A roar of approval and victory-drunk laughter filled the chamber. Every magical standing within striking distance of a metal surface started banging on it again, and those who had been blasted into their friends were jostled around, jeering at each other and themselves.
Maleshi dipped her head toward Cheyenne in acknowledgment, and the halfling chuckled. Not the reaction I expected, but at least I can breathe again.
“Hell of a way to kick off the toasting, eh?” A dark-purple troll with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his throat pumped a fist in the air. “Where’s the fell-damn grog when we need it?”
“Deathflame take your grog, Kayal.” The ogre Sakrit squeezed back out of the magically hidden pantry with two large dark-green glass bottles in each hand and a massive metal barrel strapped to his back with coils of hardened rope. “If you’re gonna mention that swill in my presence, I say whoever started to slit your throat should’ve finished the job!” Another round of laughter rose at that as Sakrit trudged across the chamber and clinked the four bottles down on the table. The metal keg followed shortly after with a heavy clang. “Don’t tell me you brainless mutts need to be told to get the tankards.”
“I’ve got you covered there, friend.” L’zar appeared again from some other area of the bunker, wheeling a heavy metal trunk behind him in each hand. “Who else thinks all this would be much easier if we took down the tech-eaters?”
“Ha! Never thought I’d live to see the day when you made yourself useful, L’zar.”
“Never thought I’d hear intelligence fall out of your mouth, either. I guess only one of us was surprised today.”
L’zar’s rebels roared with laughter as the drow hauled one huge trunk up onto the metal table, slid it away from the edge, and thumped the second down beside the first. He flicked his fingers at the trunks’ latches, which flashed briefly before flying open. The trunks’ open lids hit each other with a loud bang, and the magicals gathered around to pull out empty metal cups, tankards, and goblets.
Cheyenne reached Maleshi as the drinking vessels were passed around with more playful insults and friendly scuffles. After shrugging out of her backpack and setting it on the floor against the wall, she brushed her drow-white hair away from her forehead and turned to watch them from beside the nightstalker general, folding her arms. “The ogre brought out four magnum wine bottles and a keg. Doesn’t seem like nearly enough.”
Maleshi snorted. “That’s more than enough fellwine to last us a week, kid.”
“Oh, shit.” Cheyenne stared at the green glass bottles and chuckled. “Seriously?”
“I wouldn’t turn my nose up at a barrel of Bloodshine either if I were you.” The general shot Cheyenne a sidelong glance and subtly nodded across the chamber toward Ember, who had been pulled into a conversation with Lumil, Byrd, and two battered orcs. “Sakrit made a good call on that one too. You might not know about it.”
“Fae don’t drink fellwine.” Cheyenne pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and nodded. “We already figured that one out.”
Maleshi grinned. “Aren’t you just privy to all the nuances of O’gúleesh drinking customs?”
“Spent a lot of time in Peridosh. Where else am I supposed to go out on a weeknight to get in a barfight or two?”
“Earthside?” The nightstalker shook her head. “I couldn’t tell ya. Here, though, for the next two weeks, you can go just about anywhere to get the same results, and you won’t find a single O’gúleesh reveler trying to fight you. No war machines tunneling into the marketplace, either.”
Cheyenne watched the cups being passed around and finally let herself smile. “Promise?”
“Ha. Once those bottles open, kid, I won’t be able to promise you a damn thing.” Maleshi leaned toward her and lowered her voice, though no one would have heard her over the rowdy conversation and the rising shouts coming from Byrd and Lumil as they argued about who slashed up more Crown soldiers. “Good way to deflect from the real issue, though.”
Cheyenne looked slowly across the chamber. Almost all the rebels had a drinking vessel of one kind or another, but Sakrit still hadn’t popped the corks to let the O’gúleesh liquor flow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Have an issue with large crowds, huh?”
Cheyenne focused on Ember and the goblins again and slowly exhaled through her nose. “I do when the whole crowd’s touching me and shouting my name.”
“Who else’s would they be shouting, kid?”
The halfling swallowed. “I don’t need to be put on a pedestal, Maleshi. I didn’t fight those magicals, and I almost didn’t finish what I came here to do.”
“Bullshit.” Maleshi straightened the front of her military jacket, sending a shower of dust and what looked a lot like flecks of dried blood to the floor around her. Then she lifted her chin and clasped her hands behind her back. “You put yourself on the line as much as the rest of us to get to the Heart. Every O’gúleesh in this ridiculous bunker would make the decision to stand behind you and fight a thousand times over just to get to where we are at this moment. It might not seem like much right now, Cheyenne, but what you did today was impossible until a few hours ago. They were ready to give their lives to make the impossible happen, and they’d do it again in a heartbeat, no questions asked.” The general turned to face the halfling princess and raised her eyebrows. “So would I.”
Cheyenne shook her head and had to look away. “How many of them did?”
“Two.” Maleshi didn’t skip a beat in answering. “They’ll be sent off in O’gúl warrior fashion before the end of the week. Thanks to you, it wasn’t any more than two. I can’t say I enjoy losing the use of my own body for an extended
