Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Fieran stood next to the table in the officer’s mess, crowded between his dacha and Pretty Face.
Many of the rescued Alliance officers packed into the room as well as several ogres, including the elderly ogre woman and her granddaughter.
They stood beside Pretty Face with a younger male ogre on the other side of them.
Dacha glanced around the room, swaying backward for a moment as if intimidated by so many people. Yet he was the most senior officer by far. Making decisions fell to him.
Fieran swept a glance around the room as well.
It was hard to tell since all the Alliance officers now wore Mongavarian uniforms, but he might be the second highest ranked officer there.
Most of those he did recognize—a few pilots from the other squadrons at Fort Defense who had gone down in Mongavaria over the past few months—were lieutenants.
With a deep breath, Dacha finally seemed to gather himself enough to speak. “Who is the senior officer among those imprisoned here?”
Pretty Face came to attention. “That would be me, sir. We had a captain here a few weeks ago, but he was shot trying to escape.”
Fieran swallowed, clenching his fists.
“How many Alliance officers were killed here?” Dacha’s tone remained low.
“I’m not sure. Several were shot trying to escape. And any captured elves or trolls were put right on the machine the moment they arrived and killed.” Pretty Face clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. “There are mass graves to the north side of the fence.”
“Before we leave, we will want to secure any records we can find that detail that information.” Dacha rested a hand on the stack of notebooks he’d set on the table, the ones he’d taken from the laboratories. “When the war ends, we will need proof of what happened here.”
Pretty Face nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Dacha spread out a map they’d found in the commander’s office onto the table, using the notebooks to hold it open. “We are here. The original plan was for Fieran and Pip to make a run for the border either in our hijacked airship or with a convoy of trucks, protecting it with their combined magic.”
“I’m not leaving Mongavaria without Pip.” Fieran crossed his arms. He didn’t want his dacha to get any ideas of sending Fieran to safety along with the former captives.
Besides, Fieran couldn’t use his magic. He wouldn’t be much help at the moment.
“Of course.” Dacha glanced over his shoulder at him. “And I am not letting you out of my sight. As long as you are with me, there will be no reason for you to use your magic.”
Oh, right. There was that too.
Pretty Face gave a slight shrug. “We will just have to make do without magic on our run to the border.”
As determined as he was to rescue Pip, Fieran’s stomach still sank at the thought of sending Pretty Face off without magical protection. The last time Pretty Face had tried for the border, he hadn’t made it.
Two of the other Alliance officers shared a look before one cleared his throat.
“We have made an inventory of all the weapons and ammunition here. We’ll be well armed, and there are enough trucks for everyone, if we don’t mind close quarters.
We also took all the Mongavarian identification papers and money we could find.
We might be able to bribe or bluff our way past low-ranking soldiers, at least.”
“And we’ll have the ogres’ magic to help, if they are willing.” Pretty Face glanced at the young ogre woman next to him.
She straightened her shoulders. “You’ll have our help for the first while. But we will be headed home.”
Pretty Face shook his head, still holding her gaze. “No. Groyria is still occupied territory. If you return to your homes, you will just be captured again. Please. Come to Escarland. Accept sanctuary for your people until your homeland can be liberated. Don’t place them back into danger.”
Dacha glanced at the young woman before he focused on the elderly ogre woman.
“I am Prince Farrendel of both Tarenhiel and Escarland. I can promise you sanctuary on behalf of both of those kingdoms, and I will provide you with a letter of guarantee to present to the border guards and to my brother-in-law, King Averett of Escarland. Ask to speak with him directly. He is an honorable man who will treat you fairly.”
The elderly ogre listened as the younger ogre woman translated.
Once the younger ogre finished, the old woman held Dacha’s gaze for another long moment before she spoke.
“Will you grant me a portion of magic as the guarantee of your word and that I can present to your Escarlish guards and king as proof?”
Dacha hesitated for a moment before he called up a few tendrils of his magic. He held out his hand to her. “If you can hold it, then you are welcome to it.”
The elderly ogre woman reached out and almost seemed to gather Dacha’s magic as if it were strands of hair rather than power.
It disappeared into her skin, vanishing from sight.
Something in her expression changed as she regarded Dacha, as if she had learned a great deal about him from the feel of his magic.
“Very well, elf prince. I will trust in your word on behalf of my people.”
The younger ogre woman’s jaw worked, but she turned to Pretty Face. “It seems we will be traveling with you to your kingdom after all.”
“It’s the best way to keep your people safe.
” Pretty Face’s hands twitched, as if he barely stopped himself from reaching out to her.
Instead, he turned back to the table and pointed at the map.
“I was thinking about making a run slightly southwest to the Cartmer Gorge. The fighting should be less intense there than farther north near the Engleston Gap, correct?”
“Yes.” Fieran pointed to the gorge on the map. “But you’ll need to be careful that you aren’t caught in the crossfire or by a bombing run.”
“Dressed as we are, we’re just as likely to get shot by the Escarlish soldiers guarding the border as by the Mongavarian Army.” One of the officers plucked at the Mongavarian uniform he wore.
“Perhaps we can wash our old uniforms while on the road.” Another one grimaced down at himself. “We could get shot as spies at the moment.”
“As opposed to what the Mongavarians would do to us as escaping Alliance prisoners?” Pretty Face raised his eyebrows at the two men.
The other two shared a look and shrugged.
“Regardless, you’ll want to approach the border carefully.” Fieran didn’t want to imagine these rescued captives surviving all they had, just to be killed by friendly fire.
“Maybe when we get closer to the border, we’ll paint the Flying Corps symbol on top of the trucks.” Pretty Face gave another shrug.
“So you’re the one responsible for that.” Fieran clapped Pretty Face on the shoulder. “That EFC symbol was the reason we realized there were Alliance prisoners here in addition to captured ogres.”
“I’m glad it worked.” Pretty Face’s smile faded.
Dacha traced a line on the map again. “Fieran and I will take one of the trucks and make for Landri. I have reason to believe that Prince Edmund and Pip are being taken there. It should take us about a week. While I cannot elaborate more, there is a plan in place for ending the war once we arrive.”
If Fieran’s reckoning of the days was correct, they had about a week until whatever plan Dacha and Uncle Edmund had come up with for ending the war was supposed to go down. The one that involved Rothilion’s mysterious mission.
The elderly ogre turned to the two younger ogres beside her. The three of them conversed for a moment before the young male ogre stepped forward. Like the others, his head was entirely bald with black designs standing out against mottled green skin. “I’ll be going with you.”
Dacha raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.
The elderly ogre spoke again, and the young woman translated for her.
“This is my grandson Aaruk. He has the strong ability to deflect magic and, while he cannot interact with the heart of magic as I can, he can sense your son’s magic and ensure that it’s settling into place as it should.
Please, elf prince. You have granted me your magic as safe passage.
Allow me to grant you the help of my grandson. ”
Dacha nodded to her. “Very well. I will accept his help.”
Fieran suspected the ogre woman had had his father at the whole help your son’s magic heal thing.
“Then if that’s settled, may I have permission to organize my men for our departure?” Pretty Face came to attention again, facing Dacha.
Dacha nodded. “We will need one of the trucks, one of the guns, three sets of identification papers, and some of the Mongavarian currency. Other than that, take all the weapons, clothing, and food you can find. We can make do with what we can glean on our travels, but you will have many more mouths to feed.”
Fieran gaped at his dacha. Was his dacha really suggesting what he thought he was suggesting? Glean was a rather polite word for steal food from the locals. Yes, that was a time-honored way of feeding invading armies, but Fieran hadn’t expected his dacha, of all people, to do it.
Although Dacha could be planning to use the money to purchase food.
But since the three of them couldn’t fake Mongavarian accents, unless Aaruk had depths Fieran didn’t know about, buying anything would be difficult.
Hopefully the whole too haughty to speak to lowly civilians ruse would get them where they needed to go.
“Very well, but I’ll set aside as much food as I think we can spare.” Pretty Face’s gaze didn’t waver, even facing Fieran’s dacha. “You’ll need to keep moving without taking time for finding food.”
“Those with you have been starved long enough.” Dacha’s voice held a tight, strange note to it. “I will not take food from them.”