Maleshi Hi’et raised a fist into the air and shouted, “The heir returns!”
The room exploded with voices echoing the cheer and shouting greetings of their own. Ember laughed and floated down the rest of the stairs toward the celebrating crowd. Cheyenne stood frozen on the second-to-last step and stared at the dozens of bruised, bloody, battle-torn rebels pounding their fists on the giant metal table in the center of the bunker’s main chamber. “What?”
“Don’t just stand there, kid,” Corian shouted, waving her forward. “Get your ass down here and join us. It’s your party.”
She took a halting step down the stairs.
“First real O’gúl win, huh?” Laughing, Lumil stepped onto the stairs beside the halfling and clapped a hand on Cheyenne’s back to guide her down the stairs. “I remember my first battle, halfling. Didn’t think I’d be able to move again. I mean, it didn’t help that I got stuck right here by a fell-damn spear, but hey.” The goblin woman thumped a fist against her side below the ribs and laughed again.
“I didn’t get stabbed,” Cheyenne said blankly. I didn’t even fight.
“Of course you didn’t! It’s shock. That’ll clear out in no time.” Lumil led Cheyenne toward the other rebels, who gathered around L’zar Verdys’ daughter to clap her on the back and thump their fists to their chests.
“Well done, Cheyenne.”
“You did what you had to do, and you did it right.”
“This is the start, Aranél. The chains are broken and the Cycle will turn, with you at the helm.”
“Wait, no.” Cheyenne shook her head at the orc nodding vigorously, his bottom lip pulled down as he grinned around giant tusks painted with black rings. “I’m not at the helm of anything.”
“Ha!” The orc snorted and pounded a fist into his other hand. “You already are.”
Staring blankly at the far wall of the main room, Cheyenne swallowed and tried not to flinch away from all the congratulatory pats and thumps and shakes of her shoulders. If they don’t stop touching me, I’m gonna lose it.
Standing back from the crowd beside the metal table, Maleshi watched the halfling barely putting up with all the attention. The nightstalker raised her hand again and shouted, “Sakrit! Last time I checked, you had a hundred barrels stashed in this dump.”
“You been counting my supplies, General?” A huge light-gray ogre with dried blood streaked down both bulging arms turned away from the crowd and pointed at Maleshi.
The nightstalker dipped her head toward him, the stiff collar of her military jacket rustling with the movement. “You can’t expect me to come back to this shithole and not seek out the most important part first.”
“Yeah, you came back for the swill. That I’ll believe.” Sakrit laughed and stalked across the wide room. A quick spell from the ogre opened a door in the stone wall barely big enough for him to squeeze through into the tiny hidden room beyond, but he did.
Maleshi’s closed-lipped smile grew as she turned back toward Cheyenne, who hadn’t moved an inch while nearly every member of the Four-Pointed Star gave her a congratulatory thump. We’ll start a brand new battle in here if somebody doesn’t save her from all that. “Cheyenne!”
The halfling blinked when Maleshi called her name and bent forward through the wall of jeering, shouting, beaten-up magicals to get a better view.
“Get over here.” The general waved her toward the other side of the table. “We’ll celebrate this victory in what little style we have left, huh?”
“Right.” Cheyenne grunted when a rebel she recognized from her last visit materialized beside her in a swarm of tiny black flecks before grabbing her forearm for some kind of comrade’s handshake.
“This is where it all starts.” Only a deep blackness existed within the hood of his black cowl, although his black hand was clenched tightly around her forearm. “With L’zar Verdys’s daughter. I had my doubts, sure. We all did in one way or another. You proved us wrong.”
“Thanks,” Cheyenne muttered. “Excuse me.” I’m done. I gotta get out of here.
She shouldered her way past the circle of rebels gathered around her, all of whom reached out again for a thump on the back or a fist nudged into her shoulder.
A goblin woman stepped in front of Cheyenne to get her attention, still cackling at a wartime joke from the snickering orc behind her. “That’s something for the Aranél to decide, isn’t it?”
“I saw you jump off that wall, kid. Wouldn’t have been my first choice, but impressive all the same.”
“You’ve already put your terms together, haven’t you? The Crown won’t stand on her mountain of skulls for much longer.”
“See this right here, Cheyenne? Bull’s Head bastard stabbed me right in the thigh. I knocked him over the balcony seconds before those walls went up. Stings worse than an imp bite, and I’ll show this scar to every young pup born to my line after today. You can count on that.”
“Like you could find a mate willing to put up with you long enough for that to happen, you big-mouthed greenskin.”
Laughter erupted around her as she tried to march through the bodies pressing in on her and shoving each other too. A flare of extra heat churned in Cheyenne’s belly and raced up her spine and across her shoulders, mixing with her intense physical discomfort. She clenched both fists, and a flare of purple light blazed behind her eyes. Without knowing what she was doing, the halfling unleashed a wave of dark, shimmering energy all around her. The shockwave knocked the raucous magicals away from her in a wide circle, sending those closest to the Crown’s challenger barreling backward into their neighbors and clearing a ring of space around her.
The main chamber fell silent again, and Cheyenne took a deep breath. She caught a glimpse of Maleshi standing on the other side of the table before her gaze fell on the surprised expressions of the other Four-Pointed Star rebels. I should explain that one, right?
