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.

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.