“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.

“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.