Page 25 of Storm to Victory
“Fieran.” Uncle Edmund slapped Fieran’s back, finished the hug, and turned to Pip. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Pippak.”
Pip’s eyes widened still further. “You know who I am?”
“Of course I know who you are.” Uncle Edmund grinned, his eyes sparkling in that way that held secrets. “I was on the diplomatic mission to Dalorbor with your parents. They are quite proud of you and your brother and happy to talk about you.”
“But you wouldn’t have known about…” Fieran reached for Pip’s hand again, clasping it.
“That was a surprise on my return.” Yet somehow Uncle Edmund’s tone didn’t sound as surprised as he should have. “I returned before they did, as my part in the diplomacy was complete by then.”
“Diplomacy?” Dacha raised his eyebrow at Uncle Edmund.
“Yes, diplomacy. That’s all it was this time. Well, mostly.” Uncle Edmund’s grin was accompanied by a hint of a shrug. “It isn’t my fault Dalorbor doesn’t know to be wary when I show up to a diplomatic meeting.”
Pip glanced from Uncle Edmund to Fieran, her brow wrinkled. This conversation would make far less sense if one didn’t know exactly what Uncle Edmund did with his time.
Fieran leaned closer to her. “Uncle Edmund is Escarland’s head spy.”
On the surface, Uncle Edmund seemed much like Fieran’s mother: gregarious, personable, friendly. But that hid the devious layers beneath.
Her eyes widened. “Am I cleared to know that? Isn’t that some kind of national secret?”
“Somewhat. Mongavaria knows, so it isn’t exactly a very well-kept secret. And there’s my last name. I’m not exactly hiding my job from anyone who knows elvish.” Uncle Edmund shrugged and waved as if it wasn’t a big deal. “But if you didn’t mention it to your dwarven relatives, I’d appreciate it. They might start re-examining every move I made while on the diplomatic trip, and that might make our new treaty more shaky.”
“I won’t say anything.” Pip swallowed, nodding, before she leaned closer to Fieran and whispered, “I had wondered about the last name, but I didn’t think a real spy would just say he was a spy in his name. I thought it must be some kind of inside joke or something.”
Fieran grinned as he whispered back, “That’s Uncle Edmund for you.”
Uncle Edmund’s and Aunt Jalissa’s chosen last nameIspamirmeantSpy Princein elvish.
Merrik and then Adry strode through the doorway, though Fieran wasn’t sure when his sister had arrived. Rothilion remained at the door across from Uncle Iyrinder, as if he didn’t feel fully welcome inside the room.
“Uncle Edmund!” Adry released Merrik’s hand to hug Uncle Edmund. “When did you get back?”
“A few weeks ago.” Uncle Edmund returned her hug.
Uncle Julien straightened and stood. “Now that everyone’s here, we can head to the planning office for the meeting.”
“Meeting?” Fieran glanced between all of them.
“Yes. The one on how to end the war.” Uncle Edmund’s grin vanished as he turned and headed for the door.
Chapter
Eight
Fieran wedged himself against the wall with Pip on one side, Merrik on the other. Adry leaned against Merrik while Dacha and Uncle Iyrinder pressed into the corner as if trying to disappear in the crowded room. Rothilion had taken up the station on the other side of Pip, and Fieran appreciated the way he helped shield Pip from all the jostling.
The various generals and other higher-ups bumped and bustled to find room around the table. Troll and elf generals wedged side by side in the space while Pip’s Uncle Thortrad took up station next to the table and refused to budge, no matter the polite pushing and shoving.
Since this room had once been the grand dining room in the largest townhouse on the square, a table dominated the center of the room. Yet instead of the steaming dishes of a feast, a mess of maps and photographs spread across it.
Uncle Julien took the position at the head of the table with Uncle Edmund at his side. Aunt Vriska wasn’t there since she was leading one of the troll armies on the front lines, as were King Rharreth and Rhohen since it was their week at the front. Nor was Uncle Weylind there, as he remained in Aldon, last Fieran had heard.
After sweeping a glance over the room, Uncle Julien gave a nod and spoke in a voice that easily carried over the noise of chattering men. “Silence, everyone.” He waited a moment for everyone to quiet before he gestured to Uncle Edmund. “Give your full attention to my brother Prince Edmund Ispamir.”
Uncle Edmund stepped slightly forward. “Let’s start with a small history lesson. Seventy years ago, Mongavaria began their aggression against the Alliance Kingdoms. Realizing that they would need a way to combat Prince Farrendel, they began experimenting with magical ways to shield weapons from the magic of the ancient kings. Back then, their attempts were rather futile. In the years since, they continued this pursuit and eventually stumbled on a new magic. Months ago, Mongavaria unveiled this unknown magic, deflecting the magic of the ancient kings to protect their aeroplanes. This magic grew progressively stronger until it culminated in those machines that took down the Wall.”
That was a polite way to put it, even if Uncle Edmund tilted his head toward Fieran’s dacha. As if any of them could forget that those machines had nearly drained Dacha of his magic.
