Free The Twilight War by Simon Higgins

Digging deep into his willpower, Moonshadow forced himself up, out of the pit of his swoon and back into the heavy air and smoky light. He wrenched his eyes open. The pounding in his head had receded. His legs still felt weaker than wet tofu, but at least he was able to raise his head. He squinted. Where was –
    Both Snowhawk and the unfamiliar kunoichi were gone.
    Why was the archive suddenly so quiet? He listened, momentarily wondering if the next sound he picked up would echo as before. Then it struck him: all sounds of combat had ceased. Was the battle finally over? The ceiling still burned buta new, most welcome sound was steadily drowning out their crackle: the muttering of rain on the roof. He listened to it fall and smiled. The weird echo effect had stopped. His vision was clearing fast, too. Letting out a relieved sigh, Moonshadow struggled up onto one elbow.
    Surviving boundary guards and household staff were spilling into the archive from the north-south corridor, many armed with smothering rugs and wooden pails that sloshed with water. Moonshadow sat up, rubbed his aching neck and looked around.
    Clearly, it was over. Aside from those slain, the Fuma had departed, many no doubt with substantial wounds. He glanced at the expanse of wooden floorboards. The pieces of the cannon still lay there, but the Fuma captain himself had vanished. Had he lived to drag himself away, or had the surviving Fuma carried off their leader’s body? There was no sign of Kagero herself, but one of her fans lay open in the doorway. Nearby in the corridor, Eagle lay unconscious, curled on his side, his breathing laboured. A stained field dressing covered one shoulder. His eyelids were twitching fast.
    Mantis, his clothing hacked almost into rags, crouched on the floor just inside the archive. A half circle of black-clad bodies lay around him. Banken was relieving an itch by rubbing her flexible back along the sandals of a fallen enemy.
    Heron, sweat-drenched and messy, knelt behind Mantis, calmly sewing up a slash-wound in his back with a needle and thread. She looked bruised and wrung out but otherwise unharmed, much like Brother Badger. He stood beyond the crescent of fallen enemies, a charcoal-smeared Saru on his shoulder. Badger was carefully winding a bandage around Groundspider’s thick right arm. The monkey caught sight of Moonshadow and bared its teeth mockingly. Groundspider’s face was streaked with grime, ash and blood, and a fresh duelling wound angled down his neck. Motto lay behind him, powerful legs splayed out, chin to the boards, snoring. Moonshadow gratefully closed his eyes. Each Grey Light agent was accounted for, and their animal warriors had also survived.
    Wait! What about Snowhawk? He felt his throat constrict. Surely she had not fallen while helping to secure victory – and life – for the rest of them?
    â€˜Aw, you’re back!’ Groundspider forced a weary grin. ‘Pleasant sleep?’
    â€˜Where is she?’ Moonshadow shouted impulsively. The panic he head in his own voice fanned his dread.
    Groundspider hung his big head as he answered. ‘One of the enemies surrounding her gave a signal … he blew a battle conch. Then all the Fuma just … left.’ The giant peeped at Heron,then stared at the floor. Moonshadow sensed what he was about to hear from her lips. His shoulders fell. There was a long pause before Heron turned her head to him.
    â€˜I saw Snowhawk leave with the Fuma,’ she said gravely. ‘She went willingly.’

 
    They were alive, all of them. Somehow! Moonshadow rubbed his eyes and looked around.
    Cleaned up, stitched and bandaged now, the Edo members of the Grey Light Order sat in a circle on the tatami floor, bone-tired and a little subdued. All rested in the seiza position, legs folded, sitting on their heels. The air around them was thick with the odours of healing salves and cramp oils. Moonshadow was flanked by Groundspider and