


    ¡°Only with warding or against hand weapons. Besides, I¡¯ve only got a corset on, not a cuirass.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you brought a witch?¡±(2)


    Tane grinned. ¡°Touch.¡±


    Traharn stalked across the dance floor, deftly avoided one couple, and whispered something to Klass. The Arluk nodded, and the two of them began heading for the doors of the dance hall.


    ¡°This is my chance. I¡¯m going after him.¡± Mene said.


    Tane nodded. ¡°I¡¯m going with you. Two of them; one of you. They could easily kill you without anyone noticing. Besides, this is a shit party.¡±


    They got to the cloakroom before Traharn did. Tane quickly pulled on her cloak, made of thick wool capable of entangling a sword cut, and buckled on her rapier and dagger. Mene did the same, strapping her dagger into place.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    They emerged out into the cold just in time to see Traharn and Klass leading their horses out of the local stables. They stood in a circle of light thrown out by a streetlamp, the streets around them in utter darkness. The noise coming from the dance hall was distorted, like it was coming from a mile off rather than varely a hundred yards away.


    Mene jogged up to him. ¡°Traharn. Brother.¡±


    ¡°The fuck are you?¡± Klass asked, stepping between her and his captain, one hand going to his sabre hilt.


    ¡°Traharn¡¯s sister.¡± Mene said, stepping around him towards Traharn. Klass¡¯s hand shot out and he caught Mene by the wrist, his other hand going to get hold of her dagger, then swept her legs, sending her crashing to her knees. Mene swore, but didn¡¯t fight.


    Shit.


    Tane ran after Mene, her hand going to her rapier, half to steady it, half to draw it if things went south.


    ¡°I¡¯d let go of her if you know what¡¯s good for you.¡± Tane said, saying it as flatly and calmly as possible. She didn¡¯t draw her rapier. That would be threatening Traharn, meaning he could claim self defence, and would mean he couldn¡¯t back down from a fight without looking like a coward.


    Klass let go of Mene.


    ¡°And who are you?¡± Traharn said.


    ¡°An officer of the Commonwealth.¡± Tane said. She didn¡¯t give them her name or unit; that would be inviting trouble.


    Traharn turned away from Tane and loomed over Mene, looking down at her with something between confusion and disdain.


    There was a surprising resemblance between them, Tane realized, between the long faces, the sharp noses, the grey eyes.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My fair share of the family fortune.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°And what makes you think some petty-burgher has any right to the Hast family fortune?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m your sister. You owe me that much, at least¡± Mene said plaintively.


    ¡°I have no sisters. Only a half-brother.¡±


    ¡°You remember Maelgwn Hast?¡± Mene asked.


    Traharn briefly had what seemed like a pained expression on his face, before he regained his composure. ¡°Yes, my father told me about him. Strong lad, black hair. My father had to leave your mother when he upset some rather dangerous people in Trarabac¡±


    Coward, Tane thought. There was nothing wrong with running and hiding if you couldn¡¯t fight or were outnumbered, but for a hardened mercenary to abandon his child¡­


    ¡°That was me.¡± Mene said, her voice shaking. She kept looking Traharn dead in the eyes anyway.


    ¡°I distinctly recall you being male.¡± Traharn said.


    Mene laughed bitterly. ¡°Ever heard of castrati?¡±


    Traharn shrugged. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter anyway. Eldest takes all.¡±


    He turned his back to her, walking towards the horses.


    Tane nearly laughed at the arrogance and stupidity of that.


    ¡°Want me to deal with her?¡± Klass asked. He grabbed Mene by the hair, and she squealed in pain. His other hand went inside his coat.


    Tane tensed, one hand going to her rapier, the other to her cloak. She judged, below the level of conscious thought, how quickly she could draw and strike either man, how quickly they would be able to draw, how quickly Klass could dispatch Mene if he was reaching for a knife or pistol.


    The only way to win in such a situation was to seize the initiative and not let go.


    She began to draw, her sword hand disguised by her cloak, the concealment offering her a valuable half second before they could react.


    Traharn shook his head. ¡°She¡¯s learnt her lesson, and I¡¯ve no desire for a fight with the Commonwealth. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    Klass let go of Mene, shoving her face down into the muddy snow, and stalked off after his captain.


    Tane let go of her rapier, letting it slide back into it¡¯s sheath. Her heart was hammering, and everything seemed to take both an instant and an eternity. Her body and mind had steeled itself for a fight in those tense two seconds.


    ¡°Our father left my mother to die in a slum and what do you do? You try and leave your sister to die in a fucking slum!¡± Mene screamed after them, her voice cracking as she said the last words.


    ¡°You know¡± Traharn said as he clambered onto horseback, ¡°This really is the most half arsed con I¡¯ve ever seen. Couldn¡¯t even find a boy for it, so you had to cook up this castrati bullshit instead. I¡¯d expect better of the fine minds behind the Black Creek hangings.¡±


    The Arluk¡¯s horses took off at a trot, leaving Mene on her knees in the snow.


    Tane offered her hand and Mene took it, hauling herself to her feet.


    Mene¡¯s hand was surprisingly cold, and the skirts of her coat was covered in snow and mud. Her nose was red, and tears were running down her face. She looked away in embarrassment.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t stop th-¡° Tane began to say.


    ¡°Sorry for what? You probably stopped me getting murdered! Fucking idiot!¡±. Mene kicked up a chunk of snow.


    She realized had Traharn not left, she would most likely now be fighting for her life. She would have preferred that. She¡¯d spent a lifetime training to protect her own life, and to take other¡¯s lives, not comfort a sobbing woman-castrati in the snow.


    ¡°Bloody bastard. I should¡¯ve killed him.¡± Tane muttered.


    Tane pushed open the door to the stable and stepped into the warmth inside. Mene followed her, pushing her hands into the pockets of her coat.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have let you.¡± Mene said quietly.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care if I barely know him and he¡¯s an utter bastard. He¡¯s still my brother.¡±


    ¡°You would¡¯ve let him kill me?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°If they¡¯d tried to draw, I would have flattened them. But I wouldn¡¯t have killed them. And I wouldn¡¯t have let them kill you either.¡± Mene said, some of the strength returning to her voice.


    Tane didn¡¯t push it further, just led a horse out for Mene and vaulted into her own saddle.


    1: Mercenary light cavalry. Usual equipment is a sabre, a composite bow or carbine, and often an axe, light lance or brace of pistols. They tend to dress flamboyantly and don¡¯t bother with armour. Think along the lines of OTL Croats, Stradiots, non-winged hussars and the like.


    2: Body armour is much more common and effective in Broken Lance than it was in the late 17th/18th century. This is because witches can employ bullet slowing wards that slow shots down enough that even fairly light, weak armour can deflect or absorb all but the most powerful shots. Most soldiers aren¡¯t fully armoured and getting shot still hurts a lot, so firearms are still very useful-while things like pike blocks and 3/4th armoured cuirassiers are still viable.

 Chapter 9-Hans Draiger

    ¡°Who the fuck wrote this dreck?¡±


    Rumoured response of Ogluk, the founder of the first university in the Wolzuk confederacy, after reading Ciornio of Atrarta¡¯s opinions on Woose.


    Hans Draiger. 22 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Carfani Southern Coast.


    Uln sat with crossed knees by the smoky hearth at the center of their hut, turning the skewered rabbit over the fire, while Draiger sat on a flat stone(the huts being outfitted by souls who didn¡¯t quite get the concept of sitting down) behind her, combing her long red hair and searching for lice by the early morning light. Although most humans would have found it somewhere between odd and disgusting, Draiger found it oddly relaxing. Their packs, rifles, pikes and blades lay stacked against the sides of the surprisingly spacious hut, next to their sleeping bag and bedroll.


    All in all, it made for a rather unconventional image of domesticity.


    ¡°You two awake?¡± a wyvern croaked, from directly above them.


    Draiger startled, accidentally pulling Uln¡¯s hair.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Uln yelped.


    ¡°Clearly yes¡± the wyvern continued, poking his-most wyverns adopted a more or less male voice when speaking human languages, but this one had a male¡¯s red streaked snout-head in through the hut¡¯s broad chimney.


    ¡°Bloody hell, come in through the doorway next time¡± Hans muttered.


    ¡°Apologies, you walkers aren¡¯t used to dealing with us¡± the wyvern said.


    Draiger decided to be diplomatic and not mention that from what he knew, it was also rather rude to approach a wyvern from above, that being a warrior¡¯s usual method of attack and all.


    Uln got up and stomped out to the flap of the tent, made out of rotted, faded blue wool stained with what looked suspiciously like blood.


    Draiger guessed the flap was made out of the coats of Teresian soldiers killed in the last war. The Wyverns didn¡¯t make their own textiles.


    Draiger got up and began hurriedly pulling on his clothes, regretting that he didn¡¯t have Uln¡¯s ability to shrug off any but the most intense cold. By the time he was done pulling on his stockings, breeches, doublet, coat and cloak(all of which he knew to be necessary in the bitter cold) and followed her out, Captain and Glaive were standing outside, while the third wyvern-that Draiger now recognized as Wheat-was perched on top of the stone hut.


    A trio of humans in thick white coats and with scarves around their necks stood behind the wyverns.


    Commonwealth aircrew.


    ¡°The bodies?¡± Hans asked.


    Captain nodded. ¡°The commonwealth wants to talk to you¡±. She stepped away, letting the leader of the aircrew step up. She was a short, hard faced woman, Fusangese or Kaizoku in appearance, with a short sword and a pistol hanging from her belt. She shook Draiger¡¯s hand. ¡°Captain Feiyan, of the Commonwealth Airship Shield Splinterer¡±


    ¡°Hans Draiger, and my wife, Uln Draiger.¡±


    ¡°Good to meet you. Now, onto business. We¡¯ve come out here for the same reason you are. To prevent this unfortunate incident from leading to something worse.¡±


    ¡°Alright. You probably already know that I saw the bodies, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Feiyan nodded.


    ¡°Right. Three of them, shot to death with arrows and bullets, at least one finished off with pikes. There was also a tyrant sicklehawk, but we killed it.¡±


    ¡°Arrows? Did you recover any?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I left it back in Foothold with my landlady; her husband¡¯s going to try and see if he can match it. Grey goose feathers, bodkin point, short and thin.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like anything used by the militias. That lot use broadheads. Woosestoppers.¡±


    He winced at the description.


    ¡°Anyway, the arrow is in good hands. All three of them were killed in a way that suggests they were on the ground when it happened. If they¡¯d been shot out of the sky, they wouldn¡¯t have been so close together. So it was an ambush. What they were doing on the ground in the middle of nowhere, I have no clue. I¡¯m not a skein leader.¡±


    Feiyan shrugged. ¡°Probably putting down to deal with something. I believe the attackers signalled them down, pretending to be lost or the like, then killed them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how we take harpies. Put out meat, nail them when they come down to scavenge. Same principal.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°There were artillery pieces taken at the same time, and the watchman bludgeoning, yeah? Do they remember anything?¡± Hans added.


    ¡°We talked to one of them. He said they looked like locals, militia most likely. He remembered one of them stood out, though. Archer with an odd looking bow, short, burly. Accent he couldn¡¯t place. He died suddenly about a day after talking to him. That sometimes happens, with head injuries. No evidence of foul play.¡±


    ¡°Besides getting smashed on the head.¡± Wheat said.


    ¡°Besides getting smashed on the head.¡± Feiyan said, smirking slightly.


    ¡°Bloody hell.¡± Hans said.


    That¡¯s four they¡¯ve murdered, and this is still just a game to the Commonwealth.


    ¡°Fucking bastards. And they call us savages.¡± Uln added.


    ¡°So a human died. That means you¡¯ll start taking this seriously?¡± Glaive asked.


    ¡°The situation in the eastern peninsular is difficult. We can¡¯t just go ploughing in, that¡¯ll set off a war. We have to gather evidence, make it absolutely clear that the perpetrators are guilty and not being set up. That¡¯s going to take time.¡±


    ¡°You know who did it. The patriot¡¯s brigade or republicans or whatever they call themselves. You¡¯ve got airships, they don¡¯t. Think about it.¡± Glaive continued.


    Hans nearly buried his head in his hands in frustration.


    Bloodthirsty wyverns, arrogant Commonwealth, bigoted Carfani, and the Woose are the only ones with their heads screwed on straight.


    ¡°Hopefully I don¡¯t have to explain the difficulties involved in using air power against our own people. We do that, Carfane rebels and even if we can get it back under control, it¡¯s going to be a festering canker on the Commonwealth for decades. Oh, and everyone involved is going to have to explain their actions to the High Queen, which may or may not start yet another civil war.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± Glaive said. The croaking voice and still face meant that Hans couldn¡¯t figure out if she was sincere or not.


    Hans decided he¡¯d have to have a word with Glaive before this was over.


    ¡°I can assure you, none of my war skeins will be attacking Carfane.¡± Captain said.


    ¡°Good.¡± Feiyan said.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    *


    Gravel crunched under his feet as he walked down to the trade grounds, lower in the valley. There were dozens of windbreaks down there, with glider-travois held up under cover, and bales of feathers and fur stacked ready for transport.


    Uln walked ahead of him, her raven feathered cloak worn over a cheap woollen coat, with the scabbard of her falchion poking out from underneath. There were Woose everywhere, some of them cutting deals, others resting about, and a few humans as well, their tall, skinny frames meaning they easily stood out.


    A gunshot rang out, and Hans flinched. Uln¡¯s hand shot to her falchion, then he saw it was a couple of Woose shooting at marks, a man in a battered Teresian army coat behind them.


    ¡°Just test firing¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Good.¡± Uln answered.


    A grey haired old, long bearded old Woose broke off from a cluster of talking people.


    ¡°What are you coming to trade?¡± the greybeard asked,


    Uln shrugged and switched to the Carfani trade pidgin, a mishmash of half a dozen Woose dialects and Brythwic. ¡°Long journey and we had to get ready to move quickly. Don¡¯t really have anything on us. You want to know what¡¯s going on out east, we¡¯re the people to talk to, though.¡±


    The man nodded, then suddenly paused and stared at Uln for a moment.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Uln. Uln Draiger.¡±


    The man face lit up, and him and Uln started talking rapidly in her native dialect of Woose, reverting to her natural high pitched, loud accent.


    Hans caught words here and there-¡°Uncle¡±, ¡°Long time¡±, ¡°How¡¯s my mother?¡±. His command of that dialect was less than perfect. Uln had taught him most of it, but he had little opportunity to practise except with her, and his voice was low pitched enough to make it near unintelligible when he spoke it.


    Uln turned back, grinning. ¡°This is my uncle, Olam. Olam, this is my Hulan¡±-Husband, essentially-¡°Hans Draiger¡±


    Hans hugged the old man, the usual greeting amongst Woose.


    ¡°Olam taught me how to shoot the musket we had and thrust spears, back when I was a girl.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°That I did. Could never throw the things properly, though, so Uln¡¯s mother had to teach her that¡± Olam said.


    Hans laughed. He¡¯d never been able to get the hang of throwing weapons either, and didn¡¯t see much point when guns were available.


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s Uln!¡± Olam called out in Woose to an old woman and a couple of girls.


    ¡°Mother!¡± Uln said, laughing.


    Hans realized he was about to discover the joys of meeting the parents. Nearly a decade after the marriage, at that.


    The woman scrambled up and hugged Uln, and the girls followed.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± one of the girls asked.


    ¡°Hans Draiger. Uln¡¯s Hulan.¡±


    ¡°Are you a human?¡± one of them asked.


    ¡°Yes¡± Hans laughed.


    Olam gestured for them to sit down.


    Hans sat down cross legged with the others, leaning his back on a bale of furs.


    ¡°Long time, yeah?¡± Olam said.


    ¡°A few years back we tried to head out to your territories, but you¡¯d cleared out. Just squatters and a bunch of Woose Uln didn¡¯t recognize.¡±


    ¡°Humans ran us off.¡± the older of the girls said.


    Wutram, Uln¡¯s mother, took a deep breath.


    ¡°Some humans set themselves up as farmers further down our valley. Built a fort and all. We welcomed it, at first. Reckoned we could barter knives and axes and muskets off them, and get food and shelter if we needed it. Sell them pelts, maybe even learn to farm. We told them it was our land, but they were welcome to settle. They agreed. Then we had a hard winter, were running low on food. They wouldn¡¯t give us food. We were getting desperate.¡±


    She paused for a moment.


    ¡°Your father got reckless trying to take a reaper(1) and got hurt real bad. We tried everything we had to treat the wound. Didn¡¯t work, it just got worse and worse. So we figured that they had a doctor with them, they could help. Took him down. Asked for help. They told us no. Told them they were right on our land, and that they had to help us. They didn¡¯t change their mind. So we were pretty angry by now. A few of the young men, the fighters, wanted to go in there and teach them a lesson. Besides, they had plenty of fat sheep in their barn. I was against it at first, but then I realized we were all going to starve if we didn¡¯t try something.¡±


    Olam took over.


    ¡°I led the fighters down. We had three muskets by then, and a dozen or so fighters, including the women. Went right in, speared a bunch of sheep, let the rest loose so we could hunt them down later. Well, after that, I was pretty pleased with myself. Your father even started making a recovery, once he had some food in him. Then they came after us, a couple of weeks later. It was a massacre. They¡¯d brought guns and armour and witches and dogs. We lost half a dozen fighters in that alone. I was lucky to get out alive. One of them carved up my hand with one of those, what do you call them? Swords? Yeah, one of those.¡±


    He raised his right hand, pulling his sleeve back, and Hans saw that it was mutilated; one finger gone, another two paralyzed, and a puckered scar ran across the flat of his hand.


    ¡°After that, we realized we were gone if it came to another fight. A few wyverns saved us, gave us food for the winter. After that, we decided to get out of there. If another fight happened, we were done for. We headed out west, decided to set up as traders on West Point territory. Ended up out here. Got into a few skirmishes with other clans. We won most of them; we had guns and steel hatchets, and fighting experience. Your father didn¡¯t make it, though. He¡¯d recovered well enough from his wounds, but he was speared by another clan when they tried to stop us passing through their territory. He didn¡¯t suffer.¡±


    Uln blinked in shock. ¡°How long ago?¡±


    ¡°About six winters ago.¡± Olam said.


    ¡°And they call us savages.¡± Uln muttered, bitterly. He could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes.


    Hans put an arm around her shoulders.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right, aunty, he¡¯s in a better place now.¡± one of the girls said.


    ¡°I know, I know.¡± Uln buried her head in her hands, and he could hear her sobbing. He wanted to say something, anyway, to comfort her, but he couldn¡¯t think of anything.


    He just pulled her closer and let her cry into his chest.


    1: Shaggy therizinosaur, so called because their claws resemble a harvesting scythe.

 Chapter 10-Tane Bayder

    ¡°Though he brooded, Morgan came to him, and spoke to him a very long time. When she emerged, she told Arthur¡¯s servants to enter, and to help him mount his horse. When he was mounted, with great difficulty, for he was sorely hurt, he gathered all his surviving men and began to speak.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder. 22 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    She was bleary eyed as she rode up to the tavern, the company NCOs scrambling to get eighty odd Horse Grenadiers saddled up and ready for muster. Bydevere was swearing at a couple of grooms struggling with a saddle; Tane trotted her horse up to him.


    ¡°All going smoothly?¡± Tane asked.


    Bydevere shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s all going smoothly¡± he echoed. He turned to the grooms. ¡°Wait till it breaths in, then tighten the strap, you bloody morons!¡±


    Tane sighed. This was business as usual, and her troops were well trained professional soldiers. She didn¡¯t even want to think about what commanding a company of levied farmboys or aristocratic dilettantes would be like.


    She glanced about for Morgan. She needed to ask about the companies preparedness for an attack by witches; she couldn¡¯t afford to have her troops open fire without orders again.


    The witch was already on horseback and fully uniformed.


    ¡°Hey, how have the drills been going?¡±


    ¡°Good. They¡¯ll be able to resist that amateur mindbreaker or any lesser demons, at least.¡±


    The woman¡¯s face was unreadable as usual.


    ¡°Excellent. Do you have any familiars ready?¡±


    ¡°Yes. A couple of hellhounds I¡¯ve bound. Still getting them trained up.¡±


    Tane grinned. ¡°I¡¯d like to see the look on their witch¡¯s face when those two come for him.¡±


    From what she¡¯d read of the military applications of the black arts, hellhounds were essentially the aetheric equivalent to dogs, intelligent and sometimes vicious creatures that once trained could be a deadly weapon or loyal companion for a witch(1)


    She wheeled her horse off, looking for Gryff.


    He was arguing with a woman in an old blue dress. His horse stood calmly behind him, looking baffled by the humans. Tane rode up to them.


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°One of your soldiers broke my husband¡¯s nose.¡± the woman said, matter of factly. She was short, chubby, tough looking, the sort of person who in another life might have been a camp follower.


    ¡°Which one?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who did it. There were three of them, he said, at the public house. They were arguing about something, then one of them said the civilian was staring at him, then they asked him what he was staring at, and he said nothing, then he doesn¡¯t remember what happened afterwards except that he was on the ground with blood coming out of his nose and a sword pointed at his face.¡±


    Oh, fuck me Tane thought.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t know who did it, there¡¯s nothing I can do, I¡¯m afraid. I can¡¯t punish the whole company for the actions of a few.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Give me some bloody money so I can feed my children, or I¡¯ll tell the brigade what you lot did.¡±


    ¡°I barely have enough funds to keep my own soldiers payed, clothed and fed-¡°


    ¡°Then give the pay of whoever did it to me husband!¡±


    "I can''t do that, if I don''t know who did it."


    The women spat on the ground, muttered something about fucking soldiers, and stalked off.


    ¡°Fucking civilians.¡± Gryff said in answer.


    ¡°Ask the NCOs if anyone¡¯s been boasting about brawls. Tell them to knock it off. The situation¡¯s bad enough without anyone getting their face beaten in.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Aye. What the hell happened last night?¡± Gryff asked.


    Tane sighed. This was going to be awkward. ¡°Mene confronted Traharn Hast about her inheritance. It didn¡¯t go well. Nearly got into a duel. Bloody lucky I didn¡¯t; Traharn is the very definition of a hard bastard.¡±


    She decided not to embarrass Mene further by letting out that she was a castrati, or had been beaten by her own brother¡¯s man and not done anything about it.


    ¡°And you aren¡¯t?¡± Gryff asked.


    Tane burst out laughing. ¡°Yeah, Mene reckoned the same fucking thing.¡±


    ¡°Anyhow, before you turned up, she was asking about compensation for her husbands injuries. Says he won¡¯t be able to work for the time being, and that she won¡¯t be able to get a job and look after her children at the same time.¡± Gryff said.


    ¡°You get her name?¡±


    ¡°Something or other Cassader.¡±


    ¡°Good. Tell Bydevere to see if he can scrounge up some money to pay her off. Better than her stirring up a riot on us.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Cap¡±


    Tane wheeled off. She¡¯d need to check in on Bydevere now that he wasn¡¯t busy with saddles, and see if anything else needed dealing with, then onto the formal business of checking that every man, woman and horse in the company was where she¡¯d left them.


    The list of things that needed dealing with was rather long.


    Kay Ap Gywnn, the Gentleman of the Arms, said two muskets and a pistol with damaged springs needed to be replaced.


    Rhianne, one of the troopers in Hayne¡¯s lance, was possibly pregnant(Tane was sure she¡¯d made it quite clear that silphium was compulsory for all her troopers), while a couple of other troopers had vanished and had either deserted or where about to be found in an alleyway very, very drunk. Probably the latter; in either case she wouldn¡¯t blame the poor bastards.


    Or they¡¯ll turn up dead.


    She didn¡¯t dwell on the possibility.


    She rubbed her eyes. She¡¯d only managed to get to sleep at 2 in the morning or thereabouts, then had to get up at first light for morning muster.


    She trotted her horse off towards the Bog. She needed to check in on Mene, to make sure she hadn¡¯t done anything ill advised last night. Or that Traharn hadn¡¯t sent some thugs a calling.


    Boudace rode after her, the page girl dogging her heels.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Asking after a friend. Military business. Both, really.¡± Tane said.


    Of course, her informant getting killed or turned would be rather unfortunate, but she did care about Mene beyond that, at least as a friend. Certainly after what had happened last night.


    Hell, if I get any hint that she¡¯s fond of women¡­


    Tane shook her head, almost laughing at herself. That sort of thing in a city under occupation was never a good idea. Gave a blackmailer or hostage taker leverage over her, and it would make things worse if Mene turned out to be a spy or got killed.


    The Bog had surprisingly neat streets, carefully planned after the land it was on had been reclaimed from the harbour. What wasn¡¯t neat was the buildings, tall ramshackle things that overhung the streets. Some of them sagged alarmingly, from the boggy ground, and all of them had a rotted look about them, despite many of them being less than twenty years old. The land had been reclaimed with money from the silver rush, and then when that had collapsed as the mines dried up, it had ended up as dirt cheap housing for the cities poor. No one rich wanted to live on this moist, waterlogged ground.


    People stared up at her as they realized what she was. A gentlewoman, and an officer of the Commonwealth besides. She felt self conscious; she knew she was conspicuous on horseback, dressed in leather amongst civilians in wool. Her buff coat alone probably cost more than the entire outfit of the people on the streets.


    She was glad for the protection her rapier, 40 inches of razor edged metal coming to a needle point and mounted on a shell hilt, offered her. It wasn¡¯t her first choice for the chaos of a cavalry melee(that would be a backsword or one handed pollaxe), but it was excellent weapon for self defence and duelling.


    Twist street wasn¡¯t hard to find. It deserved the first part of its name, and very much didn¡¯t deserve the second part. It was less a street than an alleyway, snaking between houses, overgrown with washing lines like an abandoned hunting trail. Tane dismounted and tossed her reins to Boudace.


    ¡°Go get the horses stabled. I¡¯ll be back in a few hours.¡±


    Boudace nodded and trotted off.


    She climbed up the creaking staircase behind the bakery and knocked twice.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Mene asked. She looked as tired as Tane was, and her hair was a mess, strands of it running over her face. There was a purple bruise on one wrist from where Klass had grabbed her, but her face was unhurt. She was dressed only in her doublet and petticoat breeches. Before, Tane had only seen her in coats, but now how thin and lightly built she was was starkly apparent.


    ¡°You alright?¡± Tane asked. Last night, she¡¯d ridden with Mene back to her apartment, but people sometimes didn¡¯t notice injuries straight after a fight.


    ¡°Yeah. Bruised wrist and shin. I¡¯ve had worse¡±


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    ¡°I know. Come in, it¡¯s too bloody cold.¡±


    Tane pulled off her mud spattered cavalry boots, tucked her gloves through her swordbelt, and stepped in, shutting the door behind her.


    Mene¡¯s apartment was crowded, even for someone used to army billets. A pile of spare shirts lay in one corner, and a blunderbuss, pistol and no less than three daggers propped up in another. She had only a bed, stool and a single desk for furniture, with a doorway leading into what Tane saw to be an overgrown cupboard and wardrobe combined into one. The roof sloped down overhead to the point where there was scarcely room to sit up on the bed.


    Mene gestured at the bed, and Tane sat down on it, careful to avoid knocking her head, while Mene pulled out a stool.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Mene said.


    ¡°About what? You tried your plan, it didn¡¯t work, now you go on to the second plan.¡±


    ¡°About not telling you I¡¯m a castrati¡­¡± Mene glanced away.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Tane asked, noncommittally. She knew castrati could be touchy about probing questions, and she didn¡¯t blame them.


    ¡°I should have realized that would cause, an, uh, problem with Traharn.¡±


    ¡°Not your fault. You told him the truth, he didn¡¯t believe it.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know¡­¡±


    There was a long moment of silence.


    Mene finally leaned forwards and took Tane¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Thankyou.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°For trusting me. For being willing to fight for me. It¡¯s, uh, been a while since anyone¡¯s done that.¡±


    Mene was blushing, and for a brief moment, Tane felt the urge to kiss her.


    Don¡¯t take advantage.


    Mene sat back in her stool.


    ¡°We¡¯re doing to have more fighting to do, before this is over. Do you have a protest we could stake out?¡± Tane said, trying to change the subject.


    ¡°Yeah. One in South Park. Patriot¡¯s brigade organized, they¡¯re doing a march and rally. Lots of open spaces, for cavalry to charge in.¡±


    ¡°Good. Which date?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°29 Sextilis. 10 o¡¯clock in the morning.¡±


    Tane nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll request to have my company assigned to that. Say that it¡¯s ideal position to lure out and catch the shooters from. I¡¯ll not tell them you were involved in the planning, don¡¯t worry. ¡°


    ¡°Alright. Will you need me with your company?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it, yeah. You¡¯re a good war-witch, and an extra third eye is always wanted.¡±


    Mene nodded.


    Tane stood up. ¡°I need to go talk to Veulnor, get this planned out. I¡¯d keep that blunderbuss loaded, if I were you.¡±


    1: It takes considerable effort to cage them; they have to be lured in by the sacrifice of a rabbit or other small animal, then overpowered and forced into a cage, an aetheric echo of lines and circles drawn in the physical world out of crystallized aetheric essence. After that, they have to be trained, with much the same methods as a dog: dead animal souls to eat if it was a good familiar, and getting smacked about with a tendril if it wasn¡¯t.

 Chapter 11-Hans Draiger

    Hans Draiger. 23 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Carfani Southern Coast.


    ¡°Now, humans and woose-can¡¯t tell the difference, honestly, all groundwalkers to me-them, I reckon they got stuck down there, small and weak, unable to fly or create fire without trickery and machines, because they¡¯re the reincarnated souls of wyverns who failed to die as a warrior should, in battle or hunt or protecting eggs. Some of them die historic enough, they get reincarnated as wyverns. But more wyverns souls end up in humans than vice versa, which is why there¡¯s more of them than there are of us.¡±


    Fury, Stone Hill clan leader, interview with Triadic Priest-Scholar.


    Crouching behind a wagon. Sobbing and Screaming. The smell of tents burning. Yells of ¡°Kill the savages¡± and ¡°They took our bloody silver¡± and ¡°Humanity fuck yeah¡± and ¡°Get that woosefucking witch¡±.


    Fumbling to load a musket, shaking, the noise flowing together with the hundreds of souls visible in his third eye into a sensory onslaught that drowns out all rational thought. Uln beside him, muttering ¡°they¡¯re going to kill us, they¡¯re going to kill us¡± over and over. A human, tall and lean, rounding the wagon, a bloodied shovel in his hands.


    A strangled gasp of ¡°run!¡± and then sprinting through mud, Uln at his side, filthy water splashing over his breeches. Whistle blasts and then half a dozen horses crashing past him, leaving him entirely soaked. A strangled squeal and he turns and stops and sees Uln down in the mud, her whole body painted brown, struggling to stand up. The man with the shovel advancing on them. Cavalry going in with singlesticks behind him, and humans and woose alike throwing down picks and shovels and long knives to turn and scatter.


    Cock the musket and aim and fire.


    Man keeps coming. Shut his eyes and hit with a tendril, trying to tear his soul. Man keeps coming. Grab a rock, and try and throw it, but it falls short. Man keeps coming. He kills Uln with his shovel, one, two, three hits, and Hans screams in horror and helplessness. The man keeps coming, grinning, and he tries to run, but his whole body feels like lead, and then the shovel comes down and he jerks awake.


    Hans could feel Uln¡¯s strong arms around him, and her nuzzling the back of his neck.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Bad dream. It was that riot, back at the mining camp all over again, but they killed you and there was nothing I could do.¡±


    She managed to get over him and kissed him. He could only see the silhouette of her body from light shining through the roof, but he could see her soul and feel her weight over him.


    As she moved, she pushed the sleeping bag open and cold air got inside, making him shiver.


    ¡°In the real world, getting shot kills people. I¡¯m pretty safe.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡± Hans said, still half asleep.


    He heard the noise of a wyvern landing outside, muffled by the stone walls.


    ¡°Hans.¡± said a scratchy, croaking voice.


    He swore under his breath, and Uln rolled off him, scrambling to pull herself out of their sleeping bag.


    He followed her out, fumbling for his breeches. He was only dressed in a shirt otherwise; between the sleeping bag and the warmth of Uln¡¯s body he had little need of anything else.


    ¡°Do you lot always insist on turning up at the crack of dawn?¡± Hans asked.


    The wyvern-Glaive, Hans realized-stuck her head in through the doorway.


    ¡°Had to be sure I got to you before you left.¡±


    ¡°What do you want to tell me?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°Captain wanted me to tell you that she wasn¡¯t telling the whole truth when she said that she had no intention of leading war-skeins against the Commonwealth. She has no intention of leading them herself. I¡¯ll have that honour.¡±


    For a brief moment, Hans was speechless. If that happened¡­


    ¡°You want to attack Carfane? What will that do besides start a war? Once the Commonwealth brings their full airfleet to bear, you¡¯ll be forced off the peninsular with nothing to show for it but piles of bodies.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I want you to locate the killers, tell me their identities and locations, and then I¡¯ll lead a ¡°rogue¡± war-skein to kill them all and mummify their bodies¡±


    Somewhat less insane than the original plan.


    ¡°You lot don¡¯t fuck around¡± Uln said.


    ¡°I full well intend to show whatever group of groundwalkers did this what happens when they attack West Point Clan, commonwealth auxilia or no¡± Glaive said.


    Her lips pulled up into something that resembled a grin, revealing dozens of very small, very sharp teeth.


    Hans sighed. ¡°I get payed to come out here to try and convince you not to burn anything down, and now you want me to track down these killers so you can burn them all?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want justice?¡±


    Something inside him snapped.


    ¡°Of bloody course I want justice! The same sort of bastard who did this nearly murdered my wife twelve years ago, did fucking Black Creek, have been killing and raping and terrorizing Woose and Wyverns all across the peninsular.¡±


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    He sighed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you a deal. I¡¯ll do everything in my power-which isn¡¯t much-to track down the killers and bring them to justice. But if I know who they are, and can¡¯t get them brought down myself¡­ I¡¯ll tell you exactly who did it. But only on one condition.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°If I can¡¯t find out who did it, you let the bodies lie. I want the guilty killed, or executed, or forced into exile, I don¡¯t give a damn as long as they¡¯re gone. But I don¡¯t want innocents killed on my account, or anyone else¡¯s.¡±


    Glaive nodded. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll do it your way. But the commonwealth won¡¯t be able to do anything about this. Mark my words, this is going to end in spilt blood and cracked bones. The only question is whose blood and bone¡±


    Not 100% happy with this, but perfect is the enemy of adequate.


    Hans retched over the side of the schooner for what seemed like the 50th time that day, as they pulled into Southmoor¡¯s fishing harbour.


    A couple of rowboats towed them into their berth, down on the beach. The half above was almost picturesque, dozens of low brick buildings with snow covered roofs and smoke drifting from chimneys. The schooner was, Hans suspected, a smuggler, dodging commonwealth taxes on seal oil and furs, and one of the few sailing the rough, stormy waters at the end of winter.


    The captain stalked up to him. ¡°Payment.¡±


    He was a gruff, grizzled man who had the respect of his crew, and had taken an immediate dislike to Uln, and Hans by extension. But love of money seemed to outweigh hate of Woose, and he was perfectly willing to bring them along while he picked up furs, wait for the better part of a week, and then sail them back again.


    He fumbled for the silver coins Eidre had given him to cover expenses. Thirty of the things, for a berth on the ship.


    The captain smiled for what was, as far as he could tell, the first time in his life, as Hans passed him the coins.


    ¡°Can we get out of here?¡± Uln asked, standing next to their packs and weapons.


    Hans dodged past a sailor carrying a coil of rope as he walked over to Uln.


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s move. It¡¯s only midday, we should be able to make a fair bit of the journey before nightfall.¡±


    He put on his pack, slung the rifle over his back, and grabbed his half-pike. Uln did the same.


    A pair of sailors threw down the gangplank, and he got off, as soon as possible. There were a half dozen other fishing boats and a few small cargo ships. Some of the sailors glanced warily at an airship, drifting along the horizon.


    They set off immediately down the road. He would¡¯ve found a wagon to hitch a ride on, but with snowed over roads walking was almost faster, and both of them wanted their feet back on solid ground after spending a week on a ship.


    Herds of reapers stood in the fields, alongside long haired, cold resistant cattle. They were colossal, with four toed feet, shaggy brown feathers, and claws on their hands like harvesting scythes. They tracked him with beady eyes atop swanlike necks, whole herds moving their heads with uncanny coordination.


    The snow was increasingly thin, and the dirt of the road boggy. Spring was coming, and with it roads that turned into rivers of mud.


    The sun was setting by the time they arrived in Little Frontier, a sleepy farming town. It had gotten its name from the fact that it had been on the edge of the frontier, and was the smallest of the half dozen or so towns called that.


    The coachhouse was easily found, a tall stone building, loopholed. It looked like it had been a former blockhouse.


    Hans shoved open the door. No-one noticed another traveller. What they did notice was Uln.


    He could almost feel people staring. Woose weren¡¯t that rare, even away from the frontiers, but what really got their attention was that she was armed to the teeth, wearing a mix of human and Woose clothing, and walking alongside a human man.


    He checked the hall, and was surprised to see Lorne sitting in corner, alongside a couple of men who he recognized as part of Eidre¡¯s household.


    ¡°Hey, Lorne. What are you doing out here?¡± Hans asked.


    Lorne turned around, putting down his drink.


    ¡°Half going to Southmoor to look into investing in the fisheries. Half meeting up with you two. While you were gone, we did some asking around.¡±


    Hans sat down across from him.


    ¡°Did you find anything?¡±


    Lorne leaned across the table.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    He glanced about, checking that no one was listening in.


    ¡°We¡¯re pretty sure who did it, but Eidre has the full details. The long and short of it, though, is that it was Brigade guys out from Trackford, alongside locals. Connor Ferrene, amongst others. He seems to have been the ringleader.¡±


    I know them. I know murderers.

 Chapter 12-Tane Bayder

    ¡°He told them thus: though he was maimed, and many of his comrades too, he had been told by Morgan how to invade the realm of Fairy which held the cauldron of life, or the land where the Holy Grail was held, and that any man who would follow him for one last battle would have eternal life.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder. 29 Sextilis 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    The 3rd Horse Guards Grenadier company stood on one of the side streets off South Park, waiting for the protestors to arrive.


    ¡°You hear anything?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t hear anything, Ma¡¯am.¡± Sace said from beside her. Her nose was bright red, and Tane knew her own face would look much the same. Her fighting harness, buff coat and cuirass and knee high boots, did a decent enough job of keeping her body and limbs warm, but her face was exposed. A few of the grenadiers had scarves pulled over their faces, but Tane didn¡¯t want to risk muffling her voice if the shooting started and she needed to restore order.


    ¡°Morgan?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Signals from Mene?¡±


    Mene was out on foot, watching over the park. At a quarter of a mile out, the maximum reach of her tendrils overlapped with Morgan¡¯s, letting her stay in contact with the company.


    ¡°Yes. She¡¯s given us the signal to move. Not urgent.¡±


    ¡°March, at the walk!¡± Tane yelled out. It took them less than five minutes to reach the gardens. They could have done it in only two minutes, if they¡¯d been moving flat out. They moved quickly and quietly, people hurrying out of the way, avoiding eye contact. Individuals or small groups of soldiers were liable to be harassed. No one wanted to face a full company. As they approached, she could hear chanting, faint and in the distance.


    The cavalry spilled into South Park, fanning out into their combat formation, three deep and boot to boot. The park itself was sparse grass, with half dead trees here and there, all covered under a thick layer of snow. Not quite Trarabac¡¯s Venwark gardens, but not as awful as some gardens Tane had seen.


    ¡°Heard them coming, before my third eye saw them¡± someone said. Tane turned in her saddle to see Mene jogging up to them in a bulky coat, concealing her blunderbuss and dagger.


    ¡°Blodwen, spare horse!¡± Tane called out.


    Blodwen lead up a horse for Mene, and she awkwardly clambered into the saddle.


    The protestors were coming out on the opposite side of the park.


    They had an orange flag, with a black three-spoke, without a wheel, in the middle, and Free From Tyrants written across it in white letters, at the head of their march column, and she could see more flags behind them. Sunlight flashed off the snow, and the hilts of cutlasses and rapiers on their belts.


    The chanting was turning into words now, ¡°Carfane free from Tyranny¡±. It had first been a slogan during the ¡¯67, when paranoid fantasies about the Teresian monarchy, descended from pre-Arthurian Fey monarchy, conquering Carfane had spread(1). Since then, it had morphed into a general war cry against all sorts of oppression.


    Another chant picked up, ¡°Farmers before Wooses¡±, a good old whinge about not being allowed to take land at gunpoint.


    Of all the problems Carfane had-military occupation, slowing economy, heavy taxation, political representation-lack of farmland wasn¡¯t one of them.


    She saw a lone figure stumble before the mob, in a red coat. A dishevelled woman stood behind him.


    Someone screamed ¡°Lobster!¡± and the man shouted something back, inaudible.


    She pulled out her spyglass, just in time to see the man struck by a flying stick, then another, then someone running forwards with a drawn rapier. The soldier had his sword out as well.


    Shit, shit, shit.


    At the rate this was going, they wouldn¡¯t need the witch for it to turn into a bloodbath.


    ¡°Prepare to charge, batons!¡± Tane called out. Charging home without scattering them would give the man-apparently a soldier who¡¯d made some unfortunate decisions last night-time to escape.


    The NCOs and Gryff echoed her orders, and the company hefted their batons and singlesticks and axe handles.


    ¡°Charge, at the trot! Halt on my mark!¡±


    She spurred her horse forwards. She didn¡¯t need to glance back to know that the rest were following her; she could hear the rumble of eighty warhorses moving up to a good round trot.


    As she got closer, she saw that the two men were fighting the way only drunkards who didn¡¯t actually want to kill anyone could, striking at each other¡¯s swords, scrambling back the moment one of them actually close enough to hit.


    The mob saw them coming; she saw people turning, yelling out in alarm, a few moving to the back of the march. The swordsman turned to face them; and then the soldier turned and ran, the woman trailing after him.


    ¡°Halt, Halt!¡± Tane reined her horse in, the stallion snorting impatiently.


    The cavalry slowed to a walk then stopped. The protestors-this lot seemed a bit more respectable than the Tailor¡¯s street mob-yelled out threats and taunts. Finally, someone amongst the protestors started yelling for calm, and she ordered her Grenadiers to countermarch off to fifty yards back in acknowledgement


    The crowds formed into a half-circle surrounding someone who leapt up onto a rock with surprising agility. Tane pulled out her spyglass and focused in on the leader. He was a young, handsome looking man, in a dull green corpscoat. She recognized him from somewhere, but couldn¡¯t quite place him.


    There was something distinctly energetic about the way his hands moved as he spoke. She couldn¡¯t quite hear what he was saying, but from the loud cheers, the crowd liked it. The cavalry were almost forgotten, the crowd focusing on the man¡¯s speech. Finally, after what seemed like half an hour, he ended his speech with a yell of ¡°Taxation without Representation is tyranny, and what do we do with Tyrants?¡±


    Avon Heveria, she finally remembered.


    ¡°Overthrow them!¡± the crowd yelled back.


    ¡°Well, this isn¡¯t good¡± Sace muttered to her.


    ¡°No, no it isn¡¯t.¡±


    Another speaker jumped up onto the rock and continued.


    ¡°Tane?¡± Morgan asked.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve picked up the signature of the witch. Teahouse. Right at the edge of my tendrils.¡±


    Tane rode to the rear lances, pulling out her spyglass. ¡°It¡¯s about to heat up. You hear any shots, get ready to move on the shooter. Get braced for witchcraft.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Cap, I see movement!¡± Gryff called out. Tane turned to face him.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Light glinting, up on the second floor of that tea ho-¡°


    Gryff¡¯s cheek was blown apart in a spray of ripped flesh and shattered teeth even as the noise of the gunshot washed over Tane.


    Tane saw everything in slow motion. Gryff lurching sideways in his saddle, blood flowing from his ruined face, another trooper leaning across to grab him. Sace screaming, first in shock, then that she saw the shooter on the south corner of the building block. Morgan twisting in her saddle as she began to bring up the arcane wards that would slow bullets enough to have little chance of piercing armour. The fading burst of smoke on the balcony of a cheap coffee house, a hundred and fifty yards east.


    This is our chance. He¡¯s completely exposed, the part of her that was trained as a fighter, first a duellist and then as an officer, said.


    Gryff¡¯s hurt real fucking bad thanks to me, the part of her that an empathetic human being said.


    ¡°Adaire¡¯s lance, get Gryff the fuck out of here! Sace, take twenty troopers around the rear of those buildings, cut off their line of retreat! Everyone else, on me!¡±


    She wheeled her horse towards the balcony, spurring it up to a gallop. Good order didn¡¯t matter, only speed and shock.


    The rest of the company where racing after her, the hoofbeats deafeningly loud. They closed the distance in seconds, going from a hundred and fifty yards out to barely fifty by the time the second shot rang out. She heard the crash of a stallion going down, audible even over the roar of horses going at a full gallop, then a high pitched scream. A pair of figures stood on the balcony, scrambling for cover.


    Her company reined in, milling in momentary confusion, some leaping to the ground, others continuing to wave pistols, looking for a target.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Bydevere! Get the men dismounted and ready to assault! Seryse, get someone back to pick up whoever that was who got shot down! Morgan, Mene, work on pinning them down, especially the witch!¡±


    Mene jogged past, then leapt with unnatural lightness at the balcony. She easily caught onto it and pulled herself up.


    Get people onto the balcony then cover all the exits, that¡¯s the right idea.


    Tane guided her horse up to the balcony, stood up in the stirrups and grabbed onto the lowest part of the railings.


    ¡°Mene! Some help!¡±


    The witch scrambled over and grabbed her, pulling her up onto the balcony one handed, her eyes screwed up in concentration. Tane was baffled at the thin woman¡¯s strength, until she realized she had used witchcraft to alter the natural pull of gravity.


    ¡°You got his signature?¡± Tane asked Mene. At the same time, she scanned the rest of the park and the balcony. The protestors were milling about in confusion. A pair of smoking muskets lay abandoned on the ground.


    She turned in towards the door, left open in haste. A musket lay discarded on the ground. ¡°Doorway clear?¡± Tane asked. ¡°Yeah.¡± Mene answered. ¡°One above us, two on the ground floor. Witch is on the ground.¡± As she said it, Mene coolly checked her blunderbuss, checking that the rounds were seated and the priming ready.


    She¡¯s done this before.


    A town bell was ringing, off in the distance, warning of fire or attack.


    ¡°He¡¯s going for the roof¡± Mene added.


    ¡°The roof? Lead the way¡±


    Mene rushed ahead of her, into the building. The shooter''s route was marked by a kicked in door. The first room was gloomy and absent of civilians, besides a whimpering maid taking cover behind a desk.


    ¡°Which way did he go?¡±


    ¡°Up¡± yelled Mene, already running into another room that turned out to be a staircase. Tane followed.


    A pistol ball blew a chunk out of the wall, showering her with splinters. She looked up and fired one of her pistols after him as he vanished over the bannisters.


    Idiot, wasted a shot and I need to take him alive.


    ¡°Cook his bloody soul, will you?¡± Tane muttered.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying, he¡¯s putting up resistance and I¡¯ve got a witch running interference¡± Mene shouted as she moved ahead, blunderbuss shouldered, sweeping the staircase. Having a witch attack the soul, done properly, would put anyone out of a fight, but it could be resisted with the right training-training that was ubiquitous for soldiers and other sorts of serious fighters.


    Our shooter knows what he¡¯s doing, then.


    They reached the top of the staircase.


    ¡°He¡¯s on the other side of this wall, in the attic.¡±


    Tane nodded.


    ¡°He¡¯s moving again!¡± Mene yelled.


    Tane charged the doorway, shoving it open with her off-hand. Another gunshot rang out, accompanied by a metallic clang. She felt like she¡¯d been punched, and lurched back, looking for whoever who struck her. She saw a man vanishing out through an open window.


    ¡°You alright? You alright?¡± Mene yelled, her voice faint against the ringing from the gunshot.


    ¡°Yeah, cuirass skipped it¡± Tane said, jogging for the window, dodging past tables and chairs. She didn¡¯t feel anything, though she suspected it would hurt like a bitch later.


    She scrambled out through the open window onto the sloped gables of the long strip of teahouses, grunting with annoyance as her riding spurs and scabbard scraped against the window frame.


    A lone figure was silhouetted against the tiles of the roof, running down the central ridge, dressed in a cheap black coat.


    ¡°Stop! Now!¡± Tane yelled out.


    He didn¡¯t stop, and she scrambled up onto the central ridge of the roof, moving after him as fast as she could without slipping. She pulled her second pistol out and cocked it. ¡°Stop!¡±. She didn¡¯t fire; she wanted him alive, and there would be no time to reload for a second shot if she missed or it didn¡¯t put him down.


    The world wrenched sideways, and she pitched over, rolling, letting go of the pistol as she caught herself barely a foot away from the edge. She heard horses screaming down below, staggering, throwing their riders, and two more people, both in drab coats, running, as gravity righted itself.


    Fucking witches.


    Someone yelled out ¡°hellhounds loose!¡±, and then it was echoed again and again, and one of them went down, twitching and jerking, the other one, a woman with brown hair, fleeing into a sidestreet. She saw that the man on the roof had been knocked down as well.


    Tane scrambled to her feet, taking point ahead of Mene.


    ¡°Hands where I can see them!¡±


    The man shook his head. He was dishevelled, long haired, with ochre smeared on his face as a crude disguise.


    He drew a hatchet and a knife.


    She shifted to a low guard, leaving herself falsely exposed. She could see movement and red coats and glinting steel in the corner of her eye, but she didn¡¯t dare take her eyes off the shooter.


    ¡°I told you, surrender!¡±


    ¡°Try it. Make the old man happy.¡±


    She could see desperation in his eyes, though whether it was the desperation of a fanatic awaiting martyrdom or a desire to surrender or the normal terror of close action she could not tell.


    ¡°Yield.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you¡±


    He stepped forwards and swung at her.


    Tane whipped her backsword upwards, her sword catching the hatchet on the underside of the blade and wrenching it out of his hands. His knife flashed as he continued to move forwards; she checked his knife-hand with her gauntleted off hand and brought her sword back down, slamming the pommel onto his left shoulder. The knife fell from his grasp even as he stumbled into her, sending her staggering while he almost bounced off. She regained her balance. He didn¡¯t, and he went tumbling down the slopes, only barely stopping himself before he went over the edge.


    ¡°Come on, kill me, why don¡¯t you? It¡¯d make the old man very happy¡± he yelled at her as he stumbled to his feet.


    If you say that one more time, I¡¯m going to make the old man very happy indeed.


    ¡°You¡¯re unarmed. You¡¯ve got no choice. Yield.¡±


    She was distracted by the crash of half a dozen shots rolling together, straight behind her. She didn¡¯t see what it was, but it was enough.


    The man began to run, putting at least a dozen yards between himself and Tane, until he jerked back and fell like a dog whose leash had run out. Tane advanced on him. Her legs felt exhausted and her backsword felt like it was made of lead, and the man was struggling to even stand up. Mene sprinted past her, unnaturally light, and was on him a moment later, twisting one hand behind his back, her knee pinning his, holding the blunderbuss to his back, finger off the trigger.


    The park was organized chaos, Cuirassier and Harquebusier companies sweeping in with pike and shot jogging after them. The protestors were running, throwing down their banners, some of them waving rapiers and cutlasses in a useless attempt at intimidation.


    ¡°Cap!¡±


    She turned to face Bydevere, out on the roof with sword and dagger drawn, a couple of troopers with pistols behind him. On the other side of the buildings, on the street, Grenadiers were forming up dismounted around a dead body.


    ¡°What the fuck happened on the ground?¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Their witch tried to break out. Knocked down a bunch of horses with tilting. Morgan¡¯s hellhounds got him, then when he tried to get up we shot him down. The other one ran.¡±


    ¡°Any casualties?¡± she asked, dreading the answer.


    ¡°A few people got nasty bruises or fractures. No one dead or maimed, besides Gryff and that one horse that got shot. Don¡¯t know about the rider. Think it was Blodwen.¡±


    No one dead. Captured the shooter. We fucking won.


    She wanted to slump down, as the battle-rush wore off, but there were prisoners and casualties to deal with.


    1: This is true, kind of. The ruling house of Teres claims direct descent from the marriage of a fair folk princess and Ewliwod, one of Arthur¡¯s nephews. They can technically draw a direct bloodline back 1500 years, and milk it for all it¡¯s worth as far as the legitimacy of the Sun King goes. This is inspired by the various ¡°Merovingians are descended from Jesus you guys¡± conspiracy theories.

 Chapter 13-Hans Draiger

    Hans Draiger. 5 September 1582 AAA. Foothold.


    ¡°The Fair Folk are the most dangerous of the Demi-Humans. Every member of this cruel and loathsome race, said to have been created by the conjunction of humans and fallen angels, is a witch. It is not known when they conquered and subjugated the humans of the First Coming, but they come from far away and another world that is neither this world nor the Old. Today they have all left for their homeland, except for one city, the sunken city, that lies half buried and is a most dangerous place to assail, and is said to contain the fountain of youth.¡±


    Ciornio of Atrartra, A Discourse on Humanity and the Divine.


    ¡°Long journey?¡± Eidre asked, standing in the open door of her manor house.


    ¡°Yeah¡± Hans said. Their clothes were thankfully not as sweatstained and dirty as they could have been, and they weren¡¯t loaded down with supplies, tools and weapons, but Hans knew they still looked dirty and haggard.


    Explaining the deal with Glaive is going to be interesting.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s certainly good to see you again¡± Eidre said. ¡°And you, Uln¡± she continued.


    ¡°You too¡± Hans said. ¡°Journey wasn¡¯t as bad as we were expecting. There were kraken, hundreds of them, all washed up along the shoreline. Dragons too, bluebellies and harpies¡±


    ¡°One of these days, I¡¯ll have to see the wilds for myself¡±


    ¡°If you people got any good at travelling out there, we¡¯d be out of a job¡± Uln said.


    Eidre smiled. ¡°I suppose you would be¡±


    She turned and walked into the house¡¯s drawing room, pulling out a chair for herself. A servant offered a seat for them. Hans sat down, but Uln leaned against one of the walls.


    Hans explained the presence of commonwealth troops at west point and Captain¡¯s decision to not attack. He decided not to mention the deal with Glaive. Revealing that was something he¡¯d only do if he had to.


    ¡°That¡¯s not good at all. I don¡¯t want there to be a war, but if there¡¯s going to be one, I want Carfane to win. And the West Point clan supporting the Commonwealth is not good for that at all. Without any wyverns on our side, they¡¯ll have complete air superiority. I¡¯ve seen how much damage an air fleet can cause even without that.¡± Eidre explained.


    Hans nodded. If it came to war, he didn¡¯t know who he¡¯d fight for. Probably the Republicans, if they went with that multi-species republic plan that was floating around, but otherwise¡­.


    Keep your head down and survive.


    ¡°In any case, what we found was that the killers were most likely Patriot¡¯s Brigade led. A whole lot of horsemen from Trackford set up a little way south of here, the day before the attack. Apparently, a bunch of locals were absent too. Now, they were all present the afternoon you found the bodies, but they might very well have killed them in the morning.¡±


    ¡°The souls were pretty recent. Less than a day old.¡±


    ¡°You were lucky you didn¡¯t run into them out there.¡± Eidre said.


    Hans gulped.


    Sheer dumb luck there weren¡¯t six bodies out there.


    We¡¯d make it more than that.


    ¡°You have any names?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°Connor Ferrene, for starters. A fair few other militia NCOs. The people who take militia duty seriously, basically.¡±


    ¡°Any of the patriot¡¯s brigade people stand out?¡± Uln asked.


    Lorne shrugged. ¡°Most of them were just militia fighters. There were a few who, well, they weren¡¯t from around here. Long moustaches, baggy trousers instead of breeches. Sabres and rifled carbines instead of straight swords and muskets. One of them had a hornbow and arrows, as well.¡±


    ¡°The killers.¡± Hans said. It was obvious enough.


    ¡°Yes. We think they might be Arluks. Traharn Hast brought a few of them with him when he returned from up north.¡±


    We have a name.


    ¡°We should tell the Commonwealth army. Just do it quietly. They¡¯ll deal with him.¡±


    ¡°Why not a local Carfani court? It would show the wyverns that at least some of us are on their side.¡±


    ¡°Black Creek.¡± Uln said.


    He shuddered. They¡¯d only narrowly escaped being killed in a similar massacre, at around the same time.


    ¡°What of it?¡± Eidre asked.


    ¡°You know the story, yeah? Twenty three Woose murdered by out of work miners, some of them after being raped or tortured?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know what happened.¡± Eidre said.


    The trial was all that anyone had talked about back then, and was universally agreed to be some variety or another of a miscarriage of justice.


    ¡°Well, imagine that happened again. The Commonwealth reads out the relevant laws, the ones saying I¡¯ve got the same rights as you people as far as murder goes. Then the jury ignores it and fucking decides I can be killed just fine, no punishment. Then the Commonwealth demands a retrial for torture and rape, forces it to be in a Genian court. That gets them, and two thirds of the killers hang. That happens again, Carfane will explode like someone dropped a match in a barrel of powder. The Commonwealth, though, Trackford¡¯s under martial law. They¡¯ll deal with it quick and quiet.¡±(1)


    After the first verdict had come in, Uln had been reduced to tears. They¡¯d been on the road, taking odd jobs after escaping from that silver riot, and just how vulnerable they were to being murdered had become starkly apparent.


    Things had calmed down since then, but it was still disquieting, and he could tell the way people sometimes looked at him and Uln.


    Pervert. Monster.


    ¡°That would set off a war.¡±


    Uln shrugged. ¡°We¡¯re already at war. Our people are bleeding each other dry out west. Trackford¡¯s under army occupation.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t seen war.¡± Lorne said, simply. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it. I¡¯ve seen bodies lying so thick they were like a carpet. I¡¯ve seen people driven so mad by demons and mindbreakers they attacked their own side. I¡¯ve seen my own brother die in front of me and there was nothing I could do.¡±


    His voice was as flat as possible. Hans knew that as soon as he let any emotion out, the dam would break.


    ¡°There¡¯s a third option¡± Eidre finally said.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Carfani Diet. I¡¯m going to be going. We present a case for the ¡°republic of three species¡± concept, use this as an example of where Carfane is going if we don¡¯t put a stop to the violence. I¡¯m a Halidon¡¯s Hill veteran. The wyvern¡¯s won that battle for us, and I¡¯ll tell the Diet that we owe them for it. It¡¯s better than setting off a war or getting nothing useful done, anyhow.¡±


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Hans nodded, reluctantly. He¡¯d rather be out trapping and trading than dealing with bloody politics, but if was what had to be done¡­


    *


    ¡°I¡¯ll have just the one loaf.¡± Hans said, trying to avoid eye contact with Bran. The baker turned back to yell into the kitchen. ¡°One loaf for Draiger!¡±


    He turned back, glaring at him. ¡°Long time you¡¯ve been gone. Heard you were out at West Point. Got bored of Woose and decided to go for wyverns instead?¡±


    Hans resisted the urge to tell him that he was interested in one particular woose, not in woose in general, or simply to go fuck himself with a rusty foreign object.


    ¡°Diplomacy. Explained what happened.¡±


    Hurry up and bring that bread so I can get out of here.


    Bran snorted. ¡°Give them an inch and they¡¯ll demand the whole bloody peninsula. Don¡¯t see the point.¡±


    ¡°My loaves?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°Here.¡± Bran said. He passed them to Hans, and Hans tossed them into the basket and got out as quickly as possible.


    He kept his head down as he walked through the market place. His mind tried to pick out a dozen or more conversations or more at once, and the hundreds of souls registered by his unconscious mind only made things worse.


    ¡°Hey, Hans?¡± a voice called out.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Hans answered. He turned to face Connor Ferrene. The red haired militia sergeant looked to be in a less than ideal mood.


    ¡°I need to talk to you, in private.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just getting my bread. I can talk to you la-¡°


    ¡°Now.¡± Connor said. He patted the hilt of the Valadian longknife on his belt, in a way that made Hans think of Uln.


    Hans saw his wife, Aldra, and a couple of other militia fighters were standing behind him. All of them were wearing swords, and one of them had a pair of pistols tucked through his belt.


    He tensed.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Wyverns. Follow me.¡±


    Connor turned away and walked towards an alleyway, and from the way Aldra looked at him, he had no choice but to follow.


    They ended up face to face in the alleyway, with Connor on one side and the others blocking the entrance. Trapping him in. His heartbeat increased, and he glanced behind himself. Aldra was watching him intently. She was a wiry, black haired woman, a Halidon¡¯s Hill veteran like her husband. Eidre and Lorne weren¡¯t the only couple made in the aftermath of that battle.


    ¡°Where were you for the last month?¡± Connor asked.


    ¡°Travelling out to West Point. Explaining to the wyverns what happened.¡±


    ¡°And what did you tell them?¡±


    ¡°That we don¡¯t know who did it, so please don¡¯t do anything rash.¡±


    ¡°That it? Seems like a long journey to just say that.¡±


    ¡°You fought at Halidon¡¯s Hill. You know what wyverns with their blood up can do.¡±


    ¡°We won that battle, not the wyverns. Tell me the truth.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the truth, if you tell me if you murdered those wyverns.¡±


    That was the dumbest fucking thing I could have said.


    Connor lunged forwards and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him up against the wall.


    ¡°What did you tell the wyverns? There war skeins coming for us? You tell the fucking Commonwealth?¡±


    ¡°That we don¡¯t know who did it. Also, that I¡¯d found an arrow at the massacre site¡­¡±


    Connor threw him to the ground. He landed roughly, yelping in pain.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill the scalies. Those nutters out of Trackford did. I wish I had.¡± Connor said, looming over him.


    He saw that Connor was now between him and the other militiamen, with no one at the other end of the alleyway.


    ¡°Connor!¡± Aldra stepped forwards, drawing her falchion.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Connor asked, turning towards her.


    ¡°You told him tha-¡°


    Hans shut his eyes and slammed a tendril into Connor¡¯s soul.


    Connor jerked sideways, twitching and drooling, even as Hans scrambled to his feet and ran.


    He didn¡¯t look back, though he could hear screaming and swearing and someone yelling ¡°Shoot the cunt!¡± over and over. A single gunshot rang out, the whistle of it flicking past his ear barely audible over the noise of the shot, and then he was around the corner, out onto another street and kept moving. People started yelling; ¡°What the hell are the you going?¡± and ¡°What was that? Are you alright?¡±


    He needed to find Uln and get out before Connor could form a proper posse.


    He ignored them, sprinting across the street diagonally till he reached a fence surrounding one of the farmyards on the outskirts of Foothold and vaulted over it. Pigs squealed in alarm. A second gunshot slammed into the fence, showering him with wooden splinters.


    Hans glanced back and saw that the militiaman with the pistols was reloading, while Connor and Aldra were jogging forwards with their blades drawn, Aldra having to hike up her skirts with one hand.


    He kept running, dodging past pigs, taking a hard left when he reached the other end of the pen, then running further up that street before crossing the street and leaving off the half-empty street. A few people looked at him with obvious concern, but there were no yells of ¡°Stop! Thief!¡± or ¡°Kill the witch!¡±.


    Something stung his feet, and he realized that he¡¯d lost one of his shoes in the mud. He kicked his other shoe away, and kept running. Better to get his foot cut up than risk tripping. A glance back over his shoulder showed that he¡¯d lost them. That wouldn¡¯t help. They knew where his house was.


    He slowed down to a walk as he left Foothold proper. Their house was out on the borders of Eidre¡¯s Manor holdings, about twenty minutes walk away.


    His mind was racing and his heart pumping as he jogged out, as fast as possible. They couldn¡¯t fight off the Foothold militia on their own. They¡¯d need to either run, or go to Eidre for protection. Her tenants, or at least her household retainers, would have the numbers and authority to fight back against a mob. He glanced back over his shoulder, anxious to see if he was about to be chased down by rioters. He was in luck; the only things on the road were a couple of wagons.


    He was even more in luck when he saw that his house was not currently surrounded by a mob, and that Uln was standing at the door, a bucket of water in her hand and obviously concerned.


    ¡°We need to get our guns loaded. Now.¡± Hans said.


    1: This is based on the real Myall Creek massacre, which was actually even worse.

 Chapter 14-Tane Bayder

    Tane Bayder, 5 September, 1582 AAA, Trackford


    ¡°And so he gathered three hundred warriors, men of Britain, and Gaels, and a few Sea-Wolves who had turned to his side. Morgan told him the way to the realm of fairy was on the isle of Avalon, and he took this army with him when they sailed there. And they saw a great shimmering in the air, but marching through it, they came into another realm, and were in the midst of a great many mountains of terrible height, and saw dragons of a sort that Arthur had fought many times, but never in such numbers.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    ¡°Son on the cross¡± Tane said when she saw him, making the sign of the three-spoked wheel on her cuirass.


    Gryff lay on a bed in the townhouse that had been commandeered as the Commonwealth army¡¯s field hospital in trackford, half unconscious from blood loss and opium. His face was a maze of stitches, holding his ruined face into one piece so his body could knit it back together. His mustache and sideburns had been cut off; to stop them catching blood that could turn poisonous.


    ¡°He¡¯ll have severe scarring and might not be able to speak properly, but there¡¯s no sign of infection. If he avoids that, he¡¯ll live¡± said her company surgeon, Conan O Carrene, who stood beside her. His hands were bloodied, from digging out the last, useless remains of shattered teeth, and a metal fragment from his helmet¡¯s cheek piece that had lodged in Gryff¡¯s tongue, as well as from stitching his face back together.


    Every time she saw him, it reminded her of how bloody lucky they¡¯d gotten that day. An inch lower and Gryff would have lost his jaw; two inches higher and he would have died instantly. As it was, he would be maimed for life.


    I did this to him. I led him into this, got him shot by some civilian with a fowling piece, after he made it through god knows how many battles unscathed.


    Tane sat down next to the bedside. ¡°They managed to get Blodwen¡¯s arm to set properly. She won¡¯t lose it.¡± She¡¯d only narrowly rolled clear of her horse when it had gone down. The extra training she¡¯d put her company had paid off. Without it, Blodwen might have broken her neck or back when her horse had been shot out from under her.


    The undamaged side of Gryff¡¯s mouth curled up into a hint of a smile.


    ¡°The shooter still hasn¡¯t spoken to anyone, though. At least we have a name. Rhys Gof.¡±


    She sat there for a while in silence.


    ¡°Uh, Bayder, General Veulnor¡¯s here¡± said Sace, poking her head in through the door. She tried to avoid looking at Gryff¡¯s ruined face.


    Tane nodded and stood up.


    She found the tall, plain faced man downstairs, his heavily armoured bodyguard lance awkwardly crammed into the drawing room, struggling to avoid damaging the roof with their greatswords and pollaxes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the casualties your company suffered¡± Veulnor said.


    Tane nodded. ¡°No deaths on our side. We took down the shooter. We didn¡¯t start a riot. I think that counts as a victory, given the circumstances¡±


    ¡°Aye, you did a good job. That could have gone a lot worse.¡±


    Tane sighed. ¡°He was hard to take down. Spent the whole thing taunting me.¡±


    ¡°Seems he wanted to get martyred.¡±


    ¡°Or that he wanted to convince us he wanted to be killed, so we wouldn¡¯t kill him, so he could escape. It would explain why they scattered rather than going down fighting.¡±


    She¡¯d had a lot of time to overanalyse his actions during the fight.


    ¡°Whatever it is, we won¡¯t know until he talks. Some of my staff officers want to try torture.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t. He¡¯ll say anything to make it stop. It¡¯s a waste of time if you want anything but a false confession. Do we have anything on the other attackers?¡±


    ¡°We managed to find someone last night who recognized the dead man as Corentin Callene. He¡¯s a minor white witch. Did the usual business; messing about with peoples souls to heal them of this or that malady, or running off parasitic demons. Surprised he was a mindbreaker too. His body was bloating up by the time we recognized it. I¡¯m glad to finally have the bloody thing in the ground.¡±


    ¡°And thank the Mother for that, Sir.¡±


    The stench of that body had been godawful, and it couldn¡¯t have been good for the health of anyone in the building.


    ¡°Anything on the third attacker?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, beyond that she¡¯s a brown haired woman.¡±


    Tane sighed. ¡°I suppose we could ask after the associates of Corentin. That might give us a lead.¡±


    A thought occurred to Tane.


    ¡°Could I talk to the prisoner? See if I can get anything out of him?¡±


    ¡°Why? He hasn¡¯t spoken to any of my staff.¡±


    Tane shrugged. ¡°He might respond if we send in someone different from whatever staff officers you¡¯ve been throwing at him. Besides, I was leading the unit that took him prisoner. I get a third of the ransom, so I suppose that means a third of the intelligence.¡±


    Veulnor laughed. ¡°Aye, I suppose so. Just don¡¯t go ripping any fingernails.¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Oh, that won¡¯t be an issue.¡±


    *


    ¡°Halt¡± said the billman guarding the door into Rhys¡¯s cell, in the most bored voice imaginable.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming in to see him on General¡¯s orders.¡±. She unbuckled her sword belt and hung it from a peg on the wall, then picked up a wooden stool. A desperate man at close quarters could potentially grab her dagger and use it against her.


    ¡°Fine¡± the billman said, and unlocked the door into the improvised cell. They¡¯d taken the townhouse¡¯s cellar over, turning it into a prison. The soldier passed her a lit candle. ¡°Not much light in there.¡±


    Tane stepped through and shut the door behind her. Rhys Gof, the man who¡¯d mutilated Gryff, crippled Blodwen and nearly burned down trackford, lay in the corner, dressed only in shirt and breeches. He was sullen, with sunken cheekbones, and his black hair was hanging loose around his shoulders. The room stank; she guessed the chamber pot was only changed once a day or thereabouts.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not here to torture you.¡± Tane said.


    She sat down on her stool, and motioned for him to sit on the bed. She poured him a glass of water from the flask she¡¯d brought and offered it to him. He refused with a shake of his head.


    He pulled himself up. He looked like he hadn¡¯t slept in days.


    ¡°I¡¯m not telling you anything.¡±


    ¡°I want to help you.¡±


    His eyes narrowed. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You fought bravely. I respect that. So does Gryff.¡±


    You fought like a coward, and Gryff respects no such thing.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Gryff?¡±


    ¡°My Lieutenant. Who you blew the face off of.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    He had the decency to look at least somewhat guilty.


    ¡°In any case, the Commonwealth wants to know why you did this, and they don¡¯t care if they have to use torture or mindbreakers. I don¡¯t want that to happen.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    She could see the beginnings of fear in his eyes.


    ¡°I took you prisoner, therefore I¡¯m in charge of your safety. Would go against my honour as an officer to let anything happen to you.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°You want honour, you could start by not occupying my city.¡±


    ¡°Part of my honour is following orders I don¡¯t like. In any case, I want to help you, but you need to give me something to work with. They want to know why you shot at us.¡±


    Getting him to explain his motives, of course, was far easier than getting him to betray his comrades, and once his sort started talking, they would take considerable effort to shut up. Going bandit hunting in the highlands had taught her a good few lessons.


    ¡°Because you occupied our city. Because you¡¯ve fucked us out of any say in our own government. Because you¡¯ve been crushing us under taxes. Because you¡¯ve perverted justice in favour of a bunch of savages.¡±


    True believer, or doing a good imitation of one, not a mercenary.


    ¡°So you¡¯re with the Patriot¡¯s Brigade? The Diet? Trackford Militia?¡±


    He spat on the ground. ¡°They¡¯re cowards who won¡¯t do their duty for Trackford. We- I ¨C will show them what kind of murderers you are. Anyone who stands in our way will die. That includes you.¡±


    He was staring at her, with the look of a fanatic, and Tane found herself wondering if he knew how to kill unarmed.


    What was it Veulnor had said?


    ¡°You have bricks and sticks and rapiers and fowling pieces. We have pike and shot and airships and grey witches and bound demons and war skeins. This isn¡¯t a war you could win.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have to win. Just not lose.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll, uh-¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a clue. You¡¯ll create a desert and call it freedom.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what happens! All the coiled serpent has to-¡°


    He choked himself off suddenly as he realized what he was saying.


    Just as planned.


    ¡°Coiled serpent?¡±


    ¡°I will not betray my comrades.¡± He said flatly as he realized his mistake.


    Too late.


    ¡°We already have your comrades.¡±


    She¡¯d checked with the other interrogators on everything they¡¯d told him. Giving out contradictory information would ruin her credibility.


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°The witch died in the attack, and we have the woman prisoner.¡±


    That was a flagrant lie, but if it made him think her identity was irrelevant since she was already prisoner¡­


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve martyred me and Brenna for the cause. My comrades will save us, or avenge us, and you still haven¡¯t captured the Old Man.¡±


    ¡°That was I need to know to buy you, say, a few weeks. No betrayal necessary.¡± Tane said. She stood up and went for the door. ¡°They¡¯re signing the request for authority for torture as we speak. I¡¯ll tell them it¡¯s not necessary.¡±


    She left.


    He¡¯s part of a larger organization. The Coiled Serpent. Old Man is some sort of leader. Third attacker¡¯s called Brenna. Fucking idiot. This is why you never talk to interrogators.

 Chapter 15-Hans Draiger

    ¡°Demons are beings of the Aether, just as we are beings of flesh. Though we have souls, they are bound to our bodies and ascend into heaven or descend into hell once this connection is severed. Demons, though spawned from hell, live in the Aether and come in many forms. Hellhounds are ravening beasts that devour dead souls. Imp are a little like a monkey in that they are passing clever. Other demons are altogether more terrible.¡±


    Ciornio of Atratra, a discourse on humanity and the divine.


    Hans Draiger. 5 September 1582 AAA. Foothold.


    He saw their souls of the militia coming before he saw their bodies. Half a dozen mounted soldiers, some of them armoured in buff coats or padded jacks, and armed with swords, fowling pieces, pistols and a few hunting spears. They were riding up the road from Foothold, straight towards his house, partially concealed from view by hedgerows and the natural undulations in the ground. By the look of the soul one of them was a witch.


    They¡¯d made it eleven years in Trackford before anyone had tried to murder them. They¡¯d have to restart that count now, he thought bitterly.


    He gave their guns one last check over. They each had a 16 balls rolling musket(1), lightweight hunting pieces, while the massive 8 bore rest musket he¡¯d bought for killing reapers and a double barrelled fowling piece were propped up against the wall. Their priming was in place, and the balls rammed down. They¡¯d be able to fire five shots without needing to reload, and horses were big targets, while they had solid cover.


    Besides him, Uln checked the edge of her falchion.


    He shut his eyes again. They were barely a hundred yards away.


    He peered around the edge of the doorway. Four of them-the ones with long guns, he noted-were dismounting while the other two took their horses. He blinked, matching their souls to the body. A blonde woman with a padded jack hurriedly thrown over her dress was the witch, he realized. He didn¡¯t recognize her soul. Not a local.


    That¡¯ll make it easier, then.


    ¡°Shoot the witch first, if it comes to it. The one in the dress.¡± Hans said, jabbing his finger at her. ¡°They come through the door, you hold it, I¡¯ll keep them off you with witchcraft.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Uln grinned viciously, though Hans could tell she was afraid. ¡°Kill their witch, protect my witch.¡± She sheathed her falchion and hefted her musket.


    He blinked again. There were more souls coming, two dozen at least, at the edge of his third eye¡¯s vision, and he could make out movement as some of them crested the low rises in the ground.


    Mob.


    They¡¯ve got horses; we can¡¯t run. They¡¯ve got us outnumbered god knows how many to one; we can¡¯t fight. They¡¯ve got a witch, we can¡¯t hide.


    Fuck it, we¡¯re going down together.


    He remembered something he¡¯d told Uln once. If they got caught up in another riot, and it was him or her, he¡¯d rather be the one killed. At least his killers would face justice.


    That was irrelevant now. If they couldn¡¯t hold them off long enough for Eidre and Lorne to intervene, or if the O Mathunas didn¡¯t intervene, they were both dead.


    ¡°We want you alive¡± someone called out.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already tried to kill me. Liar!¡± Hans called back.


    He glanced out the door again. Connor had moved up to twenty yards away, crouching behind a tree stump, with the other three dismounted fighters taking cover behind a rail fence, weapons levelled. A clump of men and women on foot with bills and muskets and longbows were coming into view, some of them arguing with one of the mounted militiamen.


    He tried to make himself think clearly, even though his bowels were waters and his hands were beginning to shake.


    ¡°Come out, or we¡¯ll fire your house!¡± Connor yelled.


    ¡°Fucking try it, murderers!¡± Uln yelled, and then Hans joined in with a yell of ¡°Fuck off!¡±, and people were yelling ¡°Kill the bastards!¡± and ¡°Traitors!¡± and ¡°Kill the woose bitch first, make him watch!¡±


    There was an edge of real violence in the air, one that he¡¯d felt before.


    Someone hurled a rock, though it fell short, and then another that cracked the wooden slats of his window, and he heard the crack of a musket.


    Hans made ready to fire.


    ¡°Down arms now!¡± someone screamed, and then a man on horseback galloped into view, between the house and the mob, and reined his horse in.


    Hans recognized him from his balding brown hair. Lorne.


    ¡°Get out of the way, he sold us out to the wyverns.¡± Connor growled.


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    ¡°I can assure you, he did no such thing.¡± Lorne said.


    Connor hefted his musket.


    ¡°Just do it.¡±


    ¡°No. Down arms.¡± Lorne said.


    The mob behind them had fallen silent.


    Killing a traitor and a woose, sure, but killing the husband of the most powerful woman in Foothold¡­ even an outraged mob drew the line at that.


    ¡°DO IT!¡± Connor screamed, his voice breaking.


    Lorne¡¯s horse skittered nervously, and he drew his sword.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Connor aimed his musket at Lorne, cocking it with an audible creak.


    ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake. Do this, you¡¯ll hang!¡± Lorne said.


    The militia sergeant hesitated, and then someone at the back yelled out ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡±


    What?


    Connor turned around. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Miss O Mathuna. She¡¯s got riders with her.¡± someone called.


    ¡°Took her long enough.¡± Uln muttered.


    The mob stood still for what seemed like an eternity, then he saw Eidre on horseback, with rapier drawn, and his third eye told him that she had fighters of her own coming up with her.


    Connor was bellowing something at his own mob, and the yelling only increasing in loudness. He could make out words here and there-¡°Stand down!¡± and ¡°bugger off, let justice be done¡±, but mostly it was a tide of noise, fifty odd voices merging into one roar. Eidre¡¯s group edged in closer and closer, shuffling into something vaguely resembling a fighting line.


    Everyone had their eyes on Eidre now, and their backs to Lorne.


    Lorne backed off, glancing nervously at the mob, riding up to their door. ¡°You¡¯d best run. Get out, let them cool down. Get a head start on getting to Kasilisk.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t do that until they¡¯ve gone.¡±


    ¡°You in cahoots with those two as well?¡± someone yelled at Lorne.


    Connor. The man was approaching Lorne again, his musket still held ready, apparently ignoring Eidre¡¯s militia behind them.


    ¡°Oh, for fucks sake, I don¡¯t approve of murder. Of humans or wyverns.¡± Lorne yelled back.


    He vaguely heard Eidre shouting about nooses and Wooses behind them.


    ¡°Oi, Lorne. Give me one reason that Han¡¯s innocent, will you?¡±


    ¡°The fact that you¡¯ve no evidence any of this happened, besides hearsay. The fact that Eidre recruited Hans to go out there. The fact that we aren¡¯t currently being raided by a war-skein. They fly faster than boats, you know.¡±


    Connor spat. ¡°And? You¡¯ve no proof he didn¡¯t. Besides, if he¡¯s innocent, why¡¯d he use witchcraft on me?¡±


    Hans resisted the urge to yell out ¡°Because your wife drew a falchion on me!¡±.


    Reminding Connor that he was still right there would likely result in his own wife having to draw a falchion on Connor.


    ¡°You were the ones who started shooting.¡± Lorne said.


    Hans glanced at the crowd. They seemed to have shrunk a little, people slinking off now that there was a real risk of facing consequences, and the fight had gone out of them.


    Behind them, he heard a yell of ¡°advance!¡± as Eidre and her militia began to push forwards, levelling bills and musket barrels. No shots were fired and no swords were swung, the mob quickly parting as Eidre wedged through the middle of the group. Attacking one of the biggest landowners in Foothold was a rather poor idea. They about faced after they broke through, putting themselves between the mob and his house.


    Eidre broke off from the group and dismounted.


    ¡°Best get out of here. We¡¯ll catch up to you on the road, or in Kasilisk.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t leaving make us all look suspicious?¡± Hans asked, pushing his musket to half cock.


    Eidre shrugged. ¡°Better than getting lynched. If it happened as I suspect it did, Connor will have you killed by a marksman if he can¡¯t do it with a mob.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Hans agreed. ¡°Just get that lot to go home and we can be gone within an hour.¡±


    They were quite capable of carrying everything they needed to survive on their backs, and did it every summer trapping season. They¡¯d lived rough on the road before as well, after the silver riots, and that was without it being a relatively short journey. Those had been hard times, but they¡¯d survived.


    We always do.


    1: A rather odd notation of calibre, equal to the number of balls it takes to make up a pound-so the same as gauge, except not because the balls have to roll down the barrel. It¡¯s terribly confusing comparing calibres between texts where one author has listed it as balls rolling and the other as balls to the pound, especially since there¡¯s no clear way to convert them.

 Chapter 16-Tane Bayder

    ¡°And Arthur did encounter many chieftains of the humans who lived in this place, fighting some but talking to more. From them, he found that the Fey, terrible sorcerous beings that they were, dominated all the men of the west as slaves and as servants, and raided the Genians borders for slaves. He had encountered with some raiders of the Fey in Britain, and had no love for them, and offered to lead them in war to conquer all the lowlands and liberate them. Only a few agreed, and so Arthur set out to attack the Fey with scarcely five hundred men.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 10 September 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°This the house?¡± Tane asked, glancing at the decaying townhouse in the bog.


    ¡°Near as I can tell¡± Mene said.


    It had taken a good while to track down Brenna Callene¡¯s house. Corentin¡¯s had been easy to find-white witches tended to be well known-but someone had already broken in and cleared the place of anything interesting. The same with Rhys¡¯s house, although they¡¯d gotten clean clothes and a set of prayer beads for him in his cell.


    Brenna¡¯s, though, had been a good deal harder. Mene had spent the better part of a week asking after her, pretending to be a friend concerned for her welfare. They¡¯d gotten the family name out of Rhys too, convincing him that she wasn¡¯t talking and that they needed to inform her family what had happened to her before they did anything rash.


    Brenna¡¯s extended family mostly seemed to be keeping their heads down, while Brenna herself had fled the city if the fact that everyone either had no idea where she was or were rather tight lipped was any indication.


    ¡°How do you reckon we should get in? Kicking down the door¡¯s a bit obvious.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Soldiers¡± Mene said, laughing.


    ¡°I do know how to pick locks. I¡¯m just terrible at it.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not. There¡¯s no one inside, and there¡¯s a back entrance. Servants door.¡±


    ¡°People who had servants used to live here. Bloody hell.¡± Tane wondered aloud.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know what they were thinking, building here¡± Mene added, skipping over a puddle as she turned into the side alley that led to the back door.


    ¡°They were thinking pounds and shillings¡± Tane said.


    She ducked under the clotheslines that criss-crossed the alleyway, for once finding her height an annoyance rather than a benefit.


    ¡°Anyone else broken in yet?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Doors and windows are all good, at least when I scouted the place. Whoever was hitting the other houses must have missed this one or not gotten to it. Then again, they might just have been careful not to draw any attention.¡±


    They reached the back of the building. The mossy stonework on the lower parts of it¡¯s walls betrayed that it had once been a courtyard, before someone had built it into a second tenement, clinging to the rear of the first, made out of wood rather than brick.


    Mene rapped her hand on one of the doors. ¡°Servants entrance. There¡¯s people in the back half of the building, three or four families. No one in the front. Must have been subdivided.¡±


    She pulled out her lockpicks, and Tane stood between her and the road, shielding her from view.


    A few clicks later and it was open. Tane followed Mene in.


    The room was oppressively crowded and musty, with scarcely any light coming in. Tane squinted, though Mene moved through it with ease.


    ¡°You have any candles?¡± Tane asked as Mene locked the door behind them.


    Mene nodded. Tane could barely see her silhouette in the gloom.


    ¡°Normally don¡¯t do this sort of work with light. Third eye does just fine.¡±


    She pulled out a candle from her bag and lit it with a flick of her striker, passed it to Tane, then lit another one for herself.


    Tane glanced about the newly lit room. It was a kitchen, unwashed pots and pans scattered about. Dust was already beginning to accumulate.


    ¡°Nothing here.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. The best stuff¡¯s always in the bedrooms and the study.¡± Mene said. She stepped out of the kitchen, moving cautiously and slowly.


    Tane followed, wincing as a floorboard creaked. Even in an uninhabited house with a search warrant, making noise seemed wrong somehow.


    They were out in the central corridor now. Tane saw that the front door had a table thrown across it, and a heavy bar bracing it.


    ¡°Bloody hell, she must have been in a panic.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I would have done if I¡¯d just gotten the other two members of my cell captured in a botched sharpshooter attack.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°Aye. Though If I were in charge it wouldn¡¯t have let it get to that point. If they hadn¡¯t taken that second shot, they probably could have gotten out before we were onto them.¡±


    ¡°Good thing you weren¡¯t.¡± Mene said.


    Tane laughed, even though her gut told her Mene was right.


    We got lucky, that could have ended with Gryff maimed or killed for nothing if they were luckier or faster.


    She checked the rooms as they entered, reflexively sweeping them. Larder, water closet, servant¡¯s bedroom, main bedroom.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be were anything useful is.¡± Mene said. It was a long shot, but any letters, written orders, even books and pamphlets they could find would be useful.


    Mene took point, carefully setting down her candle.


    Tane glanced about. The fireplace was choked with half-burnt paper, while her drawers had been thrown open.


    Mene dropped down to check under the bed, while Tane checked the drawers. They¡¯d been rummaged through, with only trinkets left behind. If you were going on the run, taking everything valuable or useful with you and burning anything incriminating was only logical.


    She turned to the fire, setting her candle down next to it. Paper and ash, mixed together. She grabbed a fragment of paper and tried to read it.


    Most of it was unintelligible, burned beyond recognition or random snatches of text, although the fact that even some of it survived suggested that it was a rush job.


    She tried to make it out. ¡°Go on¡± was the longest fragment of a sentence she could find.


    Tried another piece of paper. No better luck.


    ¡°This what you¡¯re looking for?¡± Mene asked.


    Tane glanced back and saw Mene crouching, holding up a half burnt piece of paper.


    ¡°Looking for something?¡±


    It must have been blown out of the fireplace by a draft.


    She began to read, slowly and out loud.


    ¡°Avon Heveria won¡¯t interfere. I have leverage over hi- this bit¡¯s burnt out. Stack the kindling but don¡¯t start the fire. Signed, The Old Man.¡±


    ¡°The bloody Old Man again.¡± Tane said. ¡°Not her father, because Rhys mentioned him too. Some sort of code name.¡±


    ¡°Probably this lots leader.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°Cryptic bastard. Ordering them to try and raise tensions but don¡¯t start a rebellion just yet?¡± Tane added.


    That would fit with the attackers modus operandi.


    ¡°Could be. Don¡¯t have much experience with this spying business.¡± Mene said, stepping into what was probably Brenna¡¯s study.


    You act like you do, though.


    Tane stood up from the fireplace. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Mene shook her head. ¡°Nothing under the bed. I¡¯ll need to search the rest of the house to be sure.¡±


    An entire bookshelf took up one corner.


    Mene lifted a book. ¡°The Complete Fireworker and Trenchmaster; being a guide to the arts of the siege engineer.¡± She read out.


    ¡°Oh, fucking wonderful, they were planning on graduating from sharpshooting to mining¡±


    ¡°Seems like it.¡±


    ¡°This too.¡± Mene passed her a sheath of papers.


    Tane read the title of the pamphlet at the top.


    ¡°On why it is necessary to agitate for a general uprising against the Commonwealth.¡±


    Mene handed her a second letter.


    ¡°The Oaths and Aims of the Coiled Serpent.¡±


    ¡°Mother above, she got sloppy covering her tracks.¡± Tane muttered.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Bunch of bloody amateurs.¡±


    Mene laughed. ¡°Where do find professional rebels anyway? They got a guild? A company of masters?¡±


    ¡°Ah, fuck if I know. All I know is they wouldn¡¯t call themselves the bloody coiled serpent.¡±


    Tane pulled out her valise and stowed the evidence.


    ¡°My gut tells me to get out while we¡¯re ahead¡± Mene said, carefully stepping past Tane to get out of the study.


    ¡°Thought you didn¡¯t have much experience with spying.¡±


    ¡°Not with spying. Thieftaking though, and well, when I was younger¡­¡±


    ¡°Set a thief to catch a thief.¡± Tane said, quietly. She knew well enough how thieftaking worked.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t have much choice. It was that or starve. Or the poorhouse, and I wasn¡¯t going within a hundred yards of one of those hellholes. ¡± Mene said.


    ¡°Could¡¯ve joined the army. No such thing as too many witches.¡±


    ¡°At ten? I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    Tane didn¡¯t have any answer to that.


    Mene sighed. ¡°Never even found out why he ran. Traharn, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Mercenaries are like that.¡± Tane said. ¡°You can¡¯t contract loyalty out. Goes for love as well as war.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so.¡± Mene murmured. She stood up. ¡°Best search the rest of the house.¡±


    Tane nodded in agreement. ¡°Aye, we¡¯d best do that.¡±


    *


    There were nothing else useful as evidence elsewhere in the house, as it turned out. No more letters, no more books, no scrawled masterplan and convenient list of Coiled Serpent members. Considering how sloppy Brenna had been, it was unlikely she had anything more incriminating hidden with her. Everything had been burnt or found. Still, Tane made a note to herself to give the building a second search, this time with heavies and iron crows.


    ¡°Wonder where Brenna is now¡± Mene said, riding slowly besides Tane with a valise loaded with the evidence hanging from her shoulder.


    ¡°If she¡¯s smart, on a fast ship to one of the Valadian states. Or in Kasilisk. That place is crawling with republicans. Anyhow, it¡¯s easy to disappear or become someone else if you want to.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know.¡± Mene said.


    She glanced up at the sky. High dark clouds were coming in. Only sad looking patches of snow remained on the rooftops, but by the look of the clouds, more would be coming.


    General Winter throwing in the last of the reserves before calling a retreat.


    ¡°I wish spring would come already¡± Mene muttered, rubbing her hands.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Tane said. ¡°Always hated winter out on the Valadian marches. Only a few weeks to go, though.¡±


    She¡¯d been raised out on those high plains, and had first seen action leading her Grenadiers against the border reivers that plagued the region. They exploited the disunity amongst the Valadian petty kingdoms and city states to strike them with impunity, while using the vastness of the Genian side of the borders for shelter.


    ¡°Shit, is that Traharn?¡± Mene suddenly asked, pointing at a man on horseback up ahead of them, riding in the same direction.


    Tall, lanky, head shaved except for a strip down the middle that led into a braid. Sabre on his belt. The burly Arluk-Hoja Klass-and a second Tane didn¡¯t recognize riding at his side.


    ¡°Shit, that is indeed Traharn.¡± Tane agreed.


    ¡°You ever tried following him? See who he¡¯s connected to?¡± she added.


    Mene shook her head. ¡°I tried that. Every bloody gentlemen in the city wants to hear about his exploits. Too hard to sort the chaff from the wheat. Besides that, he recognizes me after that ball.¡±


    ¡°That would be an issue.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Indeed it would be.¡± Mene said.


    They continued riding, Tane having to consciously keep her horse¡¯s pace down to match Menes.


    She watched Traharn carefully, for any sign he had noticed them.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve scouted around his townhouse, and I can¡¯t see anything that¡¯s in there with my third eye. He¡¯s got anti-witchcraft sigils all over it.¡±


    Those were common enough for the more paranoid sort of gentry, providing they could afford a properly trained ritualist to write the sigils. More than a few officers had ordered them put onto their troops lodgings after recent events.


    ¡°Reckon he¡¯s hiding something, or just paranoid?¡± Tane asked.


    Mene shrugged. ¡°No clue. I mean, he might be involved with the brigade, he might not be. I hope he is, just so we have an excuse to put the bastard away.¡±


    They¡¯ d nearly passed Traharn. She watched him out of the corner of her eyes as they passed. ¡°Watch him with your third eye.¡± Tane said once they were out of earshot.


    ¡°He¡¯s following us¡± Mene said, almost immediately.


    ¡°Ah, fuck¡± Tane muttered, glancing back as nonchalantly as possible. Traharn had sped up to a slow trot and was gaining on them.


    She loosened her rapier in it¡¯s sheath, hand concealed by her cloak. Just in case.


    ¡°Ah, Mene! Or Maelgwn, I forgot.¡± Traharn called out behind them. Mene twisted in the saddle, struggling to turn her horse around, while Tane wheeled effortlessly.


    ¡°Mene¡± the witch said through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Well, Mene. Surprised to see you still here. Thought you would have left.¡±


    ¡°I live here, you know.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t.¡± Traharn said, nodding at Tane.


    He recognizes me. Shit.


    ¡°Just following orders.¡± Tane said.


    Klass chuckled behind Traharn.


    ¡°Anyhow. You¡¯re still in my city.¡±


    ¡°The city you never lived in until a year and a half ago.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°Neither did you. Trarabac born and bred, if you are who you say you are. Which you aren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I have better things to do than get into some pissing match, brother¡± Mene said as she turned her horse away. Tane moved to follow. Getting into a fight in the middle of the street would likely attract attention, and given where they were the mob wouldn¡¯t be taking her side.


    ¡°Wait.¡± Traharn said.


    ¡°What?¡± Tane snapped.


    He glared at her. ¡°Why are you helping this bloody conwoman?¡±


    ¡°Because Mene¡¯s not lying, near as I can tell. You both look alike, at the least.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re accusing me of lying.¡± Traharn said, eye narrowed. She saw his hand go to his hilt.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m accusing you of being a coward, too. Or just very forgetful.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Then back your words with your blades.¡± Traharn hissed.


    ¡°That can be arranged.¡± Tane said. ¡°But not today.¡±

 Chapter 17-Hans Draiger

    ¡°In summary, the issues that face our peninsular are as follows:


    The demand of a pound a year for a miner¡¯s license, thus overburdening what few silver miners remain.


    The refusal to recognize settling in the west, thus leaving settlers vulnerable to the depredations of Woose and Wyverns.


    The excessive taxation, thus slowing trade and impoverishing Trackford.


    The fact that Carfane has only five seats in parliament and no peers, in spite of being a full eight of the Commonwealth¡¯s population.


    And finally, the brutal occupation of Trackford and the killing of its citizens in the street after its lawful protests against the outrageous taxes imposed upon it.¡±


    Mato Calwere, First blast of the trumpet against the monstrous regiment of tyrants


    Hans Draiger, 15 September 1582 AAA. Cathlain Pass.


    ¡°Caught rabbits¡± Hans called as he approached the campsite Uln had prepared.


    Uln grinned. ¡°Just as I got the fire started.¡±


    ¡°How convenient.¡±


    Taking them hadn¡¯t been hard. He¡¯d just stunned them with tendrils and then speared them with his half-pike. He barely even had to track them. Rabbits were everywhere, and his third eye meant even their size and the long grass sticking out through the snow couldn¡¯t hide them.


    Hans threw the rabbits, already gutted, down, staked his half-pike down with it¡¯s butt spike, unslung his musket, and sat down next to Uln, wrapped under her cloak. They¡¯d set up camp in an overhang in the Cathlain pass, the best and safest route through the mountains to reach Kasilisk. He pulled out his knife and got to work preparing them.


    Uln pointed out a couple of circling wyverns silhouetted against the dusk sky. One of them was trailing a glider travois.


    ¡°They¡¯re wheeling in.¡±


    Hans absent mindedly felt for his musket. People who took a shoot on sight stance towards wyverns were bloodthirsty idiots, but it never hurt to be careful. ¡°Reckon they¡¯re hostile?¡± he asked, half to himself and half to Uln.


    Uln shrugged. ¡°If they were on the warpath they wouldn¡¯t have a glider in tow.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Hans agreed.


    He saw one of the wyverns flying straight towards them, the other, the one with the travois, moving to put down.


    He stood up and waved as it-he, he realized, seeing the markings on his snouts-came in, wings spreading to brake. Hans blinked his eyes shut, seeing the aether pulsing and eddying around the wyvern¡¯s soul like a witch warping gravity. He¡¯d heard that was the only way something that big could fly. The wyverns who didn¡¯t think that was ridiculous thought it was a sign of the cursed nature of groundwalkers, that only a few of them could do something all wyverns could.


    He should really should learn how to do that himself, he thought.


    The wyvern slammed to the ground a dozen yards away from him, landing hind legs first then planting the forelegs.


    Hans stepped closer, squinting to see if he could recognize him. Wyvern faces were less distinctive than humans, but they could be identified if you knew what to look for.


    Hans saw the scar running down the side of his face. Scar, then. Wyverns weren¡¯t always imaginative when picking human names. Scar had gotten his in the fighting against the remnants of the Stone Hill clan after Halidon¡¯s Hill. Wyvern males weren¡¯t normally warriors, but there were a few, and Scar had been amongst them.


    That would mean the other one was Rye.


    ¡°Hey, Scar!¡± Hans yelled. The wyvern stared at him for a moment, trying to recognize him. ¡°Clesane?¡± Scar croaked. He clicked in annoyance as he realized his mistake. ¡°Hans?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s the one¡± Hans said, laughing.


    ¡°And Uln¡± Scar added, bobbing his snout at Uln. She¡¯d come up from the fire and was walking over to them.


    ¡°Uln, yeah¡± she agreed. Hans turned back towards the fire. ¡°Rye need help with the travois?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it¡± Scar said.


    Hans nodded. He felt the chill of the air in the high pass, even under his coats. ¡°Should get back to the fire. Uln won¡¯t be pleased if I freeze to death.¡±


    Scar made a noise that could have been a chuckle. Hans walked back to the fire as Scar bounded over to check on Rye. It took the two of them a fair bit of work to get the glider, an expensive bit of rig often built by human contractors and maintained by Woose hands, dragged into the natural windbreak they¡¯d built the fire in and anchored. The wyverns walked over to the fire.


    Scar was the smaller of the two, Rye¡¯s bond-mate or partner, or basically, husband. Hans had never been able to figure out the point of marrying two males, but then again his own marriage wasn¡¯t exactly conventional either.


    ¡°Hauling food?¡± Hans asked, glancing at the travois.


    Rye clicked in agreement. ¡°That and powder, and lead. Everyone wants more fire and they¡¯re perfectly willing to give us all the pelts and feathers they have for it.¡±


    He remembered those scalps, hanging from the fort, and Utram¡¯s story, and the massacres, and rumours of worse he¡¯d heard. It was war out in the west, and the Woose were losing.


    ¡°And you?¡± Scar asked.


    ¡°Heading out to Kasilisk after getting run out of Foothold.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°You hear about the dead wyverns? We found them and told West Point. Some locals didn¡¯t like it. Went after us. Had to get out.¡± Uln explained.


    Rye clicked. ¡°I¡¯ve heard about the killings. Nasty.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Hans said.


    He picked up his knife and continued working on the rabbits as they spoke.


    ¡°Kasilisk? Something to do with that peninsular diet they¡¯re holding?¡± Rye asked.


    ¡°Yeah¡± Hans said. ¡°Eidre, my landlady, she wants to push the Republic of Three Species. Wants me to help her, and I¡¯m willing to do it if it gets the killers brought down faster.¡±


    Scar made a noise that could have been a laugh. ¡°That plan¡¯s ridiculous. The warriors will never consent, because they¡¯re bloody warriors. The Commonwealth won¡¯t go for it because that¡¯ll stop them taking the Carfani¡¯s shiny pebbles. The Carfani won¡¯t go for it because it¡¯ll stop them taking over the whole peninsular and finding more shiny pebbles(1).¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my people¡¯s only chance, though.¡± Uln said, leaning forwards. ¡°There are more humans than there are Woose. Far more. And they¡¯re pushing west. The Commonwealth can¡¯t hold them back, the wyverns can¡¯t hold them back, we can¡¯t hold them back. At least if we can become part of Carfane, we can survive. I¡¯m not getting my hopes up, though.¡±


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    ¡°Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.¡± Rye said. ¡°What my father always said.¡±


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s all we can do. That¡¯s all anyone can do, really.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°You two got food?¡± he added.


    Scar nodded. ¡°Took a couple of rabbits before we put down.¡±


    ¡°Bloody things are everywhere. Good eating, though¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Gets boring after a while.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°Could be worse. Could be more bloody feral sheep.¡± Scar said. Hans laughed in agreement. They¡¯d killed more than their fair share of the things, and they were steadily eating out the native Carfani behemoths, reapers and tarandrus.


    He woke to clear skies, revealing the white teeth of the Hendiot mountain range that split the peninsular in half around them. Snow had fallen overnight, in clumps on the ground that still let green grass poke show through.


    Summer is coming.


    Hans disentangled himself from Uln, careful not to wake her, and pulled on his breeches and coat.


    Uln was still asleep, her red hair falling over her craggy face. Hans watched her sleep for a moment. People thought Woose ugly, and some were, but so were plenty of humans. Uln was, if not beautiful, then attractive in a rugged way.


    He forced himself to focus. He needed to take the opportunity to get a message to Glaive, and Scar and Rye seemed willing to run it. He found them curled together under another overhang, next to a vitriol-lit fire that had burnt itself out overnight.


    Scar¡¯s head bobbed up as he saw Hans coming. Wyverns had the rather uncanny ability to sleep with one eye open.


    ¡°You going to West Point anytime soon?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°Possibly¡± Scar said, as cautiously as a flying reptile imitating a human voice could.


    Hans knew how this sort of thing worked.


    ¡°Right, I¡¯m going into Kasilisk, so if you have any favours you want¡­¡±


    Scar clicked. ¡°You helped fix the travois that one time, so I owe you.¡±


    Hans realized he¡¯d accidently put Scar in his debt. The wyvern economy, such as it was, relied almost entirely on barter and favours given and received. Gifts given ¡°freely¡± often came with expectation of reciprocation.


    ¡°Well, I have a message for Glaive.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Rye asked. The second wyvern had woken up by now, and was getting to his feet.


    ¡°She¡¯s one of Captain¡¯s skein leaders. Used to be her wingwoman.¡±


    The names wyverns had in their own languages, and the ones they took or where given in groundwalker languages were almost always completely different, and it had plenty of potential for confusion.


    ¡°I know the one. What¡¯s the message?¡± Scar said.


    ¡°Tell her that I¡¯m heading to Kasilisk to try and get the killers thrown under the cart, and that they were aligned with the Patriot¡¯s Brigade, but Eidre-my landlady-she¡¯s going to try and set the rest of the republicans on them. And tell her not to go burning everything down just yet.¡±


    He decided not to mention Traharn¡¯s name. The evidence was only circumstantial, and he didn¡¯t want to give Glaive any ideas.


    ¡°She¡¯s a warrior. I¡¯ll need good luck with that.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not all lunatics.¡± Rye said.


    ¡°Most of them are.¡± Scar answered.


    ¡°Anyway, thankyou.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°I owe you.¡± Scar said.


    ¡°Not anymore, once you¡¯ve run the message.¡± Hans said.


    Scar clicked. ¡°Just so.¡±


    *


    Eidre caught up to them a day later, on the northern side of the pass. She was out on horseback, in a buff coat thrown over her riding dress, with pair of mounted servants riding with her, all of them armed with fowling pieces and rapiers.


    Hans waved them down as they came down the mud choked roads.


    ¡°Enjoying the journey?¡± Eidre asked, smiling slightly, looking down on him from horseback.


    Hans snorted. ¡°It¡¯s travelling in winter. It¡¯s never going to be pleasant. Where¡¯s the others?¡±


    ¡°Lorne back home. Aled and the other servants are with the coach. It got stuck, Aled insisted on bringing the thing, he can get himself dirty trying to clear it while it while I go hunting.¡±


    Hans laughed. ¡°Wyverns have the right idea for travelling in winter. Just bloody fly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what the Teresians found out, back at Halidon¡¯s Hill. Don¡¯t know what they were thinking, trying to fight in winter. It¡¯s hard enough riding, without trying to move a whole damn army getting harried by wyverns and airships the whole way.¡± Eidre said.


    ¡°Bunch of idiots. I bet they ignored the people who¡¯d actually seen a southern winter.¡± Hans said.


    Refighting the 67¡¯ might as well be the Carfani national pastime for both humans and wyverns, and his Aunt Cassana had fought as a Grey Witch in that campaign.


    Everyone knew the story- The Teresians land an army in Carfane, aimed They¡¯d underestimated Carfane, though-underestimated the winter, underestimated the wyverns, and most of all in the usual telling, underestimated the fighting spirit of the Carfani militia, and had been turned back at Halidon¡¯s Hill, saving Carfane from Teresian absolutism.


    The wyverns told much the same story, though of course it was the wyverns who won the campaign with a little help from the groundwalkers. Unlike the Carfani, they -or Scar, at least- didn¡¯t leave out the fact that the fighting in the peninsular had carried on for two years as Commonwealth regulars and wyvern auxiliaries dug out the Teresian colonies in the northwest of the peninsular root and stem.


    ¡°What happened happened, and thank the Mother that it burned out the way it did.¡± Eidre said quietly.


    ¡°Amen to that¡± Hans said in agreement.


    ¡°Now, I have dinner to kill¡± Eidre said, hefting her shotgun.


    ¡°You won¡¯t catch much more than rabbit.¡± Hans said.


    Eidre shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s still food.¡±


    ¡°Not even that. I¡¯ve heard of people who live on nothing but rabbits starving to death. Anyway, I met Scar and Rye on the way up here, wyvern traders. They¡¯re sending a message to Glaive that we might be able to work with the Diet to get the killers arrested.¡±


    ¡°Good. If the wyverns take that as a sign that we aren¡¯t all a bunch of land-grabbers coming for them once we¡¯re done with the woose, then we''ll have taken the moral high ground over the commonwealth and undercut their air power.¡± Eidre said and rode off, servants in tow.

 Chapter 18-Tane Bayder

    ¡°Arthur met the Fey host outside the walls of their great Mound-City. Seeing that he could not overthrow them with his host owing to their great numbers, he sent forth a message that the two sides would pick their champions, and that they would fight in single combat. The Fey agreed, for they feared the carnage Arthur, his war-hosts of forgotten Britain and the men of Genia had wrought upon the last Fey army they had met. If Arthur¡¯s army was victorious, Arthur and twelve others would drink from the Cauldron of Life, the Fountain of Youth, the Holy Grail. If the Fey won, Arthur would return home, and gift them a weapon he claimed could kill gods.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 10 September 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    They rode in silence to Tane¡¯s lodgings, Tane itching for a fight, Mene glaring at the road ahead.


    The details of the fight had been hashed out in a side alley, both her and Traharns seconds away from drawing there and then. Tomorrow morning, Westwark gardens. Rapiers and their choice of companion weapons excluding pistols, unarmoured. Traharn had challenged her, so she had the right to choose the weapons.


    When they reached the stables, Tane dismounted, vaulting down from her saddle, while Mene awkwardly began to clamber down. Tane held out a hand for her, and Mene took it.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to kill him, or he¡¯s going to kill you!¡± Mene hissed as soon as she had both her feet on the ground.


    ¡°No I¡¯m not. I¡¯ll go for his arms with cuts, or try and disarm him.¡±


    It¡¯s not a tactical problem, you idiot.


    ¡°Then he¡¯ll kill you! Why the fuck didn¡¯t you back down?¡±


    ¡°He insulted your honour and challenged me. There was no choice but to fight.¡± Tane said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any honour worth defending.¡± Mene said. ¡°I¡¯m a bloody criminal. I don¡¯t even have honour amongst thieves, because I turned thieftaker.¡±


    ¡°So what if you had to steal to eat? Your own damn brother called you a liar to your face. He had you beaten and didn¡¯t even have the balls to do it himself.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to get yourself killed for m-¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m an officer. You know what happens to officers who are thought of as cowards? No promotions. Troops don¡¯t take us seriously. Shunned by other officers. Career dead.¡±


    ¡°Better than being killed. Traharn¡¯s a veteran, an Arluk. He killed a man in a duel a few months after he arrived here¡±. Tane thought she could sense fear in Mene¡¯s voice.


    ¡°So am I. And I¡¯ve fought in half a dozen duels. Won all but one of them.¡±


    Mene sighed. ¡°If you¡¯re going to do this, at least get something out of it. While Traharn and his thugs are distracted, I¡¯m going to try and break into his house and grab anything incriminating.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s..¡± Tane began.


    ¡°Less dangerous than fighting Traharn one on one, and more useful.¡± Mene shrugged. ¡°If I can¡¯t talk you out of trying to get yourself skewered, you can¡¯t talk me out of throwing myself into the lion¡¯s den.¡±


    Tane didn¡¯t have anything to say to that but reluctant agreement.


    *


    Tane restlessly fingered the quillons of her rapier. They were nearly an hour past the arranged time to fight in Westwark, a park in one of Trackford¡¯s suburbs, and it was starting to shift from dawn to full daylight.


    Soon, Westwark would be inhabited by more than just duellists. Her whole body buzzed with anticipation and trepidation; the possibility of actually coming to blows with the Carfani mixing with the hard-earned knowledge of how uncertain and dangerous a duel could be.


    ¡°Bastard¡¯s running scared, I bet¡± Artorius said besides her. She¡¯d picked the Captain of Marines as her second; she didn¡¯t want to bring Sace or Bydevere, since it would risk leaving her company with only one officer if something went wrong during the duel and Gryff didn¡¯t recover well enough to return to service.


    Tane nodded. ¡°I reckon he¡¯s doing it on purpose. Trying to unnerve me.¡±


    ¡°Mind games don¡¯t work if the enemy knows what going on¡± Artorius said with a voice of faux wisdom. Connor O Carrene, her company surgeon, laughed in agreement.


    ¡°He wants to run late, then that¡¯ll give Mene more time¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Captain Tane, I presume?¡± someone said behind her.


    Tane snapped around, hand going to her hilt.


    Traharn stood behind her, a doctor and second at his side.


    ¡°Hoja Klass, Lieutenant of Arluks, my second. Doctor Angharad¡±


    Klass and Angharad couldn¡¯t be more different.


    Angharad was a pretty, skinny, blonde woman, in a modest dress with a valise on her hip. Klass was Gryff¡¯s evil twin who¡¯d run away to join the Arluks.


    ¡°No firearms, no armour, rapier and companion weapon as agreed?¡±


    Traharn nodded. ¡°I won¡¯t need them.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s begin¡±


    Tane pulled her cloak and woollen coat off, leaving herself dressed in doublet, breeches and hose. She thumped her chest, showing there was no metal armour concealed under her doublet. Traharn did the same.


    Normally, they would have stripped down to shirts, but the cold prevented that.


    She felt fear rising in her stomach. A little fear was good; it would her more prudent, more alert. Too much would make her jumpy and panic prone.


    Calmness, vigour and judgement.


    One mistake could mean both fighters ran each other through. Or it could mean the fight ended at first blood, with a small nick on the wrist.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Klass asked from across the small dip that was would soon turn into a flowing creek.


    ¡°Yes¡±


    She buckled her parrying gauntlet into place on her left hand then drew her rapier, wrapping her finger over the quillions. She left her dagger on her belt, just in case.


    They turned and saluted, raising the blade then whipping it down. She noted Traharn¡¯s rapier was a swept hilt, with a longer, narrower blade than her own plate-hilted weapon.


    He¡¯s taller too; he¡¯ll have the edge in reach. I¡¯ll need to concentrate on his arms to make up for that. Swept hilt means I can target his hands more easily, but he can trap my point.


    The seconds and doctors scrambled back.


    They adopted their guards, Traharn a low Hessalene guard, his body coiled like a spring, arm held bent, Tane a Hassarchene straight-line guard, legs and torso fully upright, arm and sword extended straight towards Traharn¡¯s face.


    About 15 feet stood between them.


    The shade of trees blocked much of the sunlight. Tane welcomed it; trying to fight snowblind would be an unpleasant experience.


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    She moved forwards with small, cautious steps, keeping her point levelled at his face. Snow squelched under her feet.


    He took a few steps forwards.


    The tips of their blades met, briefly.


    Traharn shuffled forwards, in Second, his knuckles facing outwards.


    Covering the outside line, forcing me to go for the inside line. If he¡¯s fencing Hesselene style, he¡¯ll beat that with a quarter-rotation and a parry in fourth(2), following by him gaining my blade and striking in fourth.


    She retreated slightly, keeping him at her defensive distance where she would have time to parry his attack before it connected, acutely aware of his needle thin point levelled at her chest.


    Whoever attacked first was at a disadvantage; it was easier to hit someone extended after a failed attack than one in a prepared guard.


    He raised his foot as if to lunge, then slammed it down, kicking up a puff of snow. A smirk broke the blankness of his face.


    He wanted her to attack first as well, clearly.


    Time to force his hand.


    Tane stepped forwards and took a subjection on his blade, placing her blade over his and levered it off-line, and stepped in to strike under cover(1).


    He didn¡¯t try to fight the subjection and instead disengaged and lunged, thrusting to her outside line.


    A flurry of thrusts and parries followed, Traharn twisting and lunging in the same instance. Tane protected herself and attacked with fast, controlled footwork, constantly moving offline, trying to feel the pressure of his blade, waiting for an opportunity to seize his rapier. He overextended on a lunge and she went for it, but his long rapier whipped away and cut at her leg as she came in for the grab. She parried low, and threw a thrust at his head as she retreated out of measure.


    He regathered himself back into his Second guard. In the course of the exchange, they¡¯d almost swapped positions. Tane started moving again, circling around him, working herself to have Artorius watching her back.


    She flicked the tip of her rapier against his, trying to provoke him into movement once again.


    He didn¡¯t take the bait.


    ¡°You scared?¡± Tane asked.


    Traharn grunted in response and lunged.


    She sidestepped his point and thrust to his inside line, aiming away from his vitals , and felt the tip of her rapier hit bone as it punched into his shoulder. She yanked the point clear and moved out at an angle, maintaining her straight line guard. It was like a drill, only with the hit being acknowledged by blood and screaming rather than a salute and a return to guard.


    Angharad and Klass scrambled down to Traharn. He swore in pain, making flicking cuts at thin air. Tane didn¡¯t know whether it was in anger or trying to check that his arm still worked.


    ¡°Yield!¡± Tane barked, flicking the blood from her rapier. It seemed almost silvery as it caught the light reflected off the snow.


    ¡°Let me see your¡­¡± Angharad began.


    ¡°It¡¯s only a flesh wound¡± Traharn grunted, pulling away from his attendants.


    He charged, rapier held straight out. Tane moved back and to the side, trying to force him to slow down, to change directions. There was nothing more dangerous than a fencer who didn¡¯t fear being struck, both to themselves and to their opponent.


    She parried with a hanging guard as he came in, and grabbed his rapier by the blade, the mail lining her gauntlet protecting her hands, then threw a circle-cut at his head. She stopped her blow an inch short of his throat, their feet sliding on the snow as she turned with his momentum.


    ¡°Yield.¡± Tane barked.


    Traharn let go of his rapier, parried her attempt to slit his throat with his dagger and kept coming, throwing himself onto Tane¡¯s point as she returned to straight line guard, then seized it as she tried to withdraw the point from his ribcage. He rushed in, dagger glinting, the movement of his body jerking her rapier about. She checked his thrust with her gauntlet, but that was just cover as he ducked down and tackled her, locking up her legs and throwing her to the ground. Her vision swam as she hit the snow.


    ¡°Yield!¡± Traharn screamed, straddling her, her rapier pushed almost up to the hilt in his chest. She smashed her gauntleted palm into his face and tried to go for an eye gouge, and in the same moment let go of her rapier and grabbed his daggers shell hilt, but he pushed her hand away then pinned it under his knee. With two hands to grapple with, he easily got his dagger hand free.


    ¡°Yield¡± he snarled, nose broken, blood running down into his moustache. He pressed his dagger to her throat. ¡°Yield!¡±


    Tane didn¡¯t have a choice.


    I lost. I lost to a dead man.


    Moments later Klass and Angharad were pulling Traharn off her. He stumbled like he was drunk, his whole body running red, her rapier still sticking through his chest. He grabbed it by the hilt and pulled it loose, grimacing. Klass grabbed the hilt and helped him. Angharad was yelling something about making the wound worse.


    Tane stared, stunned.


    People high on the battle-rush sometimes did strange things, and even seemingly deadly wounds sometimes didn¡¯t kill quickly or at all. But even so¡­


    She dragged herself to her feet, shaking the snow out of her doublet.


    If that had been to the death, I would¡¯ve been killed.


    ¡°You hurt?¡± Connor asked.


    Tane shook her head.


    Only in pride.


    ¡°Need this?¡± Traharn said, hacking up blood with as much concern as if he merely had a bad cold. He roughly wiped her rapier clean with his coat hem and held it out to her.


    Tane blinked in shock, then numbly accepted the weapon, checked the blade for damage and any remaining blood, and sheathed it, falling back on old instincts.


    Traharn lurched off, Klass going to support him.


    ¡°What the fuck¡± Artorius said behind her.


    I lost. I surrendered without taking a scratch.


    She¡¯d only ever lost one duel before, when she was young and foolish and hadn¡¯t known how to fight. After that, she¡¯d been wounded, sometimes badly, but had always managed to eke out a victory.


    Focus. I¡¯m not dead or even injured. Traharn won¡¯t survive his wounds. Mene should have hit his house by now. Doesn¡¯t matter that I yielded, I won.


    1: In real world Destreza(what Tane¡¯s fencing style is based off, and what I practise) this is known as an Atajo, or literally ¡°shortcut¡±, and is an extremely important part of the system.

 Chapter 19-Hans Draiger

    ¡°I therefore recommend the following alterations to the Commonwealths Parliament, in order that the people of Carfane be adequately represented in the Commonwealth.


    <ol>


    <li>The dividing of Carfane into forty Counties, rather than the three at present, thus allowing representation equal to their populace. Carfane has an eight of the populace of Genia proper; thus, it should have an eight of the elected Members of Parliament.</li>


    <li>The appointment of the most wealthy and worthy of the Carfani Gentry as peers proper.</li>


    <li>The withdrawal of the occupation of Trackford, and these</li>


    <li>If these were done, the other grievances would surely be dealt with in short order, since the people of Carfane would be properly represented.</li>


    </ol>


    However, the Commonwealth will never do this, for it would eliminate the great revenues they draw, and the forces of savage wyverns they use in their armies. So we must convene, to decide whether to resolve these issues with the ballot or the bullet; the pamphlet or the pollaxe¡±


    Mato Calwere, ¡°The Resolution for the Carfani Peninsular Conference¡±


    Hans Draiger, 20 September 1582 AAA. Kasilisk.


    Kasilisk was the biggest city Hans had ever seen, not that he had seen many cities. Compared to Trackford¡¯s haphazard streets, Kasilisk¡¯s were neat and efficient, dividing the city into regular blocks. Even the farmland on the city¡¯s outskirts was squared off by stone fences. Tall stone buildings dominated the cityscape; alongside a forest of masts and spars from the riverfront. Unlike most cities, Kasilisk had no walls, not even in the city centre. Before Halidon¡¯s hill they¡¯d never needed them. After that, they¡¯d boasted that the cities walls were its people.


    The coach came down into the city streets, muddy from melting snow. People swarmed all around them, on horse and foot, alongside coaches and wagons clogging the street. Uln got a few stares-Hans guessed Woose weren¡¯t common around these parts-but other than that, they attracted no notice, despite the fact that they were riding on the back of the coach, with muskets and spears stowed. They moved through the streets towards the house of Corentin O Mathuna, cousin to Eidre and a powerful man in his own right. They soon found it. It was a tall sandstone townhouse, with large glass windows that looked like an invitation to be smashed by hail to Han¡¯s eyes.


    One of the servants, Rhys, dismounted and knocked on the door.


    A tall, corpulent man answered, dressed in what looked to Draiger like the most expensive corpcoat he¡¯d ever seen.


    ¡°Fancy seeing you out here this time of year!¡±


    Eidre swung herself down from horseback, one hand shooting out to steady her rapier. She was dressed in her old cavalry gear-buff coat, breeches, boots, broad brimmed hat.


    ¡°Well, I wanted to get out here for the conference early. You see, some people want to be fashionably late. I, on the other hand, want to start a trend for being fashionably early¡±


    Corentin threw back his head and laughed. It drew more than one concerned look from passer-by¡¯s.


    ¡°Good enough reasoning, I¡¯d say. How about we get out of this cold?¡±


    Eidre nodded. Hans slipped down from his position on the front of the coach, then extended a hand for Uln as she clambered down.


    ¡°You have an odd taste in retainers¡± Corentin said.


    Eidre laughed. ¡°Those two aren¡¯t members of my household. Fashion isn¡¯t the only reason I¡¯m out here¡±


    Corentin¡¯s face became more serious. ¡°And what reasons would those be?¡±


    ¡°Not out here¡± Eidre said, her voice dropping.


    Corentin nodded, and turned to walk inside, Eidre and Aled following.


    Hans and Uln stayed outside to help the servants unload the coach and stable the horses.


    By the time that was done, Corentin, Aled, Eidre, and Corentin¡¯s wife-a tall, skinny, pale women who looked the exact opposite of Uln in every way imaginable-were seated in the townhouse¡¯s drawing room, with Corentin cheerfully explaning his latest business dealings-apparently, investing in a joint venture to fund a mercantile expedition to northern Ylundu.


    One of the servants offered him and Uln a chair, without saying a word.


    Hans sat down. He felt rather self conscious, sitting in a cheap coat and the only pair of breeches he¡¯d brought. Uln was dressed in another doublet, and skirts that only came down to mid-calves. Even Eidre, only dressed for riding in cloak and buff coat, still looked wealthier than he did.


    ¡°So, you¡¯ve apparently run into something rather interesting?¡± Corentin asked.


    Hans nodded. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ll have heard about the wyverns, killed up near Fort Highhome?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡± Corentin answered curtly.


    ¡°I found them. I found the bodies. I went out to West Point. Commonwealth¡¯s working with West Point clan, but a few of them are willing to work with anybody who¡¯ll take them down. Then it turns out a few locals, Connor Ferene for starters, were involved in the killings, and the Patriot¡¯s brigade was involved too, and this Connor tried to kill me. So here we are¡±


    ¡°In summary, a couple of scalies got shot and nobody, including the scalies, really cares unless it¡¯s a stick they can beat the republicans with¡± Aled said.


    Why are we letting this git anywhere near politics again?


    ¡°Which is unfortunate considering that three ensouled beings got murdered and it seems I¡¯m the only one who doesn¡¯t want to use it for bloody point scoring¡± Hans said.


    ¡±In any case, the Commonwealth having West Point on their side is very bad for us. Now, I¡¯m no soldier, but they¡¯ll have both air and naval supremacy when you combine the wyverns with the navy, and there¡¯s very little we can do to stop it¡± Corentin said. ¡°Besides that, if these people keep attacking-and they will, one of them blew a lobster¡¯s face off down in Trackford-then it¡¯ll look like we want a war. Then the commonwealth won¡¯t hold back, and we won¡¯t have international support¡±


    Corentin leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he had made his point.


    ¡°How we should do it¡± Uln said, ¡°Is deal with the killers ourselves. That would send a message to the wyverns that we¡¯re on their side¡±


    Corentin flinched. ¡°Without putting them on trial first? That¡¯s a tad uncivilized¡±


    ¡°Oh, there¡¯d be a trial. It just happens before you break out the war spurs and dive lances to go kill the buggers. Or at least that¡¯s how the wyverns would do it. Us, we just arrest them, put them on trial then turn them over to the wyverns or hang them as needed.¡± Hans said, adding the second part before he sounded like too much of a murderous madman.


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    ¡°And if the Commonwealth intervenes?¡± Corentin asked.


    ¡°They¡¯ll probably be glad we¡¯re dealing with them ourselves.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Or the Commonwealth objects, drives a wedge between West Point and Trarabac, and we actually have a fighting chance in a war.¡± Eidre said.


    ¡°The brigade are our allies. Why should we betray them for a couple of scalies? The scalies don¡¯t even care about the dead.¡± Aled said.


    Hans decided to let the question of whether that was a misinterpretation of wyvern funerary customs or of West Point politics unspoken.


    ¡°Oh, the wyverns care quite a bit. Openly, they¡¯re happy to let the commonwealth deal with it. But more than a few of them want to do it their way. Spilt blood and cracked bone was the phrase. If you give a damn about Carfane, you do not want them turned loose on Carfane.¡± Hans said, forcing himself to look Aled in the eyes. He¡¯d never liked doing that, but it did have a certain intimidating effect.


    ¡°Anyhow, none of this matters unless we can convince the other Carfani to support you.¡± Corentin said. ¡°We need to get the Carfani supporting the Republic of Three Species behind you, make it their pet cause. Get organized. The Humanist radicals are already behind the Patriot¡¯s Brigade.¡±


    Eidre nodded. ¡°How many delegates have already arrived?¡±


    ¡°A few dozen, mostly on our side. We should start getting organized before the Diet starts.¡± Corentin said.


    ¡°How long?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°Two weeks. Though I imagine the politicking has already begun.¡± Eidre said.


    Corentin clapped his hands. ¡°Indeed it has. I should bring some of the delegates who have already arrived here.¡±


    Hans sighed. He had no clue how a hunting trip had turned into managed to turn into getting dragged into this nonsense.


    If it brings them to justice¡­


    Of bloody course Corentin had to invite him to dinner.


    A dozen gentry, one woodsrunner and a woose sat in the dining room, Hans doing his best to blot out the constant, painfully loud, chatter. Uln sat opposite him on the long table; that was the custom for husband and wife. The people sitting around her looked visibly uncomfortable at having to associate with a demi-human. That was common with Woose; Hans wasn¡¯t sure whether it was prejudice or just from looking at something that was nearly human but not quite. It had never affected him, in any case.


    Corentin had arranged the whole thing to try and get likely supporters organized and introduced to each other, as well to see what sorts of argument were likely to be used.


    ¡°So how did you find the bodies?¡± the man to his right asked. Enrin Lessos, a lawyer from Trackford, and, according to Corentin, the only Trackford delegate without Patriot¡¯s Brigade connections.


    He¡¯d already answered that question from Rhianna Calesin, Corentin¡¯s niece, only minutes before.


    ¡°Hunting. For sicklehawk.¡± he said in between mouthfuls. He had no desire to recount finding murdered bodies in the middle of dinner.


    The man nodded, annoyed.


    ¡°Weren¡¯t they in the service of the Commonwealth?¡± Aune Sade asked. He was a Ylundan man with black skin and short, greying hair. He¡¯d been introduced as a prominent merchant and one of the few people to make good in the long term off the silver rush. He was also one of the representatives for Kasilisk.


    Oh, not this again.


    ¡°They were killed on the ground in an ambush by people they thought they were at peace with. Doesn¡¯t really matter who they were aligned with, it was murder¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Oh, of course.¡± Aune said. ¡°But it will be an issue with the Patriot¡¯s Brigade. As much as they refuse to say it, I hear they¡¯re almost fighting an undeclared war in Trackford.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know about Trackford.¡± Hans said. ¡°But the squatters are sure as hell fighting an undeclared war out on the frontier. This is just the last straw.¡±


    ¡°Of course, the Woose population is shrinking whereas ours is expanding with no legal outlet, so it is inevitable that-¡° began Rhianna Calesin. She was sitting next to Uln, leaning away from her as much as possible without actually falling out of her chair.


    ¡°You murder anyone who gets in your way? Because that¡¯s what¡¯s happening.¡± Hans snapped, the noise getting to him.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not saying that. I¡¯m saying that conflict is inevitable unless we come up with a fair way to handle land on the frontier. One that the Woose and Wyverns can agree to, and benefit from. ¡° She finished.


    She wasn¡¯t wrong. The commonwealth was trying to stop the flood but failing. If a Carfani republic could channel it instead¡­


    ¡°To do that, we need to make it clear that we can take the wyvern¡¯s side and won¡¯t play favourites like at Black Creek. And prosecuting the killers would be a start to that.¡± Eidre said, speaking from her position near the head of the table.


    If they¡¯d seen what I¡¯ve seen¡­


    ¡­They¡¯d think nothing more of it than I did killing that sicklehawk.


    ¡°But that would cause deep rifts if they turn out to be republicans. And we can¡¯t afford a repeat of Black Creek. The Commonwealth is the true enemy.¡± Enrin Lessos, a lawyer from Trackford, said.


    ¡°Could you people decide if killing me is actually fucking murder or not already?¡± Uln asked.


    The table fell silent, most of them staring, shocked, at Uln.


    ¡°The precedent from Black Creek is-¡° Lessos began.


    Hans resisted the urge to jam a tendril through his soul. It wasn¡¯t easy. Uln looked like she was about to scramble across the table and strangle Lessos. He was very glad that they hadn¡¯t brought weapons.


    ¡°That unless something changes, the Carfani are the people willing to protect murderers and the Commonwealth are the ones who¡¯ll prosecute them. Compare Black Creek to the Trackford massacre. If we want the wyverns on our side, and the woose, then we need to change that.¡± Eidre said, raising her voice.


    It was somewhat more polite than what Hans had in mind.


    ¡°In short, Carfane, and all of it, needs to unite or die.¡± said Larace Sade, Aune¡¯s daughter. She was a quiet, serious looking young woman, very much her father¡¯s daughter.


    Amen to that was all Hans could think of in response. Amen to that.

 Chapter 20-Tane Bayder

    ¡°And Arthur¡¯s champion was Cai, and he marched forth with sword and spear and shield against the champion of the Fey. They fell upon each other with terrible fury, and shattered spear and shield and dealt each other fell wounds. The Fey champion, as was his treasonous nature, tried to strike down Cai with sorcery, but Morgan Half-Fey, first and greatest of the witches, dealt him back in kind, and Cai fed the blackbirds with a single biting blow of his steel. And thus was Arthur¡¯s entry into the Sunken City assured.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 11 September 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    The Whirling Prop wasn¡¯t hard to find. They¡¯d managed to get an actual airship propeller mounted over the pub¡¯s entrance, a trophy taken after Halidon¡¯s Hill from a 3rd Rate Bombardier. The wooden surface was still pitted and cracked from burning wyvern vitriol, and one of the blades had snapped off. The ship¡¯s name, Moonlight, was engraved on the propeller, faintly visible despite the damage.


    Besides, it was the preferred haunt of most of the officers in the occupation force. She¡¯d been there a hundred times before.


    It was empty this time of morning, too late for drunks sleeping off hangovers to still be there, and far too early for any customers. That would have made it a bad rendezvous-enough people around to listen in, not enough to drown out individual conversations- so she¡¯d arranged to meet with Mene outside.


    She leaned back against the corner of the public house, fidgeting. She felt both exhausted and more awake than she¡¯d ever been. Her memories of the duel seemed almost scattered, though not as badly as after the first few times she¡¯d gotten into a serious fight.


    Tane forced herself to breath slowly. In her experience ignoring the battle rush until it died away was the best way to deal with it.


    ¡°You win? You¡¯re not poked full of holes, so I¡¯m guessing so.¡± Someone said behind her.


    Tane¡¯s hands shot to her blades on reflex, but she recognized Mene¡¯s voice and lifted her hands away, then turned to face her.


    ¡°He won. He threw himself onto my sword and disarmed me.¡± Tane said, surprised at the anger creeping into her voice.


    Mene visibly flinched.


    ¡°He did what?¡±


    ¡°He got himself fucking impaled to beat me. I lost without taking a scratch.¡±


    She furrowed her brows.


    ¡°You said you¡¯d disarm him. Not kill him.¡±


    ¡°I tried. That was how he got me. And he wasn¡¯t dead last I saw him. Not dying either. Barely seemed to feel it.¡±


    ¡°How¡­¡±


    Mene leaned against the wall, slowly breathing out.


    ¡°No idea. I¡¯ve seen people who just keep fighting until they bleed out, doesn¡¯t matter how many holes you poke in them. And I¡¯ve people recover from wounds that should have been deadly.¡±


    ¡°Mother above... if he lives or dies, I still won¡¯t know whether to be relieved.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°If I¡¯d disarmed him or killed him cleanly, at least you¡¯d only have one thing to be uncertain about.¡± Tane said.


    Mene laughed nervously.


    ¡°The break-in go alright?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I got his strongbox.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he bother securing it?¡±


    ¡°His sort always stick that sort of thing in a bloody vault or assume they¡¯re so scary no one will ever steal from them. No middle ground. Traharn turned out to be the latter. Can¡¯t get it at it because it¡¯s locked, but he only hid it under his bed. Now it¡¯s under mine.¡°


    Tane chuckled.


    ¡°I need to check on my company. I¡¯ll see you midday tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll get to lockpicking it.¡± Mene said.


    *


    ¡°Where¡¯s Sace?¡± Tane asked as she pushed open the doors to her companies improvised barracks.


    ¡°Upstairs, with Byd and Morgan, cap.¡± Blodwen said. The trooper was sitting by the door, her arm in a sling. She was recovering well, from what Connor had said. So was Gryff, although his scar was going to be even worse looking once the minor infections died down. Last she¡¯d visited him, he was not enjoying the fact that he could only mumble without pulling his stitches and having to repeat the whole painful process.


    Tane dodged past the grenadiers in the commandeered common room, many of them visibly relieved that she¡¯d survived. They didn¡¯t say anything out loud, though. Duelling was something best not discussed openly.


    She pushed her way up into the private room, absent-mindedly rubbing her bruised wrist before realizing with a start that she actually had bruised it.


    ¡°How¡¯d muster go?¡± she asked. With herself absent on ¡°business¡± and Gryff recovering, Sace was technically the company commander. That probably wasn¡¯t for the better. Sace was bright and wanted to do well in the army, but her family had forced her to take a commission-they had too many daughters to marry off, and Sace was too much of a deist for the seminary-and she didn¡¯t have the ability to think under pressure needed for a company commander. Tane was aiming to get her selected for a staff position as soon as possible.


    Still better than what a lot of line units are stuck with.


    The short girl smiled when she saw Tane enter. ¡°Oh, I enjoyed being captain for a day. Got to fob the cornet off to Bydevere, too. Everyone accounted for, no illnesses to report, Rhianne¡¯s miraculously un-pregnant. Slach¡¯s had some of the stitches on his buff coat come undone, those¡¯ll need to be fixed. Should get the other ones looked at too, to see if it was bad luck or a bad batch."


    ¡°Bydevere, get it looked at by a tailor and fixed. Anyhow, the private business is resolved satisfactorily.¡± Tane said as she pulled out a chair and sat down.


    Morgan looked up from the desk. She was absent mindedly tracing ritual circles on the desk. ¡°Honour, love or money?¡±


    Tane shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d arrange anything about money at a better time of day and anything about love wouldn¡¯t get in the way of army business.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Bydevere said. ¡°Of course. If you¡¯d been killed, what would have happened to the promotions?¡±


    Tane shrugged. ¡°Gryff to captain, Sace to lieutenant, you to cornet. Probably Haynes to QM.¡±


    Bydevere looked less than pleased at that as well. Getting outranked by an upjumped commoner was one thing. Getting outranked by a seventeen year old girl with little combat experience was quite another.


    ¡°Order of precedence.¡± Tane said. ¡°Not my rules. Anyhow, Sace, I want you to run the company drill tonight. I¡¯ll just be observing.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, ma¡¯am.¡± Sace said. She looked more than a little nervous.


    ¡°You still running about playing spies with that thieftaker? That why you won¡¯t be with your unit?¡± Bydevere asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be doing that tomorrow, not tonight. This is to see if Sace can handle the company. I want all of my officers to be able to lead the company if it comes to it.¡±


    Bydevere grunted in acknowledgement. ¡°At the rate you¡¯re going, we¡¯re going to need to know how. First you got Gryff¡¯s face blown off using us as bait, that was bad enough, now you¡¯re getting into goddamn duels after running about breaking into houses with that mercenary lowlife who¡¯s probably feeding information to the fucking Carfa-¡°


    ¡°Those sharpshooters were going to kill someone sooner or later, but because we were there and ready for it, drawing them out at the time and place of our choosing, we took them down rather than having to dig some poor line company out of the middle of a mob after their captain got killed. And now that we have the advantage, I¡¯m using that to begin rolling up the rest of their organization. Dismissed. I¡¯ll see you all at night drill.¡± Tane said, her voice low and hard.


    She met with Mene late the next day, at her apartment.


    Mene was leaning on the tiny balcony of the staircase, waiting. She was wearing a full length dress under her cloak, not her usual petticoat breeches and cheap coat, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold.


    She waved when she saw Tane coming.


    ¡°Got the lock?¡± Tane asked.


    Mene looked pleased with herself. ¡°Took a bit of work, but I broke it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, excellent. What¡¯s he got inside? Anything useful?¡±


    She smiled. ¡°Interesting, certainly. Useful, I¡¯ll have to take more of a look at it.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Mene opened the door to her apartment, where the contents of the box where spread out on her bed. Her tiny desk was too small to accommodate them.


    Tane glanced across the sheets. Dozens of letters carpeted the bed, with a few large, torn out book pages peeking out from under them.


    ¡°See for yourself¡± Mene said, ushering Tane in then stepping in after her.


    Tane picked up one of the letters and began to read, manoeuvring herself into the light coming in from the sole window.


    22 January 1582


    ¡°My dearest, I hope to see you again soon, to converse with your fine mind, to look upon your elegant face, to watch you lead the city you have lived in so many years to freedom from the boot we have most cruelly placed upon your throat.


    She skimmed down the letter. More of the same, apparently by a rather long winded writer, signed by an ¡°Arace V.¡± Her eyes swam


    Most likely Arace Veulnor, General Breuce Veulnor¡¯s wife.


    Traharn with Arace? Mother above, I¡¯ll just need to show this to Breuce and watch the fun.


    She picked up another one. That one was downright pornographic. The rest were along the same lines, though they were written in two different hands, and half were signed by ¡°Arace V¡± and the other half by ¡°AH.¡±


    Not Traharn, then.


    ¡°These are bloody love letters.¡± Tane said. ¡°And shit ones too. Anyone who thinks stabbing is a good metaphor for fucking has never been bloody stabbed.¡±


    Mene chuckled. ¡°I worked that part out. Wonder what he-Oh. Oh, bugger.¡±


    It took a moment to click.


    They had letters in Traharn Hast¡¯s possession by an AH that would be rather awkward if released.


    The letters they¡¯d found from Brenna¡¯s house said the letter writer, the old man, had leverage over Avon Heveria, leader of the Patriot¡¯s Brigade in Trackford.


    The old man, the coiled serpent¡¯s apparent leader, was Traharn Hast, and was blackmailing Heveria.


    ¡°You were right. Traharn¡¯s up to his eyeballs in the brigade. Or was.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°So we can take him down?¡° Mene said, relieved.


    Tane shook her head. ¡°Traharn¡¯s already out of the game. We go after him directly, every other trouble maker goes to ground or starts getting organized for a real fight.¡±


    ¡°But we still have him.¡± Mene said. ¡°If it comes to it.¡±


    ¡°If he survives, which is a damn sight unlikely. I thrust him through the lungs. If blood loss doesn¡¯t get him, pneumonia might.¡± Tane said.


    She glanced at one of the pages under the letters and pulled it out.


    It was Fusangese text around a network of diagrams like ritual circles, with notes in brythwic scrawled around it.


    ¡°Traharn doesn¡¯t seem the sort to be interested in ritual magic.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°He did cover his house in sigils. Like he¡¯s hiding something.¡±


    ¡°There is that.¡±


    She picked up another one. The text on it was almost like spoked circles and half-moons, with bars crossing through it here and there. She swore she¡¯d seen that kind of text somewhere before.


    It wasn¡¯t human.


    ¡°Oh, fuck, he¡¯s got fair folk texts in here.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t read any of it, but the notes¡­¡±


    Her eyes flicked across the notes. A lot of jargon about bindings, bait, communicating with entities, and the like. She knew the basics of how it all worked, but little beyond that. Normally try to lure in demons-or if you were ambitious, more intelligent aetheric entities-with the dead souls of animals, then bind them with an aetheric net, created with ritual circles drawn in witch¡¯s chalk, once they feel into your trap. Like fishing in the sea of souls.


    ¡°You¡¯re a witch, you make sense of any of this?¡±


    Tane passed her the page.


    Mene squinted at the text for a long while.


    ¡°He¡¯s talking about trying to use sacrifices to lure something in, and some kind of ritual circle. It¡¯s all very disjointed, and I¡¯m not a ritualist anyway. Natural magic for me.¡±


    Tane rubbed her face. ¡°I¡¯ll show it to Morgan, see if she can get it translated.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a ritualist, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°And quite a good one.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°What should we do with the letters?¡± Mene asked.


    ¡°Do what Traharn did.¡± Tane said. ¡°Make the patriot¡¯s brigade dance to our tune."


    *


    She caught Avon Heveria as he was returning to his house, late at night. He was holding a lantern to light his way, and had his cloak pulled up over his face.


    She stepped out of the darkness, throwing back her cloak away to reveal her hilts.


    ¡°We need to ta-¡°


    He whirled around, drawing and cocking a pistol. His face was pale with shock.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take another step or I kill you.¡±


    Tane raised her hands. He was too close to run and too far to disarm. Deescalating was her best bet.


    ¡°You do that, the good general will find out some things you¡¯d rather he wouldn¡¯t. Now put down the gun and talk.¡±


    ¡°Wha-oh. Oh.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    He pushed his pistol to half-cock and lowered it. Tane stepped closer. His face was pale, and she could see his hands were shaking.


    Surprise, most likely.


    ¡°Did Traharn send you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then how?¡±


    ¡°Strongboxes aren¡¯t that strong. Traharn has no evidence now, Veulnor will dismiss it without that. He¡¯s quite in love with Arace. Now, talk. What the hell is the coiled serpent?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t negotiate with blackmailers.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t cooperate with blackmailers, then what did Traharn have those letters for? If you don¡¯t talk, I¡¯ll just release the letters, use them to convict Traharn for blackmail and let you get skewered in a duel. Not my problem.¡±


    She began to turn away from him.


    ¡°Wait, wait, I can explain.¡±


    ¡°Oh, can you?¡±


    She turned back to him.


    ¡°What is the coiled serpent?¡±


    He sighed, took a deep breath, and began to explain, his voice hushed.


    ¡°A few years ago, a whole lot of the Patriot¡¯s Brigade didn¡¯t just want to put pressure on the Commonwealth and prepare for war. They wanted to start one. When Traharn Hast arrived, he fit himself right into it. They were overjoyed to have a professional fighter with contacts all over the place working for them. He got them organized and they started pushing the Trackford Regiment towards his aims. I tried to force them out, but Traharn blackmailed me to look the other way and give him funding while he formed his most hardline supporters into cells. The coiled serpent, he called it, after a pamphlet saying Carfane should be like a snake waiting to strike any and all enemies that dare tread on it.¡±


    ¡°How many members?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He had a dozen or so followers when he started. Any other time I start looking into his affairs, he threatens me. Except when he needs help with some scheme or another, then he threatens me if I don¡¯t get myself involved.¡±


    ¡°What schemes?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Smuggling stolen weapons into the city. Logistics for raids. Gathering intelligence. Money. Recruiting. That sort of thing. I never get the details, just what he needs.¡± Avon sounded almost resigned.


    Smuggling weapons into Trackford? Raid logistics? Oh, dear.


    ¡°Pretend that you¡¯ve genuinely gone over to Traharn¡¯s side without needing the letters to keep you in line. Keep trying to get information from him. If you lie to me about anything, I¡¯ll release the letters. If you try and skip town, I¡¯ll release them anyway just to spite you, and tell Traharn you¡¯ve been dancing to my tune. Then I¡¯ll convince Veulnor to have all your businesses investigated for tax fraud. Knowing what your lot are like, they won¡¯t survive.¡±


    She guessed she could only carry out half the threats she¡¯d made, but Avon didn¡¯t know who she was and had no way to know that.


    ¡°Now, on the other hand, when Traharn and the coiled serpent are completely neutralized, I¡¯ll destroy the letters. I¡¯m betting Traharn didn¡¯t offer to do that. Now, goodnight until we meet again.¡±


    She doffed her hat at him and walked off into the darkness, smiling to herself.

 Chapter 21-Hans Draiger

    ¡°Not while the Commonwealth forbids any settlement in the west.¡± Enrin Lessos said.


    ¡°The solution to that problem¡± Eidre said. ¡°Is simple. Start enforcing the law out there, rather than doing what the Commonwealth does and pretending it isn¡¯t happening. We¡¯ll be able to settle more safely, and settlers will have to pay a fair price for land and not attack their neighbours. Now, if we want to start doing that, prosecuting the killers would be a good way to get onto the Wyverns good side.¡±


    ¡°Why do we care about the wyverns ¡°good side¡±? We can defeat them in a war, and they¡¯re already agents of the Commonwealth.¡± Mato Calwere said.


    Oh, father save me, this is going to turn into a Town Hall repeat¡­


    ¡°If the Commonwealth killed three of our militiamen, would we demand justice, and should the Commonwealth grant it?¡± Aune Sade asked, standing up to get their attention.


    ¡°Yes!¡± called the delegates.


    ¡°Then why not the wyverns?¡± Aune asked.


    There was a lot of hemming and hawing and a few yells of ¡°hear, hear.¡±


    Aune has them, they either admit to a double standard or concede.


    Finally, Enrin Lessos raised his voice. ¡°Morally and legally, killing a rational animal is not the same as killing a human, and killing occupying troops is not the same as killing militia doing their duty.¡±


    Well, nice for someone to finally spell it out.


    ¡°And why? They both have fully formed souls.¡± Corentin asked.


    ¡°They are not made in the image of the all and therefore-¡°


    The hall exploded into a screaming match.


    ¡°Order! Order!¡± the speaker barked.


    He was ignored. Hans heard a lot of yelling about goddamn scalies, Commonwealth stooges, glorified animals, innocent victims of Commonwealth policies, and noble fellow inhabitants of the peninsular. The noise felt like it was crushing him, and went on for what seemed like forever.


    ¡°Order!¡± the speaker roared yet again, slamming down his wooden hammer onto the table like he was tenderizing meat. That seemed to get their attention.


    ¡°With all due respect, we should wait until more pressing matters are resolved before we deal with this.¡± A woman said.


    ¡°This is a pressing matter. When the majority of West Point migrates south for the summer, do we want this unresolved? They¡¯ll likely already be preparing to move.¡± Eidre said.


    ¡°Again, we can defeat the wyverns. The facts of the matter are simple. The Commonwealth has their boot on our throat. We are being bled dry by excessive taxes and tariffs, they are occupying our cities, we have no political representation, and we are being squeezed into the eastern corner of the peninsular due to their refusal to allow settlement in the west. A few commonwealth stooges getting killed in some skirmish is irrelevant. When, mr. speaker, when will we have an emergency session about those issues rather than this nonsense?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember the silver riots of 1570?¡± Hans yelled. Show these bastards what their stupidity and bigotry has led to.


    A few of them nodded along.


    ¡°What does this have to do with the dead wyverns?¡± someone asked.


    ¡°I nearly died there, and Uln with me. Why¡¯d that happen? Oh, sure, the Commonwealth was taxing us through the nose for our mining licenses. That was part of it. But you all know what the real reason was.¡±


    He glanced at Aune Sade. The Ylundans had gotten it bad during the silver riots, though not as bad as the Woose.


    Better to be the wrong sort of human than not human at all.


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    ¡°Get on with it!¡± someone yelled.


    ¡°The Woose were easy targets. Going after the taxation agents on the silver fields was too much trouble, so the miners got nice and drunk, convinced themselves the Woose and Ylundans and Mother knows who else were the real problem, and went off and tried to run them off the goldfields. It¡¯s always the same. The silver fields run out, so a bunch of miners go and do Black Creek and then everyone gets up in arms because the Commonwealth had the balls to hang a mob of torturers and rapists. And then the Commonwealth occupies Trackford, and what do you do? Go and kill a bunch of border guards because they aren¡¯t human and you can get away with it. And then when I try to do something about it, a mob tries to kill me and my wife. You¡¯re too busy slaughtering a bunch of innocents to go after the people we actually have a grievance with!¡±


    He¡¯d had enough of running from these people. He wanted to fight back somehow, even if it was just with words.


    The delegates rioted again.


    *


    ¡°That¡± Eidre said in the dining room of Corentin¡¯s home, ¡°was a bloody mess.¡±


    ¡°Indeed it was.¡± Hans said, rubbing his head. Carfane had just reached a new low, as far as he was concerned. They¡¯d gotten absolutely nothing done, had spent the next four hours listening to a spectacular screaming match that went round in circles, Corentin¡¯s attempt to submit a concrete resolution for voting on had been ignored in favour of more arguing, and the session had been adjourned by the speaker until next week in order to give everyone time to calm down. Eidre, at least, had convinced them to head out to Halidon¡¯s Hill on the anniversary of the battle. He guessed that about half of the diet members were in favour of prosecution, but the other faction was much, much louder. He wouldn¡¯t be surprised if next morning, someone was found dead in a park with a rapier in their hand and a stab wound through their chest.


    Uln laughed. ¡°Fuckers had it coming. They want to talk about their ¡°morally and legally¡± nonsense, you can tell them it¡¯s nonsense.¡±


    ¡°That is not how polite society works.¡± Corentin said, like he was talking to a small child. ¡°People might be foolish but you cannot tell them that to their faces, otherwise-¡°


    ¡°They might try to murder us? Oh, wait.¡± Uln said.


    Hans laughed because it was that or cry. ¡°They can certainly try.¡±


    ¡°We need to try a different tack.¡± Eidre said. ¡°Appealing to their hearts hasn¡¯t worked. There¡¯s plenty who¡¯ll listen, but plenty who won¡¯t, and we need a clear majority. We need to appeal to their heads, and to their patriotism, to try and get the undecided to decide.¡±


    ¡°Patriotism?¡±. Hans raised an eyebrow. ¡°I think we saw enough of that today.¡±


    ¡°Halidon¡¯s Hill. Remember when I asked them to agree to a remembrance ceremony out at the battlefield-I remember that place well enough without needing some bloody ceremony, I can tell you that-I''m going to give them a speech. I¡¯ll take plenty of opportunities to remind them how important the wyverns were to the victory there. Then, when the second session starts, I point out that we need to negotiate from a position of strength, winning the wyverns over will weaken the commonwealth and help our position, and bringing down the killers will be a show of good faith that will give us a start to that.¡±


    ¡°Tell them that we need to unite or die. Though that didn¡¯t work out at the town hall meeting too well.¡± Hans said, remembering Larice Sade¡¯s phrase.


    ¡°In short, yes. Hopefully this lot are more rational.¡±


    Hans didn¡¯t have much hope in that.

 Chapter 22-Tane Bayder

    ¡°So did Arthur enter the sunken city, carried by his companions, and he and twelve of his knights and witches, that he chose for their great loyalty, came with him. And some of the Fey schemed to take him hostage. But the more honourable amongst them, and the human slaves who Arthur wished freed, warned him of the scheme, and the conspirators where killed by their slave-soldiers. And thus did Arthur arrive at the heart of the sunken city, at the fountain of youth.


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 15 September 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°Miss, there¡¯s a few people at the door who want to see you.¡± The maid said nervously. Tane pulled herself up from her desk in her billet.


    ¡°Yeah, who are they?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Uh, a couple of women on horses? They both look like soldiers.¡±


    Ah, what now?


    She threw on her swordbelt, then marched herself downstairs, dodging past the family who owned the house. She knew names and faces, but beyond that they might as well be strangers to her despite the fact that she lived in their house.


    Morgan was waiting for her at the door, alongside a Fusangese woman she vaguely recognized. Both of them were mounted and armed, though in civilian clothes.


    ¡°It¡¯s those rituals, the ones you asked me to translate. They¡¯ve got some interesting contents.¡± Morgan said, peering down at her from horseback, fully armed.


    Tane made a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll get dressed and mounted.¡±


    She sent Boudace scrambling to the stables at the street corner to get their horses, while she put on her buff coat and cloak and riding boots.


    By the time she came out again, Boudace had their horses ready and saddled. Her riding horse was a small grey mare; her warhorse, a 16 hands high gelding, was stabled at the company quarters. If she was doing anything that needed a warhorse, she¡¯d be visiting there anyway.


    ¡°This is Captain Feiyan, of the GCAF Frigate Shield Splinterer.¡± Morgan said as Tane virtually leapt into the saddle, gesturing at the airship captain. She was a classic aviator-short, wiry, tanned, hard faced, with a sheepskin coat and a cutlass strapped to her hip.


    ¡°And this is Captain Tane Bayder, 3rd Horse Guards Horse Grenadier Company. You can call her Cap.¡± Morgan said, gesturing at Tane.


    ¡°Only if you¡¯re enlisted. Or Gryff.¡± Tane said. Morgan chuckled.


    ¡°How interesting are we talking here?¡± Tane asked as they began to ride for Dockside.


    ¡°Well, you guessed right, that was fair folk text all over it. Some of the other texts Mene found was Fusangese, so I brought Feiyan here in to have a look at it.¡±


    ¡°And what did they say?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all about immortality, and ways to acquire it. He¡¯s been looking at every trick in the book. Pacts with higher demons and archons to anchor the mind to the soul rather than the body. Rituals requiring the sacrifice of rational souls. Fusangese Qi cultivation techniques. Some Kemetic techniques for maintaining the unity of the five souls. And quite a bit on the Fountain of Youth. The one with the most notes is the mass death ritual.¡± Morgan explained.


    Tane knew quite well how to use witches as another weapon in her companies arsenal: for suppressing enemy wards to allow small arms fire to be employed for maximum effect, for breaking open gaps in enemy pike blocks, for weakening incoming gunfire. The more esoteric parts of witchcraft were beyond her. She knew what she needed to know, however, and that was that the situation was very, very dangerous.


    ¡°The fountain of youth?¡± she asked, remembering stories her stepmother had told her when she was a child, of Arthur and his knights and the Fey they made war with, and how he was still out there, waiting for the right time to come out of the shadows and save humanity once again in its hour of need.


    The fountain of youth, whatever it was, healed old wounds, halted aging, allowed the people who drank from it to recover from deadly wounds¡­


    ¡°When I duelled Traharn¡±-she was interrupted as Morgan muttered ¡°why am I not surprised¡± under her breath-¡°I thrust him through the chest. He kept fighting and disarmed me.¡±


    ¡°Not that unusual.¡± Feiyan said.


    ¡°Yes, I know that part. What isn¡¯t normal is that he wasn¡¯t worried about the wound, even after the fight was over. He was joking while he pulled my rapier out of his chest and handed it back to me. I assumed he was just high off the battle rush and being a crazy fucking mercenary, but, well, if he¡¯s obsessed with immortality and refuses to die¡­¡±


    ¡°Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is enemy action.¡± Feiyan said.


    ¡°Exactly. I was riding past his house yesterday, and saw him outside. Didn¡¯t look to be in especially good shape, but he able to sit a horse, which is more than I can say for most people who¡¯ve just been stabbed in the lungs. Oh, and his house is covered in anti-witchcraft sigils.¡± Morgan said. ¡°He¡¯s hiding something. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°So he¡¯s a bloody immortal witch.¡± Tane said.


    Runs in the family, I suppose.


    ¡°Possibly. He could have a ritualist helping him, though.¡± Morgan said.


    Come to think of it, probably more likely. Someone would have noticed if Traharn¡¯s soul was that of a witch.


    ¡°Anyway, there¡¯s worse. One of the rituals is, according to Morgan, some secret Fey thing that requires deaths to achieve immortality. Hundreds of them. They need the souls to lure in, bind and bribe some demon. One of the big ones. One of the smart ones.¡± Feiyan said.


    Some primal fear of what could not be seen or retaliated against sent a shudder down Tane¡¯s spine. Lesser demons and combat witches were bad enough, but the former could be dispelled and the latter killed. A greater demon, one of those that lurked in the infinite void of the Aether outside that which lined up with the surface of the earth, was a different matter.


    ¡°The patriot¡¯s brigade has access to stolen counterair rockets.¡± Tane said, remembering a report she¡¯d read of the highhome raid. ¡°They can bring down airships. That would cause the hundreds of deaths needed¡­¡±


    ¡°When I was out at West Point, I ran into a trapper, Hans Draiger or something, who¡¯d found the dead wyverns. He said he¡¯d gotten an arrow from their body that wasn¡¯t a militia or army arrow. Looked foreign. Now Traharn, he commanded Arluks, and a few of them are still horse archers, yes?¡± Feiyan said.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Yeah, I think the Arluks still use horse archers. Gryff told me about running into them in a skirmish in Valador once. I¡¯ve never seen his men carrying bows, but I¡¯ve only seen one or two of them and never fully armed.¡± Tane said.


    It felt like a puzzle fitting together and falling into a pit of utter madness, at the same time.


    They arrived at the winesink. Snowmelt meant that the buildings walls were positively dank, and there were still puddles of half melted slush lying about.


    Sace walked up to her as quickly as she could without breaking into a jog. ¡°What on earth is going on?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely nothing good.¡± Tane said. ¡°Boudace?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Go fetch Mene. Tell her it¡¯s important and involves Traharn. Get your weapons before you go into the bog, though.¡±


    She trotted her horse off.


    ¡°Morgan, call an officers meeting. Feiyan, I know you outrank me, but could you go warn Veulnor?¡±


    She nodded and rode off.


    How the fucking hell did this go from sharpshooters and witches to bloody immortal mercenary sorcerors lording it over a conspiracy?


    ¡°General¡¯s here.¡± Sace said.


    Veulnor stomped into the room, clearly annoyed, his aides and escorts marching after him, armour rattling. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Tane sighed. Explaining that an off-the-books investigation and a duel had revealed that a certain mercenary turned gentlemen was definitely a dangerous sorcerer and possibly immortal was going to be an interesting experience.


    ¡°Alright, remember Traharn Hast? Tall, moustache, former Arluk?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Veulnor said.


    ¡°I had his house burgled in the course of trying to roll up Rhys¡¯s cell. He had a safebox full of documents, including written rituals. Now, all of them have to do with immortality, and some of them involve mass sacrifice as fuel for a ritual.¡±


    ¡°So a gentleman has gotten himself mixed up in dangerous sorcery?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Worse. Traharn is connected to the Patriot¡¯s Brigade. Controlling them, or at least Heveria via blackmail. And there¡¯s evidence he was connected to the Highhome raids. Had his men involved in them, actually. I have the blackmail material now, I¡¯ve turned Heveria and forced him to confess that Traharn was involved in weapons smuggling into Trackford.¡±


    Veulnor rubbed his head. ¡°Do you have proof of this?¡±


    ¡°Morgan, did you bring the papers?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Well then, see for yourself. Some of them are in the Fair Folk¡¯s language.¡± Tane said, as Morgan unrolled the most incriminating ritual onto the table and Feiyan began to read out the requirements for the worst of the rituals.


    ¡°A hundred dead in a moment¡± and ¡°a death drawn out for thirteen hours¡± ranked amongst the sacrifices required.


    Veulnor went pale. ¡°This is very, very serious. I¡¯ll have to send word to the Lord-Protector General.¡±


    ¡°No time for that.¡± Tane said. ¡°He¡¯s planning something. There¡¯s letters from him I found in Brenna¡¯s house that told her to stack the kindling, but not to start the fire. I reckon ¡°starting the fire¡± means whatever bloodbath he¡¯s planning to get those hundred deaths.¡±


    ¡°He was also probably involved in the wyvern massacre; there were foreign arrows recovered from the massacre, and he might have horse archers in his service. He probably has access to those counterair rockets and can bring down airships.¡± Feiyan added.


    ¡°There¡¯s more. I used material recovered to blackmail Avon Heveria into talking. He says Traharn forced him to help smuggle weapons into Trackford.¡±


    ¡°Traharn needs to die or be arrested, and soon.¡± Morgan said.


    ¡°Exactly. Get a search warrant, raid his house, arrest him if he interferes. We could do it tonight, though I¡¯d prefer to get the place scouted out.¡± Tane said.


    Veulnor rubbed his balding head. ¡°Why do you keep pushing your luck?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too dangerous to leave him out there. Whatever he¡¯s planning, he could have already done it, or be going to do it soon.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know. It¡¯s either leave him on the loose or risk the Carfani rioting when we they reckon we did a frame-up on him.¡±


    ¡°One option leads to an airship shootdown. The other leads to some riots. I know what I¡¯d rather deal with.¡± Tane said.


    Airship shootdown; at least I¡¯m not trying to defeat the enemy without killing anyone.


    ¡°Mene¡¯s here.¡± Boudace called from the doorway.


    The witch stumbled into the room, her grey eyes bleary and her black hair tangled like she¡¯d rolled out of bed. Probably because she had.


    ¡°Traharn¡¯s¡­ immortal?¡± she asked as soon as she entered, almost resisting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it.


    Tane guessed Boudace had given Mene a rather excitable account of events.


    ¡°Possibly. He certainly wants to be.¡± Tane said.


    Veulnor twisted in his chair, sizing Mene up.


    ¡°Who is she?¡±


    ¡°Mene Callow. Thieftaker I¡¯ve been working with. Yes, I know, can¡¯t trust the locals, etcetera etcera, but she¡¯s from Trarabac, been working with me from the start, and acquired those documents in the first place.¡±


    She offered Mene a chair.


    ¡°What are we going to do with him?¡± Mene asked, glancing at Veulnor.


    The general paused in thought.


    ¡°Are you sure we can trust her?¡±


    ¡°As much as I can trust anyone else here outside my company.¡± Tane said, remembering the blackmail material. It could be used, by the creative, to embarass Veulnor, instead of setting him on Avon.


    Veulnor sighed. ¡°I suppose we have to take risks sometimes. Serve a search warrant on him. I¡¯m technically governor, I can get one written up.¡±


    ¡°And if the Carfani raise a fuss, reveal that he was blackmailing their beloved Patriot¡¯s Brigade and up to his gills in illegal witchcraft.¡± Tane added.


    ¡°Christ-Horus. There¡¯s nothing I can do?¡± Mene asked.


    ¡°Try and talk him down, when we move on him. If he puts up a fight, we¡¯re going to have to kill him. He¡¯s probably planning to commit mass murder; it¡¯s too dangerous to do anything else.¡± Tane said. She was already thinking through ways to do it. Shoot him in the head or smash his leg bones, most likely.


    ¡°Then do it.¡± Mene said. ¡°If he¡¯s a monster, not just an arrogant thug, then do it. I¡¯ve given him enough chances.¡± Her voice was suddenly hard, and her face barely betrayed any feeling.


    ¡°Your opinion?¡± Tane asked, turning to Veulnor.


    ¡°Try and take him alive, but if he resists violently, kill him.¡±


    She could work with that.

 Chapter 23-Hans Draiger

    ¡°The Commonwealth victory at Halidon¡¯s hill is today considered the most excellent triumph of the airship, and its role as more than a tool for scouting, burning fleets and cities and preventing the enemy from doing the same was finally proven in the minds of even the most ardent skeptics. Today, our airship service is well regarded by both the army and the wetship navy, enjoys just as much prestige and repute, and any great power worth it¡¯s name must have fleets of frigates, destroyers, bombardiers and eyries just as much as it must have armies and sea navies.¡±


    Rear Air Admiral Rhiannon Blys, A History of Air Tactics.


    Hans Draiger, 29 September 1582 AAA. Kasilisk.


    He was glad to be finally free of Kasilisk. As pleasant as the city looked from a distance, up close it was crowded, noisy and rancid, and the only escape was to hole up in Corentin¡¯s also crowded and noisy(but at least not rancid) manor house.


    The ride out to the Halidon¡¯s Hill battlefield was only a few hours if one didn¡¯t bring coaches. Unfortunately, they had brought coaches, so it was a day long slog, perched on Eidre¡¯s coach like crows on a reapers back when they weren¡¯t helping to haul it out of the mud. Most of the delegates, alongside their gaggles of servants, children, and spouses, had come along for the trip.


    He could see a pair of Commonwealth airships, flying high and slow, silhouetted against the clear skies, guarding against both wyvern and Carfani. A small pack of harpies flew closer, the small dragons probably prowling for lambs and hatchling reapers to take. Beneath them was the vast pastoral sweep of Kasilisk¡¯s outskirts, a patchwork of farmlands and pasture broken up by fences, hedges and creeks with high mountains to the south, hazy from distance.


    Eidre was riding on horseback as she always did, her rapier and dagger strapped to her waist, over her riding skirts. He glanced back at the coach behind them, hired by Mato Calwere. The patriot¡¯s brigade leader was leaning out of the window, talking to a bald, burly, outlandishly dressed man riding alongside his coach. He had a sabre on his belt, and a long hafted warhammer on his saddle.


    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Hans said, instantly suspicious.


    Eidre glanced up at him.


    ¡°Some man Traharn Hast sent as a representative. Not a delegate, though.¡±


    ¡°Is he an Arl-¡°


    ¡°Yes.¡± Eidre said, cutting him off.


    Hans felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. One of the killers was most likely riding only meters away from him. He unconsciously patted his coat, reassuring himself that he had knife in place, not that it would do much good in a serious fight, and he felt Uln tense up besides.


    ¡°That¡¯s him. One of the killers, most likely.¡± Hans whispered to Uln.


    ¡°Only one, though.¡± Uln said. ¡°And we already know who led them. Traharn Hast.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t close the net until all the fish are in it.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Aye.¡±


    He settled back into the coach , letting Uln lean her head into his shoulder, then was jolted away as the coach hit a rut. He hated riding the bloody things, but it was better than being left behind on foot or being stuck in Kasilisk.


    He could see the crest of the ridge off in the distance, the hulk of a burned out manor silhouetted against the horizon. The manor of Bran Kerouc; he¡¯d fought and died alongside the militia and commonwealth troop in that manor, anchoring the left flank of the Carfani line.


    The Teresians had eventually resorted to storming it with Wolzuks, ferocious Woose mercenaries from the Zehanion mountain range on the continent, who¡¯d fought off human invaders and built first farms then towns then cities. Bran had died as his manor burned to the ground around him.


    They reached the hill, a paved road leading up to it. The shattered hulk of the manor had never been rebuilt or cleared, though the rest of the countryside was covered with farms and patches of forest as though nothing of note had happened there. The climb was hard work, though better than on flat ground; the meltwater washed downhill, meaning the worst of the mud was at the base of the hill.


    As they reached the crest, the delegates at the front began to dismount, some of them bringing out blankets and baskets of food. Hans almost had to laugh at the idea of a picnic on a battleground.


    Eidre quickly joined with a group of gentry nearby. He knew what she¡¯d be doing; first socializing, then trying to work them around to the topic of the wyverns and try to flip them to her side. Hans didn¡¯t have the patience, the tact or the status for that sort of thing. Instead, he grabbed a few slices of ham for himself from the food Eidre had brought for the servants, passed a few more to Uln, and set off for the lower slopes of the hill, Uln following after him. More than a few eyes were on his back. He¡¯d never liked being watched. It reminded him of back in the silver rush, when he was a boy, when people had started noticing how much time he was spending with Uln. He perched himself on the fenceline that stood where the old abatis had been, not wanting to get his breeches wet on the remaining snow.


    He began nibbling on the ham. The airships they¡¯d seen earlier off in the distance were circling them, he realized, probably curious about the gathering on the hillside.


    ¡°Wonder is those are the same two ships that were out at West Point¡± Uln said.


    He squinted at them, trying to make out the names flying from their trailing flags. He couldn¡¯t make them out; he normally had to take rarer words one letter at a time, and that was impossible anyway, with the ships a few miles distant and the flags snapping in the wind.


    They sat for a while longer, watching the airships and the world beneath them: A vast sweep of farmland, the mountains off in the distance. A lone airship rib poked out of a field far away, it¡¯s shape unmistakable, overgrown with moss. More than once, he shut his eyes, halfway expecting to see the last whispers of dead souls around him. They faded in hours, truly, but there were always whispers that a skilled enough witch could see them years past.     If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Finally a priest-scholar in a silken cassock got their attention with a handheld bell. The delegates and their hanger-ons gathered around him.


    ¡°We¡¯d best join them. Don¡¯t want to look faithless¡± Uln said, rolling her eyes. Hans laughed in agreement, then clambered down from the fence, and gathered round.


    He¡¯d been raised Triadist, but had never stuck to it. He¡¯d run into followers of so many odd ideas, all believed quite sincerely, out on the frontier that he was convinced either all of them had to be true or none of them. He leaned towards the latter.


    Uln was the same; when he¡¯d met her, out on the silver fields all those years ago, she¡¯d kept to Woose beliefs, that the earth itself was trying to scour them from its hide. She¡¯d soon come to the conclusion that people were more dangerous than the earth itself, though she still practised the ancient rites in private, for old time¡¯s sake.


    The priest began reading out a long parable from one of the old books, about how Bran the Wise travelled to Kemet, and heard of the union of Osiris and Isis that created Horus, and noticed how similar it was to his own gods, the Father, the Virgin Mary and the man they called Christ, and therefore took his first steps towards recovering the first, true religion.


    The priest began a prayer to the trinity, the rest of the delegates chanting along with him, and most of the servants too: To the Father, God, Osiris, for mercy for the souls of the dead, for the Mother, Mary, Isis to thank her for sparing the lives of the living, to the Son, Jesus, Horus, Mithras, for bringing them victory.


    When that was done, the speeches began. Mato Calwere was up first.


    It was all very stirring, though it had no connection to the reality. All he spoke about was the militia and how very brave they were. The only mention the wyverns got was of how they, alongside the melting snows and forest fires, were one of the ways the Teresians had underestimated the peninsular, like they were some natural force and not the result of West Point taking the opportunity to settle old grudges and cement new alliances. The fact that, in Eidre¡¯s opinion, they would have been overrun on the first day by the Teresians if not for the wyverns causing them to arrive to the battlefield demoralized, exhausted, and having taken heavy casualties, was unmentioned.


    His account of the second day was even worse, barely mentioning the vast air battle that had allowed the dawn attack to succeed.


    ¡°Now, do you know what happened up on the abatis, when the camp followers and the wounded and the reserves saw the Teresians surrendering? The Genian soldiers started chanting ¡°Commonwealth Forever.¡± And what did we chant?¡±


    ¡°Carfane free from Tyrants!¡± the delegates called out, as one.


    ¡°And we drowned them out.¡± Mato said. ¡°As we will drown out those cowards who will not fight for Carfane¡¯s freedom, whether it be from the Sun King or the High Queens, whether it be from the tyranny of lords or bureaucrats.¡±


    The cheering echoed to the skies. Eidre calmly waited for it to end before she stepped up.


    ¡°On this day, something very important happened. Carfane was freed from one sort of tyrant. As Mr. Calwere said, we faced the tyranny of lords, and now must face the tyranny of bureaucrats. And to face tyranny, we need allies. I learnt that as Halidon¡¯s Hill, as did the Commonwealth. I fought with the cavalry. The Teresian cavalry on paper, were better. They were better armoured, better mounted, recruited from natural riders, and outnumbered us. But their attacks on the flank I was fighting on achieved nothing. Why?¡±


    ¡°Because you were on a bloody hill.¡± someone yelled.


    Hans had to laugh. Smart man.


    ¡°Yes, that, but we also had allies in the wyverns. All through the march from Arrenelle, they¡¯d been burning the Teresians fodder, picking off foraging parties, and scattering their remounts. By the time Halidon¡¯s hill happened, their horses were so malnourished and exhausted they could scarcely trot, let alone gallop, uphill and we beat them off easily. And that meant that there where cavalry free to charge across to the left flank, and rout the Teresians who were breaking through. I was unhorsed and wounded in that charge. I met my husband in the aftermath.¡± Eidre caught her breath.


    ¡°And on the second day, the Commonwealth and the wyverns burnt and scattered the Teresian air fleet, then bombed their army. I watched it happen. Now, that told me two things. Firstly, that the Commonwealth air fleet is very, very dangerous. And secondly, that the wyverns are quite good at destroying airships. Again, we won because we had allies. Without the wyverns, the Commonwealth wouldn¡¯t have been able to blow those gaps in the Teresian lines, and the Teresians might even have been able to burn the Commonwealth fleet and bomb us. Now, the lesson from all of this? Carfane, united, beat the Teresians. And Carfane, united, can beat the Commonwealth. We need West Point if we want to take that on¡±. She pointed at the airships.


    ¡°Now, I don¡¯t want another war. I¡¯d much rather we resolve this at the negotiating table. But that is far easier if whoever you are negotiating with doesn¡¯t hold all the cards. And if it comes to a war, I want us to win. Carfane must unite or die.¡±


    There was cheering for her. Less than for Mato. But it would be enough.

 Chapter 24-Tane Bayder

    ¡°And he drunk, along with his companions, and though at first nothing happened, and he accused the Fey of deceit. But they told him that it took time. So he was carried out with his army, and for a week he waited. And at the end of the week, he found he could move his legs.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 20 September 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    It was dawn; the best time for raiding, where the targets would still be asleep while the attackers would have light to see by. The streets were still in shadow, and there was no one out except for drunks and the homeless, huddled in alleyways.


    Twelve men to take the front door, Sace with another twelve through the gardens and backstreets to cover Traharn¡¯s rear entrance, hitting his house from two directions, the rest of the company back in reserve a few blocks away, ¡°patrolling¡± the streets with orders to sweep in as soon as they heard shots.


    ¡°Lockpick.¡± Tane said, and Mene stepped up, a scarf pulled over her face, with the tools ready.


    It took Mene only a few moments before Tane heard the click of the door being unlocked, before Mene gently pushed on it. She heard rattling.


    ¡°I got the lock, but it¡¯s barred.¡±


    Shit.


    ¡°Check the windows. See if they can be breached.¡±


    She heard mud squelching behind her.


    ¡°Windows are barred. Can probably be levered off.¡± Slach said, in his thick Valadian drawl.


    She glanced at the windows on either side of the door. Thankfully, they were at ground level, rather than having to climb over a fence then down to basement level to get at them, though they were protected by iron bars.


    They weren¡¯t going to be stealthy either way; might as well take the fast route in.


    ¡°Break in through the windows.¡± Tane said.


    Slach pulled out his iron crow and wedged it in behind the bars, while another grenadier stepped up and delivered three sharp blows to the crow, ripping the top bolts loose. They repeated the process on the lower bolt, wrenching the grill open like it was a door, then began to work on forcing the window open.


    The wait was agonizing. For all she knew, Traharn could have heard them coming and be systemically destroying the evidence or preparing an ambush. Normally, Mene and Morgan would be able to tell exactly where everyone in the building was or even tear off the door, making this sort of thing much simpler, but Traharn just had to cover his house in sigils.


    ¡°Six men on me, to move to the second floor as fast as possible. Corporal Carrow, you take half your lance back to the rear door to let Sace and Morgan in. The other half of Carrow¡¯s lance, you get in then cover the window and door, stop anyone escaping.¡±


    She stepped around, ready to take point, hefting her heavy bulletproof rondache and backsword. She could hear faint yelling off in the distance.


    ¡°Window clear!¡± Slach hissed, and with a muttered ¡°calmness, vigour, and judgment¡±, Tane was in, swearing as she clambered through the window and instantly swinging around to clear the corners of the dark, musty room as soon as she was through. The rest of the troopers piled in after her, one at a time, with sword and axe and pistol held ready. She dropped her backsword, letting it hang from a wrist strap, and readied her pistol as she moved out into the antechamber, a snake of troopers following after her.


    Dim morning light lit the staircase, coming through the small window above Traharn¡¯s bloody fortress door.


    She hissed for Mene to move up behind her as the troopers marked out for the rear moved past her.


    ¡°You see anyone?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°No one on this floor or the basement. Three or four people on the second and third floor, including Traharn. He¡¯s moving about. Attic¡¯s blocked off by more of those fucking sigils.¡±


    Paranoid lunatic. Granted, not so paranoid if they¡¯re actually slowing down attackers.


    She could hear the muffled voice of someone yelling up above.


    There goes surprise.


    ¡°On my mark.¡± Tane said, glancing back to check that her lance had fallen in on her. All six of the troopers were in place.


    ¡°Move.¡±


    They moved up the stairs, half crouched to give the grenadiers following a clear shot over her shoulder. A maid, dressed only in her shift, screamed when she saw Tane coming up into another hallway, with three doors.


    ¡°On the fucking floor!¡± Tane roared, barely noticing her as she swept the other doors. ¡°Where¡¯s Traharn?¡±


    ¡°Room on the right, left corner, no one else with him!¡± Mene yelled from behind her, flattened against the wall, blunderbuss shouldered and ready to fire.


    ¡°On me!¡± Tane yelled, edging in on the door, glancing at the other two doors to make sure they weren¡¯t about to be blindsided. She didn¡¯t look forwards to fighting room to room against a possibly immortal mercenary who¡¯d already beaten her once before.


    Calmness, vigour and judgement.


    ¡°Come out and yield!¡± Mene yelled.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather not.¡± Traharn answered.


    ¡°Do it or we start tilting the room.¡± Tane said. Morgan would be coming up soon; she¡¯d rebound the hellhounds she¡¯d used killing Corentin and running off Brenna.


    ¡°I¡¯d still rather not.¡±


    ¡°Tilt him.¡± Tane said, and then a yell of ¡°Brace for tilting!¡± from Mene as gravity warped. Tane relexify dropped to her knees, supporting herself with her shield rim as the building creaked around them and furniture went flying. She heard muffled screaming and yells of alarm around her, and then gravity righted just as suddenly as it had shifted. Mene had tilted it so that Traharn had fallen into the corner of his room in direct view of the doorway. He staggered to his feet.


    He was dressed only in his nightshirt, doubled over. She noted, with no small amount of satisfaction, that his nose was a black-and-red mess from where she¡¯d struck him in the duel.


    ¡°We have you.¡± Tane yelled.


    He began to advance on them, hands raised.


    ¡°Is there nothing the Commonwealth won¡¯t stoop to-¡°


    ¡°We have search warrants and evidence. We know what you¡¯re planning.¡± Mene snapped, pulling her scarf down.


    ¡°Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head.¡° Tane said.


    ¡°You really going to sell out your own father to the Commonwealth?¡± Traharn said, looking Mene dead in the eyes, ignoring Tane.


    ¡°You only now decide to acknowledge me?¡° Mene said, as realization crossed her face. ¡°Wait, father?¡±


    ¡°Hands on your head¡± Tane repeated. ¡°You want to argue genealogy, you can do it from a cell.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father.¡± Traharn said, grinning. ¡°If you can claim you¡¯re my daughter, I can claim to be my own¡­ grandson, actually.¡±


    He really is fucking immortal.


    ¡°Aim for the knees and head.¡± Tane said, trying not to let her voice shake.


    A moment later, Morgan came tearing up the staircase, screaming ¡°Brace minds!¡±, at the same time as Mene called out ¡°Demon!¡±


    It was as this point that all hell broke loose. Tane began to brace against witchcraft, but before she could something tore into her mind, burrowing up from her subconscious, making her knees give out like an undermined wall as the world blurred around her. Pain lanced through her. It felt like an eternity, though it could only have been seconds. Someone screamed, and she heard the thudding report of a blunderbuss and Morgan¡¯s cold bark of ¡°Hellhound off leash!¡± The spike withdrew from her mind, like an arrow being torn from a wound.


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    ¡°Dispelled!¡± Morgan yelled, and then ¡°Witch!¡±


    She began to pull herself up from her knees, swearing in frustration as she swayed and nearly fell. Traharn was gone, replaced by a hole in the air.


    Christ-Horus, that demon did a number on me¡­


    ¡°Fuck, Tane, you alright?¡± Mene asked, offering her a hand. She took it.


    ¡°What the fuck just happened?¡± she asked, pointing wordlessly at the hole in the world.


    ¡°Something tore a rift. There¡¯s a Fey in the building.¡± Morgan said calmly, scanning the room, her sword and pistol held ready. As she spoke, the hole began to fold in on itself, almost vanishing.


    ¡°A fucking what? Isis fucking Osiris!¡± Tane yelled as another spike of pain tore through her.


    ¡°Fair Folk. He¡¯s on the third floor. Casting. Not at us, looks like he¡¯s opening another rift. I¡¯m putting pressure on him.¡± Morgan said.


    Calmness, vigour, and judgment, calmness, vigour and judgement. Traharn escaped, but we can catch his witch.


    ¡°Hellhound him, then rush in.¡± Tane grunted through another flash of pain. Getting hit by a demon was worse than getting bloody stabbed, though she didn¡¯t have the experience to compare it to getting shot.


    ¡°Hellhound off leash!¡± Morgan barked.


    Tane started moving towards the door, letting Morgan¡¯s lance move ahead of her, taking the stairs up to the third floor. They¡¯d avoided the worst of the demon, and where free to take point ahead of her. The grenadier on point, Carthos, halted as he rounded the corner, swearing under his breath. Tane came in after him. A man was lying on the ground, shaking and shuddering, bald and pale. Tane kicked the pistol lying on the ground next to him away. He rolled over, his mouth opening and closing. She didn¡¯t hear what he said; she was too busy staring at his face.


    Milky skin, solid black eyes that were too damn big, pointed ears, a half opened tear in the world like the one Traharn had escaped through in front of it. Facial features that were just wrong.


    She¡¯d never seen one in the flesh before, but she recognized it just the same. Fey. Just like Morgan had said.


    Good fucking lord, we¡¯re in over our heads here.


    Calmness, vigour and judgement.


    ¡°Get the prisoner secured! Morgan, get pallweed in him.¡±


    That would disrupt a witch¡¯s soul enough to stop them casting, making disarming them actually practical.


    ¡°Sace, check the windows, see if anyone¡¯s out on the streets. Anyone injured?¡±


    A lot of shaking of heads.


    Oh, thank fuck.


    She glanced at the Fey, still thrashing and struggling while Slach and Amos poured pallweed down his throat and Morgan kept him suppressed.


    ¡°Carrow, take your lance to clear the rest of this floor and attic. Mene, go with them. I don¡¯t want any more surprises.¡±


    The troopers scurried off.


    Tane marched back into the hallway, and then Traharn¡¯s bedroom. No evidence in immediate sight. His window was big enough for someone to climb through, and unbarred; the gap in the defences of the fortress he¡¯d turned his house into. Her head swam again, and she leaned against the door, panting. Fucking demons.


    ¡°Captain? Captain!¡± Sace¡¯s voice called.


    She rushed back out into the hallway. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°That fairy, he set the attic on fire, a whole room, it¡¯s spreading fast, and there¡¯s people out on the streets calling for us to come out and die.¡±


    Shit, shit, shit.


    ¡°We need to clear the house, Carrow, get out there and call fire, wait, make it clear the house is on fire, not that I¡¯m trying to kill them.¡±


    Being able to search the house was a priority. Not burning to death was a higher one. She could already smell smoke. They probably had minutes, at most; wooden buildings go up alarmingly fast once a fire really caught.


    ¡°Morgan, get the fairy downstairs. Mene, you take a lance to make sure everyone¡¯s out of the house. Grab anything interesting while you¡¯re at it.¡±


    She thudded downstairs, to see how bad the situation was. ¡°Hayne! We got a clear route out the back?¡±


    ¡°Uh, there¡¯s people trying to climb the fence into his garden. They¡¯re not getting over, but they¡¯ll work it out sooner or later.¡±


    Better to take the front, the rest of the Grenadiers and Artorius¡¯s boys will clear an escape route for us any minute.


    ¡°You have permission to use warning shots. Only shoot to kill if they directly attack you.¡±


    He nodded, repeating her orders to the rest of his lance.


    She jogged back through the house, glancing out the front window they¡¯d entered through. There were people out in the streets, trying to work out what was going on, and someone yelling ¡°Death to Tyrants!¡± and ¡°Call the Militia!¡±.


    Thank fuck this is Newtown rather than the bog, otherwise they¡¯d already have rioted.


    A brick smashed into the wall inches from her face, showering her with fragments that rattled off her helmet. She ducked her head back in, repeated her orders to the guards, and jogged back to the second floor. The smoke was visible now, drifting down through the house as it filled the upper levels. A servant was dragged down, coughing, and another two had apparently fled down the stairs of his own volition. Only three servants?


    ¡°Everyone here?¡±


    They did a fast, ragged version of a company rollcall, only with a dozen and a half soldiers present. No one trapped with the fire.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s move. Make sure people see the fairy, but don¡¯t let him get away from us.¡±


    A grenadier stepped forwards and threw the bolt of the door open, while Amos covered him, ready to shoot anyone who rushed in.


    ¡°Go!¡± she rushed forwards onto the street, raising her rondache to deflect an incoming brick. There was more yelling; her own soldiers yells of ¡°fetch the fire companies!¡± and Morgan yelling the age-old warning of Fey raiders, ¡°The wild hunt is coming!¡± and people screaming threats back at them or fleeing. She could hear fire bells ringing already, and thick smoke was belching from the chimneys.


    Then someone must have spotted the Fey, because she heard ¡°In the name of the Father, is that a fairy?¡± and then the familiar tramp of hoofbeats as the grenadiers under Bydevere¡¯s command started sweeping in, spare horses in tow, civilians scrambling back out of the way. Another brick skidded off the cobblestones, spraying her with ¡°mud¡±.


    Let them see it.


    She grabbed the Fey, stunned, squirming, by the collar. ¡°This is what Traharn was harbouring! A Fey! The old enemy!¡±


    There was stunned silence, the shock palpable. Then the yelling started again, cries of horror and fear, and the bricks started coming down again.


    ¡°What are you waiting for? Mount up!¡± Bydevere yelled at the assaulters.


    Good advice. She took it.

 Chapter 25-Hans Draiger

    ¡°All airmen with experience and good sense live in fear of the dragooner and the wyvern. Even a single dragon can, if left unchecked, tear through an airships fireproofed envelope and burn the flammable inner envelopes, dooming the ship. The only way to defeat such an attack is the use of hornets, swivel guns, and hand weapons to break up the war-skein as they close in, and to quickly kill any wyverns that try to grapple and burn. Even then, this is not always enough. However, the advantage of airships over wyverns is that with the benefit of long ranged rockets, an air destroyer can burn shorter ranged airships with little risk to itself, whereas wyverns must always close at great risk to themselves to attack.¡±


    Rear Air Admiral Rhiannon Blys, A History of Air Tactics.


    Hans Draiger, 1 October 1582 AAA. Kasilisk.


    The sound of debate was clear through the drape covered grate as Hans and Uln sat in the backrooms, waiting to be called out to give testimony. As far as he could tell, listening in, Corentin and Eidre were busy keeping the debate onto pragmatic grounds of trade and war rather than letting it get dragged into that ¡°morally and legally¡± nonsense. Right now, they were debating whether or not West Point was actually worth courting as an ally. Most of those with military experience seemed to think so; the fear of the Commonwealth simply bombing a rebellion into the ground was palpable. The wyverns, as Eidre had said, would provide a potent counter to that.


    He''d already given his testimony a second time, this time focused on his belief that the wyverns wanted retribution for the killings and would be quite pleased with anyone who helped bring them to justice. He left out his own part in those plans if the Diet failed.


    ¡°All this talk about wyverns, and scarcely anyone¡¯s mentioned the Woose.¡± Hans said.


    Uln laughed. ¡°Can¡¯t fly. Can¡¯t spit fire. Trying to win us over is a waste of time if all you¡¯re interested in is winning a war.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not enough Woose in Carfane to do any good in a pitched battle, but as skirmishers and raiders¡­¡±


    ¡°Should make like the Wolzuks, organize ourselves as fighters and make them pay for the privilege of us fighting for them. Then use the money to set ourselves up as farmers so we have the numbers to do some good in a pitched battle and the bastards can¡¯t take our land. That way everyone¡¯s happy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d work well enough, if you get the Carfani off your back and the Woose united long enough.¡±


    ¡°About as likely as the sun coming up at night.¡± Uln said.


    The debate dragged on, into someone ranting on about how Corentin¡¯s faction secretly wanted the wyverns to have a share in Carfane¡¯s government. Eidre defused that by quite openly pointing out it would be mutually beneficial for both West Point and Carfane for that to happen. Hans had his doubts about whether the wyverns would actually consent to such an arrangement.


    He started pacing in impatience. He could stand perfectly still for hours if need be, but this was a new level of tedium. A yelling match started, but the speaker moved quickly to put it down, and Eidre started up on another speech about negotiating from a position of strength.


    ¡°Now, Mr. Corentin O Mathuna has a proposal for a resolution to resolve the matters we have discussed here today.¡± the speaker finally called out.


    He heard chairs shuffling, and Corentin clearing his throat. He¡¯d helped draft the resolution;


    ¡°We, the Carfani Diet, do hereby condemn:


    The unlawful killings near Highhome of three Wyverns.


    The Commonwealth¡¯s inaction to prosecute these killings.


    All other acts of violence not in self-defence against the Woose and Wyverns.


    And do Hereby Declare:


    That the West Point Clan is a valued ally of Carfane in defence against tyranny.


    That diplomatic relationships should be opened with the West Point Clan with all due Haste.


    And that the killers of the three Wyverns should be investigated and charged with all due Haste.¡±


    The debate broke out near instantly, Mato Calwere and Aune Sade¡¯s voices the loudest, each leading their side in a yelling match over the resolution. Aune¡¯s side saying that dealing with the killers was the only moral option, or a necessary evil to undercut the Commonwealth¡¯s alliances, Mato¡¯s group saying they would never condemn resistance to occupying forces, and that they didn¡¯t yet know whether the killings were unlawful, so it was prejudicial to include that on the resolution. Hans had heard it all before, and would most likely hear it all again.


    ¡°Unite or die!¡± Aune Sade called out, yet again, repeating it like a war cry, to be met with yells of ¡°Farmers before Wooses¡± and ¡°Commonwealth stooges!¡± and the occasional longer speech broken up by heckling.


    It dragged on forever. Aune introduced an amended version simply condemning the lack of investigation of the deaths by the Commonwealth and unlawful killings in the abstract, and demanding an investigation into whether the deaths were lawful or not. That seemed to work, because the objections quickly sputtered out.


    The battle lines would have already been drawn in the days before, he knew. Corentin had kept him away from the drafting of the resolution-probably for the better after his rant-but he¡¯d been consulted with on what West Point wanted, which involved mummified bodies if you asked Glaive.


    This was just an effort to get those crucial few delegates who would decide the vote onto one side or another. There were seventy three delegates now; adding those who had missed the first session. Eidre¡¯s estimate had been that around thirty were certain to support the proposal, from what Corentin knew of them, now that they had put it in terms of diplomacy as well as morality. Another ten or so were up in the air, with unknown beliefs or undecided. The rest could not be persuaded. Winning over the undecided was the order of the day; that the success or failure of the resolution would depend on.


    Finally, he heard Aune calling for the vote. It all involved a lot of yelling from the speaker to get everyone to actually pay attention, followed by a lot more yelling as the leaders of each faction tried to get their groups organized.


    If war was organized killing, then politics was organized yelling.


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    ¡°All in favour?¡± the speaker called.


    ¡°All against?¡± he asked, a minute later.


    He slammed his hammer down. ¡°The resolution passes thirty seven to thirty six. The meeting is dismissed.¡±


    Oh, thank whoever¡¯s up there. They had the song and dance of the Diet done with; now they could focus on what actually mattered: bringing down the killers.


    ¡°So, what do we do now?¡± Corentin asked, sitting in his dining room that had been turned into an impromptu meeting room. ¡°I had to call in plenty of favours to get some of those undecided voters swung. This had better be worth it.¡±


    ¡°Well, we can start by arresting the ringleaders of that mob when we return to Foothold.¡± Eidre said. ¡°Then start trying to get hard evidence on Traharn. We should have this wrapped up by the time the bulk of West Point migrates back in.¡±


    ¡°Do you actually have the authority to do that?¡± Hans asked. He¡¯d prefer to do it within the bounds of the law, even if the law scarcely protected him and had never protected Uln, but if it came to it¡­


    Eidre shrugged. ¡°Citizens arrest. My household has the numbers to do it.¡±


    ¡°Frontier justice going the other way.¡± Uln said. ¡°I like the sound of that.¡±


    ¡°Most of the killers were out of Trackford, though.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Probably led by that landlord with the Arluks.¡± Uln added.


    ¡°Traharn Hast. The Commonwealth already moved against him in Trackford. He¡¯s vanished, probably fled to his country house. They did capture a fey with him, though.¡± Corentin said.


    A bloody Fey? What are they doing in Carfane?


    ¡°Traharn wasn¡¯t alone.¡± Hans said. ¡°And he isn¡¯t taken yet.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± Eidre said. ¡°If we take action while the Commonwealth does nothing¡­ well, that¡¯s sending a message to the wyverns. Start by arresting Connor, since he virtually confessed then chased Hans here through Foothold firing at random, then offer to quietly have him let go if he throws the ringleaders under the cart. Then we can go after Hast and whoever else planned this. Put them on trial, tweak the Commonwealth¡¯s nose by getting the man they missed and the bigoted wing of the Republicans at the same time.¡±


    *


    A dozen massive airship hangars marked the airport outside Kasilisk, alongside the dozens of glider travois and wyverns. The dockyard was bustling with life; goods being moved between airships and wetships and glider-travois and wagons in every combination, traders haggling, crews of stevedores straining to rope an airship down. The people of Kasilisk were more than willing to treat wyverns as equals if there was money to be made off of it.


    Glaive was out here, apparently, looking for him, with half a war skein in tow. He¡¯d only been informed by a servant that afternoon.


    A few quick questions-wyverns with red painted scales and war spurs weren¡¯t common in trading ports-and he found out where her skein was set up, out on the western fringe of the airfield.


    The airfield could have almost been West Point-dozens of stone huts, landed travois, traders haggling over the price of furs and feathers and musket balls, airships tethered in place. The stone, though, was cleanly cut, the groundwalker merchants human rather than Woose, the airships civilian craft rather than Commonwealth warships, and all of it was in the looming shadow of the hangars, half into the side of a cliff, almost impossibly vast, like some ancient monument only hollow and fragile and decades old.


    The aether was chaos, hundreds of souls all around him, the wyverns warping the aether around themselves to reduce their weight. Even hundreds of yards away, he could make out the immense, gravity-shifting bulk of the demons that, combined with lifting gas, let airships fly. Hundreds of souls flitted around them, their signatures almost drowned out by the bound Aether-Krakens.


    Once he knew where to look, finding Glaive was easy, especially since he¡¯s memorized the signature of her soul out at West Point. She was sitting upright on her haunches, watching the crowds.


    ¡°Glaive?¡±


    She turned to look at him, her cold, reptilian eyes peering down her snout. That was the problem with wyverns. Even if you could read human faces-and Hans had never been good at it-wyverns were downright impossible. Even wyverns themselves had to focus on body language and subtle shifts in tone to indicate emotion.


    ¡°Hans?¡± she croaked.


    ¡°Yeah. How¡¯d you know I was here?¡±


    He could guess that Scar and Rye were involved, but it was a good idea to confirm it.


    ¡°Couple of traders said they met you on the road to Kasilisk and had information. That council work out?¡±


    ¡°We got them to vote on a resolution condemn the attackers. Now they¡¯re convinced that convicting a few murderers will net them an army of wyverns.¡±


    ¡°Not likely.¡± Glaive said.


    Hans laughed. ¡°We did what we had to do to convince them. Anyway, plan is we¡¯re going to head back to Foothold to start rolling up the killers. We¡¯ve got leads. Moral of the story is, if you don¡¯t want people tracking you down, don¡¯t use arrows.¡±


    ¡°Leads on who?¡± Glaive asked.


    ¡°A gentlemen out of¡­¡± He scratched his head, trying to remember where Traharn lived. ¡°Farrier¡¯s Hill, I think. Or at least, he was a mercenary out on the Teresian marches for a while, and some of his retainers are horse archers who match the description of people coming in and out of Foothold before the attack. Nothing solid, but Eidre is going to look into it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll fly out to Foothold, try and arrive at the same time as you do.¡± Glaive said.


    ¡°Be careful not to be seen. Foothold¡¯s already convinced that I¡¯m working with the wyverns. Ran us out of town over it.¡±


    ¡°Fucking¡±-Glaive whistled unintelligibly -¡°Groundwalkers. If they reckon you have a war-skein backing you anyway, you might as well actually have a war-skein backing you.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t argue with that logic.


    ¡°What then?¡±


    Glaive grunted. ¡°We find out if this Traharn actually did it, then I kill him if he did. Then mummify the body, just like we agreed back at West Point.¡±


    ¡°I think the Carfani were assuming he¡¯d be put on trial¡­¡±


    ¡°Should have killed humans rather than wyverns, if they wanted human justice.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± Hans agreed.

 Chapter 26-Tane Bayder

    ¡°And So Arthur was victorious over the Fey, and had regained his freedom. But when he spoke to Morgan about how they might return to Britain, she told him the Isle of Avalon is only a gate between worlds at long intervals, and that they had taken far too long in their quest to return.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 25 September 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    They¡¯d kept the fairy out on the airship hangars out in the west of Trackford, with no one but aviators around and screened by earthworks. It was like any other airfield: massive hangars, roundhouses for the wyvern auxilia, cleared fields for bringing the ships in, low, sloped glacis and ravelins bristling with guns and rockets, and barracks for the crew and the army troops they had out there. It had been built nearly fifty years ago, when airships where first becoming something other than a fragile, dangerous gimmick, and since then, the Trackford suburbs had grown around it like the sea washing around a rock.


    There was a second airfield, up east, for civilian craft; the Commonwealth didn¡¯t trust the Carfani anywhere near their highly flammable trump cards, and the Carfani would rather not have the Genians looking too closely at any discrepancies between their cargo manifests and the actual contents of their hulls.


    The gate guards, airborne grenadiers in sheepskin jacks with crossbows on their shoulders, waved her, Morgan and Mene through when she told them she was an army officer and showed her papers.


    The fey-they¡¯d actually gotten a name, Efflyn, but that was it-was being held in an disused ammunition bunker coated in every sort of ward their grey witches and field ritualists could come up with. There were wards that stop Fey riftwalking; Traharn hadn¡¯t had them. Letting himself out, but not his enemies in.


    General Veulnor had already arrived, alongside a pack of staff officers, his usual retinue of greatsword wielding bodyguards, and a couple of curious navy air service officers.


    ¡°Ah. Gentlemen, the officer responsible for this capture.¡±. Veulnor said, nodding at her.


    ¡°Captain Tane Bayder, 3rd Horse Guards.¡± Tane said, shaking hands with the officers. ¡°Mene Hast, thieftaker and, uh, contractor.¡± Between assorted misadventures in the Valadian marches and the highlands, certain unfortunate incidents back in Trarabac, and now this, she was getting a reputation. She recognized some of them; Colonel this and Quartermaster-General that. The other two generals who formed the high command in the Trackford Garrison, however, weren¡¯t present.


    One of them, the now-Adjuntant General Baron of Cathairn, had commanded a Cateran regiment that she¡¯d fought alongside putting down Clan Corrys¡¯s banditry, back in the highlands. She¡¯d gotten good at making people talk, back then; it was one of the only ways to track the Caterans down and bring them to battle amongst the forests and mountains.


    Probably why she¡¯d been called in to the interrogation. After all, she¡¯d captured the bugger in the first place, and she¡¯d gotten Rhys to talk.


    ¡°He¡¯s said anything since yesterday?¡± Tane asked.


    Veulnor shook his head. ¡°Just saying his name and that he¡¯s a friend of Traharn¡¯s who was hired to fortify his house against demons. Said hitting us with demons himself was legitimate self defence. Mene agreed to the plan?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Mene said, standing besides her. It was simple enough plan. Talk to the Fey, ask him about if what Traharn said about being her father was true, see if they could get him talking. Military interrogation had clearly failed. They had to get him to start talking some other way, and then hope he didn¡¯t stop.


    *


    When they walked into the ammunition bunker, Morgan and Mene at her side-could never be too careful when dealing with witches-Efflyn was sitting by the far side, legs crossed. There was light coming in dribs and drabs, from gaps in the decaying roof, and he was illuminated by them, like some ascetic. He looked up at them with his solid black orbs.


    ¡°My name is Efflyn. I met Traharn when he was a mercenary. He asked me to help protect his house against witches. I acted to defend myself and him against illegal occupiers. Now fuck off.¡±


    He had a thick, utterly unplaceable accent, the accent of someone who not only didn¡¯t speak Brythwic as a first language but not even anything human.


    Mene strode across the bunker, while Tane and Morgan hung back in the shadows.


    ¡°Alright, Efflyn.¡± She said once she was standing over him. ¡°I¡¯m not going to fuck off. I¡¯m Traharn¡¯s sister. I want to know what happened to my brother. I don¡¯t care about this war.¡±


    He shrugged. Between the gloom, and his solid black eyes, he was unreadable. ¡°Then why are those two back there, and why where you with the raiding party?¡±


    ¡°Why were you working for a Carfani human rather than in the sunken city? Seems a dangerous choice.¡± Mene answered.


    ¡°I served in mercenary companies. They don¡¯t give a damn, you know, as long as you can fight. Now, about you?¡±


    ¡°That where you met Traharn?¡± Mene said, ignoring his question.


    ¡°He was fighting in his father¡¯s Arluk regiment. I got taken on as a witch, after the last one got ripped in half by a twelve pounder. Now, answer my question.¡±


    Tane winced. She¡¯d had the good fortune to always have the big guns on her side so far, but she¡¯d seen what they could do up close. It wasn¡¯t pretty.


    ¡°And I was working with the Commonwealth because it pays and because-¡° Mene tensed-¡°I got thrown down into the mud by Traharn¡¯s thug when I tried to inform him that I existed. You see, our father got my mother knocked up then disappeared. She died when I was ten. On my own after that. I wanted some of what he had, and Traharn seemed to be doing quite well for himself down south. Did Traharn know I existed?¡±


    ¡°H-His father said he had a woman and a son in Genia. Nothing about a daughter. Must have been sowing his wild oats. He regretted having to leave them. Said he didn¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°He never told me.¡±


    ¡°You lying?¡± Mene asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I already know you¡¯re lying about at least one thing.¡±


    ¡°Do tell.¡±


    ¡°That you met Traharn in his father¡¯s Arluk company. Traharn and our father are the same person.¡±


    ¡°And what evidence do you have for that? I can¡¯t tell you bastard¡¯s ages, but he isn¡¯t that much older than-¡°


    Mene cut him off. ¡°He told me he was my father. And he¡¯s almost certainly immortal. So I put two and two together.¡±


    ¡°Immortal?¡±


    Tane had to admit, the Fey feigned ignorance well.


    ¡°Well, he said he¡¯s my father even though he barely looks thirty. He¡¯s shrugged off an awful lot of stabbing and shooting. And he¡¯s got a strongbox full of rituals. All of which involve immortality. So I¡¯ll ask again. Why did he leave my mother? People noticing he wasn¡¯t aging?.¡±


    Efflyn shrugged. ¡°Maybe. He ages, just slower. Much slower.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s-¡°


    ¡°You humans really do know nothing. He ages slower, he heals faster, he dies harder. He¡¯s not immortal. Not truly.¡±


    ¡°Then what does he want?¡± Mene asked.


    Morgan leaned across and whispered in Tane¡¯s ear ¡°He¡¯s already drunk from the fountain of youth. He wants true immortality. To separate the soul and the mind from the frailty of the physical body. That¡¯s what the rituals are for.¡±


    ¡°You wanted to know about your brother, not look for intelligence. Well, I told you about your ¡°brother¡±. Now sod off.¡±


    Mene shrugged and turned away. ¡°Fine by me. ¡°


    Even with a mail lined doublet under her thickest coat, the cold stung to her bones. Forcing Avon to come out here and talk had been her idea, of course. Mene had suggested simply meeting him at an inn. That was good enough if you were unknown criminals or spies, but Avon was a public figure, and she suspected herself and Mene were getting reputations as well. Him meeting with a Commonwealth officer was attention she didn¡¯t need.


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    So, in her infinite wisdom, she¡¯d decided to meet with him in the middle of the night. She needed to know everything there was to know about Traharn. Not vagueness about ¡°weapon smuggling¡±, but dates, addresses, names.


    ¡°If Traharn¡¯s my father, that means¡­¡± Mene said, leaning against a tree beside her. She¡¯d dragged Mene out, officially, for backup in case pf ambush, but in reality for company.


    ¡°You could be immortal?¡±


    If she¡¯d already had her suspicions, the fact he said he was Mene¡¯s father when she was in her twenties and he looked barely thirty, then had an actual, living, breathing fairy in his house confirmed it.


    She had no idea if the immortality granted by the fountain of youth was heritable, but if it was¡­.


    Mene shook her head. ¡°I get sick and injured and age like anyone else. Got stabbed in a knife fight a while back, took forever to heal and got infected.¡±


    ¡°What happened to the attacker?¡±


    ¡°I was running too fast to ask after her health.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    I would¡¯ve fought.


    It was easy enough to say that when you¡¯d training in martial arts since you were a child, were 5 foot 10¡¯¡¯ and your reputation depended on willingness to face danger. Less easy when you were a thief or thieftaker or whatever Mene was back then, weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet and had just been wounded in a fight over god knows what.


    In Mene¡¯s circumstances, I would¡¯ve died.


    She glanced at her pocket watch, lifting her lantern to check it.


    ¡°It¡¯s 12 o¡¯clock. He should be out here by now.¡±


    ¡°Give him half an hour.¡± Mene said. ¡°He might be delayed.¡±


    If this was Trarabac, she would¡¯ve expected him to turn up knifed in a back alley. If even half the stories she¡¯d heard about what went on in Hassarch were true, she would¡¯ve expected half a dozen assassins with mail under their coats to step out of the cold, blades in each hand and Avon as the bait.


    ¡°Or he could have jumped through a rift with his fairy friends and currently be drinking wine in the Sunken City.¡±


    Mene laughed, her breath coming out in puffs of mist.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s coming.¡± Mene said, a moment later.


    Tane loosened her rapier in it¡¯s scabbard, and checked that her pistols were still in place under her coat and cloak.


    A hundred yards away, through the cold night air and the half dead vegetation, she could see a single man, lit up by a lantern, entering into the gardens.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be him.¡± Tane said, lifting up her lantern so Avon would know where to walk.


    Beside her, Mene pulled up her scarf and faded back into the shadows of a dying tree. It wasn¡¯t far from the frozen stream where she¡¯d fought Traharn.


    ¡°This is a rather inconvenient time to interrogate me.¡± Avon said as he walked into the clearing, hands in his pockets. Tane¡¯s hand went to one of the turn-off pistols tucked into the back pockets of her coat. ¡°Show your hands.¡±


    He raised them. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t shoot you anyway. Any blackmailer worth their salt would have someone else ready to carry it out if they get killed.¡±


    Tane laughed. He had her figured out. The letters were currently in the safekeeping of Morgan.


    ¡°Did you know anything about Traharn¡¯s involvement with the fair folk?¡±


    ¡°Not until they took that fairy prisoner. Every pamphleteer I know is crowing about it.¡±


    Oh, of course it¡¯s all the Commonwealth¡¯s fault, trying to frame poor old Carfane for having a goddamn fairy turn his house into a goddamn magic fortress.


    ¡°That your glorious returning hero is in league with the old enemy, and you let him pirate your organization?¡±


    ¡°I had no idea!¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Tane said. ¡°I¡¯ll believe you. You mentioned assistance with weapon smuggling. What sorts of weapons? Where were they stored? How were they getting in and out of the city?¡±


    ¡°He told me he had weapons stockpiled in his household. Brought them in through Kasilisk, wanted my connections to get them into the city from Southmoor. I got them brought in by a smuggler captain I know, then set up in an old warehouse in the bog.¡±


    ¡°What sorts of weapons? Muskets? Armour? Artillery? Rockets?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve no clue what Traharn did with those. He just had barrels, lots of them. They were probably full of gunpowder.¡±


    ¡°Just gunpowder? No shot, no weapons to fire it from? Did he have those smuggled in separately?¡±


    The Trackford city militia was fairly small and exclusive, unlike most militias, and a loyalist bastion, with the weapons stored at central armouries. That was the only reason a revolt hadn¡¯t begun the moment Genia occupied the city. Traharn having smuggled an arsenal into the city would mean an armed revolt that would have enough momentum to storm the weapon stockpiles. And if they secured the gates¡­ well, the countryside was hostile enough as it was.


    ¡°Just gunpowder, at least as far as I could tell. He also had me being in weapons and complete ammunition, but that was separate. Only a dozen or so weapons.¡±


    That figured. Like any self respecting city, Trackford¡¯s populace was armed to the teeth, but not with military equipment, and certainly not the artillery needed to counter the Commonwealth¡¯s sea and air fleet.


    ¡°And where was this warehouse?¡±


    He gave her the address. Not far from where she¡¯d met Mene and been dragged into this madness in the first place.


    ¡°And anything else?¡±


    ¡°Oh, god, I don¡¯t know. You want to know about Traharn¡¯s bowel movements? Can we talk about this some time it isn¡¯t freezing?¡±


    ¡°I second that motion.¡± Mene, lurking in the shadows.


    Tane was shivering herself, but she ignored it.


    ¡°In an inn, perhaps? Where anyone listening in will know who you¡¯re working for? Yeah, no. I like my sources alive.¡±


    She stepped closer to him, and he tensed visibly.


    ¡°Traharn is doing something besides planning a bloody revolution. He wouldn¡¯t be blackmailing his own side if he wasn¡¯t. He wouldn¡¯t be working with the fey if he wasn¡¯t. He wouldn¡¯t be fucking immortal if he wasn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Christ-Horus, what?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that was my reaction when I worked it out. He walked off a rapier through the lungs, and reckons he¡¯s a twenty-somethings father. His pet fairy all but confessed it. Now, I need to know everything. You said you were involved in more than just smuggling. Raid logistics. Laundering. Intelligence. You were in deep. You know what, if you cooperate, I won¡¯t just destroy the letters, I¡¯ll cover up any connection you have to this bloody mess. Because at the rate Traharn¡¯s going, heads are going to roll and bodies are going to swing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to go through my books.¡± Avon said.


    Tane ignored him. ¡°Let¡¯s start with raids. Where you involved with the Highhome massacre?¡±


    ¡°No, no-alright, look, Traharn, a few weeks before the raid, Traharn asked me to have my intelligencers-yes, of course I have those-get us information on the security of the frontier forts.¡±


    ¡°You know anything about what happened to the rockets?¡±


    ¡°No. After that, he just wanted to know how the Commonwealth was responding.¡±


    ¡°Alright, recruiting.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Traharn once asked me if I knew any miners. Loyal, reliable ones, good at underground work. I found him a few ones, don¡¯t know if he took them on or not.¡±


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Probably for trying to build a smuggler¡¯s tunnel or something.¡±


    He wants hundreds of deaths, for true immortality. He has plenty of gunpowder, but no bullets or guns. He¡¯s hiring miners.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±

 Chapter 27-Hans Draiger

    ¡°First came the Bluejacks to eat all my cattle.


    Next came the Lobsters to steal my ploughorse.


    Next came the Freecorps to make my children fight and my wife whore.


    Next came the Legions to burn my home.


    I have naught but my life, and now the Arluks come to take even that.¡±


    -Valadian Peasant''s Lament


    Hans Draiger, 4 October 1582 AAA. Kasilisk.


    ¡°On my mark, heave!¡± Eidre yelled. Hans grunted, putting his back into pushing the coach clear. If he had to get the bloody thing out of the mud one more time, heads would roll. The coach began to move clear of the mud, the horses grunting and snorting, picking up momentum.


    They¡¯d been on the road for a day now, making good time on the roads outside Carfane, but the meltwater had turned the uncobbled roads of the passes to slush even as the lowland mud was drying out.


    Aled stood apart from the mud, watching them, hands on his hip. ¡°You¡¯re a witch. Couldn¡¯t you just tilt or whatever you call it to roll it out.¡±


    Hans ignored it. He¡¯d gotten quite good at using his third eye and tendrils, but his aunt Casana Draiger had died before she could teach him anything more sophisticated and he¡¯d never had the need for anything else. Even knowing how to mindbreak made him the angel of death as far as the fauna of Carfane were concerned.


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who wanted to bring the coach. Why don¡¯t you help?¡± Uln said, wiping mud off her gaiters.


    He shrugged. ¡°You all seemed to have it under control.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d be making better time if we didn¡¯t have to bring it.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°No. We¡¯d be making worse time, because you two can¡¯t ride.¡± Aled answered.


    ¡°We can ride. Just badly.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°You know why those wyverns are lurking about?¡± one of the servants asked.


    ¡°Heard Hans has them as a familiar.¡± Mellyn, a short woman with a penchant for superstition, said.


    ¡°Witches don¡¯t use animals as familiars. Just demons.¡± The first servant said.


    Hans decided it was best to not point out those were likely Glaive¡¯s war skein, shadowing them to Foothold.


    ¡°Speaking of things following us, who are they?¡± Aled asked, pointing at a cluster of multicoloured blotches moving down a hill further back on the road.


    Eidre shrugged. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re reporting the result of the resolution. Maybe they¡¯re leaving for the same reasons as us.¡±. She sounded doubtful.


    ¡°Why, though?¡± Aled had asked when Eidre had pointed them out. ¡°The actual Diet hasn¡¯t started. You¡¯re only leaving because of the wyverns.¡±


    Aled was still bitter over leaving Kasilisk early. Hans rather got the impression he was one of those people who actually liked cities.


    ¡°Lot of riders to be messengers.¡± Uln said.


    *


    They were high up in the pass when the riders began to catch up to them.


    There were seven of them, too far to tell their sex. As was sensible in the passes, they were armed to the teeth. Some of them wore padded jacks or buff coats, and light glinted off something that must have been a breastplate.


    They were coming at a fast trot, steadily gaining on them, less than a hundred yards away.


    ¡°Get the rifles¡± Uln said, swearing as the coach jarred again. He slithered forwards over the luggage piled onto the coaches top. He found their rifles and the baldrics with their powder horns and shot, passing one back to Uln and taking the other for himself, removing the muzzle tampon and quickly priming it. They¡¯d kept them loaded going into the passes, in case of predators or highwaymen.


    Or assassins.


    ¡°Those riders.¡± he said to the coachman. ¡°They¡¯re catching up to us, fast. They don¡¯t look friendly.¡±


    ¡°Highwaymen?¡± the coachman suggested, patting something under his coat.


    Hans heard Uln yelling something at the splasher girl hanging on for dear life on the coach¡¯s side, and Eidre yelling something back. One of the mounted servants reined in, calling about what was the commotion and if she should greet the riders.


    The footservant sitting next to the coachmen, a burly Halidon¡¯s Hill veteran by the name of Hollin, leaned over the side of the seat, checking behind them.


    ¡°They¡¯re gaining. They¡¯re at a fast trot now.¡±


    ¡°That one looks like the devil himself¡± Mellyn said, pointing at one of them, perched behind the coachmen. The man was in a bright green coat with red breeches, utterly bald. He had a hornbow in his hands.


    The Arluk from Halidon¡¯s hill. Traharn¡¯s men are coming for us.


    He blinked his eyes shut. Fifty yards. Something was being let loose from a pentagonal cage of straight lines by a witch¡¯s tendril, starkly apparent in the usually liquid aether.


    ¡°They¡¯ve got a demon. They¡¯ve got a demon!¡± Hans yelled, panic breaking into his voice.


    Oh, god, oh god¡­


    ¡°At the gallop. Now!¡± The coachmen yelled, his whip snapping. ¡°Uln! The one in the middle-¡° he called out, hoping she could get lucky and kill the witch.


    It wasn¡¯t fast enough. Two of the horses went down, screaming and thrashing, entangling the rest of the horses and bringing the coach to an immediate halt that nearly threw him from the wagon. His third eye saw a great terrible worm wrapped around their souls, tearing, constricting. He hit at it with a tendril, battering at it, managing to beat it back, off the horses, but it was too late; the coach was already hopelessly fouled.


    A moment later the horsemen were on them, unleashing a hail of bullets, thundering past the coach, blowing out splinters of wood. He sighted one and fired; so did the coachman and Hollin. Something heavy slammed into his back, jerking his face away from an arrow, grey feathered, that thudded into a baggage case an inch from his face.


    One of the mounted servants riding out ahead, Llewn, actually drew his rapier and charged them as they wheeled back and drew hand weapons, rapiers and broadswords and a long, vicious walking axe for the bald Arluk. Llewn¡¯s courage was for nothing; he fell from his horse under a rain of cuts. . It brought Hans a moment to get his bearings, though, and he took it.


    Hans realized one of the ambusher¡¯s horses, too, was riderless, and that only five were left. Another of the servants took off at a gallop; the third seemed paralysed by panic. He couldn¡¯t see what happened to the fourth. He took it all in in an instant.


    He began to reload, not bothering with patching the ball or using fine priming powder. He scrambled up to the top of the coach, trying to see if Uln had been hit. His hand slipped in something. He realized it was Hollin¡¯s brains; his body had fallen from the wagon, lying next to a horseman struggling to extricate himself from under his dying horse.


    Uln had blood running over her brow. She was furiously loading her rifle, slamming the butt down, settling the ball. Hans did the same. No time for careful loading now, as the horsemen came charging back in.


    He waited till they were within twenty yards then took out the soul of the nearest horse. The witch batted his tendril aside before it could reach it. He aimed at the witch, a wiry woman in a grey doublet, but something lanced into him and his shot went wide; the witches tendril. He screamed in pain, but somehow found the will to force her tendril out of his soul, barely holding it off. ¡°The woman with the grey doublet! She¡¯s a-¡°


    He saw Uln beginning to aim in the corner of his eye, and threw himself flat as the shot rang out despite the agony of his soul coming under attack. The tendril went slack, like a cut tripline, as the witch spilled out of the saddle. Uln scrambled forwards, drawing her falchion in one hand. He saw a man on foot unhorsed in the first charge drawing a bead on her with a pistol and hit his soul with a tendril. His shot missed, and Uln was on him a moment later, leaping down from the coach, her falchion flashing, beating aside his rapier point, landing a flurry of crushing blows to his jack and breastplate that left him reeling then taking off one leg and crippling the other with a single low cut.


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    She had no training or experience in swordfighting, formal or otherwise; but she had the instincts and skills from a lifetime of bringing down things far stronger and faster than humans with tools far cruder than her Wolzuk falchion.


    The coachman was shouting something at him; muscling past him, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. The horsemen were to their right now, shooting with pistols, the balls whipping overhead or kicking up splinters.


    ¡°Get under the coach!¡± Hans yelled, slithering down the side of the coach, splashing into the mud. Horsemen came at her, two of them, circling around from the right to the left. He waved to Uln. ¡°Get under the-¡°


    She sidestepped the first one, off to his vulnerable left, and chopped his horses leg out from under him. The second horse came straight at her; she went down. He couldn¡¯t tell if she¡¯d flung herself aside or been knocked down.


    No, no, no¡­


    He wasn¡¯t going to let her end up like the Woose at Black Creek, like the wyverns at Highhome. He couldn¡¯t.


    The horseman came at him next, broadsword flashing. He flinched back, nearly falling over; felt the weapon slam into him. There was no pain, no blood. He caught his balance and drew his knife, half running, half staggering towards the man-no, a woman-rising from the horse Uln had brought down. She was stepping around her crippled horse, holding her broadsword awkwardly in her left hand.


    He saw Uln, too, on her feet, unsteady, fumbling for her falchion. He slammed a tendril through the assassin¡¯s soul, and she went to her knees; then grabbed her by the hair and started stabbing, ignoring her flailing attempts to win free, over and over again till they both fell to the ground. Uln stood over him then, yelling, waving her falchion; he saw the last three horsemen crashing towards him. He disentangled himself, grabbing the dead woman¡¯s sword in one hand and his hunting knife in the other.


    It he was going to die, at least he was going to die at Uln¡¯s side.


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± Uln yelled besides him as the horsemen came rushing in, pistols empty with no time to reload, edged weapons drawn.


    The horsemen paced up to a gallop, rushing straight in, and he forced himself to treat them as charging griffons, reaching out with a tendril to strike down the Arluk¡¯s horse.


    There was no need. Fire flashed; a stream of burning vitriol from a wyvern¡¯s mouth in a low fast attack pass. Horses and riders alike went down as a flung dive lance impaled a rider. The Arluk flung himself from his panicked horse, hit the ground, rolled, struggling to put out his burning coat. He had a dive lance sticking into his back. The third rider was on fire, riding for his life when something on his body exploded and he went down. Another lance slammed into the ground, buzzing; and he saw Glaive¡¯s war skein starting gain height to loop back in for another pass.


    The Arluk was getting up, ripping out the dive lance and hefting it like a spear, his coat still smouldering.


    ¡°Take him alive¡± Hans said, edging in on him, hitting him with a tendril that seemed to slough off his soul. He wished he had his half-pike.


    There was no need for that, though, or for the wyverns to come in for a second pass. Eidre blew apart his knee as she strode up to him, her riding dress bloodied, bits of wood stuck in her blonde hair, double barrelled fowler shouldered. Aled staggered after her, an arrow through his shoulder, blood running down his leg, awkwardly holding his rapier. He looked pale.


    ¡°Who sent you!¡±


    Hans ran up to her.


    The bald man¡¯s head was covered in sweat with faint tattoos across his scalp and thick muscle shifting under the fat of his neck as he turned to look up at Eidre. Blood was leaking through his scorched coat, and Hans could see shining mail where the lance had torn through. A quiverfull of the grey feathered arrows hung from his hip, some of the arrows spilt out.


    ¡°Who sent you! You shot my son! You murdered my servants!¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯d desert my brothers in arms? You think I¡¯d talk?¡±


    Eidre shut her eyes, briefly.


    The wyverns landed behind them, three of them, another two staying up for air cover.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t talk, I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    ¡°You crippled me. Would be a mercy.¡±


    ¡°You killed the wyverns?¡± Hans said, pointing to the arrows.


    He spat, grimacing in pain.


    ¡°Fucking guess.¡±


    ¡°Talk and I¡¯ll make it quick.¡± Eidre said. ¡°You shot my son. He was fourteen, you cunt.¡±


    Glaive stepped up to them, her back scales painted red, war-spurs glinting on her legs.


    ¡°Let him bleed out. Or burn him. No guns.¡± she croaked.


    ¡°Me or the wyverns. Talk.¡± Eidre growled.


    ¡°Always wanted to die back on the steppes, but up here is good enough. Now hurry up and kill me.¡°


    Eidre turned her back on him.


    ¡°He had his chance. Do what you want.¡±


    She turned to Aled, dropping her shotgun, sitting him down, checking his arrow wound like he was a young boy who had a splinter in his foot.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch the arrow, it¡¯ll make it worse.¡±


    Hans turned away as well. There were bodies everywhere, humans and horses but no Woose and wyverns for once, dead and dying. The splasher girl was crawling out from under the coach; Mellyn had survived the fusillade by flinging herself flat against the roof. Hollin was dead, his brains blown out, and Lellwyn, who had charged the assassins, was somehow still alive though his face was a torn mask of red. Another mounted servant had gotten killed in the chaos. The servant who had stayed out of the fight, Hans had forgotten his name, had ridden over and was helping Lellwyn. Someone not used to fighting or taken by surprise, then, not a coward.


    Spilt blood and cracked bone. Glaive had known what was coming.


    The coachman was leaning against the coach¡¯s wheels, an arrow in his chest, rising and falling as he breathed.


    ¡°Someone help him!¡± Hans yelled. He had no idea how to treat a chest wound like that, or if it was even survivable.


    Hans was shaking as he turned to Uln. ¡°Am I hurt?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a splinter in your cheek.¡± she said.


    The right side of her face was running red, down into her clothes.


    ¡°I think you got hit in the scalp.¡±


    She¡¯d nearly had her brains blown out, like that poor wyvern, like the servant Corrin lying dead.


    But she didn¡¯t. We survived.


    Hans reached up and touched his face, and nearly screamed when he felt wood sticking into his cheek. He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth; he couldn¡¯t taste blood or wood. He left it in there, for now, until they could get it out properly. At least the sword cut must have hit at a bad angle, because it had only sliced open his overcoat without penetrating his undercoat.


    We didn''t just survive. We won.


    He helped Uln tear a strip out of undershirt and wrap it around her scalp, after checking that it was only a flesh wound, then stumbled towards the coachman, trying to remember how to treat impaling wounds properly.


    The Arluk screamed behind him as the wyverns finished him with fire and war-spur. He didn¡¯t look. He¡¯d seen enough death today for a lifetime.


    If this is winning, what is losing like?


    ¡°Mellyn, ride to get help for the wounded, and fast. Hans, get to Foothold, tell Lorne what happened.¡± Eidre said, looking up from trying to stop the bleeding in her son¡¯s leg.


    Everyone who didn''t make it in the mining riots. Black Creek. Highhome. Those scalps on the fortress wall. We aren''t one of them. That''s enough.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Hans said, numbly, shock and exhaustion catching up to him. He vomited into the blood soaked mud.

 Chapter 28, Hans Draiger

    ¡°And then Arthur told his men; this is our world now, we must conquer all the Fey, and free humanity from under them and teach them the message of the Lord. And his men, and the many slaves they had freed, agreed to do this."


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 8 October 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°At the rate we¡¯re going, I should name the company the 3rd Blackguards, Horse Burglar Company.¡± Tane muttered as Avon fumbled in his pockets for the warehouse key. At this point, her and Mene going out for a spot of skulduggery was a weekly routine.


    The warehouse was the one Avon had given the address to. It was not unlike the one where she¡¯d first met Mene, and only a few blocks away-cracked and fading blue paint on the wooden walls, large windows on the second floor, and a dank feeling about it. At least there was no holes in the roof, and it didn¡¯t look likely to flood.


    Mene laughed, standing behind her. ¡°Well, that search warrant might as well as be a officer¡¯s commission¡­¡±


    ¡°Get me an NCO position if you do start it¡± Slach drawled behind her. She¡¯d brought a lance of grenadiers along with her, disguised as best as they could as dockworkers and burgesses.


    ¡°Could you be quiet?¡± Avon muttered, still searching for his key, his lantern glowing. They¡¯d forced him to help with the search, providing legal cover for the mine-hunt.


    ¡°Better if you¡¯d be quiet.¡± Blodwen said behind her.


    She didn¡¯t want to be breaking into private property in Trackford without a warrant, the actual owner and backup in this climate. Not to mention armour under her coat, her blades on her belt, several warships anchored nearby and two lances worth of horse grenadiers on ¡°patrol¡± nearby to break them out if things went sideways, as well.


    The city was restless. The Grenadiers had been pulled off riot control duty and had their quarters moved out to the airfield; they were getting a reputation and their presence at a protest would only inflame things further. There had been at least three protests last week, several brawls, and a merchant with patriot¡¯s brigade loyalties had been found stabbed to death in a duel.


    They needed to find and defuse Traharn¡¯s mine, and they needed hard evidence to minimize the chaos when they moved against him.


    Veulnor had ordered what remained of Traharn¡¯s half-burnt house searched again, forced Avon Heveria to give her a list of warehouses owned by patriot¡¯s brigade members, had Mene and Heveria out looking for every lead they could find. Trackford being Trackford, few people were willing to cooperate, and so far they¡¯d turned up dead ends. She¡¯d tried to bribe the miners Avon had recommended for information, but nothing had come of it. Several of them had disappeared.


    ¡°Got the key¡± Avon said, pushing the door open and stepping in. Tane nodded and stepped into the warehouse after her, resisting the urge to do it with sword and pistol ready.


    ¡°Could have picked that faster¡± Mene muttered behind her.


    Tane laughed.


    The warehouse was packed with bales of wool; a few bolts of cloth and a pile of barrels taking up the rest of the building.


    Light illuminated patches of the floor, pouring in through the windows, but the rest of the building was cast in shadows.


    ¡°We had the black powder barrels mixed in with the wine barrels. Only difference was he¡¯d used darker wood.¡± Avon explained.


    ¡°Test the barrels. We¡¯re looking for gunpowder. Pop them and check if it sounds like it¡¯s not full of liquid.¡± Tane ordered.


    The soldiers fanned out, prodding at the barrels with pistol butts and sword pommels.


    Tane joined in. Most of them sounded like they were full of wine or beer. One barrel sounded promising, but when they cracked it open it was full of spices from the Hundreds.


    ¡°You sure Traharn never had the barrels moved?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°If he did, he never told me.¡± Avon said.


    Finally, they gave up.


    ¡°He¡¯s moved his powder out. If he¡¯s dug it, the mine could be ready to blow at any moment.¡± Mene said.


    Tane felt the urge to punch something.


    Hundreds could be killed at any moment, and there would be nothing she could do about it.


    ¡°Do you have any idea where else he¡¯s storing it?¡±


    ¡°No-¡° Avon began to say.


    ¡°Do you?¡± Tane asked, stalking towards him.


    ¡°No!¡±


    A door creaked, and she heard a yell of ¡°Who¡¯s there!¡± behind her.


    In a second, there were a dozen or so assorted swords, pistols and daggers being pointed at an unfortunate night watchman, the man fumbling to draw his cheap hanger.


    ¡°Burgl-¡°


    Avon ran up to him, waving his hands. ¡°No, no, no, this is my warehouse, I¡¯m your employer.¡±


    The man was backing out through the doorway slowly, his short sword drawn.


    ¡°Get behind me! Who are they? They taken you hostage?¡± he said, glancing at the grenadiers suspiciously. He looked well into his sixties.


    She could tell he was scared shitless, but was going to put up a fight against the ¡°thieves¡± anyway. She could respect that.


    Tane walked up to the man, pushing her pistol to half-cock and stuffing it through her belt.


    ¡°Listen, we¡¯re not bloody thieves, we¡¯re searching it with Mr. Heveria¡¯s consent.¡± Tane said, raising her hands before she realized that just emphasized the small armoury through her belt.


    ¡°Heveria?¡± the man asked, surprised.


    Tane saw a couple of grenadiers moving up, but she signalling for them to keep their distance and put their weapons away.


    ¡°Yes. Your employer. I¡¯ve had to, ah, clear some things up with the Commonwealth.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°That someone¡¯s been removing barrels from here without permission.¡±


    ¡°Well, if I¡¯d have seen it, it wouldn¡¯t have happened.¡±


    He was still glancing nervously at the grenadiers.


    ¡°Did you see anyone at all removing barrels, even with permission?¡± Mene asked.


    Traharn could have easily claimed permission from Heveria to move the gunpowder, while leaving Heveria out.


    ¡°There were a group of people, some of them with funny haircuts, sides of the head shaved and a braid on the middle, here a month ago. They showed me an order signed by you when I asked what they were doing. They moved a few barrels out that night, and some more a few days later. They might have been around other nights.¡±


    ¡°Do you know where they moved the barrels to?¡±


    ¡°No idea. I assumed they were being moved out for sale or some smuggling job.¡±


    Avon laughed. ¡°Well, here¡¯s six shillings for your troubles.¡±


    Tane swore under her breath. Traharn had his explosives ready and he was out of their reach. They couldn¡¯t just sit there until he blew the explosives, but if they went out into the countryside to attack him, it might set off a war. It was the frying pan or the fire.


    *


    ¡°Dis¡­ Mount!¡± Lieutenant Gryff roared, his voice slurring. He was still adjusting to his missing teeth, and his cheeks were a mass of scar tissue.


    Three quarters of the company dismounted, passing their reins to the designated horse-holders and formed for infantry action, six deep in open order with bayonets fixed. They stood under the company banner held by Sace-the white three spoked wheel of the Commonwealth on a green field with red borders, a flaming grenade and ¡°No Greater Fury¡± emblazoned above it.


    The nice thing about airfields was that when they empty they served as convenient open area for drilling troops, free from local civilians looking to cause trouble.


    Tane watched from horseback. As captain, her job was to supervise, while her Lieutenant carried out the actual drill.


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    ¡°Halve Files to close order! Make Ready, Salvo Fire! Drop wards!¡±


    The rear three ranks stepped forwards into the gaps between the first three ranks, followed by the new front rank crouching down. Morgan eased up as she lowered the companies wards. The bullet slowing fields worked both ways.


    ¡°Present! Fire!¡±


    All three ranks levelled their pieces, squeezed the triggers on empty barrels, then immediately rushed forwards. Morgan would be pulling the wards back up for the final rush into contact, then dropping them again and perhaps tilting to break open the enemy formation, or trying to suppress the enemies own witch.


    Fire and shock.


    It was the first properly warm day in what seemed like centuries, the sun catching on the barrels of muskets and sword hilts. She actually felt warm in her buff coat, and hadn¡¯t bothered wearing her cloak.


    The investigation was petering out; Traharn had covered his tracks too well.


    There had been a lead that had looked promising, about someone who¡¯d been seen carrying barrels into his house at night, but when Captain Artorius¡¯s marines had raided him it had turned out he was only smuggling tea. They¡¯d had a man nearly knocked out by thrown bricks as they¡¯d pulled out.


    The same when they¡¯d investigated rumours of dirt being moved out of a house. Turns out they¡¯d been digging a basement. Carfane, all of it, was a metaphorical powder keg, and Traharn¡¯s literal powder kegs threatened to set it all off.


    She heard hoofbeats behind her.


    ¡°General Veulnor wants to see you.¡± someone said.


    Boudace Haynes, her page girl, in a buff coat sized for someone who was still half a child and with a too-large backsword on her hip.


    ¡°Ah. What about?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an, uh, letter. From a spy. Veulnor wants to talk to you about it.¡±


    *


    She was the lowest ranking officer in the room, filled with staff officers and Veulnor¡¯s subordinate generals-the Lieutenant General Erene Hall, Duchess of Hathclene, and the Sergeant-Major-General Sir Carryn Ap Coran.


    The Duchess was well into her forties, a tall black haired woman who was slowly getting fat. She had a reputation for bravery, but no wartime experience of high command. She¡¯d only been a colonel when the last war had ended.


    Carryn was even older, with greying hair and a limp from a wound he¡¯d taken in the war of the Cessosi Succession. Trackford would likely be his last posting.


    Veulnor silently passed the letter to her.


    To Whom it may concern:


    I have it on good information that the rebel Traharn Hast is currently at his manor house in Farrier¡¯s hill. He is gathering material there for a general uprising, which he intends to begin by blowing the mine on the 1st November. He then intends to make Farrier¡¯s Hill a battleground when the Commonwealth retaliates, though he does not have the weapons to do this in place yet. I was warned of all this by a friend who is part of Traharn¡¯s circle, and wished me to avoid being caught in any fighting. I shall not reveal my name for fear of retaliation.


    Signed, a true patriot.


    ¡°We need to verify this.¡± Tane said. ¡°It could be genuine. Or it could be a trap. Either way, we have to know.¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡± Veulnor said. ¡°I sent an agent to Farrier¡¯s Hill the moment I received this. He still has the mine primed, though. And what is the best way to stop a mine going off? Stop them lighting it in the first place.¡±


    ¡°The countryside is hostile. We go out in force, we risk a confrontation that could turn into a battle, and a battle into a war.¡± Hathclene said.


    ¡°The Carfani passed some resolution condemning him, up in Kasilisk. Some of them seem serious about bringing him down.¡± Carryn said. ¡°We could wait and see if they act on it.¡±


    ¡°Wyverns won¡¯t like that. They want someone to deal with those killers. They¡¯re already annoyed enough that we haven¡¯t done anything about the squatters. If we let the Carfani take him out, West Point might realign with Kasilisk rather than Trarabac. It¡¯ll be the last straw, a sign that we¡¯re too scared to act in their interests and worthless as an ally.¡± One of the Air-Admirals lurking in the back of the room said.


    Tane was willing to go with any course of action that left Traharn a dead man. He was worse than some arrogant mercenary turned rebel; or even someone who¡¯d disown and beat his own daughter; he was a monster, willing to kill hundreds to escape from death.


    If I¡¯d just gotten him through the head rather than the lungs, we could have avoided all this.


    If that would even work¡­


    Killing immortals wasn¡¯t something she¡¯d ever trained in or read about.


    ¡°We need to kill Traharn, and sooner rather than later.¡± Veulnor said.


    ¡°Night raid, in and out. Could have it done it 20 minutes. Drop airborne grenadiers down from airships.¡± another air-admiral said.


    Tane rolled her eyes. Airships barely ever got into boarding actions or engaged close enough for small arms fire to matter, so airborne grenadiers were always trying to justify their existence beyond being glorified anti-mutiny insurance.


    ¡°Not fast enough to achieve surprise, not enough firepower to shoot their way out if something goes wrong.¡± Carryn said.


    Tane rubbed her head, trying to remember where Farrier¡¯s Hill was. About three miles away from the Avon-Miwar, the great river that Trackford was built on the mouth of, and about thirty miles upriver.


    ¡°We could bring marines up at night on barges or ship¡¯s boats, within a few miles of his manor house. It¡¯d give them an easy escape route, if things went wrong as well.¡± Tane said.


    That got Veulnor¡¯s attention. ¡°Marines?¡±


    ¡°And regular infantry. Anything that can fit on a boat. Dismounted cavalry too.¡± She added, leaving the implication unsaid.


    Hathclene nodded along. ¡°A swift attack would be better than some great expedition into the countryside.¡±


    ¡°It could be difficult maintaining surprise in daylight or not getting off at the wrong town at night.¡± Tane added. It wasn¡¯t a flawless plan, but it was better than letting Traharn run about unmolested.


    Veulnor ran a hand through his hair. ¡°Perhaps. We could send out spies, try and get the measure of the terrain. Carry out the attack so the raiders arrive at dawn.¡±


    ¡°And confirm if Traharn is actually there. If it¡¯s a trap, sticking your paw into one is never wise. Once we know he¡¯s there, though, we have to move.¡± Carryn said.


    Just ask Gryff. Using the company to spring the shooters trap hadn¡¯t been her wisest tactical decision. Then again, neither was going out into the countryside, but their other options were as bad or worse.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Tane said. Every day they waited to deal with Traharn was a day he could blow the mine, but getting themselves drawn into a hasty battle in the countryside would have just as high a cost in blood and treasure-worse if he decided to follow up by exploding the mine anyway.


    In any case, it was out of her hands. Traharn was not someone to be dealt with one on one using rapier and dagger, but with pike and shot, airship and cannon and demon, all the tools of war the state could bring to bear against the rebel.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think on it.¡± Veulnor said. ¡°You are all dismissed. Inform all of your men that Traharn Hast is to be killed on sight if he should be sighted entering the city. And not a word of the raid to anyone not in this room.¡±

 Chapter 29, Hans Draiger

    ¡°The militia system is vital to ensuring the security of the Carfani against the Tyrants that surround us, whether the tyranny of the Woose and Wyverns who occupy land they do not use, the tyranny of the Commonwealth who keeps us under their or and the Teresians who wish to free us from the Commonwealth yoke and replace it with their own. Only the right of every free man, woman and child to train and organize under arms can avert this.¡±


    Mato Calwere, ¡°First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Tyrants¡±


    Hans Draiger, 10 October 1582 AAA. Foothold.


    They came staggering back into Foothold on horseback, barely staying on the saddle, half from exhaustion and half from being barely competent riders. It was dark out, with only the occasional candle shining from a window lighting the darkness. Mud squelched under their horses hooves. They weren¡¯t riding horses; they were coach horses, with tack and saddles looted from the dead assassins.


    ¡°Finally¡± Uln said besides him. Her head was wrapped in linen to protect the healing wound, and her blue eyes were constantly flicking about, looking for any sign of ambush.


    ¡°We find Lorne first. Tell him what happened. Then we work out how we deal with Traharn.¡±


    ¡°Wyverns. Lots of wyverns.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way.¡± Hans said.


    It took half an hour for them to find Eidre¡¯s manor house, leading the horses through deserted country lanes fringed by hedges and stone walls. The only human souls about where sleeping, but animal souls were everywhere, and the wyverns would be travelling at night to avoid notice.


    They¡¯d been avoiding settlements; a heavily armed, wounded Woose and witch travelling tended to attract unwanted questions.


    They passed by their little hut in silence, on the outskirts of Eidre¡¯s land. He wanted to check on the damage, to see if they¡¯d been stolen from. There wasn¡¯t much of value besides cheap furniture, some clothes and stashed money and the guns they hadn¡¯t taken north, but the idea that his home and possessions might have been destroyed while they weren¡¯t looking rankled. They¡¯d been based in Foothold for over a decade now. It was as close to a home as he¡¯d ever had.


    Then again, they¡¯d been nearly killed in that home.


    Hans lit a lantern as they walked up to the gate, checking the iron scrollwork over the wood. It had the familiar pattern, a curling mass of leaves with a spread-winged wyvern at the center. He pushed against it and was greeted with only rattling. It had been barred. A single human soul moved in the courtyard.


    Hans knocked the butt of his rifle against the door twice.


    ¡°Let us in! We need to see Lorne!¡± Hans yelled.


    He faintly heard the patter of feet against wet grass, and his third eye saw the soul moving towards the wall. Something creaked. A flintlock being readied.


    ¡°It¡¯s Hans Draiger! Eidre was attacked on the road!¡±


    If making things sound more desperate than they were was necessary to avoid being shot, so be it.


    Hans heard the slam of the bolt being thrown open.


    Lantern light flickered under the gate, and a shadow moved.


    He pushed at the gate, the hinges groaning, and walked into Eidre¡¯s gardens, slinging his rifle.


    The servant was backing away from them, his lined face lit up the lantern he was awkwardly holding with his musket.


    ¡°Is Eidre hurt? How far is she? Are the attackers at large?¡±


    ¡°We killed them all. The attackers.¡± Uln said. ¡°Eidre and Aled were heading to Kasilisk for help when we saw them last.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re both wounded. She sent us to warn Lorne.¡± Hans added.


    The servant swore under his breath. ¡°Get your horses stabled. I¡¯ll fetch Lorne.¡±


    He hurried off, towards the manor proper.


    They led the horses in and pushed the gate shut, then tethered them by the stables.


    Lorne emerged minutes later in a hastily thrown on coat, visibly shivering from the cold. ¡°What happened? Is Eidre hurt? Is Aled? Who did it?¡±


    His face was a picture of concern and confusion.


    ¡°They shot Aled in the shoulder with a bow and Eidre was hit by splinters. They¡¯re safe now. They murdered Hollin and Marwin too. The wyverns saved us.¡±


    ¡°Who did it?¡± Lorne asked. ¡°Who did it?¡±


    Hans pulled out an arrow from his pack and unwrapped it.


    ¡°Their leader was sure as hell not from around here. He used these.¡± Hans said, passing the arrow to Lorne. It was identical to the ones used on the wyverns.


    ¡°Mary-Isis.¡± Lorne said, his face going pale.


    ¡°Tell me everything.¡±


    It was four in the morning by the time they were finished bringing Lorne up to speed on what had happened, and was Hans felt ready to collapse from exhaustion. They¡¯d been up all night and the day before, aiming to time things so that they could arrive in Foothold at night. Just getting shot in the face by Connor as soon as they returned was not desirable. Lorne¡¯s face flashed between anger, relief and disbelief.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have their heads.¡± Lorne finally said, his face buried in his hands. Sweat shone on his balding head in the candlelight. ¡°I¡¯ll have their heads.¡±


    ¡°Glaive wants them mummified. I want them scalped. I¡¯m guessing you want them hung.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know Traharn looks like.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°I do.¡± Lorne said. ¡°I¡¯ll lead the militia against him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll give him warning-¡° Hans began.


    Lorne stood up, pacing.


    ¡°Just twenty or thirty fighters, household men, people who were at Halidon¡¯s Hill with me. People I can trust.¡±


    ¡°And then?¡±


    ¡°Arrest him. Drag him back here. Put him on trial. String him up for five counts murder.¡± Lorne said.


    His voice was steel. Hard but brittle.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have the wyverns support in this.¡± Hans said.


    Lorne shook his head. ¡°Too much risk. Enough people have died already.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re going to have to explain to them why they can¡¯t come.¡±


    The wyverns, all seven of them, had landed in a patch of forest near Eidre¡¯s lands that night, just like they¡¯d planned. They came to them at midday with Lorne in tow. Hans had snatched a few hours sleep, only waking at eleven in the morning. He¡¯d had to shake Uln awake.


    He saw the sentry first, her soul about 150 yards away. She must have heard them first, because she was moving quickly away from them. The brush was thick, and more than once he had to use his hatchet to clear obstacles out of the way. Most of the rest of the wyverns came into view soon after, five of them including Glaive.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°It¡¯s Hans!¡± he called, before they got the wrong idea and took off or tried to ambush them.


    By the time he reached them, the wyverns were gathered up on the far side of the clearing, another sentry who had been put out to the west stalking back in as they arrived.


    ¡°Who is the third one?¡± Glaive asked, stepping forwards of the main group. They still looked wary, half hunched over as if to pounce or take off at the slightest provocation.


    She had glossy yellow and red paint on her back, marking her as skein leader, and she was fully armed with warspurs on her feet and a dive lance staked into the ground behind her.


    ¡°Lorne O Mathuna. Eidre¡¯s husband.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Lorne said, stepping up to Glaive. He was clearly nervous. Most people were, when dealing with talking dragons. ¡°And your name?¡±


    Glaive said something unpronounceable, followed by ¡°or Glaive.¡±


    ¡°We need to talk about Traharn Hast.¡± Lorne said.


    Glaive clicked. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem. He has a manor house in Farrier¡¯s Hill, and we know he¡¯s fled Trackford, but we don¡¯t know where he is. I know what your people can do, I don¡¯t want you turned loose on Farrier¡¯s hill-¡°


    ¡°He ordered the killing of three of my comrades in arms. He tried to have your wife and son killed.¡± Glaive said. ¡°He¡¯s being mummified.¡±


    ¡°The townsfolk and his servants have nothing to do this. You don¡¯t recognize him either. We have to go in on foot if we want to be sure.¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°Why I do care? At least it might get the Commonwealth to honour their side of the treaties and push back the squatters-¡°


    ¡°You¡¯re willing to burn dozens of civilians to get vengeance for the deaths of three warriors?¡± Lorne asked, tensing.


    If the wyverns decided to go off on their own rather than honouring their side of the deal, there was nothing much he could do.


    ¡°They were murdered on the ground after being lured down, not killed in the air. There¡¯s nothing as treacherous as that.¡± Glaive said.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll bring him to you for execution, once he¡¯s prisoner and been tried.¡±


    ¡°He kills wyverns, then wyvern justice.¡° Glaive said.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get your justice, but this is something for hands, not wings.¡± Hans said. That was an old Woose saying; wyverns often called in favours with Woose clans when they needed something that required manual dexterity done.


    ¡°He had his man try to murder my wife and son, don¡¯t you forget. I have as much need for vengeance as you.¡± Lorne said.


    Glaive clicked. ¡°We want him, or at least his body. To mummify. That is not negotiable.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯re going to kill the fucker. We just want it done clean and quiet. The body will be brought back here.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll follow you, at night. To make sure it¡¯s done properly.¡± Glaive answered.


    The wyverns have all the cards here.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Lorne said. ¡°But if you attack any innocents, I¡¯ll have my men¡­ you understand. You¡¯d do the same if the Commonwealth was bombing West Point to kill one guilty wyvern, yes?¡±


    Glaive clicked in what Hans suspected was annoyance.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    *


    Lorne had picked twenty militia-thirteen men and seven women- for the arrest, all mounted, besides himself, Hans and Uln. Like any self respecting frontier militia, they were armed with a motley assortment of equipment- homemade padded jacks, one with a century old mail shirt, pistols captured off the Teresians at Halidon¡¯s hill, rapiers and hangers and hatchets on their belts, elegant long rifles and double-barrel fowlers alongside battered old muskets and a few longbows and hunting spears in their hands.


    Lorne had left out the wyvern connection when he was recruiting them; simply explaining that \ men connected to Traharn had attacked their landlady and that an armed citizen¡¯s arrest was necessary. They¡¯d kept it quiet; no need to risk Traharn finding out what they were planning.


    He could feel the eyes of the men on his back as they rode. Last night, as they¡¯d camped outside Avontown, he¡¯d heard them muttering about why they¡¯d brought Uln.


    ¡°I get why Lorne wanted a witch for this, but why a bloody Wolzie?¡±


    ¡°They got Eidre mixed up in this. Remember that town hall, and then her dragging us out to fend off that mob?¡±


    ¡°I like humans and woose mixing as much as you, but trying to set a mob on them was too far. Eidre made the right decision.¡±


    They were fighting to retaliate against the attack on Eidre, not justice for the dead wyverns. That was only him and Uln and perhaps Lorne.


    Farrier¡¯s Hill was three days ride from Foothold. The worst of the spring mud was drying up, leaving the roads clear for them to ride across. They didn¡¯t bed down in inns, instead camping in the patches of woodland that hadn¡¯t been turned to farmland in the interior. The less drunken boasting, the less chances for Traharn to find out they were coming for him.


    Anyone who asked was Lorne was doing with such a force was told they were tracking an outlaw who¡¯d tried to kill one of their wives. The best lies were true.


    ¡°That¡¯s Farrier¡¯s Hill¡± Lorne said as they came over yet another crest. He pointed at a rise, about a mile distant. It was topped by a small building, and what looked like haystacks until one of them moved.


    Reapers.


    ¡°They named it after a hill, then they don¡¯t stick anything but a bloody farmhouse on the hill?¡± Hans asked.


    Lorne shrugged. ¡°The town is on the other side. I think Traharn¡¯s household is further out.¡±


    ¡°We should send someone in to scout.¡± Uln said.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± Lorne answered.


    ¡°Might Traharn recognize you?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s a lot more memorable than I am.¡±


    ¡°Probably less than me, though.¡± Uln said. Woose this far from the frontier weren¡¯t common.


    Hans laughed. ¡°Aye, you¡¯re right.¡± He said, nodding at Lorne.


    ¡°I should be back by dawn. Have a poke around, get a bed at the inn so it doesn¡¯t look too suspicious.¡±

 Chapter 30-Tane Bayder

    ¡°The mines in those hills?¡± Tane asked, pointing at a few gentle rises overlooking the sea. One of them was topped by what looked like a cluster of farmhouses.


    Efflyn nodded under the hooded cloak they¡¯d scrounged up for him. ¡°They¡¯re in those hills.¡±


    They turned off the road towards the suburb, three hundred and twenty odd horseshoes clinking against the cobblestones.


    Off in the distance, she saw a pair of air-destroyers, and then another pair of bombardiers, moving out to sea. They¡¯d be looping back inland to support the raiders, hopefully discouraging any counterattack.


    There were people out on the streets, watching them nervously. Commonwealth soldiers didn¡¯t travel this far from the city unless they had business.


    ¡°Should have sent bloody tunnel fighters for this.¡± Gryff muttered as he rode alongside her, the company officers gathered at the front of the column.


    Tane shrugged. ¡°Veulnor said he¡¯d send the Sappers out to support us soon enough. We¡¯ve got horses and we were there.¡±


    ¡°If Traharn has spies, he might try and pre-empt us by blowing the mine today.¡± Sace said, the company colours flying over her shoulder.


    She hadn¡¯t thought about that, but it was a real possibility.


    ¡°Strange place to put a mine. I¡¯d try and dig it under one of our positions. Less chance of getting lynched by the Carfani.¡± Morgan said.


    Efflyn spoke up.


    ¡°Easier to smuggle in. We planned to say that the Commonwealth has irresponsibly stored gunpowder in the mines, and that it blew up in an accident.¡±


    The sky was already turning orange, and the shadows were long. She suspected she¡¯d be spending the night searching the tunnels, not travelling to finish off Traharn once and for all.


    A disarm is better than a killing blow, because a dying man can still take you down with him. A weaponless man cannot.


    Granted, a man who was both had still managed to beat her, but the principle was still good. She wouldn¡¯t let that happen again.


    *


    Efflyn led them to the mine entrance quickly enough, a sad looking hole in the side of the hill. It was half overgrown, with bits of wooden minecart rails, mostly rotted away, visible on the ground. A pump house with smashed in windows sat next to the shaft, lonely.


    ¡°Dismount and put out pickets!¡± Tane barked. ¡°Get lanterns ready, get into lances. Leave muskets and one pistol with the horses. Bydevere, stay with the dismounts. Gryff and Sace, take three lances each. I¡¯ll take the last three. I want lookouts on the hilltop, keep an eye out for signal lanterns.¡±


    She dismounted, her half-harness rattling, and tucked a torch through her sash next to her pistols, while a couple of Grenadiers helped Efflyn down from the saddle. His arms had been tied together, to stop him trying to run. This all being some scheme to escape or buy Traharn time was a possibility, and she had no intention of letting Efflyn carry it out.


    ¡°Mene, you¡¯re with me. Morgan, on Gryff.¡±


    She lifted a lantern and stepped down into the mineshaft.


    ¡°No torches or exposed candles. We accidentally set the gunpowder off, we¡¯re all dead.¡± Gryff yelled behind them.


    Stolen story; please report.


    She slowly pushed down the tunnel, ducking under support beams. Her backsword hilt caught on a root and she had to pause to pull it free.


    And this is a proper mineshaft, not some sapper¡¯s tunnel. She was glad she never had to engage in tunnel fighting. From what she¡¯d heard, that was a true nightmare, fighting just as much against the earth and air as against the enemy.


    We might have to, if Sace is right.


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust these beams¡± she heard Blodwen mutter behind her.


    They passed a side-shaft fifty yards down, and a lance of grenadiers peeled off. Soon there was another, and another, but the main shaft just kept on going, down into the dark.


    ¡°How far is the main charge?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve quite forgotten.¡± Efflyn said.


    ¡°I thought Fey were like wyverns. They never forget. Besides, shouldn¡¯t you know how to get around the sunken city?¡± Tane asked.


    ¡°Drudgefolk lies. I hate tunnels. Why do you think I left the sunken city?¡± Efflyn said.


    ¡°Well then, Traharn needs more attentive witches.¡± Mene said.


    The tunnels forked out into two nearly four hundred yards from the entrance, and Tane took the left. Only her helmet saved her from being brained by a support beam, and she dropped down into a half crouch. The tunnel began to slope down. There was evidence of actual mining work having beem done here at some point, away from the main shaft.


    ¡°Wherever you have this powder, it¡¯s well hidden.¡± Tane said.


    Efflyn shrugged. ¡°The tunnels go deep.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say that you knew it was under Hollistown because you could see the souls of the people up above through the aether?¡± Mene asked.


    ¡°Yes, and?¡±


    ¡°That means you helped place the charges. That means you¡¯re either bloody incompetent, or you¡¯re not telling us everything.¡± Tane said, lifting her lantern so the light shone in Efflyn¡¯s black eyes. This close, his visage, not human but not animal either, triggered every primal instinct to run or fight. Her muscles reflexively tensed and she felt her hand creeping towards her sword hilt, unconsciously.


    He raised his arms to cover his face from the glare.


    ¡°So here¡¯s a deal. If we find the explosives before the expedition returns about midday tomorrow, I¡¯ll do my best to have you set free. If by some act of fate, the charge goes off, I¡¯m going to make your life very short and very unpleasant. So are you lying about them being in the tunnels?¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Then why do you have no idea about where they are?¡±


    ¡°Being hit by a demon tends to make your memory all woolly¡­¡±


    ¡°Bullshit.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°Fey souls are more, ah, delicate than human ones. Don¡¯t react the same. Now, they¡¯re down there somewhere, I swear!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d better be.¡± Tane said.


    By the time it was midnight, it was obvious enough that they were not, in fact, down there somewhere. Every tunnel had been scoured, every branch of a branch marked with white chalk. There wasn¡¯t even any sign of recent activity in the tunnels.


    ¡°Isis fucking Mary. Isis fucking Mary!¡± Tane yelled, almost looking for something to kick. The bastard had taken them on a wild goose chase.

 Chapter 31, Tane Bayder

    ¡°The ground rocket battery against the airship is at both an advantage and disadvantage. It¡¯s chief advantage is that, firstly, it has a steady supply of ammunition and fire more indiscrimately, and secondly without the need to move rockets aboard a gondola, it can use heavier rockets and longer guidesticks. It is also a smaller target. However, the airship, although it is much bigger,only a little of it is mortal to be struck; nowadays our lifting gas is provided by sorcery, not chemistry, and therefore unlikely to burn. Nonetheless, a carcass rocket in any of the powder magazines can still bring it down, and the wooden keel is liable to burn.¡±


    Rear Air Admiral Rhiannon Blys, A History of Air Tactics.


    Hans Draiger, 16 October 1582 AAA. Farrier¡¯s Hill.


    ¡°The Commonwealth is coming!¡±


    Hans damn near went for his knife as Lorne shook him awake. The glow of dawn was visible on the eastern horizon.


    ¡°What? Where?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the bloody Commonwealth! I heard shots off in the distance, and there¡¯s airships, lots of airships, out there.¡±


    ¡°Uln! Uln!¡± Hans hissed, shaking at her. She was always a deeper sleeper than he was.


    ¡°What the-¡°


    ¡°Commonwealth¡¯s here. They¡¯re coming for Traharn.¡±


    ¡°What! Oh, bugger-¡° she said, standing up, dressed in only her undershirt and reaching for their coats and rifles.


    ¡°Is Traharn here?¡± Hans asked, glancing at Lorne.


    ¡°Perhaps. He left around midday to go hunting with his men. Apparently he was going to return after dark. They were fully armed, so I have my doubts about that¡­¡±


    ¡°Christ.¡±


    ¡°I know. Get your weapons together. I¡¯m going to go get the militia ready, then we decide what to do.¡±


    Hans pulled on his clothes; stockings and breeches and gaiters, his second shirt and both his coats, then readied his weapons. He¡¯d brought his rifle, hatchet and knife, as well as his half-pike, equally useful as a close-combat weapon, musket rest, and walking staff. Beside him, Uln was doing the same. Airships, five of them, were orbiting the town, cast in light even as the ground was still in shadow.


    He halfway expected to hear gunfire and see bombs being dropped in the distance, but there was none, just the bells.


    Lorne came striding back, his weapons and armour strapped on-padded jack, breastplate, hanger and dagger, a lantern glowing in his hands. ¡°Half the men want to forget about Traharn and deal with the Commonwealth.¡±


    ¡°And the other half?¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Use the chaos to snatch Traharn. He¡¯s a murderer.¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°A good plan.¡± Uln said, still finishing loading her rifle.


    ¡°If we want the wyverns on our side, it¡¯ll have to be our justice, not the Commonwealths.¡± Lorne looked uncertain in the lanternlight.


    ¡°But if the Commonwealth takes him, he¡¯s just as likely to hang. He was colluding with the bloody fey if rumours are to be believed.¡± Lorne added.


    ¡°Then let the Commonwealth take him.¡± Hans said.


    Off in the distance, he heard gunfire. Not single shots, or even the snap, crackle and pop of a skirmish, but the crash like distant thunder of a musket volley. He¡¯d heard the sound often enough when the militia bothered to drill.


    This time, though, he guessed they weren¡¯t shooting at butts.


    He heard the clack of horseshoes behind him, and one of the militia, a riding-servant by the name of Arlew, came up behind Lorne, leading his horse.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way he hasn¡¯t heard that. Either he¡¯s running and we can try and snatch him, or he¡¯s fighting¡­¡± Uln said.


    A lantern flashed three times, from a town hall¡¯s spire.


    The militia signal for all free men and women to turn out under arms.


    Lorne glanced at Arlew. ¡°Tell everyone to get mounted up. What was it Eidre said? I don¡¯t want there to be a war, but if there has to be one, I want Carfane to win.¡±


    ¡°And Traharn?¡± Hans asked. He didn¡¯t give a damn about the Carfani and the Commonwealth. He wanted justice. Traharn had set his men on him, on Uln, had killed the wyverns. He was the greed and ruthlessness and stupidity that had been grinding the Woose and Wyverns, and him ever since he¡¯d fallen in love with Uln, down, distilled into one man.


    ¡°If you see him-tall man, half-shaved braided brown hair, grey eyes, uses a sabre-well, friendly fire is inevitable in night fighting. That¡¯s if he hasn¡¯t already gotten away.¡±


    He clambered onto horseback, slinging his rifle and holding his spear like a lance.


    They set off uphill, the airships still orbiting the hill above Farrier¡¯s Hill. There was more gunfire, each volley more ragged than the last, and then the boom of a cannon.


    As they crested the hill, flares came tumbling down, dozens of them, lighting the sky. He saw soldiers gathering in the town, fleeing down the road further out, and glimpses of armoured troops marching in columns. At this distance, they were little more than bugs.


    ¡°Bloody hell.¡± Arlew muttered.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to make for Traharns manor house. If he¡¯s still in there, we can grab him. If he isn¡¯t, it¡¯s a good defensive position and if the Commonwealth comes up the main road, which they look to be doing, we can come out and flank them.¡± Lorne said, trying to force confidence into his voice.


    Why the hell are we doing this?


    A knot was forming in his stomach, or his chest, or both. He couldn''t quite place it.


    ¡°Put those lanterns out.¡± Lorne suddenly said. ¡°We don¡¯t want the airships to spot us.¡±


    The men followed orders.


    They had to take the hill slow, with the rocky ground half in darkness. He saw a cluster of militia ahead of them, twenty in all, bright to his third eye but little more than a moving mass to his mundane eyes. The gunfire in the distance had petered out.


    When they reached the outskirts, the streets were in chaos, people hurrying this way and that, loading muskets and buckling on armour. A red faced man with a halberd over his shoulder raced up to them.


    ¡°Thank god you¡¯ve got cavalry, they¡¯re coming up the road all on foot... some of us tried to hold them but we got routed¡­¡±


    ¡°We need to get Traharn. They¡¯re coming for him.¡± Hans said. He wasn¡¯t a good liar, but that wasn¡¯t a lie.


    He worldlessly pointed at the manor. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s back from that hunt¡­¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Lorne said. ¡°The Commonwealth will be heading for his household anyway.¡±


    They wheeled off, dodging past half a dozen men in coats thrown over nightclothes hurrying past. The shooting had started up again, too loud and too close.


    His horse whickered and shifted nervously. It was a carriage horse, not trained for combat. If it bolted, he doubted he could control it.


    As they crossed a street, he saw a company of Commonwealth soldiers advancing up the street what looked like two hundred yards distant, bayonets gleaming in the flarelight.


    ¡°Go! Go!¡± Lorne yelled, spurring his horse to almost bound back to cover. Hans barely managed to get his horse to trot, as did Uln, the other, more experienced, riders swarming past them.


    ¡°Keep moving!¡±


    The shadows of the houses began to flicker as a flare came down.¡°Bloody hell, one of them¡¯s right above us!¡± A militiaman yelled. Hans looked up, straight at the underbelly of a monster. The war machine was a floating hulk of canvas and wood kept aloft by demons and alchemy, studded with steering vanes and propeller housings and gun positions. Half of it was lit up bright as day by the rising sun and the flicker of its signalling lanterns, revealing the browned canvas and the green commonwealth flag sewn onto it¡¯s underside. He could hear the faint clatter of it¡¯s chain-drives over the sounds of battle, the machine steadily shifting away from them.


    Then there was another noise, an ungodly hiss, and rockets streaking up, dozens of them, their fuses spitting, most of them undershooting the airship and going hurtling off into the countryside, one or two more hitting the airship.


    The rockets from Highhome¡­


    ¡°Holy shit-¡° someone called out.


    He was cut off as a boom rang out, followed by a gout of flames from the airship¡¯s topside.


    ¡°Run!¡± Lorne screamed, as the ship began to slowly but steadily fall, a second explosion going off and shooting a jet of fire out its rear.


    His horse also had that idea. It took off at a gallop, running with the herd, himself clinging on for dear life. There was an almighty crash behind, and he glanced back to see the airships drifting lazily towards the ground, nose first, the central hull detaching with a crash and plunging towards the ground.


    He heard, over the crackle of flames and the bangs of ammunition cooking off, the screams of people being burnt alive.


    Smoke washed over them, mixed with burning embers, and he felt his eyes watering.


    Just keep running. Just keep running. He shut his eyes, keeping himself close to Uln. There were souls, hundreds of them, in the airship, and an aether-kraken, tearing itself loose as its bindings collapsed.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Make for the bloody manor house!¡± Lorne was yelling.


    He couldn¡¯t see him in the smoke, but he was up ahead, off to the right, close to the buildings.


    Then the loudest noise he¡¯d ever heard rang out. His horse screamed in fear but kept galloping, and he glanced back just in time to see burning shrapnel falling and rockets streaking at random up from the wreck. Survivors were staggering away, one of them on fire.


    The ammo, the ammo, the fire set it off¡­


    He¡¯d done his best to stop this turning into a bloodbath, and now the Commonwealth had to go and ruin it. And Traharn too, the bastard, he¡¯s going to burn half this town down¡­


    Up ahead of them, Lorne managed to slow his horse down to a trot and then a walk. His own horse liked the sound of slowing down, and once she stopped he managed to turn her around and get her back to the group.


    ¡°They¡¯re shooting from the manor¡­¡± Lorne yelled, pointing at another flight of rockets going up. This time, one of the airships was shooting back, spraying the manor with glowing pinpricks. He heard the splash of ballast hitting the ground, audible even over the ringing in his ears.


    ¡°If the killers are anywhere, they¡¯re there.¡­¡± Hans said. Sweat was already running into his eyes, and his hands were shaking. Being stuck on a spooked horse was more frightening than being charged by a griffin.


    The rockets had fallen short, all except one that punched straight through the airship and come out on the other side, still trailing smoke.


    They set off at a trot towards the source of the carnage. The wind shifted back into them, blowing smoke down around them. The crackle of gunfire was constant, and the flames had began to spread into the houses.


    ¡°How far!¡± Hans yelled.


    ¡°Quarter of a mile or so.¡± Lorne grunted. ¡°Just stay on me and we¡¯ll reach it.¡±


    They kept moving, out of the main town and into the outskirts where the houses where clustered around a single road, shielding them from view, the rest of the land a criss-crossed maze of fields and pastures. The sun was coming over the horizon; there was no need for flares now.


    Traharn¡¯s manor loomed ahead, a walled cluster of barns, stables and bathhouses interlocking with a single great house. Smoke hung around it, and one of the house¡¯s roofs was burning. A company of militia was hurrying down the road ahead of them, making for the manor. The rocket battery was firing at a third airship, and this time they were hitting, the glow of flames visible through a hole punched in its nose. He¡¯d heard modern airships didn¡¯t burn so easy as the old ones, but even so¡­


    In a distant field he saw reapers and cattle fleeing in panic, trampling down fences.


    ¡°Burnin¡¯ airships, burnin¡¯ manors, dawn attacks.¡± he heard someone mutter. ¡°Feels like I¡¯ve seen it all before.¡±


    Hans glanced back at the town. Several buildings were aflame, and there was movement everywhere, shrouded in smoke.


    The militia company moved off the road. Trying to flank the Commonwealth, or defend the manor?


    They shouldn¡¯t be doing either, he realized. They should be trying to fight the fire that was destroying their homes.


    ¡°Halt!¡± someone called from the manor house when they were twenty yards away. They reined their horses in as half a dozen militia and a woman in the queerest dress Hans had ever seen-some strange sort of mail armour, almost scale like, worn over a sky blue coat, with her head shaved except for a strip down the middle-levelled muskets at them.


    ¡°Is Traharn Hast there?¡± Lorne called out.


    Hans unslung his rifle, glancing about to make sure he had room to dismount.


    Arluk. Just like that assassin.


    ¡°Maybe. We have enough bloody defenders. Go flank the Commonwealth with those infantry. Their captain reckons if we push hard enough we can cut them off from the boats.¡±


    It was at this point that someone screamed out ¡°Wyverns north-west!¡±.


    A moment later, Hans saw the streak of Glaive¡¯s skein diving in, out of the pale dawn sky, hitting it first with dropshot then with burning vitriol followed .A moment later, with a flash and roar Traharn¡¯s courtyard exploded, flinging shrapnel and rockets up into the air. His horse reared; Hans managed to throw himself clear and come up from a roll, the impact jarring him to the bone. He caught a glimpse of the pale grey underbelly of a wyvern sweeping overhead.


    Uln was still on horseback, as were the rest, swearing as they struggled to control their horses.


    ¡°What are you waiting for! Dismount, get in there and help Traharn!¡± Lorne yelled, his voice nearly breaking.


    Uln leapt down from horseback, and Lorne and about half the militia, the rest hanging back to hold the horses.


    Lorne strode ahead of them. The fighters on the wall had vanished, and he kicked at the door. It was thick and heavy, from the days when a manor house doubled as a fortress against Woose and wyverns.


    ¡°Let us in!¡±


    The aether was chaos, humans and horses everywhere. It wasn¡¯t easy to tell if freshly killed souls were alive or dead, but there were plenty around, and they weren¡¯t moving.


    Someone opened the door, and Lorne stormed in, Hans following.


    It was utter carnage. Chunks of wood and iron rocket casing where scattered all across the courtyard, while every window and door had been blown in. Four thin streams of slowly dying flame criss-crossed the courtyard where Glaive¡¯s skein had spat their vitriol.


    There were bodies everywhere. At least a dozen, burnt or bleeding or both. A few were moving, but it was it was impossible to tell for most of them.


    ¡°Is anyone alive!¡± Lorne yelled.


    This is all Traharns fault¡­ Hans realized. He¡¯s already gotten hundreds killed.


    ¡°Help the bloody wounded!¡± someone yelled. The same woman as on the walls.


    She was scrambling down a staircase cut into the wall, her carbine slung, dragging a wounded man with a splinter through his back. As she got closer, Hans saw the right side of her face was a mass of scars, with a freshly opened gash on the left that was running red.


    ¡°Is Traharn here?¡± Lorne called again.


    ¡°Help the wounded now, talk later¡± she growled.


    Hans ran to the nearest man. He supposed Traharn might be among them, and besides, the victims of the blast might just have been militia defending their homes rather than Traharn¡¯s thugs. He didn¡¯t have high hopes, though.


    The downed man was an Arluk too, with a long braid running down the back of his neck and bright red breeches. When Hans rolled him over, half his cheek had been torn away, and his left arm too. He was still breathing slowly, despite the spreading pool of pool. Hans looked away in revulsion, then forced himself to grab the man and pull him clear of the burning barn, trying to hold his hands over the wound to try and staunch the bleeding.


    ¡°Let him die. He¡¯s a murderer.¡± Uln said.


    Lorne stamped over to him, drawing and cocking one of his pistols.


    ¡°Is that Traharn?¡¯ Lorne asked.


    Hans stepped aside, letting Lorne see the man¡¯s mangled face.


    ¡°Christ-Horus.¡± Lorne muttered, turning away. ¡°Christ-Horus.¡±


    ¡°I think your captain¡¯s dead!¡± Hans shouted at the Arluk women. She jogged over, crouching down next to him, taking his pulse.


    ¡°Shit, Valkej, Skola¡¯s dead?¡± one of the militiamen asked, unslinging his musket.


    Valkej stood up. ¡°Near enough.¡±


    ¡°So where is Traharn-¡° Hans asked.


    ¡°Why do you care so much about Traharn?¡± Valkej snapped.


    ¡°We heard that a band of renegades were planning to kill Traharn over some bushfight, so we set out to warn him.¡± Lorne said.


    Valkej glanced at Uln.


    Oh, shit.


    ¡°I recall that band had a Woose in it. Yours does too. Funny tha-¡±


    Bugger talking, she¡¯s one of them.


    Hans slammed a tendril through Valkej¡¯s soul, cocking and shouldering his rifle with a yell of ¡°Murderer!¡±.


    It almost seemed to slough off, but it broke her concentration enough that by the time her hands went to her carbine his-and Uln¡¯s- rifles were levelled at her chest.


    ¡°Back the fuck down!¡± someone yelled, and ¡°Crazy wolzie bitch!¡± and ¡°What the hell?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s with Traharn! He tried to have my wife killed!¡± Lorne yelled, going for his pistols.


    Someone started advancing on Uln, hand going to his sword, but Hans hit him with a tendril too, enough to knock him down. Lorne''s other militia quickly got their guns trained on Traharn''s men.


    ¡°Valkej is under arrest for being an accessory to five counts murder and god knows how many attempted, and I¡¯ll see you and all your Arluk friends hang if you don¡¯t tell me where Traharn is.¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°You were a bit late if you wanted to get Traharn. He¡¯s off to set bloody Trackford ablaze.¡± Valkej answered.


    What? Is there fighting there too? What the hell is going on?

 Chapter 32, Tane Bayder

    ¡°And he agreed, but on one condition, that they should leave both the New world and the Old. And they protested mightily, and said they could keep but a few settlements, and so Arthur agreed to this, and let him keep the Sunken City and hinterlands and six others as their own.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 16 October 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°Fucking fairies¡± Tane muttered as her troops regrouped outside the mineshaft. It was past midnight, 2,000 soldiers would be well up river by now trying to deliberately spring a trap, they still had no idea where the mine was, and Traharn¡¯s pet fairy was almost certainly trying to manipulate them.


    The only question was why. If he¡¯d wanted leniency, he would have told them where the actual mine was. If he wanted to escape, he should¡¯ve done it before she¡¯d ordered his hands tied, a fresh dose of pallweed put in him just in case and for him to be blindfolded. Something very, very wrong was going on, and she had to get him to talk or hope to the Father that the expedition managed to capture Traharn and get the mine¡¯s location out of him before someone else blew it. She knew Traharn had loyal followers; that first coiled serpent unit she¡¯d broken up, before Fey and immortals had gotten dragged into this.


    She needed answers, and the sooner the better.


    ¡°Get Efflyn!¡± Tane barked.


    The grenadiers who¡¯d been guarding him dragged him over.


    ¡°Take his blindfold off.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°You sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She hauled Efflyn off, a lantern in her other hand, the fairy surprisingly light. He didn¡¯t resist as she led him along.


    ¡°So far, you¡¯ve been about the least trustworthy informers I¡¯ve ever had. And that¡¯s saying something. Now, you¡¯ve had one chance. You wasted it. Now I¡¯m giving you a second one. Where¡¯s the bloody mine?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know-¡°


    ¡°Oh, so first you knew exactly where it was, then you only knew it was in the tunnels, then you didn¡¯t know at all? Bullshit.¡±


    ¡°I had to lie! To escape the rack-¡°


    ¡°By making yourself even more suspicious with an easily disproven lie. You¡¯re doing something. Trying to escape, most likely.¡±


    His black inhuman eyes scarcely blinked.


    This would only buy him a few hours. He must think Traharn¡¯s going to make his move soon. If the mine blew while he¡¯s at the airfield¡­


    He¡¯d be trapped while burning debris rained down on Trackford.


    Unless the mine was under the airfield, in which case¡­


    It¡¯s the best bloody target in Carfane if you want to hurt the Commonwealth or cause mass destruction! Why didn¡¯t I bloody see it!


    And Efflyn¡¯s timing suggested that he knew Traharn intended to blow it tonight¡­


    The realization felt like a dagger of ice into her stomach.


    They were so close to stopping Traharn, and yet so far.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to make you a simple deal, to make your choices clear. If the mine is located and disarmed, then on my honour as an officer of the Commonwealth I will do everything within my power to protect you from torture or imprisonment. If it blows, and I know Traharn¡¯s planning on blowing it soon¡­ the Commonwealth is going to want heads to roll.¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer, though she noticed his hands were shaking.


    Not just the cold.


    ¡°I know why you wanted to escape the bunker. I know when you¡¯re going to blow the mine. If the mine goes off, there¡¯s nothing I can do to protect you.¡±


    The fey leaned back, breathing. He sounded close to panic, not that it was easy to tell with Demi-humans.


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to die. Otherwise you wouldn¡¯t have done what you did. I¡¯m offering you a way to avoid that. Take it.¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer. Well, I tried the carrot. Now the stick.


    ¡°If you want to think it over, you can do it back in the bunker-¡°


    ¡°No, no, are you blind, it¡¯s under the-¡°


    He caught himself just in time.


    There was fear written in his face, real fear, the sort of fear soldiers had on their faces facing a charge.


    ¡°It¡¯s under the airfield. And Traharn¡¯s going to blow it tonight.¡± Tane said. ¡°Don¡¯t deny it. It¡¯s the only way any of this makes sense.¡±


    He simply nodded in silence. ¡°If that isn¡¯t the location, there¡¯ll be hell to pay.¡± Tane said.


    She walked back to the Grenadiers. ¡°Sace, take three lances and Mene back to the airfield now. Warn Veulnor that the mine is under the airfield, Traharn¡¯s going to blow it soon, he needs to clear out the whole area, we don¡¯t know where the entrance is.¡±


    She turned back on Efflyn. ¡°Now, what was I saying? Where is the entrance?¡±


    He sighed.


    ¡°It¡¯s in the city. A warehouse Traharn brought up. In Newtown. I wasn¡¯t lying about the tunnels. There¡¯s an exploratory tunnel that he tapped into, goes right under the airfield¡­¡±


    ¡°The address. I need the address.¡± A company of grenadiers blundering about at night while racing to stop Traharn was the last thing she needed right now.


    ¡°At the corner of Vessen street and, well, the locals call it Gin lane. Three story building. Red paint.¡±


    She turned back to the Grenadiers. ¡°Mount up! Sace, move down to the airfield with your detachment and warn Veulnor. The rest of us are heading straight for the mine. Traharn¡¯s planning to blow it tonight.¡±


    The shocked swearing was rather creative.


    ¡°You heard the captain! Boots and bloody saddles!¡± Gryff bellowed as she scrambled onto horseback. Behind her, the grenadiers organized themselves into road column by lanternlight. She checked that her short pole-axe was still slung on her saddle. If it came down to hand-to-hand fighting against Traharn, she was making sure he wasn¡¯t getting away with flesh wounds.


    Reach the mine, set an ambush. Main group guarding the tunnel, mounted detachments ready to sweep in and cut off his retreat when he contacts the main group. Get those boats in the air just in case.


    They finally had the bastard pinned down, if Efflyn wasn¡¯t lying or mistaken, and if they weren¡¯t too slow.


    By the time they made it back to Trackford, the lights at the airfield were already lit. Sace had sent messengers with lit lanterns out ahead at full trot, and they must be raising the alarm by now.


    ¡°Eyes sharp. Traharn might be in the city as we speak.¡± Tane said, watching every alleyway. There was scarcely anyone out in the streets this late; well past midnight.


    ¡°It¡¯s in newtown, yes?¡± Tane asked, trying to remember which one Vessen street was.


    The one with the statue of General Vessen. The one who won Halidon¡¯s Hill.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Efflyn agreed.


    They were coming into the outskirts of newtown, facing inland and outside the walls of oldtown, already. When they reached the sentry post covering the main road in-covering every way into the city was impossible, and probably the reason Traharn¡¯s scheme had gotten so far in the first place-there were a dozen musketeers on duty, a sergeant with halberd watching dutifully. If they¡¯d put out such a heavy guard, that meant Veulnor was already dispatching soldiers to guard the streets.


    ¡°Halt! Watchword!¡± the sergeant bellowed.


    ¡°Grey goose.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Pass!¡± she answered.


    The soldiers flattened themselves against the walls, letting the grenadiers pass.


    A gunshot rang out, off in the distance, then another and another, then a crashing volley in return.


    Her heart nearly stopped. He¡¯s here.


    ¡°Wards front! Lanterns out! Backswords!¡± Tane bellowed, instinct taking over, threading her hand through her short pole-axe¡¯s wrist strap and hefting it.


    ¡°Wards live!¡± Morgan echoed as she began warping the fabric of space , as she heard the clack of sixty swords being drawn behind her.


    Traharn¡¯s given his position away to every soldier in the city. Only we know where the mine is. Move there, cut him off.


    ¡°If you¡¯re lying, you¡¯re good as dead.¡± Tane said to Efflyn, then ¡°3rd Horse Grenadiers! Get Efflyn to the back! Gryff, break off three lances and move to deal with the shooters! The rest, on me!¡±


    They took off at a fast walk-anything quicker in the dark tempted a collision-towards Vessen street. We¡¯re going to kill the bastard. I¡¯ve got numbers, I¡¯ve got heavy weapons, I¡¯ve got armour. He¡¯s got his fairy cauldron. Arthur told us how that ended.


    She wished she hadn¡¯t sent Mene away with Sace¡¯s detachment. Both groups having a witch with them would be rather convenient.


    They turned off into the lane that let to Vessen street, pausing briefly to check the landmark-a red barber¡¯s shop-before resuming. She was champing at the bit, but she knew they couldn¡¯t afford to get lost in a situation as urgent as this.


    Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.


    There was another burst of gunfire, closer, and for a moment she hoped Traharn would be caught out on the streets and they¡¯d be able to flatten him with a wave of horseflesh.


    They came out onto Vessen street. ¡°Three people moving down the street about a hundred yards left!¡± Morgan yelled.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Traharns signature?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Morgan, keep eyes on them.¡°


    God, I wish someone would put some illumination up. She hated nightfighting, especially with a wan moon.


    ¡°Wheel left!¡± Tane barked, her eyes straining against the darkness. Drum were beating alarm calls off in the distance, and she heard another volley of gunfire, this time turning into a crackling firefight rather than breaking off. With the buildings in the way, it was hard to judge distances, but it had to be close.


    Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize.


    ¡°Caged demons in the building on the right, two-hundred yards!¡± Morgan suddenly shouted.


    That¡¯ll be Traharn.


    ¡°Dismount!¡± Tane barked, stuffing her pistols through her sash, opening the shutter on her lantern-rondache and jumping down from horseback with a splash, the NCOs barking orders as they rounded up the horseholders for each lance and formed up in the street.


    We¡¯re within third-eye range. Traharn knows we¡¯re here.


    Calmness, vigour and judgement.


    ¡°Advance! Double Time!¡± Tane shouted, moving at the front of the grenadiers, ready to move off to the sides to clear their line of fire if needed. She paced up to a jog, her half-armour rattling and clattering. She was glad she¡¯d been able to afford to have it made as two-layered armour, as tough as a heavy proofed breastplate without being as heavy.


    There was the crack of a gunshot, followed moments later by a man screaming right next to her.


    ¡°On me! Reserve fire! Give em¡¯ cold steel¡± Tane bellowed, barely breaking stride.


    A moment later, the firefight began in earnest. Bullets whipped past her, the ring of them hitting armour barely audible over the din. Muzzle flashes had the second floor of the building Morgan had pointed out, the one Efflyn had described, lit up like a bonfire. She began to sprint forwards, Morgan behind her screaming ¡°Demons incoming!¡± and ¡°Hellhounds loose!¡± and Bydevere roaring for them to keep moving.


    She began to feel that same terrible pressure on the back of her soul, but then it was torn away. Someone was firing on them from the other side of the street, a small group, but she ignored them. A bullet hit her breastplate and bounced off with a hollow clunk and then someone yelled ¡°Grenade!¡±. She didn¡¯t dare stop. Two blasts went off, one after the other, and she felt something prick the back of her leg. The screaming and moaning started moments later.


    She didn¡¯t look back to see how many they¡¯d lost.


    ¡°Leave the wounded! Keep moving!¡±


    They might have only minutes to stop the mine, and the area would be swarmed with Commonwealth soldiers who could help the wounded.


    She pounded up to the door and smashed it in, shoulder first. Something jarred her head, a cut that slid off her proofed lobster-pot helmet and she whirled around just in time to bat a follow-up blow away, brained the attacker with her axe on the riposte and turned to face a second opponent coming at her with rapier and dagger. She stepped into his cut, catching the attack on her shield and ramming the top-spike into his stomach. He must have had mail armour, because it only winded him, but that was enough time for another grenadier to knock him flat with his musket butt. She buried her axe in his head, then promptly regretted it when she couldn¡¯t pull it free; she let go, disentangling her hand from the loop, and drew her backsword.


    She glanced at the two bodies she¡¯d made and swept the building with her lantern-rondache. Stacks of barrels and crates, bolts of cloth¡­ and half a dozen men diving for cover and levelling muskets at the far end. Her Grenadiers were spilling in through the doorway, many bleeding.


    She jerked her shield up and hunched over as the coiled serpent fighters opened fire. A ball panged off her chest; the impact felt like she¡¯d been kicked by a warhorse even with Morgan putting up wards. There was no time to check if she¡¯d been wounded. ¡°Farryn¡¯s down!¡± someone yelled as her own men returned fire, blowing splinters out of the barrels Traharn¡¯s men were using as cover.


    Calmness, vigour and judgement.


    ¡°On me! Hit them before they can reload!¡± Tane yelled, stepping over a downed grenadier-Morgan, she realized, still trying to keep her tendrils out and wards up despite the blood already flowing from her shoulder wound-and charging at Traharn¡¯s men, less than twenty yards away. They were shooting at her with pistols now; no time to reload the long guns. A ball whined off her pauldron, and another off her shield.


    Don¡¯t hit the legs, please don¡¯t hit the legs. Her torso and arms were heavily armoured, but her legs were virtually bare, protected only by her boots and the skirts of her buff coat.


    There were two Arluks amongst the six fighters on the floor-five now as a grenadier¡¯s bullet caught one between the eyes-and another two coming down the staircase, long knives and rapiers drawn. The barrels along that part of the floor were laid out almost like a barricade-


    ¡°Stand!¡± a familiar voice, distorted by the battle rush and the ringing in her ears, called.


    Calmness, vigour and judgement.


    Even in a western style lobster-pot helmet and with mail under his long coat, was no mistaking the first of the two Arluks. Traharn Hast.


    Fuck that. No Greater Fury.


    She fell in amongst them a moment later. Her lantern-light blinded the first opponent, a tall wiry woman in a leather jerkin, so she half-severed her wrist and stabbed her in the face without missing a beat. A second and third attacker came at her, both with rapiers, the first one bouncing a thrust off her pauldron with enough force to knock her staggering and the second hitting her in the thigh before she razored his face open with a vicious afterblow. A grenadier slammed into the first one, knocking them both sprawling. She turned just in time to parry a thrust at her back, but the attacker darted back out of distance before she could retaliate. Traharn was fighting two to one, parrying furiously, steadily giving ground, his sabre flashing in the light of lanterns and muzzle flashes.


    She moved to make it three to one, but she saw a blur of movement in the corner of her eye and jerked her shield up just in time to catch a walking-hammer blow, burying the weapon¡¯s beak in her rondache even as she took the opportunity to stab at the second Arluk¡¯s face. He managed to fend off her point with his off hand, and she retaliated by whipping a cut down into his thigh then twisting back as he tried to grapple her, slipping her arm free of the stuck shield as she did. He dropped his axe and went for a sabre-he was another Arluk-but she slashed at his exposed wrist then charged past him, leaving him for her troopers.


    One of the grenadiers who¡¯d been fighting Traharn was down on the ground now, hands missing half their fingers clutching at a ruined face. The half-immortal was grappling with the second, beating at her with his sabre hilt, slamming her up against the wall. The wall that was right next to what looked awfully like a tunnel entrance. The struggle was lit by someones dropped lantern; all long shadows and flickering light.


    Tane drew a pistol and shot Traharn in the back, then flung it and charged him.


    He managed to turn, shoving his victim straight at her. She twisted out of the way, but her armour made her top heavy and she nearly fell. Then Traharn kicked her, hard. She fell, hit the ground, rolled¡­ and then suddenly she was falling again, landing with a clank in darkness on loose soil. The only light was a single square in the sky, and even that was faint and flickering.


    The tunnel. He threw me into the tunnel.


    She still had her backsword, and she fumbled for her second pistol, patting the butt, then drew and cocked it. The noise of gunfire and steel on steel from up above was muffled, distorted, but still near deafening. Someone was screaming, and she faintly heard Bydevere bellowing for a lance to clear the top floor and someone else asking where the hell the Captain was. Everything hurt; her head, her arms, her chest most of all.


    She ignored it, pulling herself to her feet. The tunnel was surprisingly large, large enough even for someone as tall as her-a good six feet with helmet and boots-to stand upright in.


    Then Traharn leapt down into the tunnel with her, his face torn and bloodied.


    ¡°I made a mistake, sparing you. I won¡¯t make it again.¡± Traharn said, his flinty grey eyes the only part of his face not stained red.


    Tane hefted her backsword, dropping into a low guard, hand withdrawn, point forwards, her pistol held back. She had one shot, and no intention of wasting it.


    Cut the tendons in his arms, then open his skull. Or work in close and hope I can blow his brains out.


    ¡°And I made a mistake trying to disarm you rather than putting a point between your eyes.¡± Tane said.


    Traharn had no reply as he drew his pistol and shot her in the head.

 Chapter 33

    ¡°Like begets like. If someone kills a member of your clan dishonourably, you kill them dishonourably. If someone risks their life for you, you risk your life for them. No need for a code of laws. Honour is all you need.¡±


    Fury, Stone Hill clan leader, interview with Triadic Priest-Scholar.


    Hans Draiger, 16 October 1582 AAA. Farrier¡¯s Hill.


    He heard the flutter of wings and a thud behind him, and his third eye saw that Glaive had landed behind him.


    ¡°Did you get Traharn?¡± Glaive croaked.


    ¡°No.¡± Hans said, not daring to look away from Valkej. She and her fighters looked like they were itching for a chance to go for their weapons.


    Over the distance crackle of flames and gunfire, he heard drumbeats and shouted orders. They were coming closer and closer.


    ¡°Commonwealth¡¯s coming at us!¡± a militiaman yelled.


    Christ-Horus.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming for here? What?¡± Lorne yelled up at Arlew.


    ¡°We burnt down two airships. Of course they want to make sure we¡¯re dead.¡± Valkej said, perverse pride in her voice.


    ¡°How far?¡± Lorne continued, ignoring Valkej. ¡°Looks about, I don¡¯t know, five, six hundred yards. A while away. There¡¯s a lot of them. Pike and shot.¡± Arlew called back. The militiamen who¡¯d stayed inside were hurring in, leading horses, and slamming the doors behind them.


    ¡°Take off your weapons.¡± Uln said, keeping her rifle levelled on Valkej. They had the few of Traharn¡¯s fighters who were still up heavily outnumbered, and weapons trained on them.


    ¡°Those fuckers going to burn us?¡± Valkej asked, glancing at Glaive.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Glaive said.


    ¡°For fucks sake! Throw away your guns.¡± Uln snapped, her voice reverted to her Woose accent, both high pitched and deep at once.


    Valkej did, throwing off her carbine and sabre, her remaining fighters doing the same.


    ¡°No!¡± Lorne said, putting himself in between Valkej and Glaive.


    ¡°Listen, the Commonwealth is coming, we have to get out of here-¡° Hans began to say.


    ¡°I bloody well know that!¡± Lorne snapped, then turned to Glaive. ¡°Listen, Glaive, we¡¯ll bring her to trial, you already killed two of them-¡°


    ¡°Or you could leave them for the Commonwealth.¡± Hans said.


    Glaive clicked. ¡°They killed wyverns, not humans. Wyvern justice.¡±


    ¡°Look, Mister, they¡¯re two hundred yards away! Run or fight! Give me a bloody answer!¡± Arlew was yelling down at them, other militiamen taking up fighting positions along the walls.


    ¡°You burned the one who actually did the killing, Traharn¡¯s probably fighting the Commonwealth as we speak! Wasting time here achieves nothing!¡± Hans yelled.


    ¡°Still getting closer!¡± Arlew shouted down from the wall. ¡°Should we get someone to shut the gates?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, do that!¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°How about we knock her on the head, bugger off, then work out what to do later?¡± Uln said.


    Finally someone¡¯s talking sense!


    ¡°Sir, Arlew¡¯s right, we need to get ready to fight rather than taking these people-¡° another militia trooper, her gun reluctantly trained on one of Traharn¡¯s men, said.


    ¡°These people are working for the man who tried to kill my wife.¡±


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you let me burn her?¡± Glaive croaked.


    A moment later, someone fired, and all hell broke loose. The militia on the walls opened up a moment before the rymthmic crash of a battalion firing by ranks started up.


    I¡¯m not getting into a gunfight with the Commonwealth.


    Someone on the walls was struck and fell, and another went down, twitching and frothing. His third eye saw a demon, coiling and crushing her soul like a constrictor.


    ¡°Bugger this! Get up here and fight!¡± Arlew shouted. The militia on the ground began running for the walls, and the Farrier¡¯s Hill militia, no longer watched, ran for it or grabbed their weapons. No one was stupid enough to start a fight in a building under attack.


    ¡°Give me my weapons back-¡° Valkej began to say.


    ¡°No.¡± Glaive said, stalking towards her.


    Hans edged over to Uln, keeping his rifle on Valkej.


    ¡°We need to get out of here. We¡¯ll be bloody slaughtered if we try and take on an entire battalion.¡± Hans said.


    Uln shook her head. ¡°Should just shoot her and be done with it.¡±


    Lorne was jogging for the walls.


    Hans glanced at Glaive. ¡°You¡¯ve no guarantee she was actually responsible.¡±


    ¡°Those rockets are from Highhome. She¡¯s involved.¡± Glaive answered over the noise of gunfire.


    Hans shut his eyes. The infantry were within sight of his third eye by now, a solid mass of souls coming straight at them.


    He heard a Glaive hiss something in her native language. Then she jumped, lightning fast, slamming Valkej to the ground with her claws and snapping her neck with her mouth with a wet crack.


    Hans jerked back reflexively as his eyes shot open and he saw what had happened, almost pulling the trigger on his rifle before he stopped himself.


    Half a dozen other guns were levelled on Glaive.


    ¡°Why the hell did you-¡° Lorne yelled, turning back from the wall.


    ¡°You were going to hang her anyway. I saved you the trouble.¡± Glaive hissed.


    ¡°Christ Horus, why!¡± Hans said.


    Glaive didn¡¯t answer. She just turned away and took off, her scale-feathers rustling like leaves in the wind. The other two wyverns who¡¯d gone down with her took off as well, moving up towards the wyverns in the sky.


    Hans jogged over to Lorne. ¡°What the hell do we do now-¡°


    ¡°Run. I¡¯m not getting us chewed up in a firefight.¡± Lorne said. ¡°Bloody wyverns.¡± He glanced up at the wall. ¡°We¡¯re falling back! Get down off there!¡±


    By now, there were another two or three militia down, one of them still being savaged by a demon. Hans hit at the demon with his tendril with a feeling like punching water. It coiled loose from the victim, up into the air, then came swarming down on him. Shit-


    Hans knew a few things about fighting demons from his days as an apprentice white witch to his aunt. The first lesson was that the sort of demon an army witch would be binding was bloody dangerous.


    He managed to hit it with a tendril and tried to dig in, holding it back. It slid through, the aether rippling around it, coming straight for his soul. He threw a second tendril, not head on but hooked, straight into the side of its head. That seemed to knock the thing off him, and it went coiling off into the aether.


    Uln grabbed and shook him. ¡°We need to go, Lorne¡¯s pulling us back.¡± As she said it, a rocket thudded down into the ground, burying itself up to the tail-stick, while a second crashed in through the roof of the manor house.


    The militia were filing out through the manor¡¯s courtyard, running towards the north gate, some leading horses, two or three to one man, and others dragging wounded. Other people, unarmed and unarmoured, were running too-Traharn¡¯s household servants. Lorne flung open the north gate in the manor house and rushed out, Hans and Uln following. A few of Valkej''s militia snatched up weapons and went for the walls. The rest fled with Lorne''s men.


    He looked around. It was a sunken country road, fringed on one side with a hedge and on the other with a low stone wall, with a patch of forest behind. Between that forest and the wall was a company of Commonwealth grenadiers, coming around the manor house, in red coats under iron breastplates with tall caps. ¡°They¡¯re over there!¡± Hans shouted in warning as they began to present arms, bayonets catching the morning sun as they levelled their weapons.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    He threw himself down behind the wall, shouting ¡°Get down!¡± over and over. Lorne was yelling ¡°Get to the horses, get to the horses!¡± behind him. Uln dropped down next to him, cocking her rifle with a creak-they¡¯d left their spears behind at some point.


    ¡°What the hell do we do?¡± Uln asked.


    Hans bobbed his head up over the wall. The soldiers were pushing forwards, moving almost at a jog despite the weight of their armour.


    ¡°They¡¯re going to bring it to push of bayonet!¡± someone shouted.


    ¡°Fuck it, run!¡± Hans yelled.


    It they stood their ground on foot, they¡¯d be bayonetted, and if they tried to mount up, they¡¯d be gunned down. Running on foot seemed like the best option. His feet seemed to agree.


    Then for the third time the wyverns were sweeping in, wings spread for landing, crushing grass under their bodies as they landed off to the left of the grenadiers. They weren¡¯t dumb enough to put themselves in the crossfire. ¡°Don¡¯t fire!¡± Lorne screamed when he saw some of his men taking aim, and the Commonwealth officers were doing the same, their men halting and pulling up.


    ¡°They came for Traharn like you! Don¡¯t shoot¡± Glaive was shouting, her mimicry cracking into a scream.


    ¡°Is he dead!¡± someone shouted back, an officer and a few other men jogging out ahead of the main group.


    ¡°He¡¯s not there and most of his fighters are dead!¡± Lorne yelled back.


    ¡°Shoulder your arms, march away and we¡¯ll let you go!¡± the officer shouted.


    Lorne clambered over the wall, moving closer to the Grenadier officer.


    Hans vaulted over the wall, following Lorne out.


    ¡°Traharn¡¯s men tried to murder Lorne¡¯s wife!¡± Hans shouted back, cupping his hands.


    ¡°And we want him and all his allies for consorting with fey and god knows what else! There was a fight in Trackford last night, we don¡¯t know if they got him! They told us to continue out here to make sure we had all of them.¡± The grenadier officer shouted back, glancing nervously at a body of pikemen and musketeers in civilian clothes slowly coming forwards, into musket range.


    ¡°So do we!¡± Lorne yelled.


    ¡°Then why are we pointing guns at each other?¡° the officer shouted.


    Lorne looked uncertain.


    ¡°One of them said Traharn was going to burn Trackford down!¡±


    Traharn and his party are going down either way.


    ¡°I¡¯ll-¡°


    A single shot rang out, fired by and hitting no-one in particular.


    It was all that was needed.


    ¡°Get down!¡± Hans screamed, throwing himself flat against the pasture as the grenadiers began to present.


    Lorne yelled ¡°Hold fire!¡± but it was too late. The militia fired the first volley, barely missing the wyverns as they flung themselves into the air. He heard the the crash of the gunshots, balls whistling overhead, the pang of them skipping off breastplates, the screams of a wounded man. Two or three grenadiers dropped as they charged, surging forwards, the officer urging them on, waving a sword and rondache, screaming at the top of his lungs.


    ¡°Run! Run!¡± Hans screamed, getting to his feet, pulling Uln up, rushing for the safety of the wall. Some of the militia were still firing after that first volley; those with double-barrels or pistols, or simply those who were quickest to reload.


    That idiot, that idiot, he killed up all, they¡¯re better trained, better armed and there¡¯s far more of them¡­


    He vaulted over and threw himself down just as the Grenadiers fired their volley in preparation for an attack with bayonets. Something fell over him; a man, screaming and flailing, pinning him down before Uln threw him off Hans. The Grenadiers were making to charge, but through the smoke he saw more men, militia with long rifles, charging forwards from a patch of woodland to fire into the grenadiers rear and more men rushing down the sunken road, peppering them with gunfire as they came. Pikemen came up too, like a walking forest, their unemcumbered musketeers leaving them in the dust. He hunkered down behind the wall, bullets whipping over his head, the massed gunfire leaving him half deaf.


    ¡°Hans! Can you see their bloody witch?¡± Lorne shouted, right in his ear.


    He shut his eyes, briefly, trying to make out tendrils amongst the mass of souls. The Grenadiers, to his shock, were holding their ground despite it being their turn to be outflanked and outnumbered, each rank firing a volley into the militia before breaking off and sprinting for the manor house. He saw the witch, then, her tendrils fanning out, stretching and warping the aether in front of them into a bullet-slowing ward.


    When he opened his eyes, he spotted more commonwealth soldiers coming around the manor house, pikemen and musketeers, but couldn¡¯t make out the witch through the haze of smoke and moving bodies.


    Beside him, Uln was already reloading, breathing hard.


    Fuck it, just shoot.


    He leaned up, picked a grenadier at random, aimed, fired, and dropped down, not even bothering to see if he hit, then started reloading, as fast as possible. By the time he¡¯d done reloading, the last of the grenadiers had already broken off for the manor house, but some of them were firing down from the walls. The rest of the Commonwealth troops were milling about in confusion. Militia were running and firing every which way; some in mobs, some in neat formations, some rushing from cover to cover.


    ¡°Fall back and get to the horses!¡± Lorne yelled, scrambling up. ¡°We¡¯re falling back!¡± Hans yelled at Uln, as loud as he could despite her being right next to him. She got up, firing one last shot, then turned and ran, him sprinting right after her. Lorne¡¯s militia were peeling back, some of them having to be hauled up bleeding even as local militia rushed in and took over their positions. A man went down ahead of him; Hans caught him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him along, half staggering, before Lorne took the weight off him. Some of the horses were down, hit by stray balls, and others had vanished. The horse-holders had run forwards into the fight or gone to ground.


    ¡°Holy shit, they¡¯re bringing it to push of pike!¡±


    He glanced back and saw the Commonwealth foot marching forwards in a ragged line, pikes and bayonets levelled, straight at the militia pikes.


    ¡°Mount up!¡± Lorne yelled, as they began to clamber onto their horses. There weren¡¯t enough.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we stand and fight?¡± Arlew asked.


    Lorne shook his head. ¡°I came here for justice. We got that. Now we¡¯re getting the wounded to safety.¡± He saddled up, slinging the bleeding man over the saddle pommel. Others were doubling up, two fighters to a horse, or simply getting ready to jog alongside the animals.


    ¡°Those are our bloody people getting brought to push of pike-¡°


    Not my people. Not truly.


    ¡°We did what we came here to do. Now we get out of here.¡± Lorne said.


    Lorne turned his horse away, and Hans followed.


    He wasn¡¯t getting himself slaughtered fighting for Carfane. They likely wouldn¡¯t die for him, and they certainly wouldn¡¯t die for Uln.

 Chapter 34, Tane Bayder

    ¡°And so Arthur agreed, and he ruled long and wise, but he feared that his immortality would not last forever. And so twenty-one after his ascent, having scarcely aged, Arthur split his conquests between his sons and vanished from history.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    She remembered nothing between Traharn raising the pistol and being on the ground, Traharn looming over her, tucking his pistol through his belt and drawing another.


    No, no, this isn¡¯t ending like last time.


    She looked around, fumbling for her sword in the darkness, her ears ringing.


    Pistol. I¡¯ve got a loaded pistol.


    Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest with relief when her fingers tightened around its grip, lying in the dirt.


    ¡°Bloody persistent bitch.¡± Traharn muttered as took three quick strides towards her, raising his second pistol. She aimed at him, little more than a silhouette against the faint light from the hole in the sky.


    They fired at the same time.


    The ball slammed into her chest, adding yet another dent to her cuirass, and then Traharn rushed her. It was a fight in darkness. He almost tripped over her, stunned on the ground; she caught his boots in a gauntleted fist and he went down, splashing into groundwater, flailing at her. She couldn¡¯t see, and half-deafened and in armour, even really hear or feel. She had his boot, but then it collapsed under her hands as he slid his leg out. A blow hit her helmet as she slithered forwards after him, going for her dagger, then another blow and a third, a kick, not a sabre cut, that smashed into her vambrace just as she grabbed something that had to be Traharn¡¯s leg.


    She let go, snarling in pain, then rolled back, fumbling back towards her sword. She finally found the weapon, her fingers closing around the blade then feeling up to the basket-hilt. She slipped her hand through the wrist-loop and then hefted it, pulling herself to her feet. Traharn was on her before she could get her guard up, flying out of the shadows like a bat out of hell, ignoring her sword punching through his thigh as one hand closed around the bars of her lobster-pot helmet and wrenched up.


    The other hand sawed his sabre across her face in a vicious pull-cut, then just as she tried to rip her sword point out of his leg, smashed his pommel into her helmet. She fell back to the ground, before another blow slammed into her helmet. She managed to get her backsword up to stop his third stroke, before he dropped down and punched her in the leg, hard, except he had a dagger in that hand¡­


    Her sword jabbed into his left shoulder, crunching against mail, sending the dagger tumbling to the ground. Traharn pomelled her in the head yet again, stepped back, and kicked her in the head hard enough to knock her flat onto her back. He loomed over her, sabre dripping with her own blood.


    Hot liquid was running down her face, and she barely seemed able to breath.


    ¡°Stay the fuck down if you know what¡¯s good for you¡± Traharn growled, backing away from her. ¡°Don¡¯t have time to finish you, so bleeding will have to do.¡±


    He vanished into the darkness, leaving her lying there, stunned and beaten. Every second she waited, victory seemed further and further away, fleeing from her grasp.


    No. Not beaten. Not this time. We didn¡¯t come this bloody far to give up now.


    She staggered to her feet, groaning in frustration. She didn¡¯t dare touch her face. The best way to deal with wounds in the short term was to ignore them.


    She began to push forwards through the tunnel, pitch black, probing ahead of herself with her sword, keeping one hand on the wall to avoid getting turned around. She fumbled for her torch, but reconsidered lighting it when she saw the glow of a lantern spring to life ahead of her, surrounding a black blotch up ahead. The tunnel got lower and narrower, closing in around her until she had to crawl.


    She knew what her chances, wounded and exhausted, were against an immortal. It didn¡¯t matter. Dying with honour was better than living as a coward. And slowing him down by even a minute could save hundreds of her comrades.


    Thousands, if he wants to start a war.


    Traharn¡¯s lantern vanished from sight, and for two agonizing minutes, she thought she¡¯d lost him. Then she burst out of the approach tunnel, and into something much wider. Traharn¡¯s torch was crackling off in the distance, lighting up the rough, glistening rock of a mineshaft.


    Efflyn wasn¡¯t lying about that part of the plan.


    He was walking with a lurch. Despite her ragged breathing, she almost smiled at that. He¡¯s not getting away.


    The tunnel went on and on, down through the earth. She slowed herself down, trying to match Traharns pace and reduce the clack of her armour. Her buff coat and shirt felt soaking wet, sticky against her sweaty skin, and something wet was running down her breeches. She felt more exhausted than she ever had in her life. Whether it was blood loss, her dented breastplate restricting her breathing, not having slept in well over eighteen hours, or all three she didn¡¯t know. What she did know was that she couldn¡¯t give up now.


    Up ahead of her, he kneeled down, holding his torch to something.


    Fuse.


    Her breath caught in her throat.


    She began to pace up towards Traharn. As good a plan as letting him move on before putting out the fuse was, she couldn¡¯t risk him deciding to guard the site, or it burning faster than expected.


    And besides, if her armour didn¡¯t give her away, she¡¯d have the drop on Traharn. She drew her dagger in her off-hand, shifting to a left-leg leading stance.


    Fifty yards or so till I¡¯m on him. Christ.


    Ahead of her, Traharn stood up and began to walk away, and she began to move forwards, slow but not too slow.


    Get the ignition sausage, cut it, he¡¯ll have to double back.


    She kept stalking forwards, watching Traharns torch drift further and further away through the black.


    Ten yards. She could see the glow of matchcord, a few pinpricks of light, it¡¯s smell faint against the tang of her own blood flowing down her face. She knew it would have already hit the ignition sausage, and that would trail away to the mine chamber, already blocked up to direct the pressure upwards. By the looks of things, Traharn had an escape tunnel cut out as well.


    She began to move faster, almost slithering through the rock, her armour clanking and ringing. She didn¡¯t give a damn. She¡¯d reach the fuse before he did, and that was all that mattered.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re down here!¡± he called out.


    He has to stand and fight, otherwise this is for nothing.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°I have grenadiers coming right after me!¡± Tane yelled.


    Traharn laughed. In the cave, the echoes made him sound like a madman.


    ¡°And they¡¯ll have to come at me one at a time. Pity, that.¡±


    ¡°Enjoy leaving your followers to die?¡± Tane asked as she reached the matchcord. Traharn had turned back towards her, sabre in one hand and torch in the other, and was limping forwards through the earth.


    ¡°How well do you think following Arthur turned out for his three-hundred?¡± he asked. ¡°If a hunters dogs die in the chase, so be it if it means the hunter gets to eat and live.¡±


    God, he really is mad.


    She stomped on the matchcord, hard, until the flames vanished, then probed at the ground with her sword. The blade hit wood, and she kicked at the boxes that had been laid down to protect the sausage. One of them was knocked astray, and she chopped down with her sword then kicked it again to disperse the gunpowder.


    ¡°We got your fairy. You can¡¯t complete that ritual without a wi-¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t need him. Demon¡¯s already bound.¡± Traharn shrugged. ¡°Besides, that¡¯s not my only route to immortality.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°If I don¡¯t have time to blow the charge, the Fey will still give me a second draught from the fountain. They¡¯ve got their war by now.¡±


    Traharn was coming towards her as fast as he could, dodging between outcroppings of rock. Half of her wanted to lie down and go to sleep. The other half wanted to charge him down, hack him to ribbons, use the weight of her armour to pin him down and cut his throat. She could do neither. Instead, she forced herself to wait, probing at the rocks around her with her sword to see how much room she had to fight.


    ¡°You fucking scared?¡± Tane asked.


    He was barely five yards away, his feet splashing through a pool of water.


    ¡°You are, aren¡¯t you? Of death.¡± She continued.


    He didn¡¯t answer. His voice was in his sword.


    Traharn flung his torch at her, sending it pinwheeling off a crag of rock then thrust at her face with his sabre. With the curved blade, his wounded leg and the confined space, it was awkward at best, and she easily parried it with her dagger, pinning it against the wall, and thrust back with her backsword, aiming to get the point under his mail. He jerked aside, the point scraping off his haubergeon, and then he slammed into her for the third time. He got inside her guard, shoving her up against the stone wall. Something slammed into her groin, hard, as he kneed her, before grabbing her helmet by the bars and smashing her head back against the wall.


    Her vision spun, but she kept enough presence of mind to headbutt him him as he let go of her helmet. The brim of her helmet ripped his nose open and he screamed, falling back against the opposite wall. She flew straight at him, punching him in the face with her basket-hilt and jamming her dagger up into his armpit with all the strength she could muster. She felt mail links burst under the impact, but he punched his sabre hilt into the side of her head. She hit the ground and rolled, letting go of her dagger.


    Fuck-


    Traharn leapt down on top of her, little more than a silhouette, and then they were rolling on the ground, struggling. He was stronger than her, and heavier; but she was fighting for her life, the mixture of fear and fury giving her a last desperate burst of strength. She sawed at him with her backsword blade, the edge sliding off mail again and again or turning when she could only bring the blunt back edge to bear. He tried to pin her sword arm; she grabbed at his head, seizing him by the side of his helmet, and bounced his head off the wall, only for him to knee her in the thigh. She snarled in shock at pain lanced through her leg, and then he drove his hand into her face, forcing her head back to avoid getting her eyes gouged. She fell back, and then he was over her again, one hand pinning her face, almost crushing her nose, the other reaching behind him for his dagger.


    I¡¯m going to die shit shit shit-


    For a moment, she thought of surrendering, hoping against hope that it would slow him down enough for the Grenadiers to catch up.


    He hesitated as his hand closed on nothing.


    That was all she needed. Her free hand shot out, wedging a thumb into what she hoped was his eye then stabbing at his face with her backsword after she wrenched her right arm free from the knee pinning it. He fell back, hands shooting up to protect his face, and then he was falling, and her with him, debris tumbling around them before the world righted itself.


    Witch. That was a witch. Mene''s here, or Morgan, or the whole fucking army...


    She managed to catch herself, swearing under her breath, using the momentum to roll to her knees, glancing about in the gloom for Traharn. He was on his face, next to his guttering torch, slowly beginning to get up.


    The only way to win is to sieze the initiative and not let go.


    She dropped down on top of him, pinned his head with one hand, and drove her sword down into the base of his skull, beneath his helmet and above the mail, then ripped it clear and repeated it twice more.


    He was still twitching and struggling, trying to throw her off. She slammed her pommel into the back of his head, got her fingers under the back brim of his helmet-and wrenched it off, exposing the back of his head.


    Crouching down, hunched over, there was enough room to swing. She put every ounce of her remaining strength into it, chopping until his brains spilled out and her face was covered in red mist.


    ¡°It¡¯s Tane and Traharn!¡± someone shouted, echoing down the tunnel, then "Get ready, they''re up ahead!"


    Mene and Sace.


    She turned around, and saw the lanterns coming up through the tunnel, the familiar silhouette of lobster-pot helmets, the dull glint of blackened pistol barrels.


    ¡°Traharns down!¡± Tane yelled. ¡°I got the fuse!¡±


    ¡°Are you hurt!¡± Sace shouted back.


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    The exhaustion suddenly hit her as she tried to pull herself up to her feet. Her armour felt like it was made of lead, her buff coat like waterlogged wool. A figure burst out from the grenadiers, dodging and twisting forwards through the tunnel.


    ¡°Tane? Tane!¡± Mene called.


    She slumped against the wall, blood dripping down into her armor.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive. Traharn isn¡¯t.¡±


    She glanced at Mene, face full of concern then suddenly wide.


    ¡°We need a surgeon!¡± Mene yelled back at Sace.


    What is it-


    Oh. My face.


    She raised a hand to feel her face, and nearly fainted as the pain hit her.

 Chapter 35, Hans Draiger

    ¡°We must fight their redcoats in the fields. We must fight their Caterans in the mountains. We must fight their Woose in the forests and their wyverns in the sky. We must fight, until our new republic rises from the ashes of the old tyranny.¡±


    Mato Calwere, ¡°First blast of the trumpet against the monstrous regiment of tyrants¡±


    Hans Draiger, 16 October 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    ¡°Get pressure on that shoulder!¡± Lorne yelled as they dismounted on a common a mile from the fighting, helping the wounded down from their horses. Hans moved to help, heaving a woman with blood soaking through her padded jack down from her horse, the man she¡¯d been riding pillion lowering her down.


    He could still hear the shots in the distance, alongside the thud of airship bombing. The airships circled like harpies above the treeline, all that visible of the battle besides the vast columns of smoke still rising as the two airships and what seemed like half the town burnt themselves down.


    Lorne was barking orders, shouting for water here and bandages there. One poor bastard, Keln ap Aroc, was scarcely breathing, blood bubbling up through his mouth. He¡¯d been hit in the chest by a musket ball, at close range with no wards or armour. Hans had seen what that did to animals often enough on the hunt, and now he was seeing what it did to a human.


    ¡°Wyverns!¡± someone screamed, then ¡°Don¡¯t fucking shoot!¡± from Lorne as Arlew levelled his musket. Hans saw the wyverns, looping in, their scale-feathers flaring as they came in to land on the common.


    ¡°Where are the hostages?¡± Glaive hissed. Wyverns didn¡¯t have a concept of taking prisoners of war, but they did have a concept of taking eggs and children hostage.


    ¡°I let them go. We had to get out of there.¡± Lorne said, standing up from bandaging someones arm.


    ¡°Fine.¡± Glaive said. ¡°I suppose that is fair.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Hans asked. Everything done so far had been the wyverns work.


    Glaive bobbed her shoulders, the wyvern equivalent of a shrug. ¡°Blood for blood. Arluks killed three of ours, we killed three of theirs. You risked yourself to help us capture the others, we risked ourselves to stop the grenadiers, both of us failed.¡±


    Hans supposed that was, indeed, fair. Wyvern justice was refreshingly simple. He¡¯d risked his life arguing her case and trying to go in on foot; she risked her life trying to break up the gunfight. The Arluks had killed Wyverns without mercy; Glaive had killed Valkej without mercy.


    Human justice, on the other hand¡­


    Massacre dozens of Woose, and they think the killers hanging was unjust. Kill a few warriors with the power of West Point behind them, and you get a political controversy. Wound one gentlewoman, and there¡¯s hell to pay.


    ¡°Lorne, we should get moving, see if they have an apothecary-surgeon in that town over there.¡± Arlew said behind them.


    ¡°How many wounded? Do we have a count?¡±


    ¡°Eight wounded, no dead. I don¡¯t think some of them are going to make it.¡± Arlew answered.


    ¡°Get everyone bandaged, then get ready to move while I deal with the wyverns.¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°The area is crawling with militia, and they¡¯ll reckon you¡¯re hostile.¡± Hans added. They¡¯d passed two or three companies on the road away from the battle.


    Glaive nodded in agreement. ¡°West Point is going to be migrating back in by now. I¡¯ll have some explaining to do.¡±


    What a bloody mess.


    ¡°If any of your wounded die, may they be reincarnated well.¡± Glaive said, turning away and leaping into the air.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡± Hans asked as the wyverns receded into the distance.


    ¡°The Arluk said that Traharn had gone to Trackford.¡± Uln said.


    Lorne nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll get the wounded taken care of, then we¡¯ll decide what to do.¡±


    Trackford. They had to know what had happened to Traharn. For all he knew, Traharn had taken the whole city over and was now leading a full scale uprising against the Commonwealth. Or the Commonwealth had taken him prisoner and was about to drag him to court.


    He hoped it was the latter.


    It was the most people Hans had ever seen in one place. Nearly ten thousand, it was said, though they were always coming and going, and there was barely enough order to get them organized into companies, let alone regiments. Half the countryside was there, and contigments from Kasilisk and Harrisport were already on the way. Earthworks and trenches were springing up, a great circle around Trackford with trenches slowly crawling inwards like the spokes of a wheel. Guns taken from minor forts studded the works, but the Commonwealth, from what he¡¯d heard, had more and heavier artillery.


    ¡°Bloody fools. Three murders and they let it turn into this.¡± Uln said, sitting on the grass of the Hollistown hillside cleaning her speartip.


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    ¡°Something was going to give, sooner or later.¡± Hans said.


    They¡¯d come here, after Farrier¡¯s Hill, once the wounded were in good hands, just himself and Uln, Lorne and a few bodyguards. The Commonwealth had left behind near three hundred dead and wounded soldiers and more burnt alive in the two downed airships, littering the town, the surrounding fields and their line of retreat, swarmed by militia. Lorne¡¯s men had one killed and seven wounded. A small toll, considering they were charged by Commonwealth Grenadiers who had them badly outnumbered.


    ¡°That Lorne?¡± Uln asked, pointing to a small group riding up uphill towards them. Lorne had gone into camp, looking for news on Traharns fate and trying to work out what the next move was for the Carfani.


    It was the better part of five minutes before Lorne reached them and dismounted. ¡°Any news of Traharn?¡± Hans asked.


    Lorne shrugged. ¡°They say he¡¯d died a martyr for Carfane, cleverly setting a trap for the Commonwealth when he heard they were coming for him then infiltrating Trackford to sabotage the Commonwealth¡¯s airships before being butchered by a officer who¡¯d trampled protestors and blackmailed innocent men.¡±


    ¡°He might be all those things, but he was a murderer as well, or at least someone who¡¯d order murder.¡± Hans said.


    And yet he died in battle, his crimes unpunished.


    Hans supposed that didn¡¯t matter. Dead was dead.


    ¡°I tried to tell them the truth, that he¡¯d killed the wyverns, that he¡¯d killed my servants, that he¡¯d tried to kill my wife and son. They were having none of it. He¡¯d been right to kill wyverns; after all, they were enemies. If only he¡¯d gotten the ones who¡¯d burnt his rockets. The attack in the mountains? He was framed. Traharn was a hero and a martyr for Carfane. They¡¯re already talking about what happened at his manor. You should make yourselves scarce before they put two and two together.¡±


    He''d already noticed more than the usual number of people staring at him and Uln.


    The sooner we get out of here, the better.


    ¡°Adair should be arriving soon with the Foothold militia.¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°Have you heard from Eidre?¡± Hans asked.


    ¡°Aye. She¡¯s in Kasilisk with the diet. They¡¯re convening now. They¡¯re arguing about what demands to make of the Commonwealth.¡±


    Uln snorted. ¡°Of course they are. It took enough effort to get them to say murder is wrong. No idea how they¡¯ll fight a war.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully they won¡¯t. We¡¯ll just get the Commonwealth to give us what we want then back down.¡± Lorne said.


    ¡°And what do they want? The Commonwealth out of Trackford and representation in parliament. That¡¯s all well and good. The frontier officially opened up, with Commonwealth troops putting down all resistance?¡± Hans asked.


    An open frontier would mean every treaty with West Point torn up, settlers boiling west with sword and plough, and the war-skeins taking wing. Then again, the Commonwealth staying in place would mean that things would continue as they always had: Black Creek, Highhome, the mining camp riots. Spilt blood and cracked bones, but little enough that people could ignore it until they were forced to look.


    ¡°If they tried to send in the redcoats, the Woose would fight. West Point would fight.¡± Uln said, sitting down next to him on the wet grass. Hans squeezed her hand. ¡°We¡¯d fight. I¡¯ve had enough of running.¡± he said.


    Not that fighting would do much good. They hadn¡¯t even managed to take Traharn and his men down; that was Glaive¡¯s work, and Eidres and the Commonwealths. Him and Uln were just two people in a world of millions. They couldn¡¯t alter the course of history.


    ¡°The Commonwealth only went after Traharn when that business with the fairy happened. They only hung the Black Creek killers after years of massacres. The Diet tried to do more than the Commonwealth ever did.¡° Lorne said.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t do it because they thought it was the right thing to do. They only did it because Eidre convinced them it could get the wyverns on side.¡± Hans said.


    ¡°Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons is better than doing nothing at all.¡± Uln said. ¡°I¡¯d rather be saved by a bastard than left to die.¡±


    That, he realized, would be the only good that could come out of a war. If the wyverns ended up on the side of Carfane, the Carfani won, and that turned into leverage to make them leave their side of the peninsular alone¡­


    It was a faint chance, but it was the only one that wouldn¡¯t see the Woose and Wyverns wiped out, conquered and shattered the same way the Fey had enslaved the first coming of man and Arthur driven off the Fey. It was their only option.


    Whatever happens, we¡¯ll make it.


    They¡¯d survived massacres, lynch mobs, assasins and battles. They¡¯d survived being stalked through the woods by Wargs, and weeks in the wilderness with only their packs, their guns and each other. They could survive a war, even if they couldn¡¯t win it.

 Chapter 36-Tane Bayder

    ¡°And so ends this book.¡±


    Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.


    Tane Bayder, 23 October 1582 AAA. Trackford.


    Lacerated face; no longer bleeding. Splinter wound in back of left thigh. Dagger wound in front of right thigh; both show few signs of inflammation. Chest; one giant bruise, though at least the two cracked ribs seemed to be setting. Bruise across the right thigh from a sword cut caught by her buff-coat.


    ¡°God, I got fucked up.¡± Tane muttered as Conan listed the results of her latest examination. Even talking hurt with her ribs wounded, and she felt constantly faint and dizzy.


    ¡°You should have seen the other one.¡± Connor said, passing her a mirror. She held it up, squinting at her face. It was her familiar face-brown hair and eyes, sharp cheekbones, tanned-but the left side of her face, from the corner of her mouth to just in front of her ear, had been heavily bandaged.


    She didn¡¯t mind having a nice facial scar-she¡¯d killed an immortal and she bloody well wanted people to know it-but having her face end up paralyzed or mutilated wasn¡¯t her idea of fun. She got up out of her chair, reaching for her doublet.


    ¡°Medical advice is as usual. As little talking as possible, give yourself plenty of rest. Yes, I know, you want to get back in the saddle. The companies in good hands. There¡¯s barely any fighting anyway.¡± Connor continued.


    ¡°The Caterans put in a trench raid last night.¡± Tane said. ¡°Seven of theirs, three of ours killed. Sounds like fighting to me.¡±


    ¡°That was unauthorized. Veulnor is going to have the captain who ordered it disciplined.¡± Conan answered.


    Tane nodded. ¡°I¡¯m guessing he still wants to negotiate. How¡¯s Morgan faring?¡±


    ¡°Her fever hasn¡¯t gotten worse, at least.¡±


    The musket ball had skipped off her breastplate and ripped open the meat of her shoulder. It was uncertain if she¡¯d recover full function in that arm, and she was running a high fever, but at least the bleeding seemed to have stopped quickly and the delicate joint wasn¡¯t damaged.


    So many dead and maimed¡­


    Quartermaster Bydevere had been killed clearing the top floor of Traharn¡¯s remaining fighters, knocked down with a musket butt then knifed through the eye. He¡¯d been belligerent, insurbordinate and entitled, but he had still done his job well and died bravely.


    Corporal Carrow had lost four fingers and a chunk of his chin fighting Traharn hand to hand; he¡¯d have to be invalided out. Corporal Haynes was luckier; he¡¯d been shot in the leg and cut in the arm, but both wounds were healing well and he would recover without disability. Hallis, Efflyn¡¯s minder, had been shot through the head by a stray ball, and in the dark and chaos the fairy managed to slip away.


    Gryff had gotten through unscathed; he must have used up all his bad luck when he got his teeth blown out.


    Only three rank-and-file had been killed, but she had two dozen wounded, most by shrapnel and recovering well, though others looked to be unable to return to service. That was the way of things when armour protected only the vitals but left the limbs exposed, and they were charging a prepared position.


    It was better than the disaster that had been the countryside expedition, though. At least three hundred dead, more missing or wounded, and two airships lost with another two hundred crew.


    Not as if we had any better options. It was that or let Traharn blow the mine on his own time. At least this must have forced his hand.


    She suspected Efflyn had been trying to save himself without compromising Traharns plan. It was too much of a coincidence for him to confess and for Traharn and the Commonwealth to make their moves on the same day.


    Traharn must have known when we were going to move, and Efflyn that Traharn was going to do it the same day we did. She¡¯d had an awful lot of time to think over the situation with not much better to do.


    ¡°Speaking of Morgan, I need to go check on her.¡± Conan said. He left the room in her lodgements. Tane grabbed a book from the shelf, A Late history of the Wars of the Unification.


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    She heard the thud of bombs going off in the distance; they were rapidly chewing through the supply of munitions stored in trackford as they evacuated the airships from rocket range, each airship loading up with munitions, loosing on the Carfani, then turning north for Genia proper.


    She propped herself up, flexing her fingers. She hadn¡¯t left the improvised hospital, thrown together in the rooms of an abandoned townhouse, since the gunfight.


    She heard raised voices outside.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t care if you know her, I¡¯m not letting some civvy in here-¡°


    Tane stood up and limped over to the door, wincing as it put pressure on her injured legs.


    ¡°Who is it?¡± she called, swearing under her breath as pain spiked through her chest.


    ¡°Mene Hast.¡± Mene answered.


    Ah, of course.


    ¡°Let her in. She saved my bloody life.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°Oh, uh, of course Ma¡¯am.¡± The guard said.


    Mene entered the room a moment later. She was in cheap skirts worn under a grey waistcoat, with an infantry-issue hanger on her belt.


    Tane smiled when she saw her, wincing at her face wound.


    ¡°I managed to get in a few days ago, but you were out cold.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°Laudanum. Ribs were playing up.¡±


    ¡°I would¡¯ve thought it was your face that was the issue. Don¡¯t get addicted. I¡¯ve seen what opium does to-¡°


    ¡°Yeah, I know.¡± Tane said, laughing. ¡°You¡¯re not my governess-¡° she stopped and swore, coughing, as pain spiked through her chest.


    She sat back down on the bed.


    ¡°Did they get rid of Traharn¡¯s body?¡± Tane asked, once the pain died down.


    ¡°Beheaded then burnt it. I saw it myself. You were already two-thirds of the way to doing the beheading.¡± Mene said.


    ¡°I suppose that means I made you an orphan.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°I was orphaned when my mother died. Not much of a father if I reckoned he was my brother.¡±


    ¡°Bloody immortals.¡± Tane said, shaking her head.


    ¡°What now?¡± Mene asked.


    ¡°As soon as my ribs heal, I¡¯m getting back out in the field. I have no idea what Veulnor¡¯s staff are planning, but it¡¯s probably not sitting here waiting to starve.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s thousands of militia out there. They¡¯ve brought in heavy artillery, Father-Osiris knows were they got it.¡±


    ¡°Highhome. Traharn¡¯s work, from what I¡¯ve heard.¡± Tane said.


    ¡°I heard that some of the Carfani militia at Farrier¡¯s Hill were going after him, not fighting our troops. Them or some wyverns had already knocked out their rockets and had taken prisoners.¡±


    Tane raised an eyebrow. ¡°Where¡¯d you hear that?¡±


    Mene smirked. ¡°They barely have sentries on their camp, and people are constantly coming and going. Besides, some of the officers there have been mouthing off.¡±


    Tane itched at her bangages. ¡°What a bloody mess. At least it sounds like they¡¯ll be worth bugger all in a stand-up fight¡±


    If they couldn¡¯t even get sentries right¡­


    ¡°It could have been worse. Much worse. To think about it, if you hadn¡¯t picked a fight with Traharn, he¡¯d have probably blown the mine with none of us any the wiser.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so. Who¡¯s Traharn¡¯s heir anyway?¡±


    ¡°Me, probably.¡±


    ¡°Oh dear.¡± Tane said, smiling slightly.


    ¡°From what I hear both his houses ended up getting burnt down. Sore loser.¡±


    Tane chuckled, causing another bout of coughing. ¡°What now, then?¡±


    ¡°No idea. I mean, I suppose I¡¯m a mercenary now, or a camp follower.¡±


    ¡°Morgan¡¯s badly hurt. We might need a replacement.¡±


    ¡°You want me as a company witch?¡± Mene asked. ¡°I don¡¯t really know how to put up wards or fight mounted, you know.¡±


    ¡°The company will get a new witch, soon enough.¡± Tane shrugged. ¡°But there¡¯s no such thing as too many witches.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll think on it.¡± Mene said. She squeezed Tanes hand. ¡°It¡¯s over. We won.¡±


    ¡°This¡±-Tane waved her arm at the open window-¡°is just beginning.¡± There were the blasts of a bombing raid echoing outside. ¡°We stopped Traharn becoming immortal, sure. His followers still stacked the kindling. He still started the fire.¡±


    ¡°Now us poor bastards are going to have to put it out.¡± Mene said.


    FIN.