Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

O nly a few hours before the fighting bouts were set to begin, Fieran sat with his back to the stone wall near the hangar mouth, hiding in the shadows as he stared into the pounding rain. After days of nearly nonstop rain, the airfield was nothing but puddles and squishy hummocks of grass.

Perhaps he should be catching a nap after the rough night. Or stretching out his tight muscles.

But he'd told the men about the aeroplane wreckage after lunch, and they'd raised a glass of troll mead to their fallen comrades, leaving two glasses untouched.

Perhaps it should have been three glasses. They still had no word on the missing elf pilot, but after this long, he was more than likely dead as well. Fieran hadn't had a chance to know him as well as he knew the two pilots from Flight B, but the elf was still a part of his squadron.

With a whisper of boots on stone, Merrik walked around the aeroplane hiding Fieran from view. He slid down to sit next to Fieran, not saying anything. After a month here at Dar Goranth, Merrik's hair was long around his ears, nearly long enough to brush his collar.

Fieran sighed and leaned his head against the stone behind him. "I thought I wanted to be in command. But leading is harder than I thought it would be."

Especially when he took it in his head to do something especially reckless. Sometimes, the need to just let loose without a thought for the consequences was so strong he almost couldn't help himself.

Almost.

Impulsiveness was no excuse for not thinking things through and controlling himself.

"Fieran." Merrik heaved a sigh of his own, shaking his head. "Life has always been so easy for you. I do not know if you have ever been challenged in your life before now. You never missed a meal or had to worry about material things. You are smart enough that our university classes never truly tested you."

Fieran grimaced at that. If he'd actually studied, he might have gotten perfect scores. But as it was, he did well enough without studying to graduate toward the top of the class. Why work for a few meaningless extra points?

Merrik continued, still not looking at Fieran. "Thanks to being the son of one of the owners, you got a job right out of university at the AMPC, a company with a waitlist of applicants. Most of those in our university classes would have begged on hands and knees for a job there, but you just took it for granted that you had one."

"All things true of you as well." Fieran winced as those words came out more defensive than he meant them to be.

"Yes." Merrik didn't flinch. They'd been friends long enough that perhaps he'd expected a bit of edge, pushing Fieran as he was. "But my parents were not born into wealth as your parents were. Not to say your parents didn't face their own struggles. All our parents had far harder childhoods than we did."

Also true.

Fieran was well aware that he had been rather blessed when it came to looks, intelligence, wealth, and the privilege of being born to royalty. No, he'd never struggled. But he'd never been given an opportunity to struggle. Everyone seemed to expect more from him because he'd been given so much, and yet he'd never found something hard enough to actually test his mettle and stretch his mind and skills.

As Merrik had said, everything was too easy.

Except perhaps morning practices with Dacha. Those were hard.

Basic training had come close to testing him. Yet even with how much the drill sergeants pushed him, he'd never reached his true limits. Did he even know his limits of physical and mental endurance?

"What do I do now?" Fieran slumped even more heavily against the stone behind him.

"You either break or you rise to the occasion." Merrik glanced at something in the hanger before he lightly punched Fieran's shoulder and stood. "Looks like someone else wants to talk with you."

What? Who? Fieran wasn't ready to speak with anyone else right now.

But then Fieran saw Pip standing there in the shadows of the aeroplane, shifting from foot to foot as if she hadn't wanted to interrupt.

Never mind. Merrik was the absolute best wingman ever.

Pip lingered in the shadows of the aeroplane, not sure if she should interrupt Fieran and Merrik.

But Fieran had seemed so down after his punishment the night before and the news that his two flyboys were dead. Why she thought he'd want her comfort, she didn't know. But she felt compelled to give it anyway. Pesky more-than-friends attraction.

Merrik glanced up, and he must have spotted her for he stood, said something to Fieran, then strode away. As he passed Pip, he gave her a nod, something gleaming in his eyes.

Pip froze, then gaped at Merrik's retreating back. He knew . Merrik totally knew she was attracted to Fieran. Or, at the very least, he wasn't above playing a bit of matchmaking.

She halted in front of Fieran, not quite sure how to stand, as if her body had forgotten what was her normal. She tucked her hands in her pockets, then took them out and clasped them in front of her instead. That didn't feel right either, so she crossed her arms. That still didn't feel natural either, but she forced herself to remain as she was. "You look like you could use some cheering up."

"Yeah." Fieran straightened slightly from his slumped position. "What did you have in mind? I know this is going to sound strange coming from me, but it probably should be something that doesn't get me into trouble. Well, more trouble."

What did she have in mind? She hadn't given too much thought to it besides just spending time with Fieran.

She glanced about, spotting the sleeting rain outside. Ah, that would work. She gestured that way. "What about a little magic practice? That always seems to help. We won't go far in case you're needed, and I can make a shield with my magic to keep us dry."

Well, mostly dry. She couldn't do anything about the puddles and wet grass. Their boots, socks, and trousers would get soaked.

"That…sounds like exactly what I need." Fieran braced himself, preparing to stand.

She held out a hand to Fieran. He took it, and she had to lean back to put her whole weight into pulling him the rest of the way to his feet.

Pip called up her magic, letting it spread out in a small dome above her and Fieran's heads as they stepped outside. While their boots squished on the saturated ground, they stayed otherwise dry as the rain sluiced off her magical shield.

"That's a handy skill." The hint of a smile returned to Fieran's face.

"It is." Pip expanded her shield so that she could go around one side of a puddle while Fieran skirted the other side. "Especially when it's pouring rain, and you are working late to fix one of the steam engines because it is due to leave in the morning."

A pang shot through her at the memories of her home at Tarenhiel's western rail terminal. Were her parents and brother managing to keep everything running just fine now that the war had begun? They wouldn't say otherwise in their letters.

How she missed her muka, her dacha, and her brother Mak. She had only gotten one packet of letters since arriving at Dar Goranth, due to the mail service being so slow.

She shoved that aside. There was no use in dwelling on homesickness now.

"My magic just incinerates the rain." Fieran stuck his hand out from under the protection of her dome. A single bolt of his power lashed into the rain with a sizzle. Rain instantly puffed into steam while his magic flared through the raindrops and along the ground.

"Your magic incinerates pretty much everything." Pip nudged him, then grimaced as her boot sank into a puddle all the way to her ankle. At least the army-issue boots went nearly to her knees, so her feet were still mostly dry.

"All too true." Fieran pointed toward one of the small rises to one side of the airfield. It wasn't as flooded as the rest of the surrounding ground. "That looks like a good spot."

They trudged across the sloppy ground until they reached the hill. The ground still squelched beneath their boots, but at least there weren't any more standing puddles.

Pip expanded her shield so that it formed a large dome over the entire hill. She created another smaller shield around herself. "All right. Ready."

Fieran halted at the top of the hill and drew in a deep breath. Then his magic burst from him, crackling with nearly uncontrolled power.

Perhaps he'd needed this even more than she had realized. He'd done better here at Dar Goranth to take the time for practice with his magic, but the days of rain and the emotions of the last few days must have played havoc with his control.

His magic struck hers, but instead of incinerating her power, his magic coursed over hers, the two powers blending and strengthening.

Pip poured more of her magic into the shield. This was going to take more power than she'd expected.

With one last glance at her, Fieran held out his hands, as if he held a pair of swords, and unleashed even more of his magic.

Blue bolts burst around him, all but obscuring him from sight. He whirled and struck, as if decimating invisible enemies.

Pip kept her breathing steady as her magic held back the magic of the ancient kings. This wasn't even the full force of Fieran's power. Even now, he was holding back. She wouldn't have even realized that if she hadn't seen him use his magic during the Battle over Bridgetown.

She wasn't sure how long Fieran fought invisible enemies. By the time he halted and let his magic dissipate into harmless sparks that quickly dissolved into the air, Pip was sweating and breathing harder than he was.

Fieran met her gaze, then dropped his hands, the battle light snuffing from his bright blue eyes. "Sorry. I shouldn't have let so much of my magic loose."

"It's all right." Pip swiped a sweaty strand of her hair behind her pointed ear. "It was good practice for me too. Each time we practice together, I'm able to hold back more of your magic."

"Still, I'll try to be more aware of not pressing quite so close to your limits next time." Fieran strode toward her, his shirt showing a few patches of sweat that stuck the fabric tighter to his chest.

Pip swallowed and focused her gaze squarely on his face. In her defense, his chest was a bit more eye level for her than his face. Well, more like his abs were face level for her, but she was not going to think about his abs. Which were undoubtedly well-defined beneath his shirt.

Nope. Not doing it. Focus on something else. Not his abs. Not his muscles .

Pip cleared her throat. "I wonder if it would be possible to create a shield for Dar Goranth by combining our magic."

There. Something scientific and logical. Not at all charged like the moment before.

"Like the Wall?" Fieran fell into step with her. "I think my uncles and my dacha considered making several smaller Walls around principal cities. But it was eventually discarded because the Wall can make taking certain goods in and out rather tricky. A good thing along the border, but not as convenient inside of Escarland or Tarenhiel."

"Yes, sort of. But I was thinking one that could be turned on and off rather than just going off when triggered." Pip gestured between the two of them, her heart rate calming with the more comfortable discussion of inventions and magic. "A large wire infused with my magic could be set up or buried around Dar Goranth. The wire could then be hooked up to a bank of magical power cells with your family's magic. When there was an attack, a switch could be flipped to turn it on. If I got the shield right, the shield could direct your magic—or your dacha's or your sisters' depending on the power cell—as an extra layer conducted through it."

"Hmm. That could work." Fieran's eyes glazed slightly, and he tromped right through a mud puddle as if he wasn't paying enough attention to avoid it. "It wouldn't be as strong as the Wall or able to actively ward off bombs like I can do in person."

"No, it wouldn't. Nor could it withstand heavy bombing like what the Mongavarians did to Bridgetown." Pip resisted a shiver at the memories. "But it would be able to take a few hits. If a shield like that could buy a military base enough time to fight back or protect a city long enough for the nearest military base to send help, then surely it would be worth it."

"It's a good idea." Fieran sighed and shook his head as they neared the hangar mouth. "We won't be able to implement it until after this storm breaks. And then…"

"And then we'll probably be under attack, and it will be too late regardless." If only she'd had the idea weeks ago when they'd first arrived instead of just now. But she and Fieran hadn't had the chance to practice their magic together as he'd been busy drilling his pilots and she'd been spending long hours building—then repairing—aeroplanes. "Maybe it's something to bring up once the attack is over. For next time."

Assuming they all survived this first attack, when it came.

"Yes." Fieran shot her a weary smile as they stepped out of the rain into the hangar once again. "You'll make me rather redundant."

"I highly doubt that." Even if she could implement a shield for Dar Goranth, the base would still need a warrior to defend it.

Would the military transfer Fieran elsewhere, if he was no longer needed to actively defend Dar Goranth? Worse, what if they decided she needed to remain to supervise her shield?

It almost made her want to keep the idea to herself. Even though there was no guarantee that she and Fieran would continue to be transferred to the same bases. Perhaps they'd stay at Dar Goranth for the entire war. Or they'd both be transferred elsewhere. Maybe they'd die in the coming attack.

There was no certainty in war .

Once she and Fieran were inside, she released her shield outside to avoid dumping rainwater on their heads.

Fieran grimaced down at his boots. His boots were wet, and his trousers muddy all the way past his knees. "I'd better change into my Not-Knot boots before the fighting bouts begin. I'm bound to be challenged at least once before the night is out, and I don't want to start the fight looking like something a mountain lion dragged in."

"Will people really challenge you?" Pip's stomach twisted.

"Yes." The smile dropped from Fieran's face, his tone grim. "I'm my father's son. There's going to be more than a few warriors who will want to test their mettle against me."

Great. Yet another thing to worry about.

Pip sat wedged between Fieran and Aylia along one of the upper tiers of benches in the fighting arena. Unlike the movie night, all the seats were available, and they were even more packed.

It seemed as if every troll on base—and a good number of those from the docked warships and airships—had swarmed the place. A whole contingent of dwarves had plunked themselves in a section in the back while Lt. Rothilion and some of the other elven pilots besides Aylia had actually put in an appearance.

The only semi-cleared space in the whole seat area was the front box where Queen Melantha and Prince Sontar sat. The entire arena of spectators stood and saluted when the troll queen entered, and the trolls had sent up such a howling cheer that Pip had promptly tucked in the moss earplugs Fieran had suggested she take along .

Down in the arena, two trolls bashed at each other with axes. While the blades were dulled, the two of them were bound to have some nasty bruises by the time the fight was over.

Fieran hadn't put his arm behind her like he had during the moving picture, but they were wedged so tightly against each other that they were touching from hip to knee and at their shoulders.

Not that she minded, exactly. But she was far more aware of every time he moved than she was of the fights taking place below. And Fieran moved a lot. He never sat still for more than a second or two at a time.

To distract herself, she turned to him. He bent over to put his ear closer to her level, and she all but shouted into his also thoroughly moss-plugged ear. "These fights are pretty brutal."

Fieran turned to face her, also all but yelling to be heard. "Yes. But I've been told they are better than they used to be. My dacha and uncles tell stories of what the fighting bouts were like back in the day. Fully bladed weapons and lots of bloodshed. But Uncle Rharreth and Aunt Melantha have worked hard to tone down the fights into something somewhat safer that still fulfills the purpose of proving honor in troll society."

"Seems like they're just an excuse to get entertainment out of brutality." Pip shuddered as the one troll went down after getting clubbed on the head. When he stayed down, the other troll was declared the victor.

"There's a little of that." Fieran paused as the injured troll was helped up the stands. "Well, maybe a lot of that. It's saying something about what these fighting bouts used to be if this is an improvement on safety and levels of violence."

Queen Melantha stood as the losing troll was brought to her. Her fingers glowed faintly green as she pressed them to the injured troll's head.

"Still doesn't seem wise to go beat each other up right before a major battle." Pip shook her head. That troll probably had a concussion. Not something to be just brushed aside lightly.

"No, but that's troll culture for you." Fieran tipped his head toward his aunt, who appeared to be waving to Prince Sontar to add his own magic into the mix, likely so that the troll queen could train him as she healed. "Back in the day, there were no elf healers. Participants weren't even allowed to seek medical attention until the fighting bouts were over. Convincing the troll warriors that seeking medical help right away was not a sign of weakness was one of the first things my aunt campaigned for. Or so I've been told. I was only a baby back then."

The injured troll blinked and the pale cast to his gray skin eased. He stood and raised an arm, showing he was all right.

All the gathered troll warriors cheered, acknowledging a warrior who had lost bravely.

Pip winced at the noise. Even her good, magically enhanced elven earplugs weren't fully cutting it.

The winning troll fought one more round before he declined to challenge anyone else, instead making his way back to the stands amid raucous cheers, stomping feet, and applause.

"The limits on how many rounds a winner has to fight and the ability to bow out of a fight and still retain honor was another thing Uncle Rharreth and Aunt Melantha changed." Fieran's warm breath tickled her ear. "Apparently my dacha was forced to fight an inordinate number of rounds at my Uncle Julien's wedding, until Uncle Julien finally defeated him. Well, my dacha says Uncle Julien defeated him. Uncle Julien claims Dacha purposefully threw that fight and let him win."

"Sounds like your large family gatherings are rather interesting." Pip glanced at Fieran, though her gaze was drawn to the two dwarves who were now making their way into the center of the arena, both toting large war hammers and the round bucklers favored by dwarven warriors.

"They are." Fieran shrugged before his gaze, too, swung to the arena. "Looks like dwarves aren't opposed to a bit of violent entertainment."

The two dwarves were swinging their hammers at each other with such force that it was a wonder neither of them had crushed bone or split open a skull yet.

Pip gripped the edge of the stone bench, swinging her legs. "I was raised among elves, so I share more of their sensibilities than dwarven ones. But from visits to my grandparents, well, let's just say dwarves enjoy a good brawl as much as trolls do."

Of the two dwarves, the one with a little more red in his beard defeated the one with elaborate warrior braids. Both the winner and the loser trekked up to Queen Melantha to have various injuries healed.

As the winner also bowed out, the troll announcer stepped into the center of the arena and called out a name from the list of those who had signed up before the fighting bouts as challengers.

"Did he just…" Pip glanced from the announcer to Fieran. With all the noise and the troll's accent, she wasn't sure if she'd heard what she thought she heard.

Fieran heaved a sigh, his hands fisting at his side. "Yes, he did. Apparently, Lt. Rothilion signed up to challenge someone. One guess who that will be. "

Across the arena, Lt. Rothilion stood and glided down the stairs toward the arena.

Pip clenched her fists, tensing as Lt. Rothilion halted in the center of the arena and stared right at where she and Fieran were sitting.

Despite the noise, Lt. Rothilion's contemptuous tone pierced the hubbub. "I challenge Lt. Fieran Laesornysh."