Shroudweaver shrugs. ‘How do we know that? Really? Years without a whisper. They’re tolerable if silence is tolerable. And I burnt my line of credit getting out of there. Only the old guard even remember me, and not all of them kindly. As for the kids …’ he winces. ‘Do you remember what we were like at that age?’
Shroudweaver takes a small sip of something strong, coughs. ‘I have a feeling our coin’s worth a lot less these days. Heroes or no.’
Fallon snorts. ‘Don’t beat yourself for backing the right horse. It’s the only reason we’re still alive.’ Another wince. ‘Mostly.’
He picks at his lunch, congealing slowly on a plate.
‘Like treating with the Empire was ever an option after we saw what they’d done in Luss.’
His fingers drum flatly on the map, grease stains pockmarking the mountain. ‘The Republic. Fah. A meritocracy, they say? Give it a generation of nepotism, and that place’ll make a hornet’s nest look peaceful.’
‘Always my sunshine, Fallon.’ Shipwright’s voice cuts the air as she joins them, boots up on the table. ‘Personally, I’m all for a city where everyone has a use.’ She shoots him a look. ‘Although I can see why that might unnerve you. Emptying cellars isn’t really a vocation.’
The joke falls a little flat, but Fallon still smiles thinly as he fills her tankard, ‘Come on then, let’s make you a hypocrite.’ He sips. ‘Join us in reminiscing about the glorious revolution, the fall of the Empire.’
Shipwright frowns, ‘I’d rather not.’
Fallon stretches pointedly. ‘Well, seeing as you left me bleeding on the floor to play Pretty Magic Glow Princess, I think you owe me a few seconds’ catharsis.’
That thin smile hangs on his face, but there’s not much light under it.
Shipwright sucks at her gums, ‘I’m not going to get to forget that, am I?’
Fallon shakes his head. ‘Oh no. But you did save my life, so I’ll keep it restrained. I won’t even ask questions yet, because I’ve got a dead dog of a headache.’
‘Too kind.’
Declan turns to Shroudweaver. ‘So this meritocracy. Still the same people we helped put in power?’
Shroudweaver nods, gesturing at the sigils surrounding Thell on the map. ‘I think so, although unnamed now. Whatever Crowkisser did, the mountain wasn’t proof against it.’
Fallon winkles gristle from his teeth. ‘What have they been up to? I never hear a peep. The north’s locked down tighter than a spinster’s mousehole. Which suited me, up to a few years ago. Until I ran out of better options.’
Shroudweaver shrugs. ‘I don’t know much more than you. Only what we picked up from traders moving south. Seems like they kept to themselves mostly. Rebuilding, trading. Picking a few easy fights. More sense than some.’
Fallon waves his hand. ‘Ha bloody ha. Slay me.’ He wipes a hand down his stubble, pulls his face long. ‘So, who are we going to be dealing with?’
Shroudweaver ticks them off on long fingers. ‘I’d guess Kinghammer, Belltoller, the Deadsingers, Skinpainter. All known faces. And all the problems that brings with it.’
Fallon listens. ‘Yeah, I remember Kinghammer. That big sack of shit. They all must be getting on a bit now though. They have babies up in Thell or do they just fuck rocks?’
Shipwright cuts in. ‘Oh they have babies. Seen ’em coming down the high trade routes since last spring. You know the type. Strong, confident.’
‘Faintly homicidal,’ Fallon mutters.
She grins. ‘To you? Definitely.’
Shroudweaver grimaces. ‘Fairly unequivocally now, from scuttlebutt. Lots of crews won’t push inland for fear of bronze blades.’
Fallon flicks his fingers at him. ‘OK, so these old bastards, who no doubt are deeply fucking conscious of just how much they owe us, and this new contingent of bright-eyed mountain death-babies. That’s who we’re dealing with? That’s who we’re expecting to pull my city out of the fire?’
Shipwright and Shroudweaver nod.
There’s a pause as Fallon drains the bottle.
‘And remind me, these revolutionaries, when they finally threw down the Emperor, what did they do with him? When they had him cowering at their feet?’
Shipwright flashes a glance at Shroudweaver, who rubs his temples wearily.
