“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.

“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.”