Page 76 of Wings of War

Adry hugged her arms to her stomach, any trace of humor fading from her voice. “We won’t be all together until after this war ends, most likely. You left first, and now I’ll be in Estyra. Dacha is headed for Fort Defense at the border.”

“At least Mama, Louise, Ellie, and Tryndar will be together.” Fieran had to cling to that, even as his family scattered in a way it never had before.

Yes, he and Adry had traveled independently between Escarland and Tarenhiel more and more often in the past decade or two. He’d stayed behind in Aldon many times while the rest of his family traveled to Estyra.

But that separation only lasted a month or two at the most, and none of them had been heading into war. They’d still had plenty of family dinners, all gathered around the dinner table, chattering and laughing so boisterously that Dacha needed earplugs to keep from being overwhelmed.

Those family dinners wouldn’t happen again until the war was over. They might never be the same again if something happened to Dacha or Fieran or Adry during this war. As the Mongavarians had proved with this new warfare of bombs and flight, no one was truly safe. Mama and the younger siblings would all be in danger in Aldon. Both from bombs and perhaps even assassins, if the Mongavarians decided to target the main source of Escarland’s power to fuel aeroplanes, airships, and their entire infrastructure.

“Yes.” Adry sighed and dropped her hands back to her sides. “Mama will keep them safe.”

“And we’ll have to keep ourselves safe.” Fieran tipped his head in Dacha’s direction. “We have Dacha’s training. We’ll be all right.”

He had to believe that. They had been born with the magic of the ancient kings. This war had always been theirs to fight.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Fieran stood at attention in line with what remained of his squadron at the edge of the main parade ground of Fort Linder, facing the three flagpoles, the flags flapping at half-staff.

All around the parade ground, the various units stationed at Fort Linder also stood at attention, all wearing grim expressions.

Before the infirmary, all the off-duty nurses, secretaries, and other civilian personnel of the base assembled. Pip and the other mechanics stood there, but for once Fieran didn’t smile when his gaze briefly met Pip’s. She didn’t either.

The general in charge of Fort Linder halted beneath the flagpole bearing Escarland’s flag, Capt. Arfeld and the other officers beside him. The general unfolded a piece of paper and cleared his throat. “By order of His Majesty King Averett, the following is to be read throughout Escarland. Last night, the Mongavarian Empire executed a cowardly and shameful attack on Fort Linder, Bridgetown, and Calafaren. Many Escarlish and Tarenhieli lives were lost in this sudden and unprovoked attack on our soil.”

Standing at attention as he was, Fieran couldn’t look around. But he didn’t have to sweep a glance over his column to feel all the holes of those missing in the formation.

Beside him, Lije shifted and swallowed. A small, strangled cough came from someone behind them.

“It was only due to the actions of a squadron of Flying Corps pilots-in-training that the attack was halted and all Mongavarian airships were destroyed.”

At least Uncle Averett didn’t point out Fieran by name. He’d rather the credit be given to the entire squadron. The others had been far more brave than he’d been, hurling themselves at the airships with nothing but miscellaneous weapons and flimsy wood fuselages for protection.

“It is evident by this attack that a state of war now exists between the Mongavarian Empire and the Alliance Kingdoms of Escarland, Tarenhiel, and Kostaria. This morning, His Majesty requested a declaration of war from Parliament, which Parliament unanimously ratified and His Majesty duly signed. Their Majesties King Weylind of Tarenhiel and King Rharreth of Kostaria have issued their own declarations of war against the Empire of Mongavaria on behalf of their kingdoms. As of 14:30 today, we are at war.”

The words weren’t a surprise, yet Fieran struggled to breathe.

Yet there was also a strange relief that the war was finally here. The pressure of this looming war had been hanging over the Alliance Kingdoms for so many years, weighing especially heavy in the past year and months. At last, they could fight this war rather than living under the ongoing, agonizing trepidation.

Capt. Arfeld stepped forward. “Training Squadron, as of last night, your training is complete.”

Fieran’s ears buzzed as the others shifted around him. By rights, they should have had another two weeks of training.

But it seemed, now that the Alliance Kingdoms were officially at war, the army was eager to hurry them on their way to make room for the next batch of pilots-in-training.

One by one, Capt. Arfeld called each of them forward and pinned a badge formed of two eagle wings rising out of a shield in the center to their uniforms.

When Fieran’s name was called, he stepped forward, his ears still ringing a bit. Yet he stood tall as he faced his commanding officer.

Capt. Arfeld pinned the badge to his uniform and stated, “I commission you Second Lieutenant Fieran Laesornysh in the Escarlish Flying Corps.” His voice lowered so only Fieran could hear. “See me after dismissal.”

Fieran spun on his heel, then marched back to his place in line. After the darkness of the night, there was something healing in watching Merrik, Lije, Pretty Face, Tiny, Stickyfingers, and the others of the squadron step forward and receive their wings.

As the last of them received their wings and commissions, all the sergeants, corporals, and privates assembled around the square lifted their hands in salutes.

Fieran had to swallow back the lump in his throat at seeing those drill sergeants—the ones who had harassed and harried them all through training—now saluting them with a glimmer almost like respect in their eyes.

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