The mood in the Carthun camp was jubilant in the light of their great victory as the first rays of the sun began to appear over the horizon. Four hundred Hulvans had been killed and another three hundred taken prisoner at the cost of forty Carthun dead and a hundred wounded. However, Tim was in no mood to celebrate as he and the small group of Carthuns who had fought in the centre with the prince stood on a small rise close to the main camp. The sounds of celebration and laughter wafted over, but they paid it no heed.

They had spent most of the evening collecting wood for the thirty three pyres that now stood at the top of the rise. Lying on each was a body of the fallen from the prince’s centre line. The majority of the deaths and casualties had come from this position where inexperienced soldiers had been intentionally placed to lure the Hulvans in while the Carthun wings advanced to surround them. As fate would have it, the bulk of the centre was made up of the boys from Potter’s Hollow. Once the Hulvans were surrounded on three sides, the cavalry, led by Horatio, charged out to complete the encirclement. It had been a stunning victory.

“Sons of Carthus!” Erwyn cried as the men gathered around. “Your Prince will now address you.”

Arthur Dragos stood in front of one of the pyres with a flaming torch in his hand as he faced his men. To their surprise, he bowed his head apologetically before speaking. “I know I called you all my brothers earlier, but I am ashamed to admit that I do not know any of your names. I will remedy that now.”

The prince strode forward. “I am Arthur Dragos, crown prince of the realm and only son of our king, Storian Dragos.”

He took a deep breath and continued. “Please, each of you, say your name in turn, and I will do my best to engrave it into my memory.”

Each man took his turn to step forward and declare his name before stepping back. When it was Tim’s turn, he summoned his courage and announced, “Timothy Weaver, of Potter’s Hollow.”

“Eric Cooper, of Potter’s Hollow.”

“Karl Thomas, of Verdant Bay,” came a heavily accented voice.

Tim jumped when he saw the massive North Man who had saved his life earlier standing next to him. The giant stood over seven feet tall and had shoulder length blonde hair. When he turned to smile at Tim, the boy saw that he had a black eye.

“Oh, this?” Karl said with a toothy grin as he pointed a finger at his eye. “My punishment for disobeying orders.”

“John Field, from Potter’s Hollow,” the next boy declared.

“Matthew Carpenter, from Potter’s Hollow.”

“Philip Porter, from Potter’s Hollow.”

Tim blinked and leaned forward to see two more of his friends waving back at him. He walked around Karl’s huge frame and embraced them both.

“It’s a shame what happened to Gareth,” Matthew remarked. He was a slight, timid boy, who always made excuses to stay at home whenever their adventures had a whiff of danger.

“I didn’t see either of you in the fighting,” Eric said as he walked over to join them. “Did Sir Francis conscript every boy in town?”

“Just about,” John replied. “We got stuck on the far side of the line. Things got pretty hairy.”

“Every family had to send someone, so everyone sent a son if they were old enough,” Philip added. “A father can’t provide for the family if he goes off to war.”

The boys fell silent once the introductions were over, and Arthur began speaking again, “It appears that I owe Potter’s Hollow a debt of gratitude for sending so many of their fine sons to fight by my side.”

The boys puffed out their chests in pride as the prince continued, “I hereby declare this the Brotherhood of the Prince. Let our first act be to send our fallen brothers off to the Three’s side.”

“Archava will have seen their efforts and be pleased,” Karl declared. “I am sure He will take your friend into His keeping.”

Solemnly, Arthur touched his torch to a pyre when it caught fire, he took a step back. “Gareth Shepherd, Three take you into Their keeping.”

He repeated this for each of the pyres, and when he was done, he turned around to face his men. “Brothers, rest now. In a few hours, we will resume our march upon Estos where we will bring this war to a conclusion. In that battle, you will all have a pivotal role at my side.”

“For the Prince!” the men roared.

Arthur raised a clenched fist before departing with Erwyn in tow. Tim noticed Karl was still standing among them and looked up to find the giant looking down at him. The boy forced a smile. “Thanks again for saving my life today.”

Karl broke into a toothy grin. “So, we are brothers now.”

“In a matter of speaking, I suppose,” Tim allowed.

“Does that mean that you’ll be fighting with us?” Eric ventured.

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The prince had announced earlier that the survivors of the central line were to be absorbed into the prince’s prestigious personal army that Horatio had taken charge of to close the trap on the Hulvan attack. The decision had been a controversial one amongst the other lords, to say the least, but for now, the prince had the clout to force the decision through.

The North Man rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I suppose I am. The chieftain told me not to show my face near him again just after he gave me this black eye.”

Matthew sucked his breath in through his teeth. “Well, I’m glad you’re fighting with us.”

“You big lads sure are handy in a fight,” John said enthusiastically as they began making their way to their camp. “How many North Men are there over in Enris?”

Karl rubbed his cleanshaven chin thoughtfully. “There are twelve tribes that we know of, and each tribe has around two to three hundred warriors…”

The chubby boy’s eyes widened. “I sure wouldn’t want to pick a fight with the Enrisians if they have that many people like you fighting for them.”

Karl laughed. “You need not fear. Our people think fighting little men is boring. A worthy foe to prove ourselves against, that is what we seek, and there are plenty of our own kind to fight back home.”

“Then why are you here, fighting for us?” Eric asked.

Karl looked over his shoulder at the army’s main camp, where the rest of the North Men were and grunted. “We are the only tribe who worships the Three. Archava, in particular. Four of the tribes who worship the Dark One did something unheard of in our history. They joined forces and attempted to wipe us out. Only seventy of us survived the burning of Visheld and managed to flee across the Frigid Sea to your lands.”

“If fighting little people is boring, why are you fighting in this war?” Tim asked. “The Hulvans are little people too.”

The North Man shrugged his massive shoulders and grinned. “Because fighting little men is better than not fighting at all, and if we don’t fight, how can we prove that we are worthy to Archava?”

“Are all the other tribes worshippers of the Dark One?” Matthew asked quietly.

Karl shook his head. “Only the four. The others worship their own minor gods, but we’ve heard that’s changing. The followers of the Dark One grow by the day, even amongst our people.”

“Do you think we’ll be facing war on that front soon?” Tim asked soon.

“No,” Karl smiled. “At least I don’t think so. Even the worshippers of the Dark One are fragmented, fighting amongst themselves for supremacy. As it stands, no one is able of uniting the continent, though if there is… Well, then things will get interesting, won’t they?”

“I don’t think interesting is the word I’d use to describe it,” Tim frowned. “It sounds like another war is just waiting to break out.”

“You lost your nerve after one battle?” Philip goaded to chuckles from the others. The boy never looked more like a weasel to Tim with his slicked back hair and prominent front teeth.

“Gareth died in my arms,” Tim replied simply. “His last words were asking for his mother.”

The other boys fell silent, and Tim winced as Karl placed a massive hand on his shoulder. “We men of the Northern Tribes prefer to celebrate the lives of our departed instead of mourning their loss.”

When Tim remained silent, the giant of a man smiled. “If you were to die, would you prefer your friends to weep like womenfolk, or laugh as they reminisce about your times of glory?”

“He was a cocky little shit, wasn’t he?” Eric said abruptly. “Remember the time he told us he could jump across Fergyle Creek?”

John broke into a smile. “He ended up with a broken leg and somehow, I got blamed for it.”

“Well you’re the oldest amongst us,” Eric pointed out as they reached their camp. “You’re supposed to be our voice of reason.”

“There’s no reasoning with you twits,” John observed sourly.

Matthew found his bedroll and sighed as he sat on it. “For a bunch of idiots, we’ve done alright, eh? We’re the prince’s brothers now!”

Eric nodded. “We should give thanks to Barylon.”

Karl broke into a toothy smile as he retrieved a bottle from his travelling pack. “Little men, give me your cups.”

“What is that?” Eric asked looking at the bottle suspiciously as he produced his wooden cup.

The North Man’s smile broadened. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but it is tradition for my tribe to celebrate new friendships over a drink. This is this season’s mead, fresh from our brewer.”

Tim held out his cup. A drink sounded like just the thing he needed. Karl obligingly filled his cup to the brim, and he immediately had second thoughts. The smell of alcohol was overpowering and caused his eyes to water. The North Man gave each of the boys from Potter’s Hollow a generous helping before raising the bottle.

“To my new brothers,” he beamed.

“And to fallen friends,” Tim added as he raised his cup.

Eric and Matthew gagged as they drank deeply, and Tim almost choked despite taking a small sip. Karl drained the bottle and looked at the boys with a satisfied smile. “Ah, there is nothing better than a good drink with friends after a victorious battle.”

“This is some stuff,” John managed to choke.

“We can’t carry much onto the battlefield, so what we bring has to be potent, eh?” Karl chuckled.

Tim’s eyelids felt heavy, and he could see that Eric was already swaying as he sat on his bedroll. Philip was already snoring fitfully, while the other two were struggling to keep their eyes open. They’d had a long day, and it all seemed to be catching up with them.

“I think I’ll turn in for the night,” he slurred tiredly.

Karl frowned as he looked at the boys in turn. “I can never tell the age of you little people. You’re of drinking age, aren’t you?”

“Of course we… we are…” Eric slurred. “It’s just…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes began to close and Karl got to his feet. “Perhaps there’s someone in this camp who can hold their alcohol.”

Eric’s eyes fluttered open, and he stubbornly took another swig of mead. “Hey… I can… I can hold my… drink.”

“I’m sorry for doubting you, little man,” Karl plopped himself down across from Eric and grinned. “You are a mighty drinker.”

“You… you better remember it,” Eric slurred. He swayed violently, and for a moment, Tim thought he might fall over, but he managed to catch himself in time. “You know when this war’s over, I’m going to open a tavern… Across… down the road from… that stuck up Mister Brewer’s.”

Karl raised an amused eyebrow, and Tim sat upright, quite enjoying the spectacle of his friend making a fool of himself. “Are you now?”

“That’s… that’s right,” Eric began as he took a sip of mead. “I’ll show Mister Brewer how it’s done!”

“What’s your tavern going to be called?” the North Man ventured.

“The Happily Ever After,” Eric replied at once.

Karl laughed boisterously, attracting curious stares from the men camped nearby, but none of the other boys stirred. “You’re thinking about your happily ever after already?”

Eric scowled, and his indignation appeared to sober him up. “Well, of course I’m going to become a big hero in this war, make a name for myself. Then I’ll… I’ll spend the evening regaling the guests with tales of my glory.”

“The lords seem to think this war will end with the fall of Estos,” Karl pointed out.

“Then that’s where my legend will begin, good night,” Eric declared before abruptly falling over. He was fast asleep before his head touched the ground.