Page 39 of Fly to Fury
The healer withdrew his hand and stepped back. “I do not sense anything wrong with you.”
“Are you sure? He is not at the limit of his magic, is he?” Dacha spun to face the healer, his tone sharp enough to make the healer take a step back.
While Fieran was an adult and didn’t need his dacha speaking for him at medical appointments, he kept his mouth shut. This examination was more to reassure his dacha than anything else.
“While my healing magic cannot interact directly with his magic in that manner, I do not sense any of the usual signs of dangerously drained magic.”
“Nothing else?” Dacha gestured to Fieran. “My dachasheni died of a disease where his magic destroyed his body. Fieran has been examined for that disease before, but is there a chance it could be that?”
“While I do not have the experience with that disease that some healers do, I do not believe it could be causing this. There would be clear signs of the damage of such an illness, especially at his age.” The healer tilted his head in Fieran’s direction. “If the esteemed healer Taranath examined him and declared he did not have that particular disease, then I would not worry.”
Time to take some control of the conversation. He was the one being discussed, after all.
“Like I said, I’m just tired.” Fieran began buttoning his shirt.
Dacha swung his hard gaze to Fieran. “You have never experienced such weariness before in morning practices.”
“I’ve never wielded magic in this much quantity during practices. There has always been a limit to the amount of magic I could release at one time without incinerating something we didn’t want incinerated.” Fieran shrugged and braced himself to hop off the table.
The healer cleared his throat. “While he is perfectly healthy, his body does show the typical signs of strain that one might expect to see after a physically demanding ordeal.”
“It’s because I’m half-human, isn’t it?” Fieran sighed, not looking at his dacha as he said it. That had been what he’d suspected ever since he’d first experienced this during the Battle over Bridgetown.
The healer hesitated for a moment before he gave the small, elven nod. “Yes. That would be my hypothesis.”
Dacha’s jaw worked. He never liked it when Fieran and his siblings were considered less than because of their human half. It treaded too closely to an insult to them and to Mama, and Dacha wouldn’t hear of it.
But Fieran felt the words as a punch to his core.
As always, he was too human to wield the full strength of the elven magic. Too human to grow proper long, elven hair. Too human to truly carry the legacy of warriors he inherited from his dacha.
At Bridgetown and Dar Goranth, Fieran had begun to feel like an elven warrior in his own right. He’d earned the title of Laesornysh—elvish forDeath on the Wind—that his dacha had bestowed on him after his first battle.
But now that he was with his dacha again, he saw once more how far he fell short of being the elven warrior that Dacha was. His dacha didn’t intentionally cause the comparison. But it was there in the deadly aura and dangerous edge that Fieran couldn’t match.
The elf healer continued, facing Fieran rather than Dacha. “You wield magic that takes a toll even on a full elf. It is no wonder it would take a greater toll on a half-human. You will want to be aware that you do not push your body too far, but I do not believe there is danger to you in wielding great quantities of magic. In fact, you will likely find that your magical stamina increases as you continue wielding magic with such magnitude.”
Fieran nodded. He’d been able to wield more magic before he’d gotten tired during the Battle for Dar Goranth than he had in the Battle over Bridgetown. In this latest battle, it was likely the extra toll of holding back his dacha’s greater power and overwhelming that strange magic that had done him in so thoroughly.
“See, Dacha. I’m fine.” Fieran hopped from the table, thankful that his dizziness had disappeared. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the rest he’d gotten by sitting there during the examination or if the healer had done something with his magic while examining him. “It’s actually a good thing if I keep stretching my limits.”
“Such a thing is usually inadvisable in battle. Better to do so with practice.” Dacha’s words might have remained slightly sharp, but his shoulders relaxed.
“Sadly, I don’t think there’s a way to practice something like this.” Nor would it be a good idea to push himself to the limits in practice when there was a chance that magic would be needed in battle at any moment.
“No.” Dacha sighed, his shoulders easing the rest of the way. He turned to the healer and nodded. “Linshi.”
The healer nodded back before Fieran, Merrik, and Dacha exited the room.
As the three of them stepped into the hot air and burning summer sunshine, Fieran glanced at his dacha. Time to bringthis up, now that Dacha wasn’t so focused on worry for Fieran. “Did you sense that magic coating the enemy aeroplanes?”
“Briefly. I did not get a good sense of it before my magic destroyed it.” Dacha turned to better face Fieran, his stance returning to that of a warrior rather than the worried father.
“It was…strange.” Fieran couldn’t think of another word to describe it. “I didn’t recognize it, and I don’t think it was something created by human magicians. Or solely by human magicians. I would have recognized that magic, nor is human magic strong enough to deflect my magic, even temporarily.”
Dacha gave a crisp nod. “I will give the order to search Fort Defense for debris. Perhaps something survived that we can send back to Aldon for testing.”
“Maybe.” Considering the amount of magic he and Dacha had unleashed, the odds weren’t good that any of that magic survived, even if they could find a piece of debris big enough to test.
