Page 107 of Of Empires and Dust

“It is.” A satisfied grin spread across Dann’s face. “Lasch Havel’s mead.Realmead. Not that elvish shit.” He looked to Lyrei. “No offence.”

The elf just stared back at him, pressing her fingers into her forehead like an exasperated mother.

“You look tired.” Elia Havel stepped past Dann and cupped Calen’s face in her hands, her thumbs warm on his cheeks.“Have you been sleeping? Eating enough? When’s the last time you bathed?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Calen brushed Elia’s hands aside, careful not to be too rough. In truth, he liked that she coddled him; it meant she was regaining the pieces of who she was. He’d give just about anything to go back to the time where Elia’s overbearing exuberance had been his biggest concern.

“Help us unload the casks.” Dann climbed up onto the side of the cart and started shimmying one of the casks into place, Tarmon and Erik moving to lift it down.

“Where’s Yana?” Calen asked Tanner as he helped the man lift a cask of mead from the cart.

“She’s watching over Ella.” Tanner rested a hand on Calen’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. She told me to tell you to enjoy the mead. She’s got Faenir keeping her company. Honestly, I think she’s starting to prefer that wolfpine’s company to mine.”

When all the casks were unloaded, Dann and the others proceeded to roll them towards the fire where Aeson and Vaeril sat.

Before helping, Calen turned to Lasch. “How… When?”

“Over the last month or so,” Lasch said with a shrug. “I thought you and Dann needed a bit of home. Dann thought it would be a nice surprise. It’s not aged as long as I’d like, but I’m sure it will still taste good?—”

Lasch grunted as Calen pulled him into as tight an embrace as he thought the man could endure.

“Thank you,” Calen whispered.

Lasch pulled away and clasped the sides of Calen’s head. “We’re of The Glade, Calen. We stick together. Always. Now come on, before Dann drinks every drop. We know what he gets like after five, and from my reckoning he’s already had at least four.”

Laughter eruptedfrom all around as Dann swung his arms, mead sloshing in his cup, the light from the fire dancing across his face. “I’ve never seen so many feathers in my life!” he roared, turning to face a group of elves and humans who sat behind him, all of them in hysterics. “It was mayhem. The chickens were jumping from the windows where the mesh had come loose, they leapt from the roof, squawking and flapping, and they ran about like… well, like headless chickens…” Dann stopped for a moment, scratching at his chin in exaggerated thought. “But with heads. There was shiteverywhere. Now I don’t know how much you all know about chickens, but there isn’t a single creature that shits more than a chicken. So use that to paint the picture.”

Haem sat to Calen’s left beside Elia and Lasch, a mix of men and women from Carvahon, Arkalen, and Illyanara around him. His hand was pressed against his stomach, his smile pulled wide as though he had hooks in either side of his mouth. Haem hadn’t been there the time Faenir had stormed into Tharn Pimm’s chicken coop. He’d died the year before.

“Now I know you all see Calen as ‘The Draleid’,” Dann said in as dramatic a voice as he could before taking a deep draught of mead. “But back then he was just Calen, and the three of us hid behind a stack of crates while my dad screamed and roared, chickens swarming him as an enormous wolfpine squeezed his way through the coop’s door – which he had no right to fit through. And Calen will probably argue…” Dann gestured towards Calen, receiving a raucous applause. “But I’d say the entire thing was more or less his fault.”

Calen frowned at that, shaking his head but holding up his cup of mead in mock salute to Dann.

“Ah, great idea.” Dann lifted his cup in the air and hundreds more followed from those who sat around listening. Hundreds that Calen could see at least. As the revelry had gone on, moreand more of the warriors had huddled closer around the fire where Calen and Valerys sat. The dragon currently lay curled up a few feet behind Calen, his snout resting on his tail. Calen wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had told him over a thousand pairs of ears listened to Dann at that precise moment.

“I propose a toast,” Dann bellowed. “To Calen Bryer, the Butcher of Chicken’s Coop!”

Again, the crowd erupted in laughter. Many voices hollered, “The Butcher of Chicken’s Coop!”

Haem was laughing so hard his face had gone red and mead spilled over his lips.

A hand rested on Calen’s shoulder, and he turned to see Tarmon with a cup in his hand, shaking his head at Dann. Erik, Vaeril, and Gaeleron were a few paces behind, pushing their way through the crowd.

“Well, he’s certainly helping to build your legend. Just maybe not the legend we’d been hoping to build.” He rolled his eyes, then tipped his cup against Calen’s as he sat. “To the Butcher of Chicken’s Coop.”

“To the Butcher of Chicken’s Coop,” Calen repeated with a laugh, drinking deeply.

After soaking in the applause, Dann dropped himself in front of Calen, grinning ear to ear.

“You’re a fucking arsehole.” Calen tried to stop himself from smiling but failed horrendously.

“I think I was quite good,” Dann said with a shrug. “Perhaps I should talk to Therin. Maybe being a bard is my true valúr.”

“Not another one.” Erik dropped his head into his hands. “For the love of the gods, please not another one.” He looked to Vaeril. “This madness needs to stop.”

Even the elf laughed before taking a sip of his mead. He opened his arms as if to say ‘leave me out of it’.

“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll stick to the poetry for now.”

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