Captain Haydyn Kettle was of a phlegmatic constitution.

This set him apart from his more fiery and impulsive comrades and was, as is the way of things in the army, the cause of much ribaldry at his expense. With his robust, solid build and air of calm serenity, he quickly earned himself the nickname “Cattle”.

In many ways, his measured approach to life was the key to his slow but inexorable rise up the ranks. As was the case for Kettles back to the beginning of time, he was a Guardsman. And what those in that Class lacked for in Inspiration, they more than made up for in bloody-mindedness. Where Cattle was different, though, was that unlike those who charged headlong into battle, revelling in the thrill of the fight, he would be found doing his share but more than happy to let others take the glory. This, as may be expected, left Cattle standing amongst the unwounded of an engagement more often than not.

As the years rolled by, if he noticed the faces of those around him becoming younger and younger and increasingly looking to him for leadership, he simply took it in his slow, measured stride. Gallant Stonehand himself had once said that if he had gotten his hands on Cattle young enough, he "might have made something special of you, my lad." But if the Guardsman felt he had missed out on something, he never mentioned it. In the same way, if he was pleased with the constant stream of promotions and commendations that came his way, it was difficult to tell. And if he was dismayed to be ordered to lead the infiltration of the Swinford sewers, no one would have known it.

His men felt somewhat differently.

"Why's it always us that gets this sort of job?" His Corporal, a short, rodenty-looking man called Jinks, was very much not of his Captain's disposition. There was a rumour Jinks had smiled once, but no one believed it. "It's like there's someone back at headquarters with a list of the worst jobs in the army and a big fat stamp with our names on it. And, boy, doesn't he love using that stamp!"

The rest of the company grizzled their agreement to that sentiment.

Secretly, Cattle shared their disgruntlement. It was one thing to lead an assault on some foreign city — he'd done that more times than he could count over the last twenty or so years — but it hit a bit differently when it was your fellow countrymen you were coming up against.

But orders were orders, and it was not for him, and certainly not for the likes of Corporal Jinks, to question them.

He cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at the grate on the sewer outlet before them. His men took the hint and returned to sawing through the ancient metal grille.

Orders were to secure this hidden entry point to the City and secure it they would. They were then to make their way through the winding tunnels — of which, thanks to inside information, they had a detailed map — and establish a base for covert operations.

They would not be the ones doing the covert operations, of course — Cattle's company was good for grunt work and no more — but they would certainly be closer to the enemy earlier than most of the others in the King's army.

“Enemy.”

Cattle chewed on that word for a while with distaste. He had a cousin who had moved to Swinford a few years back. It felt funny to think of her connected to such an idea. Of late, there'd been a lot of words like that thrown towards those who lived in the West. “Rebels.” “Traitors.” “Mutineers.”

Something about it all did not sit right with Cattle, but his was not to reason why. The King had spoken, and the West was to be brought back in line. And if there needed to be some blood spilt to make that happen, then that was how it would be.

He was moved away from that train of thought by a huge crash, followed by equally loud cursing, as the grille came loose and fell to the floor.

Everyone in the company tensed whilst waiting to see if the noise attracted any attention. But no. It was as their information had suggested: no one had thought to keep an eye on this potential weak spot in the City's fortifications.

Although, Cattle had mused, it was not like there was a shortage of such weaknesses. In all his years, he had never seen a City wall so inviting for a breach. "Like a whore raising her skirts”, was how Jinks had put it.

He'd heard Swinford was one of the greatest Cities in the West. If that was so, they would roll over these people like a bear on a termite mound.

"Making enough noise, boys?"

There were muted apologies sent his way as what was left of the gate was pulled aside. Cattle looked over his company. He knew the name of each and every one of the hundred faces turned towards him. They were not the best or the brightest that the King had to call on, but they would get the job done, more often than not. More than that, though, they could be relied upon in a pinch. In many ways, they were the precise model of their Captain.

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"Form up. Sergeants, you know your business. Get your squads in, set up and wait for the fancy dans to show themselves when all the hard work is done and dusted. I want choke points established all the way through, and if I catch anyone . . ."

His voice trailed off as he realised no one was listening to him. With an uncustomed flare of irritation, he turned to look at what in the tunnel was so interesting to his men.

There, just caught by the edge of their torchlight, was an extremely familiar figure indeed. She was tall and powerfully built, with a two-handed greatsword strapped to her back. There was no sign of the helmet from which she took her name, but that face was familiar enough to every man who stood before her.

There were a few moments of silence before Cattle moved towards her.

"My Lady Darkhelm . . ."

*

She'd been impressed by the efficiency of the men dismantling the sewer grate. There was nothing showy about how they went about it, and, with relatively little ceremony, there was yet another gap in Swinford's defences.

Not for the first time, she had cause to question this course of action. For sure, she could personally hold these narrow tunnels until the end of time. But she could not be everywhere. Was this, honestly, where Taelsin felt she would make the greatest difference?

She had known Cattle for decades. First as a Private, then as a Sergeant, and she had been pleased when she heard he had been moved to the officer's mess. He was a sound man, and if he was never going to achieve feats of staggering heroism, neither was he the type to shirk his responsibilities.

She smiled at him as he walked towards her position.

"My Lady Darkhelm. I was hoping our paths would not cross in this business."

"It is good to see you, too. And it's Captain Kettle now, I am given to understand."

"Just doing my bit, my Lady. You know how it is. People ask, and it don't seem right to let them down."

"I know how that can be."

They stood facing each other for a time. Both of them comfortable in the silence and used to outwaiting their opponent. Eventually, Cattle broke first.

"Seems we've got ourselves a bit of a situation here."

"Seems like we do," Daine agreed neutrally.

"I guess you're not here to help my boys find their way through the sewers?"

"I am not, I'm afraid."

"You have your own orders?"

"I do, Captain. You know how those in charge like giving them."

"Honest truth. They do love them some orders." Cattle took off his helmet and rubbed a hand through sweat-slicked hair. "You see, I think we might have one of those conflicts of interest here, my Lady. I've got my orders to go into those tunnels, and I guess you've got some of your own to stop my boys doing that. That sound fair?"

"Sounds very fair, Captain."

"Don't suppose you can be persuaded to turn a blind eye?"

"I am sorry, Captain. It is not your boys with whom I am especially concerned. You will just be establishing the supply route, I assume?"

Cattle nodded. If he knew one thing for absolute certainty, it was that you did not lie to the Darkhelm. "But there will be all sorts of ne'er-do-wells coming after you to make use of the work you do. Those who are giving me my orders feel I should put a stop to that sharpish."

"So we are at an impasse, my Lady?"

"I fear we are, Captain."

Cattle replaced his helmet and looked back on his company. He grimaced and turned back to Daine. "They're good lads, my Lady. I'd ask you to go as easy as you can on them. Not a one of them understands what we're doing here in the West. Not sure I do myself, to tell the truth. If you can see your way clear to letting them fall back when the time comes, I'd take that as a personal favour." He nodded respectfully at her and started making his way back towards his men. "Never thought the day would come I'd cross blades with the Darkhelm."

His soldiers were looking at him with alarm. It was one thing to infiltrate a rebel city; it was quite another to do so with the Lady Darkhelm opposing you. Even those who had not fought at her side had heard all the songs. There were few illusions as to how a confrontation with her was going to end.

Then she called out. "Captain, if we both agree, I might have another suggestion. It would need your men to agree, though, of course."

He cast his eye over the white faces of his men.

"I'm confident in saying, my Lady, that my boys are very open to conversations as to alternative methods of conflict resolution that do not involve you killing us all."

"I always liked you, Cattle."

"Feeling's mutual, my Lady."

*

"And, quite out of nowhere, the Lady Darkhelm pulled down the tunnel's ceiling on top of you?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Trapping all your equipment, the supplies for Captain Maretti's squad and sundry other crucial materiel on her side of the collapse?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"It is worth noting, at this point, that not a single one of your men was either injured or similarly cut off in this action?"

"No, my Lord. Extraordinarily lucky timing."

"Quite. You are aware, of course, that collaboration with the enemy is an executionable offence, Captain Kettle?"

"Yes, my Lord. No collaborators in my company, my Lord."

A new voice, a softer one, joined in the questioning. "If that is so, how do you account for this outcome, Captain Kettle? You do not have a reputation as an ineffective leader of men. Nor as a coward. How can such a calamity occur, and yet every single one of your men walks away?"

Cattle looked the new speaker in the eye. "I am sorry, my Lord, what level of casualties would have been acceptable to you?"

There was an awkward silence.

Finally, the first speaker took over. "No apologies necessary, Captain. We are all relieved that you were able to extricate your men unharmed from a confrontation with the Darkhelm. How long do you think it will take to excavate the sewer entrance for us to try again?"

"Couple of days, sir. Course, she'll probably just do the same thing again. Heard she's stubborn like that. If you want my advice, my Lord?"

"Please," the speaker said dryly.

"You're going to need to get up pretty early in the morning to sneak one past the Darkhelm. If you don't have a plan as to how to bring her down, we might want to think about leaving pacifying Swinford for later. Maybe choose an easier nut to crack first."

The second speaker, the one Cattle didn't recognise, smiled without humour. "Well, fortunately, Captain, we do indeed have a solution to the problem of the Darkhelm."

The first speaker, his direct superior Major Fadarn, nodded. "Re-equip your men and start digging out that tunnel. From what I understand, the Lady Darkhelm will soon have enough on her plate to stop her playing silly games in tunnels."