Page 56 of Wings of War

They hopped on the trolley at the nearest stop, finding seats on the hard, wooden benches. They didn’t speak as the trolley wound its way through various stops around Bridgetown. Finally, it clanged as it set out across the Alliance Bridge. The bridge’s arches glowed with a soft blue light, both from the elven lights strung along it and Dacha’s magic embedded in the stone. A cool breeze smelling of wet river mud wafted up from the water rippling below them.

On the far side, the trolley pulled into a circle drive at the edge of a field, where various automobiles had been parked, since no automobiles were allowed into Calafaren itself.

At the other side of the field, racks upon racks held bicycles for rent. At this time of early evening, passengers were in the process of returning bicycles or waiting to take the trolley back to Bridgetown.

Beyond the bicycles, the main grassy path of Calafaren led between tall, stately trees that rose into the sky, the first spring leaves still vibrantly green and new. Buildings formed of living wood had been grown both into the base of the trees and into the large, spreading limbs with swinging bridges connecting them.

The various shops and cafés were all unabashedly touristy, from the wares that were declared to be elven this and elven that to the traditional silken garb of tunics and trousers of the elf proprietors.

But Calafaren was the compromise to give Escarlish tourists a way to sate their desire to see and participate in elven culture without flooding all of Tarenhiel with humans. While trips to Estyra were limited and expensive, anyone in Escarland could take a cheap trip across the Alliance Bridge to experience Calafaren.

Fieran, Merrik, and Pip climbed down from the trolley. Instead of heading into Calafaren, Fieran turned and set off into the dark forest. As the trees closed around them, Fieran released a long breath, the peace of the evening settling into his heart.

Tree frogs blasted their evening song, almost deafening with the numbers gathered along the banks of the river. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, long and low.

Merrik halted, resting a hand on the trunk of an especially large tree. “I will stay here if you want to go on a little farther.”

“Don’t want me disturbing the peace?” Like Merrik, Fieran kept his voice low, almost reverent, in the softness of the night.

“You will anyway, but I would appreciate some peace and quiet.” Merrik huffed as he sat with his back to the tree. He pressed his hands to one of the roots, and his green magic flooded from his fingers into the tree and the grass around him.

Perhaps Merrik, too, needed a moment to release his stifled magic.

Fieran set out into the forest once again, following the river. Something in his chest eased still further when Pip fell into step with him rather than staying with Merrik.

He walked for another minute or two, long enough that the glow of green had faded, before he halted at a spot where the high bank overlooked the Hydalla River. A bend in the river hid Bridgetown from view, leaving the night dark, the stars winking far overhead.

Fieran unleashed his magic, letting it burst into bolts around his hands, spilling from him onto the ground around him. The tightness in his chest eased.

He turned to Pip, bracing himself for her reaction.

Pip gaped as Fieran’s magic crackled around him, the power of it thrumming deep inside her chest even as her hair prickled. The blue of his magic lit his face and sparked deep in his eyes as he turned toward her.

She’d known the magic of the ancient kings was powerful. After all, she dealt with the magical power cells every day.

But to see Fieran wield it was something else entirely. He embodied the legends she’d grown up hearing.

“Your magic is…awe-inspiring.” She couldn’t think of anything else to call it.

He shifted, his magic surging around him in blue, crackling bolts. “My dacha is more powerful than I am.”

“By, what, one point on the Marion Scale? No one else is even close.” Pip shivered, at the cool breeze tickling her neck or the sight of a warrior wielding the magic of the ancient kings, she wasn’t sure.

Fieran gave a slight shrug, before he dropped into a fighting crouch. “You said you could make shields with your magic? You might want one.”

Oh, right. This was likely going to get deadly here in a few seconds.

Drawing upon her magic, she let it burst out of her in a hard, iron-like magic shield in a bubble around her. It shimmered a faint blue-silver in the light of his magic.

Fieran’s eyebrows rose. “You must rate rather high on the Marion Scale yourself.”

She smirked at him in return, waggling her eyebrows right back. “Don’t you know you never ask a lady her age, her weight, or her rating on the Marion Scale?”

Fieran laughed, more of his magic pouring from him. “Apparently my parents neglected that part of my education. My mother rather relishes telling people in Escarland that she’s ninety years old, just to see the looks on their faces, and my sisters aren’t shy about announcing their Marion Scale rating.”

It felt good to laugh after so much mourning that week. They would honor those who had been lost, but life had to go on too.

“I can see that.” Pip flexed her fingers, then sat down on the grass, holding the shield underneath her as well so that the damp from the ground wouldn’t seep into her clothes. “My magic is a 13.4 on the Marion Scale, so that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

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