Page 96 of Storm to Victory
Dacha released his death grip on Fieran’s shoulder. “Yes. But that was a near thing.”
Fieran just nodded as he peered around them. The few people out and about were gaping at the aeroplane now wedged across their otherwise quiet street. A carriage came around the far corner, the horses trotting smartly, before the driver jerked back on the reins.
Dacha yanked off his flight cap and goggles, grabbed his swords, and leapt down from the aeroplane, landing gracefully in the street. With a glance at the gaping crowd, he released a flicker of his magic, sweeping it around him.
Those few people who hadn’t had the sense to run screaming at the sight of an aeroplane landing in the middle of the streetnowtook off running and screaming in terror.
Subtle surprise was out. Though, that had probably been out from the moment Fieran ditched an aeroplane in the road.
Fieran peeled off his own flight cap and goggles. Grabbing his swords from where they had been tucked next to him, he scrambled down from the aeroplane with Aaruk following.
Dacha had set his swords on the lower wing and was shrugging out of the Mongavarian uniform coat, leaving behind only the plain gray shirt beneath. At Fieran’s look, he gave a rolling shrug. “I do not wish to go into this battle dressed as the enemy.”
“Good call.” Fieran set his swords next to Dacha’s on the wing and began divesting himself of his own Mongavarian uniform coat. It had served its purpose in getting them across the empire, but now it was time to fight under his true allegiance, even if he didn’t have an Alliance uniform to put on instead. The plain gray shirt and the blue-gray uniform pants would have to do.
At least they had plenty of time. The street was now utterly deserted.
Dacha gave a sigh and reached to touch his shortened hair. “The last time I ended a war, I also had short hair.”
Fieran paused, his gaze shooting to Dacha. While he’d heard, vaguely, that the trolls had cut Dacha’s hair, he somehow had never put it together that Dacha had short hair during the events in the stories he’d heard growing up.
Dacha met Fieran’s gaze, holding it a moment before his disconsolate look disappeared into something else. A tilt of a smile banished the frown while a glint sparked in his eyes. “But it is just as well this time, I believe.”
Fieran straightened his shoulders and held his gaze. With their short hair, similar features, and identical swords, they were a matched set. More clearly father and son. Two of the warriors Laesornysh.
Grinning, Fieran tapped the tip of one of his own pointed ears. “At least the short hair makes our ears more obvious.”
“That it does.” Dacha picked up his swords, slung them over his shoulders, and buckled them in place.
Fieran matched Dacha’s movements, also buckling his own swords into their familiar place across his back.
Dacha reached out and gripped Fieran’s shoulders, holding his gaze once again. “Short hair or long, sason, we are elven warriors, and we will end this war as elves.”
If Dacha’s short hair didn’t make him less of an elven warrior, then Fieran’s short hair didn’t lessen him either.
“Yes, we will.” He straightened as he faced his dacha, the weight of that knowledge settling deep within him. He was human. And he was elf. And neither of those things made him less. He was capable and worthy of ending this war at his dacha’s side.
Dacha’s returning smile glinted in his eyes for a moment before the smile faded. “How is your magic?”
After a week of not using it, his magic simmered hot and eager beneath his skin. “It’s been a week. My magic is fine.”
“It is.” Aaruk stepped forward and held out a hand. “I can check again if it would make you feel better.”
Dacha’s flat look was answer enough. Fieran sighed and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, standing patiently while Aaruk went through the now familiar routine of pressing a hand over the now nearly healed spots where the machine had been hooked to him.
Aaruk had no sooner brushed his magic against Fieran’s than he yanked his hand back with a hiss, shaking his fingers. “Yeah, he’s fine. I think he will be in far more danger if he doesn’t use his magic soon and expend some of it.”
Dacha made a noise in the back of his throat, his deep frown remaining.
“See, I’m fine.” Fieran hurried to rebutton his shirt. “Where are we headed?”
Dacha waved his hand at the street ahead of them. “Landri Castle and the empire’s governmental offices are near the ocean on this side of the river. We will head there. Hopefully Edmund and Pippak are being held in one of those places. If not, then we will force someone to tell us where they are.”
Now that sounded especially good to Fieran.
The three of them marched down the street in silence for several moments before Fieran glanced at his dacha again. “What happens if we come up against one of those magic-stealing machines again? Do you think the two of us can take one out without passing out?”
“Oh, don’t worry about those.” Aaruk gave a shrug when both Fieran and Dacha looked to him. He held up his hand. “Deflecting magic, remember?”
