“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.

“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.