Page 36 of Stalk the Sky

Captain Gradrah swept her gaze around the arena before she spoke in a carrying voice. “We received word from Tarenhiel that a few hours ago Mongavaria bombed the eastern forests with incendiary bombs using human magic.”

Pip stilled, a sick weight sinking into her stomach. Fire that was powered by human magic would be much more difficult to put out than a normal fire. How much of the forest had burned? Was it, perhaps, still burning as the elves struggled to put it out?

On either side of her, Merrik hunched as if sick to his stomach while Fieran had gone unusually still. Farther down, Aylia’s jaw worked as she blinked far too rapidly.

To an elf, the destruction of the trees was a profound loss. Perhaps not as mourned as the loss of lives, but a close second.

Pip’s donut churned in her stomach. It felt so wrong, sitting there enjoying a donut and watching a favorite moving picture while far away to the south the forest was burning.

“We enjoy a moment of rest today, but our time will come to fight back.” Captain Gradrah’s gaze scoured those gathered in the arena again. “The Escarlish Intelligence Office has picked up rumors of a planned attack on our navy. Nothing concrete yet, but our day is coming.”

All around the room, the troll warriors shouted in a howling, growling kind of cheer that was the traditional war cry of the trolls.

Pip wasn’t sure if she wanted to cheer or quail. When the attack came, would she be strong enough?

Chapter

Eleven

Fieran circled his aeroplane high over the middle of Drogenvroh Island. Below him, four other aeroplanes circled.

Tethered by a several hundred foot rope, an old weather balloon hovered above a rocky ledge. Farther down, targets had been set up, one pinned to a stack of haybales, another on a steep hillside.

Fieran pressed the talk button for the radio. “Lije, you’re cleared to start your run.”

“Got it.” Lije’s voice came crackling through the headset in Fieran’s cap.

One of the aeroplanes broke off from the pattern. Lije flew his aeroplane at the balloon, unleashing short bursts of machine gun fire at the hovering balloon once he was in range. After a few bursts at the balloon, Lije dove toward the first target, strafing it, before sweeping up to the final target.

Fieran tipped his aeroplane on its side to better observe. He still couldn’t see well but based on the puffs of dirt and the way the balloon had danced, Lije had hit the targets or gotten close enough.

“Well done, Lije.” Fieran kept circling with his aeroplane on its side. “Murray, your turn.”

After Murray, then Tiny, and finally a flyboy by the name of Grady each went through their practice runs, Fieran had them all go through it again, this time in pairs. Once Fieran was satisfied with their practice, he ran through the course himself, aiming for the targets as he swept past and squeezing off short bursts of gunfire from the machine gun mounted on his aeroplane’s nose. One bullet ricocheted off the metal plate on the back of his propeller, but the rest hit around or on the target.

To the south, building storm clouds filled the horizon, dark and looming. Weather reports from Tarenhiel reported that a large storm was sweeping slowly up the coastline, bringing days of high winds and rain. This would be the last chance the squadron had to fly before it would be grounded for at least a few days.

In the sky over Dar Goranth, a crowd of airships hovered, waiting to be directed to a berth to ride out the storm. Winding their way through the field of icebergs guarding the islands, Alliance warships converged on Dar Goranth, seeking shelter before the storm.

Fieran led the way back to the airfield, waiting for the other four pilots to land before he brought his aeroplane in for a landing, bumping along until he rolled to a halt before the hangar.

As he climbed out of his aeroplane, Commander Druindar strode down the last few steps leading to the observation tower, where he could watch the target practice with a pair of field glasses.

Fieran saluted as the commander approached, standing at attention.

Commander Druindar returned his salute. “That practice seemed to go well.”

“It did, sir.” Fieran remained staring straight ahead.

“It was a good suggestion on the part of Lt. Rothilion.” Commander Druindar gave another nod, then strolled off.

Fieran gritted his teeth. The practices hadn’t been Lt. Rothilion’s idea but Fieran’s. Following military protocol, Fieran had to run the idea past Lt. Rothilion, and of course the elf lieutenant had made it sound like it was all his idea when he asked permission from the troll commander to set up the targets and designate an area for practice strafing.

No matter. Fieran didn’t need to go to such lengths to kiss up to Commander Druindar. Once the Mongavarians attacked, Fieran and the rest of Flight B would show their worth.

Surely the attack was coming soon. The Mongavarians had been relentlessly bombing the eastern forests of Tarenhiel and the military bases along the eastern edge of Escarland for the past week.

Much of the Alliance fleet of both seagoing warships and airships had retreated to the safe harbor of Dar Goranth to weather the coming storm, the largest gathering of the navy so far. Rumor around Dar Goranth was that Mongavaria would attack on the heels of the storm while the Alliance fleet was still bottled up in the harbor.

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