Page 99 of Storm to Victory
With a cry—of pain or determination or perhaps both, Pip couldn’t tell—Prince Edmund slammed what was left of his shackles into the part of the machine on their side of the shield. He did it again, then a third time.
Something shattered. The machine gave a shredding, grinding noise, giving Prince Edmund just enough time to roll to the side behind the protecting straw bales before it exploded. The nearest straw bale burst into a cloud of golden stalks while the soldiers behind the machine went down with screams of pain.
Pip gasped as her magic snapped back into her grip with a painful lash across her senses. Her knees hit the cobblestones with another sharp rap of pain.
“Are you all right?” Prince Edmund grimaced as he shakily pushed onto his elbows.
“Fine, fine.” Pip gasped in a shuddering breath, trying to gather herself.
Somewhere in the distance, something exploded, the cobbles vibrating beneath her fingers. The crackling taste of both Fieran’s and Prince Farrendel’s magic washed through the air, sparking against her magical senses.
Fieran was here. He was coming for her.
That thought galvanized her, flowing into her chest and outward through her limbs. She shoved more magic into her shield, even as she staggered back to her feet. Her knees throbbed, but she was otherwise unhurt. She’d lost a bunch of her magic, but she still had enough curling in her chest for what she needed to do.
Halfway across the courtyard, the crown prince was still being hustled away in the clutches of his guards, their progress slowed by the soldiers pouring into the courtyard from all directions, running toward this far corner.
Pip reached out, her brain struggling to compartmentalize the two streams of magic, and blasted a shield around the crown prince. At that distance, she couldn’t create a more fiddly, exact shield so she caught the crown prince’s guards and a number of soldiers in the shield as well. But it would do until she could get closer.
Hurrying forward, she knelt beside Prince Edmund. “Fieran and Prince Farrendel are here.”
She couldn’t help the grin that crossed her face. Fieran was here. Everything was going to be all right.
“That would explain it.” Prince Edmund smirked as another explosion roared, breaking the stillness of the morning. He gripped the straw bales next to him and tried to get his legs beneath him.
Pip grabbed him under the arm and pulled, heaving him to his feet.
Prince Edmund pushed away from the bales, and his legs promptly gave out beneath him. “Well, that’s going to make escaping somewhat slow.”
“I was hoping you were mostly pretending.” Pip propped herself beneath Prince Edmund’s arm, grunting as his weight settled heavily across her shoulders. Oof, he was heavy. Gritting her teeth, she took a step, telling herself that she was a dwarf. She wasn’t going to collapse under his weight.
“Nope, not pretending. Wish I was.” Prince Edmund gripped his shackles with one hand as he shuffled a step forward. “Ready to get out of here?”
“More than ready,” Pip gasped between panting breaths. She could do this.
Fieran was out there somewhere, and she was finally headed his way.
Chapter
Thirty
Fieran stalked at his dacha’s side, his swords gripped in his hands, their blades red with the blood of the few Mongavarian soldiers who’d dared still attack.
His magic sparked against Dacha’s, and yet even as they sizzled against each other, they also twined together, a blaze of blue bolts shimmering through the air and coating the ground as far as Fieran could see in any direction.
This was his magic fully unleashed, and he let it travel outward as it wished with only the barest hint of control. When his magic touched people or buildings, he left them alone. But any hint of gunpowder he exploded, any weapon he melted, and any military machine he consumed.
To his left, grand houses rose high above the street. On his other side, the road ran along the river, its broad rippling waters separating them from the far bank, which contained the industrial heart of Landri. The merchant ships and factories were giving way to warships and warehouses filled with military material.
Fieran shot out a hand, sending his magic sizzling and hissing over the surface of the river to climb over the first of the warships resting at anchor. This one was a small coastalcruiser, tiny compared to the massive battleships he’d seen at Dar Goranth.
He swept his magic over the ship and into the passageways. When his magic encountered people, he let it zap rather than incinerate, herding the sailors from the ship. Men scurried into sight before they either dove into the river, swimming as fast as they could away from the ship, or raced down the gangplank onto the dock, dashing away into the morning.
Once the ship was clear of people, he let his magic penetrate to the heart of the cordite magazine in the center of the ship.
With a powerful boom, the ship exploded in a ball of flames and shrapnel that pummeled into his magic. He incinerated the smaller pieces while deflecting the larger section back towards the explosion.
“I have the next one.” Dacha grinned, that wild light in his eyes, as he flung his own magic across the river. It swarmed over the next ship in line, a nearly identical cruiser. Mere minutes later, men poured from the ship like rats before the ship went up in a fireball.
