I entered the great hall alongside Nathlan, Sadrianna and Jacyntha. As soon as we stepped through the open door, I caught the scent of sizzling meat, and my mouth watered slightly. A day or two of pack rations was more than enough to stoke my appetite in the presence of real food.

  Fandar and Jacyntha stood with Jorge and one other veteran that I recognised as one of the rebels at the head of the table, though I’d never spoken to her or caught her name. The rest of the hall was filled with what remained of the rebel force, though none were wearing armour now, instead dressed mostly in a collection of trousers and woollen shirts. One man was even wearing a knitted jumper that I would bet was made by his mother.

  Jorge waved us down, and we headed over to them, taking our seats nearby as I felt my eyes pulled away from the people and towards the food spread across the many platters laid out before us. There was no formal ceremony to it, simply two dozen men and woman that had all fought and bled beside one another feasting and drinking in the same room.

  It was glorious, and the conversation flowed much like the wine; in abundance. We roared with laughter and shared jokes and tales with one another, moving up and down the table through the night to meet new comrades we’d not yet spoken to.

  I found my eyes catching on Jacyntha throughout the evening though, enchanted by her smile whenever I caught a glimpse of it. Once I looked up to catch her staring my way too, and we both looked away quickly, too embarrassed to meet gazes and acknowledge what lay between us.

  “Ah don’t be a fool, little demon!” the old man next to me growled in my ear, and I was nearly startled out of my seat by it. He roared with laughter, and I turned to see him bumping shoulders with the young girl beside him, younger than me at any rate, and another woman in her middle years smirking on from her position behind them both.

  I grinned ruefully, asking, “was it that obvious?”

  “Only to half the bloody room,” the old man cackled. The woman leaned across to shush him.

  “Oh, quiet down Dastil,” she said in a motherly tone. “He’s only a boy, mind.”

  “A boy!?” the man said loudly. “I watched him carve through the Crimson-fucking-Company as easy as this meat falls off the bone! Martha; He collapsed the barbican single-handedly when we were overrun, and I’m pretty sure he had something to do with that fuck-off massive tree that we’re all inside of right now. Just a boy!”

  “That was Jorge-” I tried to point out at the same time that Martha commented; “We’re not inside the tree, you dolt! And that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

  “I suppose not,” came his begrudging response, before he looked slyly over to me, raising his voice once more. “If he’s too piss-scared to tell a girl he wants to sleep with her, then perhaps-”

  He got no further thought before my hand clamped down over his mouth and I wrestled him under the table to burbling laughter from himself and chuckles from those beside us. I emerged a moment later looking somewhat sheepish and the man grinning evilly as he levered himself up onto his chair once more.

  “Alright, alright,” I said. “Just…give me a moment, okay?”

  I breathed deeply, looking up to see Jacyntha once more glancing away from me, before I squared my shoulders and stood.

  The moment I did so though, the chatter died down. My first thought was that I was somehow to blame, but when I followed the gazes of people around to the front of the table, I saw Fandar standing on top of it, stamping a booted foot for attention and waving his skeletal arms around.

  “My friends!” he called, evidently a little drunk, and joy clear on his face. “We are celebrating tonight our victory!” he said, and men and woman slammed fists to the great wooden table beneath them in approval of his words.

  “We faced the duke on the field of battle, and not only did we survive, but we won! Duke Ryonic is dead, even now paying for his many crimes against the people of the Marchlands down in the nine hells where he belongs!”

  Another roar of approval.

  “But our enemies weren’t alone. Like vipers in their nests, they fought one another, and The Sultan brought his forces to the duke’s gate…to our gate! Say one thing for Duke Ryonic, he was at least a real Marchlander in the end, and he did at least defend his homeland admirably from the gods-damned Sultanate.”

  He quieted for a moment, pausing to reflect on what little credit the duke deserved. A hush fell over the long table, and I found myself leaning forwards to hear the next words.

  “First the Sultan fell, and then the duke. How much more victory can we take before our heads become so large we can’t fit through the door of this very castle?” he asked rhetorically, to great mirth amongst the assorted rebels.

  “Of course, my friends, we all know the story. Marching from summons from The Sultan, or possibly for their own petty reasons, the Sunset Court assembled before this castle and threatened invasion. Our beloved Vera, the Hero of Sternsbridge and one of the great rebellion’s original founders, stood before the broken gate and smote them back. The Jarl died like the upstart he was, though to the blade of one of Vera’s steadfast companions as far as I saw.”

  At this, Fandar gestured to Jorge, and the rebels turned to shower praise upon him as Fandar painted a picture of the moment, paying particular attention to Vera’s bravery in holding back the whole Sunset Court ‘by her presence alone’, even if it wasn’t strictly true.

  It was interesting to hear a retelling of it again from another perspective, since I had found it strange to hear Vera talking of that time. I had been right there, but most of it I had missed, enchanted as I was by the stirring of the World Tree while it happened.

  “So we held the castle against the leaders of the Court, but that army they had assembled was too great even for our bravery. The very ground trembled beneath the hooves of the Crimson Company’s charge, and I was sure that we would perish. Then Vera shot out from the castle and scythed through their ranks – you all saw it, I’m sure! – and again, her companions came in clutch. I still don’t know what crazy magic they used, but you’re now sitting atop the evidence of it! A great tree conjured to repel the Crimson Company, our walls now unassailable when manned by our conviction.”

  It was quite the tale he told, and not too far from the truth either. It truly would make a great bard’s tale, and I wondered if there would be people far and wide across Tsanderos that would one day hear the tale in taverns and inns. I wondered briefly what it would be called, before Fandar continued.

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  “So what did that great army do, my friends? Why, they tried assaulting us anyway! But before they could break upon our new arboreal walls and taste the righteousness of our cause, the very sky split open, even heaven unable to bear witness to our courage!”

  I raised an eyebrow, and the cheers in response were both louder and more hesitant at the same time. Fandar laughed though, his corpse-grin stretching his face into a garish imitation of humour.

  “Sorry, it’d hard not to get carried away. You were all there anyway, don’t need me waxing poetic about it. The world went upside down, and fire reigned from the sky, even hitting one of our own!”

  As he said the last, he pointed over to a shy woman at the end of the table, and when I swivelled around to look at her, I realised it was Tamil – the young 1st tier rebel with the hand-scythe that had a bizarre class based around freezing her opponent with mental magic.

  That she had made it through the battle alive as a 1st tier spoke to her skill, and after being blessed by the World Tree, I knew she would be a truly formidable opponent one day. Perhaps even very soon, if she had tiered up after the battle.

  “Well that scared off the lot of them, all except the mad dogs from the Council of Aerlyn. Vera and her team sorted out the crazy bitch that led them, and we held the line against the soldiers – professional soldiers, I might add, said to be the finest in the Sunsets when it comes to war. I want it known now that Marchlanders are the toughest of bastards in this here part of the world, and you lot are the toughest of them!”

  That got the loudest cheer by far, with men and women up and down the table slamming fists onto wood and feet onto flagstones in a cacophony of approval.

  “Now, we’ve won the greatest battle of a generation, but we’ve lost some friends in the process. I know you know them, and we will commemorate each of them individually in their own ways soon enough. But for now;”

  He paused, taking a deep breath, the boisterous bravado he had led with up till now falling away to something more sombre, and much more human.

  “Sinclair Forgerson – he will be missed by us all, though most especially by his mother and younger sister. He was the best of us when it came to knucklebones, and we’ll never see his like when it comes to weaving the Dostle Eyes.”

  Up and down the table, two dozen people thudded fist to chest in salute, a synchronised chorus of ‘Speed!’ barked out in unison. My companions and I missed our chance, though I noticed Vera did it as naturally as the others.

  “Hazel Sharp-eye – She was the best of us, and all will grieve her passing. Her young son is left in the care of her husband, who still works the forge down in Bakersfield and has long been a friend to us. She has had her share of heartbreak over the years, but there’s not a one of you she hasn’t helped heal in some small way. The marshes are lucky to have her.”

  This time, we were ready for the salute and expression, and nearly thirty people echoed the call to the roof of the hall. And so it went, Fandar taking time to remember each loss, such that the deaths felt personal even to me. I wasn’t pleased by the extra grief, but something within me felt fierce pride to remember these people, to take their stories with me. They deserved that much, at least.

  There was a brief break after it was done, where Fandar wetted his parched throat, and all in attendance took time to dwell of their comrades that would never again share a meal with them, laugh round a fire, plan their futures once it was over.

  A few heavy stomps brought people’s attention back to their commander though, and he took a deep breath before launching into another speech.

  “Enough dark thoughts for now though. There was astounding courage and bravery on display yesterday from all, and I want to take some time to acknowledge some of that. First, step forwards Tamil…”

  He then went through, honestly most of the rebels, before turning to Jorge. “Now, it would be remiss of me to not give due credit to Vera’s team. Jorge here,” he said while pointing to the old man where he lounged on a chair, one leg crossed over his thigh. “Was the one responsible for the great tree that even now cocoons our castle, and I understand it is a valuable resource that he assures me will be self-sustaining, so long as we don’t take from it too greedily, anyhow.”

  Jorge nodded at the question inherent in that statement, and the rebel commander continued on. “He held the line against the Crimson Company’s charge, protected the castle, killed the Jarl in single combat, and helped Vera slay The Inquisitor of The Council of Aerlyn. We are lucky to be in the presence of such a fighter!”

  Another thunder of approval, someone even throwing a whole leg of chicken at the old man, who caught it out of the air and took a bite to an even louder roar from the table. Once people had quieted down, Famdar moved on to the next.

  “Nathlan – that gangly scholarly-looking man over there – was integral in the defence of the castle. I’m told he’s the one who came up with the gambit of pretending to be Ryonic Guardsmen, so he’s the reason you all had to dress up like idiots. He is also apparently the genius behind the removal of the castle defences so that we could attack the walls without fear of retribution. He fought beside you on the walls, and he faced down the Inquisitor alongside his own companions.”

  I roared louder than even the boisterous old man beside me at that, and my friend took the shouts and hollers with good grace. Fandar moved on once again.

  “Sadrianna and Jacyntha both hail from the Dragon-Spine mountains and had similar roles in the battle. They were pivotal in keeping the Ryonic defence alive from the Sultanate and then crushed what little defence remained after Vera fought the duke. They fought side by side with many of you during that time before valiantly sallying forth from the walls to fight by Vera’s side, rescuing her from overwhelm by the Inquisitor’s forces.”

  I felt heat in my chest as Jacyntha looked my way, something in her gaze warming me and making me shiver in turn, and then the spotlight was on me before I could make sense of the feeling.

  “And then Lamb. The strangely named foreigner, though if any of you have seen him fight, I’d bet you wouldn’t underestimate him because of it! I’m told he is the one that allowed Vera’s companions to sneak into the castle in the first place, making our taking of the walls possible to begin with. He pulled away the duke from the battle for nearly a bell, and then somehow took out Varice – the infamous spymaster the duke relied on and has made our lives such hell for the past few years – so credit for that alone!”

  There was a small cheer at that, but Fandar left no time for it as he barrelled on. “He brought down the gate, effectively destroying the last vestige of the Sultanate forces and weakening the Ryonic house guard in turn, and fought beside his companions to save Vera.”

  This time, I got a roar of approval to rival the others, and took a moment to bask in the glory, before I felt eyes boring into my skull. I turned to see Jacyntha’s heavy gaze, eyes intense and face set into a hard frown. I tilted my head up in question, and she flicked her eyes to the door in the corner where a rebel was returning from to take their seat once more.

  Fandar had begun singing the praises of Vera, last but certainly not least, and while her deeds outweighed any yesterday perhaps save Jorge’s, I had a feeling he would extol her virtues long past what was necessarily appropriate. I felt the old man next to me slap me on the ass with a ‘go get ’em tiger’ as I stood, and stifled a laugh and a glare both, though I heard a smack and a squark as I headed to the door, presumably from the woman taking justice on my behalf.

  I felt eyes follow me the entire way until I made it to the hallway, at which point I turned and waited. My hands suddenly felt heavy and my breathing uneven. Not rushed per say, but like I suddenly had to focus on what had mostly been unconscious before.

  Nobody followed, and I started to think I had misread things. I was being too presumptuous, wasn’t I? Oh, I was an idiot. This is embarrassing, my inner critic snarked at me. He’d been loud today, dwelling on my many mistakes and failures throughout the battle, though my talk with Nathlan had certainly helped.

  I turned back to the door, reaching out to open it again and take my seat when Jacyntha strode through. I bumped into her, and when I looked down into her eyes – not far mind, she was near as tall as I was – I felt that sizzling heat between us once more.

  I garbled my words for a few moments before she pushed me back against the wall, her lips on my own. Surprised as I was, I didn’t take long to fall into that kiss, and then her face was drawing away once more, her eyes bright and searching.

  Whatever she was looking for in my eyes, she found it, and a moment later she was leading me through the castle by my hand, her grip none too soft and her steps swift.