He finished his inspection of his own company, aiming for that polite level where every man feels his polishing was not in vain and no one feels he’s dying on parade, and then he moved off to the left, to the Moreans, who were in many ways the heroes of the hour and were cheering like fools. There he saw Janos Turkos, soon to be knighted, and Ser Giorgos Comnenos, who had saved Blanche, with the help of the Ifriquy’an, Ser Pavalo. And Count Zac, back where he belonged at the head of his easterners. Beyond them stood the Royal Guard, which had never felt the breath of the dragon and yet looked as if they had, and all the Occitans and western levies under Prince Tancredo and Lord Gareth, none of whom seemed to have polished anything. The Royal Foresters were not on parade. The Redmede brothers had taken the Jacks and the Foresters into the woods together, pursuing the broken enemy, trying to make sure that the victory had consequence.

Gabriel began to inspect at a fast trot.

Just the survivors amounted to nine thousand men.

At his shoulder, Tom Lachlan waited until he came to the end of the line of men. There, on the other side of the camp, stood a motley horde of other things, led by a magnificent knight on a white stag. By him stood Pavalo Payam, the Ifriquy’an, and Harmodius. They looked bored.

“You won,” Tom Lachlan said. “Just take it in and let go.”

“I—”

“Let go,” Bad Tom said. “Drink hard. Ha’ a tumble wi’ your lass. Make up some lies to paste over what you mislike. It’s fewkin’ war, whether there’s great dragonish Wyrms or just a wee huddle o’ stupid men, tryin’ to steal yer purse. Let it go.”

Gabriel turned and met Tom’s eye.

The Faery Knight saluted with a flourish. “Thisss isss the mossst foolisssh of human traditionssss,” he said. “I have no glory in war. Let’sss go sssomewhere, and sssit in the ssshade. And drink. And sssee all your pretty peoplesss.”

Gabriel frowned. “It’s all to be done again, like a lesson learned wrong.”

The Faery Knight shrugged. “I have a few sssenturiesss on you, little captain. It isss alwaysss to be done again.”

But he didn’t leave then and there, and they all bowed to the great duchess, Mogon, who stood with the Queen.

The Queen was frowning, the rarest of expressions on her face.

“Your grace?” Gabriel called.

She nodded. “What are they all shouting?” she asked. “My Archaic is not that good.”

Gabriel had been deaf to the cheers—they oppressed him. And there was Blanche, smiling at him, and he blew her a kiss, to the delight of a thousand farmers and camp followers. There was Lady Mary Montroy, and there was Lady Rebecca Almspend, and the Earl of Towbray whispering in the Queen’s ear.