Page 11 of Stalk the Sky

Fieran faced the room to find a seat. Many of the elven pilots already clumped together at one of the long tables while trolls in naval uniforms were scattered along various other tables.

Pip’s dark curls glinted in the light of the sunset streaming through the tiny windows where she sat with her back to the food line. Among all the brawny trolls and tall elves, she appeared a tiny child. One of the female elf pilots sat next to her, and the two of them chatted as if they were old friends.

Fieran slid onto the seat on the bench on the other side of Pip, setting his plate in front of him. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Fieran!” Pip jumped at his voice but grinned. “Meet my new roommate, Aylia Daemaer.”

“Nice to meet you.” Fieran stuck out his hand, nearly jumping himself when the female elf lieutenant leaned around Pip to actually shake it instead of ignoring the gesture as he’d expected. “I’m Fieran Laesornysh.”

Aylia paused mid-shake. “Son of the Laesornysh?”

“Yes.” Fieran braced himself as he withdrew his hand.

Merrik quietly slipped onto the seat on the other side of Fieran, a stiff presence at Fieran’s side as he waited to back him up.

“Then I am especially pleased to meet you.” Aylia’s grin widened, the expression lighting her brown eyes. “I was too young to fight in the last wars, but my dacha and macha both did, and they told me stories of the great Prince Farrendel Laesornysh. I am honored to fight at his son’s side.”

Now that was more like it. At least not all the pilots in the elven half of the squadron were stuck-up prigs.

“I will be honored to take to the skies with you. Once Escarland sends my aeroplane, that is.” Fieran shrugged as Lije and Stickyfingers joined them at the table, Tiny not far behind.

They went through a round of introductions before they all dug into their fish, the white meat flaking onto their forks.

As Fieran brought another bite to his mouth, he was grabbed from behind and hoisted off the bench. He would have lashed out with his magic at such an attack, but he recognized the voice booming by his ear.

“Cousin Fieran!”

Fieran weakly patted the chest—or perhaps arm—of the exceptionally large and brawny troll warrior pinning him in a hug. “Rokyd. I searched the harbor, but I couldn’t tell if the KS Vanguard was in port.”

“You just caught us. We’re finishing up a re-supply before going out on patrol again.” Another hand slapped Fieran’s back, accompanied by the deep voice of his other cousin.

Fieran was finally set back on his feet, and he tugged on his uniform to straighten it.

Before him, his two cousins grinned broadly. One was a tall troll warrior dressed in a white naval uniform with a lieutenant commander’s insignia on his brawny shoulders. He had the typical gray skin and white hair of most trolls, and he kept his hair shorn as short as Escarlish military standards.

The other was a tall human with brown skin and curly black hair. He, too, wore a white naval uniform but with lieutenant stripes instead.

“Good job giving the Mongavarians what-for at Bridgetown.” Lucien, the human, gave Fieran yet another backslap, which had Fieran stumbling forward. Lucien might be fully human, but he had been raised among trolls and could whack with troll-like force.

“We’ll give them the same beating if they show their faces around here.” Rokyd, the troll, gave Fieran’s arm a light punch.

Well, light for a troll. Fieran had to resist the urge to rub his shoulder.

“Join us. I’d like to introduce you to everyone.” Fieran gestured to the table, where his friends were sitting in what seemed to be stunned silence. Well, not Merrik. He had returned to eating. He was rather used to the cousins’ antics.

Rokyd and Lucien obligingly circled the table and took the open seats next to Tiny.

Tiny stiffened, his eyes widening slightly with something of the apprehension Pip showed when Fieran mentioned introducing her to his dacha. For the troll population living in Aldon—like Tiny’s family—Uncle Julien and Aunt Vriska were revered.

Fieran’s grin stretched so wide it hurt as he returned to his own seat across from his cousins. “Rokyd, Lucien, these are my friends. You know Merrik, of course. This here is Lije, and he’s Stickyfingers. The half-troll there is Donkyn Sairdror, but he goes by Tiny.”

Rokyd swiveled to better face Tiny. “Related to Erdrol Sairdror?”

“He’s my da.” Tiny’s already high-pitched tenor voice squeaked.

“He’s worked with my dasheni on a few projects. Skilled and a hard worker, so my dasheni said.” Rokyd nodded with an extra depth of respect that had Tiny sitting straighter. Rokyd’s dasheni—grandfather in the troll dialect—was Aunt Vriska’s father and one of the founding members of the troll community in Aldon.

Fieran dug his fork into his fish, flaking off a bite. He would have to hurry up and eat before his food grew too cold. “Everyone, these are my cousins Rokyd and Lucien. Uncle Julien and Aunt Vriska’s sons.”

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