Page 38 of Storm to Victory
Rothilion gave a satisfied sigh as he stretched out his feet in a more comfortable sprawl than Fieran usually saw from him. “It appears my work here is done. Your humans have gained a taste for culture.”
Before them, the narrators reached the part where the two halves of the squadron arrived in Dar Goranth, which apparently everyone had decided to portray as a collision. Flyboys and elves ran into each other, some stumbling and falling down. It was chaotic and messy, the two sides turning away from each other with huffs, crossed arms, and noses in the air.
Rothilion gave a small groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind.”
For some reason, the sight had Fieran reaching for Pip’s hand, holding her fingers tight. The squadron had come so far since those early days. The ragtag, disjointed Flights had melded into what was now the finest squadron in the Alliance.
And now he would be leaving them.
Rothilion would leave first, flying out bright and early tomorrow morning. Fieran and Pip would leave a few days after that to head into the danger of the skies over Mongavaria.
Fieran glanced over Pip’s head to where Merrik sat, a slight smile on his face, his gaze focused on the stumbling attemptsof the flyboys to match the graceful elven movements. At least Fieran was leaving the squadron in good hands. If Merrik could keep Fieran more or less out of trouble growing up, then surely he could keep the squadron safe and in line.
The squadron told the story of the Battle of Dar Goranth, then the battles over Fort Defense. When Fieran and Merrik crashed, two of the flyboys went so far as to tumble down a few stairs to represent crashing.
Then there was his triumphant return. The introduction of the flygirls to their numbers. Merrik’s return. The Wall coming down.
For their grand finale, the elves climbed on the shoulders of the flyboys, all of them gripping each other’s arms until they formed the semblance of an aeroplane.
Fieran grinned and clapped while Pip gave a cheer beside him. Rothilion’s and Merrik’s clapping was less raucous but both of them were smiling broadly.
He would miss this squadron fiercely while he was in Mongavaria. But he had to go. For them.
Fieran strolledbetween the parked aeroplanes, resting a hand on a fuselage here, tracing the line of a wing there. The artwork emblazoned on the aeroplanes was as individual as each of the pilots who flew them.
This was a farewell, of sorts. A moment to linger among the aeroplanes, surrounded by the twinkle of fireflies dancing among the mechanisms of war, as the quiet of the evening settled into his soul.
Boots crunched behind him before Merrik strode from the gray of the deepening night and halted beside him.
Fieran rested his hand against his aeroplane’s fuselage, his palm resting on the elf ear painted there. “I never thought we’d end the war like this. You going one way, me another. I thought I’d end this at your side.”
Merrik shook his head, staring off into the night. “I always knew it would be like this. You were destined to outgrow me and the squadron. You are Laesornysh. The squadron was just your stepping stone to become a warrior capable of fighting at your dacha’s side.”
“The squadronismy strength.” Fieran nudged Merrik with his elbow. “I wouldn’t be Laesornysh without all of you.”
He wouldn’t have become the warrior he was now without the Half-Breed Squadron. They were the ones who had followed him into battle time after time. They had pulled off his plans, no matter how crazy. His magic wouldn’t have been half as potent if he hadn’t been wielding it with the help of his squadron.
“No. But it is time for you tobeLaesornysh as you were always meant to be.” Merrik finally turned to Fieran and clasped his shoulders. “That is not a bad thing. The Alliance needs its next generation of Laesornysh warriors. You and Adry will be the ones to win the war. I am just glad I got to be a small part of it.”
“Merrik…” Fieran clasped Merrik’s shoulders in return, giving him a small shake. “Do you know what finally made me decide to go on this mission to Mongavaria?”
Merrik huffed and rolled his eyes, dropping his hands from Fieran’s shoulders. “No. Despite our long years of friendship, I have not yet learned to read your mind.”
“Just as well. The number of far crazier plans I think about then discard before settling on a plan that is merely a normal-level of crazy would drive you into insanity.” Fieran grinned as he, too, dropped his hands and instead lounged against the aeroplane behind him.
Merrik tilted his head back as if searching the stars for patience and good sense. “Spare me, I beg you.”
Fieran chuckled, letting the conversation pause for a moment, before he spoke again. “I took this mission because I need to get out of your way. It’s beyond time you stepped out of my shadow to become the captain of the Half-Breed Squadron thatyouwere always meant to be.”
“Fieran…” Merrik straightened, shaking his head as his gaze dropped. “I cannot be the captain you are.”
“No. You will be a far better captain than I ever was.” Fieran lightly punched Merrik’s arm. “You actually have sense. I know the squadron will be in good hands.”
“You’re leaving intimidating wings to fill.” Merrik’s shoulders hunched as if under the weight of the responsibility that would soon fall to him. “And with the way the Alliance generals are planning to push hard in the next few weeks…”
Fieran swallowed. Adry and Merrik would bear the brunt of that fighting. Any day now, the invasion push would reach the Empress Line and face far fiercer fighting than any they’d encountered in Mongavaria so far.
And Adry would no longer have Dacha at her side.
