“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.

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.