Page 104 of Storm to Victory
Behind Prince Edmund, the crown prince drew himself straighter, although he didn’t wear dignity quite as well as his mother did. Having his hands shackled behind his back didn’t help. Yet he spoke with a haughty assertiveness. “Mongavaria will never surrender to the likes of the Alliance.”
The words and the twin looks of hatred burning in the eyes of the empress and her son ignited something deep within Fieran’s chest. He hadn’t fought for months, shed so much blood his soul was stained with it, lost friends and family, crashed, watched his best friend come back after losing a leg, crossed half of Mongavaria, and exploded all this armament only to be toldno.
He was absolutely done with all of this. The war endednow.
For the sake of all the Alliance men and women who had died fighting. All those fighting still.
For the sake of the ogres who had been ruthlessly exploited and experimented on.
And for the sake of the Mongavarian citizens like the woman who’d helped them and who wanted to believe that her kingdom could be better than it was now.
Fieran’s magic burned in his chest and through his veins in a way it never had before. This was a soul-deep righteous fury unlike anything he’d ever felt. Hardly knowing what he was going to do, Fieran shared a look with his dacha, finding there the same burning anger. “We need to end this.”
With a firm nod, Dacha stabbed his swords into the ground at the edge of the road, kneeling as he did so. His words were a declaration, a death knell. “Then we will end it, sason.”
Dacha’s magic burst outward, crackling down his arms, over his swords, and into the ground. Fieran caught his breath at the sheer force of Dacha’s power as it pummeled his chest.
Fieran copied his movements, kneeling and stabbing his swords into the dirt. Closing his eyes, he sank deep into the storm of his own magic and released it. All of it. He didn’t try to hold back or control it in the ways he had before. Instead, he embraced the magic and let it take over until he was subsumed into the scorching force of it.
This was the full force of the magic of the ancient kings, only unleashed by the depth of the wrath Fieran felt. At that moment, he very likely would have registered as a 20 on the Marion Scale. He could only guess how high Dacha’s magic would register. The taste of it seared against his in an immense power beyond anything Fieran had sensed before.
Neither he nor his dacha could have done this at the beginning of the war. If Fieran hadn’t had the magical stamina or connection to his magic, then Dacha had needed the war to return to the warrior he’d once been instead of the husband and father he’d become. More, they hadn’t been angry enough.
They were angry now.
His and Dacha’s magic shot outward, covering not just the city, not just the surrounding urban sprawl, not even just the outlying farm fields. It surged mile after mile, crackling and powerful and yet not incinerating the people, the structures, the plants.
When that distant, rational part of him sensed the mechanisms of war—the metal, the gunpowder, the industry—only then did he exert enough control to consume or explode, annihilating whatever ability to make war that Mongavaria had left.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder a moment before a flood of a strangely cool but soothing magic washed over him. It twined through his magic, somehow not consumed as it followed the crackling tide outward.
Fieran peeled his eyes open and peered upward through a blue, crackling haze.
Aaruk stood there, a hand on both Dacha’s shoulder and Fieran’s, his eyes closed as he poured his magic over theirs. His mouth pressed into a tight line as he opened his eyes and met Fieran’s gaze. “Destroy those machines. Don’t let them keep the magic they stole. Avenge my people.”
Maybe in the end, this was the pinnacle of purpose for a warrior of the magic of the ancient kings. They didn’t just fight wars. They didn’t just end them. They were the vengeance for all those who couldn’t fight for themselves.
Fieran could only manage a tiny nod as his magic burned even hotter in his chest until he could barely breathe past the force of it. All he could do was drown in it as he let the waves crash across the Mongavarian landscape.
Where he sensed captured and twisted ogre magic, he released it or consumed it. Far away, aeroplanes lined up on an airfield exploded as they were incinerated. Artillery guns melted. Rifles disappeared in the power of his and Dacha’s magic.
Then another magic burst outward, racing toward his and Dacha’s across the land from a distance far closer than Fieran would’ve expected. An icy magic joined Adry’s as Rhohen, too, poured his magic over the ground. Somewhere even farther away, Louise unleashed her magic.
Yet when their magic met, it didn’t clash or spark as it always had in morning practices. Instead, the magic twined together until Fieran could no longer tell when his magic ended and his family’s began. As the magic melded, it magnified into one massive maelstrom. Only Rhohen’s remained somewhat distinct, not merging with the rest as fully.
This was something the world hadn’t seen since the days of the ancient kings for whom this magic was named. Multiple warriors of the magic of the ancient kings wielding their magic together and unleashing a power that would destroy the world without an honorable heart to guide it.
Dacha spoke, his voice resonating in deep tones. “We are Laesornysh.”
“We hold your kingdom in our hands.” Fieran’s own voice felt as ancient as his power as it clawed up his throat and reverberated in his ears. He dragged his eyes open, barely able to discern hazy shapes past the blaze of blue across his vision.
“Surrender. Now.” Dacha’s voice rang hard and sharp through the magic filling the air.
“Please, Your Majesty! We must consider terms of surrender!” One of the officials was on his knees. Many of the others were sobbing, pleading. “They will destroy us!”
Empress Bella’s mouth worked. Was she still thinking about resisting even now?
Behind her, the government buildings crumbled, the roar of collapsing stone accompanied by a cloud of dust.
