Chapter 20

Twenty

Even as Fieran stood there, shaking at the sight, a stream of tiny black specks dribbled out of one of the airships. Explosions flared among the distant, black buildings. One bomb must have struck the Alliance Bridge for it flared with his dacha's bright blue magic. At this distance, Fieran couldn't see if the magic in the stone had been enough to spare the bridge destruction.

The Mongavarian airships were bombing Bridgetown. A town full of innocent civilians. Women. Children.

Fieran sagged against the hangar's wall, chest heaving, head whirling.

Had he caused this? Had the Mongavarian airships decided to move on to a new target once they realized Fort Linder was protected?

Could Fieran stretch his magic that far? He'd never used it at such a distance, but his dacha had done so to create the Wall.

But Dacha had more power than Fieran. Far more experience. By the time he'd been Fieran's age, he'd already fought two wars. Been tortured twice. Used his magic in ways Fieran had never encountered.

Until joining the army, Fieran had never faced anything scarier than his dacha with the light of battle in his eyes.

Fieran raced outside, knelt, and pressed a hand to the ground. At this distance, he needed the firmness of the ground to guide his magic. He dug deep within himself, sinking into the unknown depths of his magic in a way he never had before.

He poured his magic into the ground, pushing it toward the distant city. He could sense the stone, the foundations of homes and buildings. He shoved his magic high into the air over the city. His control stretched thin and slick in his mind. If he'd been holding a wall around the city, anchored into the ground while he stood inside, he could have done it easily enough. But stretching his magic into the sky from that far away left it too untethered.

A bomb sliced through his magic, plummeting into the innocent people below before Fieran had a chance to stop it. More bombs tore straight through his magic, too heavy, too big, for him to snatch away at this distance.

His dacha likely could have done it. Maybe Fieran could have, given more time. More practice.

His shield around Fort Linder faltered, and a chattering filled the air as the airship above unleashed its machine guns at the airfield below, trying to destroy the aeroplanes before they had a chance to take to the sky.

Fieran switched the focus of his magic, consuming the streams of machine gun bullets before they could pierce through his magic and strike the flyers. But doing so just weakened the magic he'd stretched out to Bridgetown, and another stream of bombs poured through his shield as if his magic was gossamer silk instead of the magic of the ancient kings.

Fieran pounded his fists into the dirt and yelled, a hot wetness trickling down his cheek. People were dying, and Fieran was too far away to stop it.

Pip handedthe roll of machine gun ammunition up to Stickyfingers where he perched in the rear seat of one of the two-seaters, caressing the machine gun as if it were a pet, testing out the crude swivel she'd fashioned. "This is the last of it."

Unless they wanted to try to throw wrenches at the airships, it was the last weapon or ammunition she had left to hand out.

"Thanks." Stickyfingers grinned at her, his gaze only darting away from the machine gun briefly as he stowed the ammunition by his feet.

Lije climbed into the front seat, placing his goggles over his eyes. "Don't shoot me in the back of the head with that thing."

"I won't." Stickyfingers didn't even look up from the machine gun.

While it might have made more sense to place Stickyfingers in the front seat, the wing struts and propeller would have impeded the large machine gun too much.

Instead, Pip had mounted the gun to the left side of the rear seat so Stickyfingers could shoot as Lije paralleled the airship's bulk.

Actually, she'd mounted all of the rifles and guns in similar fashion. They'd be awkward for the pilot to shoot, but if she attached them facing forward, the pilots would have shot their own propellers off, shattering the wood.

Pip stepped back as the ground crew took charge of the two-seater, wheeling it toward the door.

In one of the other two-seaters, Pretty Face adjusted the goggles on his face as Tiny wedged himself into the rear seat, the entire space around him piled with every canteen and bucket they could get their hands on. The water would act as a fuel for Tiny's ice magic. Hopefully the two-seater would still be able to get off the ground, weighed down as it would be.

Only two single-seat biplanes remained, waiting for Merrik and Fieran. She'd scrounged a rifle for Merrik, but Fieran's flyer was entirely weaponless. Then again, it wasn't like Fieran would need a gun.

Merrik glanced around, then he reached out, gripping Pip's arm. "Pip."

"What? What's wrong?" She glanced around. Where was Fieran? He'd been right there a moment ago.

Merrik just pointed ahead of them, toward the growing blue glow that lit the night.

Pip gasped, then broke into a run. Fieran.

Merrik matched her pace, and together they raced across the hangar. As they sprinted outside, Pip jumped at the jolt of power that shocked her even through her rubber-soled boots. A faint blue glow crackled over the ground, brighter and sparking around a figure that knelt on the ground a few yards outside of the hangar.

"He is going to take out the flyers if he is not careful." Merrik waved from Fieran to Pip. "You are the only one with magic strong enough to get close to him right now."

Pip swallowed, taking in the raw power that poured down Fieran's body and into the ground. Most of it seemed to be directed at the distant Bridgetown, a hazy glow surrounding the city. Five of the airships hovered over the city, bombs falling, the city below burning, despite Fieran's magic.

So much magic spilled out of Fieran that it pooled around him in a crackling tide, spreading outward until it threatened to engulf the airstrip and the hangar.

Pip swallowed, her mouth and throat dry. Could her magic withstand the might of the magic of the ancient kings fully unleashed like this? She'd been able to provide a shield when they'd practiced together, but Fieran had been holding back then. No, not just holding back. She could see that now, beholding his true power. He'd been using a mere fraction of his magic, like a faucet only turned on enough to drip. Now his magic was a torrent, a river raging with spring rains and snowmelt.

Calling on her own magic, Pip coated herself with a layer of magic, much like one of the ancient Escarlish knights suited up in armor.

Then she forced herself to take a step forward. The magic in the ground sparked against her magic, both drawn to and repulsed by the iron properties of her magic. Little bolts of blue magic sparked up her legs, but they didn't hurt as they slithered over her shield.

As she drew closer to him, more of his magic fizzled around her, crackling over her shield in dancing blue bolts. They didn't hurt, and the effect might have almost been beautiful, if not for the falling bombs, exploding shells, and the withering crack of gunfire as the airship overhead opened up with machine guns, aiming deadly fire at the darting flyers.

"Fieran." Pip knelt in front of him, a film of her magic coating her skin so thoroughly that he looked a strange shade of blue-gray through the layers of both of their magics flickering over her.

He raised his head, meeting her gaze. Bolts of blue magic flickered across his eyes and danced in the trails that tears had left streaked over his face. "I can't save them. I'm too far away, and I can't save them."

"Then pull your magic back, put your butt in a flyer, and get yourself close enough." Pip reached through the magic and gave him a good hard poke in the chest with her pointer finger. Now wasn't the time for gentleness or soft words. Muka would have given Fieran a good thump on the back of his head if she'd been there.

Fieran blinked, then looked beyond her. His eyes widened, and he yanked back on his magic so fast that it slapped into the two of them with a force hard enough that Pip had to brace a hand against Fieran's chest to keep herself from toppling into him. He grimaced, some of that hard edge disappearing momentarily from his face. "Sorry."

"Don't waste time apologizing now." Pip used his shoulder to leverage herself to her feet.

He stood. With one last look at the distant city, he turned away. That blue glow on the horizon winked out, leaving Bridgetown utterly vulnerable.

As they turned, two more aeroplanes took off, surging into the sky to join the battle. The ground crews wheeled out the last two aeroplanes. Near the door, Merrik gave them a nod before he tugged down his goggles and climbed into one of the flyers.

Fieran glanced from her to the final flyer, waiting for him. "Once I take off, I won't be able to hold the magic over the fort any longer."

Pip straightened to give her small frame every inch of height as the weight of those words settled on her. "I think my shield can at least deflect one of the bombs off to the side. I'm powerful, but I can't hold a shield over the entire fort."

Fieran reached out, as if to clap her on the back, before he glanced at his magic-laced fingers and halted. "Protect the command center unless you're ordered otherwise."

Pip drew in a deep breath as she nodded. Then she gave Fieran a shove. "Go. Just make sure you bring back my flyer in one piece."

Fieran nodded, then jogged toward the hangar. Pip hurried in his wake, even as the rumble of another flyer taking off reverberated from the runway behind her.

There was nothing more Pip could do but watch as Fieran climbed into his flyer, pulling his goggles over his eyes. Then their flyers were bouncing and wobbling as they maneuvered toward the end of the airfield just as one of the two-seaters took off. It must have been the one with Tiny and Pretty Face for it struggled to get into the air, ascending into the sky with almost painful slowness.

Pip stood in the hangar's doorway and lifted her hand. In a wave. In a salute. She didn't know.

First Merrik's biplane, then Fieran's, hurtled down the airstrip. Fieran hadn't even waited for Merrik's flyer to get safely into the air before starting his run, and the two of them rose into the sky one after the other.

As soon as the wheels of Fieran's flyer left the ground, the sizzling crackle of his magic burst into a shower of sparks.

The remaining airship overhead surged forward, almost gleefully. That square door opened up once again, preparing to drop another cargo of bombs onto the now nearly defenseless Fort Linder.

A boom sounded—sharper than the explosions. It had to be one of their artillery guns, able to fire once again now that Fieran's magic was no longer between them and the airship. But with the airship on the far southwest side of the fort—the opposite side from the gun emplacements by the river—the guns were nearly useless.

Would they hit one of their own flyers darting around the enemy airship? Could the artillery guns even send their shells high enough to hit the airship? She didn't know enough about guns to know for sure.

With a deep breath, Pip cast her shield back into the sky over the hangar once more even as she dashed back inside. She grabbed the sleeve of the nearest man. One of the ground crew. "Spread the word. I'm heading for the center of the fort to protect headquarters. The hangar will be left unprotected."

"Understood. Go." The man waved her off before he raced to the nearest cluster of men, pointing back to her as he spoke.

Pip didn't wait for more. She sprinted across the hangar, then out the far door. Her chest ached at leaving behind the hangar and her fellow mechanics to fend for themselves. But right now, it was more important that the base's command center was protected. If she could extend her power over the infirmary and the communications hub, then all the better.

She resisted the urge to check the sky and search for Fieran. She needed her concentration to dart around rubble. The streets of the army base were clear of people now. Fieran's shield had given them enough reprieve to get organized, manning stations and gun emplacements.

Pip skidded to a halt next to the three flagpoles in the central square of Fort Linder. To one side of her, a long brick building held the officers' quarters. The far end of it was nothing but rubble now, and a fire crew pumped a stream of water onto the fire that crackled amid the wreckage.

In front of her, the headquarters and communications buildings bustled with life, both untouched by bombs and fire. Hopefully all of the underground telephone and telegraph wires that connected Fort Linder with the rest of Escarland hadn't been severed by the bombs.

Behind her, the infirmary stretched in a long, narrow building, thankfully also undamaged. A truck was parked in front of it, and men were carefully unloading a stretcher.

Pip braced herself against the pole at her back, the cool metal soothing. She used the pole as a focal point as she raised a shield once again, stretching it as far as she dared so that it covered the entire central square of Fort Linder.

Overhead, the three flags of the Alliance Kingdoms flapped in the rising breeze, snapping as if in defiance of the airships that dared such an attack.

Pip squinted at the sky through the haze of her magical shield. Black specks of the flyers darted around the airships, only briefly visible in the glow of machine gun fire and the brief brightness when the airship's cargo doors opened to spill more bombs onto Fort Linder. At this distance, the aeroplanes looked like flies trying to harass a wolf. Mildly annoying, yes, but easily swatted aside and ignored.

Another flyer burst into flames, spiraling toward the earth. Where was Fieran? Merrik? The other flyboys she'd gotten to know so well?

The enemy airship drifted closer, dropping bombs as it traveled across the sky over Fort Linder. Explosions tore through the buildings, and from here Pip couldn't see if the aeroplane hangar remained untouched or had been hit.

Then the airship blocked the sky above her, casting a black shadow over her magical shield.

Pip braced herself against the flagpole at her back, pouring more magic into the shield stretched above her head.

The black, tubular shapes of the bombs tumbled down toward her. The first bomb struck her shield, exploding on impact.

She gritted her teeth at the force pounding her magic. Several of the bombs struck without detonating, rolling off and exploding among the buildings she didn't have shielded.

More bombs tumbled through the sky and blasted into her magic.

She cried out, pain stabbing through her skull and into her chest at the force of the explosions she staved off with the power of her magic.

Yet another explosion pounded into her. The enemy must have realized she was holding a shield over the central command of the fort, and they were hitting her with everything they had.

She crumpled to her knees, blackness dancing at the edges of her vision.