Page 3 of Wings of War

“Explosions are a natural part of invention. Just ask Uncle Lance.” Fieran scrambled up the ladder, then onto the higher of the two platforms grown from the tree using elven plant magic. A stainless-steel cable disappeared into the distance among the forest of Treehaven.

“There is a difference between an accidental explosion in the name of invention and relishing destruction.” Merrik climbed up the ladder after him, resting his elbows on the edge of the platform as he waited for Fieran to get out of the way.

“But blowing stuff up is so much fun.” Shooting Merrik one last grin, Fieran grabbed the handle that hung down from a pulley, then launched himself off the platform with a whoop. He was supposed to use the safety harness, but he and his siblings rarely bothered to take the time.

Merrik followed, also not bothering with the safety harness. He might protest Fieran’s recklessness, but he was secretly just as bad.

Fieran whipped between the trees. The cold air slapped his face, smelling of that particular late winter mix of wet earth and fresh air that hinted of the coming spring. The pulley hissed against the cable until Fieran slowed as he reached another platform. This one formed a hub of lines, going off in various directions.

From this platform, Fieran could see the estate’s original brick manor house, which had been claimed by Uncle Lance and Aunt Illyna. To one side of that, a large barn had been expanded and converted into a workshop that Uncle Lance, Uncle Iyrinder, and Dacha used when tinkering with inventions they weren’t ready to unveil just yet. Their main inventions and power company was based in nearby Aldon, the capital city of Escarland.

Fieran’s family’s home, a large wooden manor house, was set to the other side of the broad lane from the brick manor, though they were shielded from each other with thick stands of trees. Uncle Iyrinder’s and Aunt Patience’s smaller house was tucked farther back in the woods.

With one last glance at Merrik, Fieran grabbed the handle for the zip line toward his parents’ manor house and flung himself off the platform again. He zipped through the trees, the line lowering until his feet touched the ground.

The line dumped him out at the base of the tiered garden that ringed the balcony at the back of the turreted manor house perched on a small hill. A brick staircase wound up the terraces with iron handrails bordering each side.

Fieran launched himself up the stairs. Only a few steps up, something rolled beneath his foot, and he nearly tripped. He grabbed one of the iron handrails before he could face-plant into the bricks.

“Fieran!” His brother’s voice rang from somewhere farther up the stairs.

Fieran froze, glancing down. He’d stepped on a row of toy soldiers, knocking them over and breaking one of them.

The stairs above him also had row upon row of soldiers, meticulously lined up. The soldiers were humans, elves, and trolls, all painted in bright colors and wielding a variety of weapons.

“Sorry!” Fieran shifted his feet, trying to find a safe spot. He fumbled to re-align the soldiers, but he couldn’t get them as neat as they had been before.

“You are just making it worse.” His brother Tryndar sounded even more indignant.

He glanced up to find Tryndar—his only brother and youngest sibling—with his bare feet braced against one handrail, his toes gripping the spindles, and one hand on the other rail in complete disregard for the cold winter morning. With his free hand, he was arranging soldiers on a step. His silver-blond hair tumbled around his face and shoulders, long and flowing like an elf child’s.

While Tryndar was ten years old, he aged slower than a human but faster than a full elf. That put him more like five years old in human years.

That made quite the age gap between him and Fieran. At 68 in half-elf years, Fieran was about 136 for an elf, 21 to 23 for a human. The whole slow aging thing wasn’t so bad, except for the fact that his parents only looked like they were 35 or so in human years since their aging had slowed so much. It got a little awkward when his parents looked more like his siblings than his actual siblings did.

“Sorry, sorry.” Fieran stopped messing with the toy soldiers. Instead, he straddled the railing and shimmied up it so that he didn’t knock over any more of his brother’s carefully arranged warriors.

When he reached where Tryndar was braced across the stairs, Fieran rolled off the railing onto a step clear of toys. Before his brother had a chance to move, Fieran swept Tryndar up, then dangled him upside down. “Hey, monkey.”

Tryndar gave a laughing shriek, wiggling and swinging in Fieran’s grip. “I am not a monkey! I am an elf!”

“Really?” Fieran grinned at the running joke between him and Tryndar, ever since they’d visited the Aldon Zoological Park and Tryndar spent a full hour just watching the monkeys. “You shriek like a monkey. And wiggle like a monkey. And climb like a monkey. I think you must be a monkey.”

“No!” Tryndar giggled harder, swinging around to put himself almost right side up. Once Fieran set him on his feet, Tryndar gestured at himself. “See. I am an elf.”

“Hmm. Yes. You’re right. You’re an elf.” Fieran squeezed his brother’s shoulder, then turned his attention to the epic battle Tryndar had arranged. “Who’s winning?”

“The Alliance, of course.” Sitting cross-legged on the step, Tryndar rolled his eyes, as if that much should be glaringly obvious.

“Ah, of course.” Fieran pointed at one of the elven warriors, this one with long blond hair and wielding two swords. It was hard to tell on the small figurine, but the face was a decent facsimile. “Is that Dacha?”

“Yes.” Tryndar waved his hands and made a noise, as if trying to imitate the crackle that Dacha’s magic made.

Fieran grinned and called up a hint of his magic, then let it crackle down the stairs, spreading out around the figurine of their dacha.

Tryndar sighed, his silver-blond hair lying so magically tamed and flowing around his shoulders. He swung bright green eyes up at Fieran. “I cannot wait until I get magic.”

“I know it’s hard to wait, but you’ll come into your magic eventually. We all did.” Fieran tapped Tryndar’s forehead with a magic-laced finger.

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