Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Fieran tensed, his hands clenched at his sides. Should he reach for his sword? Bolt out the door? She was just one old woman, yet she could cause a lot of trouble if she called the Mongavarian authorities.
Yet she was currently hiding them from the rioting crowd. Surely that counted for something.
Dacha stepped forward, placing himself between the old woman and Fieran. He didn’t unleash his magic. Yet.
The old woman swept another glance over them before she shook her head and gestured to the table. “I can see it is a long story. Why don’t we get comfortable? We’re going to be here a while if you wish to wait out the riot.”
As long as they kept this woman in sight, she wouldn’t be able to call the authorities or otherwise betray them. If anything, they were more a danger to her than she was to them.
Fieran stepped around Dacha and slid into a seat at the small table that dominated the center of the kitchen.
Aaruk followed his example, taking the seat to Fieran’s right.
After giving Dacha a long look, the old woman sat across from Fieran, leaving the final seat with its back to the door for Dacha, if he should decide to sit.
With another glance at Dacha, who had taken a spot next to the door where he could both watch them and guard the door, Fieran faced the old woman.
It seemed explaining would be up to him.
“We were on a mission to rescue ogres who were being held at and experimented on at a facility in southern Mongavaria.”
The old woman’s gaze shot from Fieran to Aaruk.
Aaruk crossed his arms, his smile disappearing into a hardened look. “It’s true. My cousin was killed. His magic was ripped out of his chest.”
Fieran swallowed, his chest aching in the memory of that sensation. This was the first time Aaruk had talked about what he’d experienced.
“I’m sorry.” The old woman ducked her head, releasing a heavy sigh. “Not everyone supports the empress’s Mongavaria. I’ve lost the kingdom I once knew.”
Aaruk tipped his head, although his hard expression didn’t ease.
Fieran cleared his throat. “We rescued the ogres and Alliance prisoners-of-war. They made a dash for the border. However, two of our friends were captured and brought to Landri. We’re on our way there to rescue them.”
He wasn’t going to explain that they were hoping to end the war or that there were more detailed plans. She might sound sincere, but he wouldn’t trust her that much.
The old woman gave a nod. “I see. If you’ll trust me, you’re welcome to spend the night here. I will see that you are slipped out of the village in the morning.”
Fieran glanced from the old woman to Dacha. While he was inclined to take the woman up on her offer, he’d trust Dacha’s instincts more than his own.
After a moment, Dacha gave a slight nod.
“Thank you for your hospitality.” Fieran held the woman’s gaze. “We’ll gladly stay the night.”
Fieran climbed down from the back of the cart, his legs and rear end aching from the miles of jolting and bouncing over the rough road.
Due to the crush on the main road, she’d taken them down winding back roads, little more than two ruts through the rolling fields, until they were now in a deserted stretch with nothing but fields of rustling, drying corn on either side of them.
Dacha and Aaruk climbed down after him with Aaruk rubbing his rear end. Dacha’s expression twisted just briefly, his only acknowledgment of the discomfort.
The old woman turned her borrowed horse and cart around, the cart covered with a canvas that no longer hid anything but the cart’s emptiness. She halted the cart next to the three of them, her gaze sweeping over them. “Please end the war. For the sake of the true Mongavaria.”
All Fieran could do was nod in return. None of them had mentioned that goal, but perhaps she had sensed it.
Then she flicked the reins, and the cart horse set out once again, plodding down the road toward the village they’d left far behind.
Once she was gone, leaving the three of them standing in the road, Fieran turned to Dacha. “Where to now?”
They’d had a good night of sleep and their first decent meals in several days. But while the woman had spared some of her food to provide a good supper and breakfast, she hadn’t had anything else to give them for their travels.
Dacha reached into a front pocket of the Mongavarian uniform and pulled out their much-folded and abused map. Stepping off to the side of the road, he held up the map. “We are here, I believe.”
It had been rather difficult to tell where they were going when they had been meandering through endless fields and tiny paths.
Glancing at the map, Fieran took in the miles they had to go, his stomach sinking. “At this rate, we are not going to arrive in Landri on time.”
Walking was taking too long. Even if they stole another truck, it would be difficult to arrive in time, thanks to all of the displaced Mongavarian citizens filling the roads and pouring into the towns, severely slowing any travel.
He peered closer at the map, grinned, and pointed. “There. That’s how we’ll get to Landri.”
Dacha raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“We hijacked an airship. Hijacking an aeroplane should be far easier.” Fieran’s grin stretched wide across his face. Inside his chest, his magic burned, eager to leap to his fingertips. No pain accompanied the inner crackle of his magic, and that buoyed him still further.
His magic was healing, and he was going to fly again.
Darkness shrouded the outskirts of the Swenson Aerodrome while only a few low red lights inside one of the hangars provided light.
The other three hangars were dark, and giant holes were punched in the roof of the nearest one, steel ribbing visible.
Piles of wreckage were heaped against one of the other hangars while the whole area was pockmarked with craters.
Another destroyed building was still smoking.
At least the Alliance Flying Corps bombing had been rather effective here.
The fear of more bombing worked in their favor as Fieran, Dacha, and Aaruk crept through the surrounding field and dodged the various patrolling guards, whose only sources of light were shielded lanterns.
If the place had been well-lit, they would’ve had a much harder time infiltrating the aerodrome.
They’d already had a hard enough time hiking across the rolling hills of Mongavaria for the past several days, avoiding the crowded roads and villages.
It had been a long hike with very little food, an aching wound because he didn’t have access to an elven healer, and nothing but a bed on the ground to look forward to each evening.
If Fieran had wanted to be that footsore and hungry, he would have joined the infantry.
But now, a single row of aeroplanes were parked beside the airfield, just waiting for him to steal one and finally fly once more.
Fieran darted between the aeroplanes, peering at each one. He needed to find an aircraft that had at least three seats. A fighter or scout with only one or two seats wouldn’t fit all of them.
As he went down the line, his stomach sank. At this point, he’d take an aeroplane that was even somewhat functional. While it was gratifying to see how shot up and destroyed these aeroplanes were, it was rather inconvenient for their hijacking plan.
At the end of the row, he finally located four aeroplanes with three seats.
They appeared to be some kind of scout aeroplane or small bomber with two seats facing forward in a cockpit with a third to the rear manning a machine gun.
They must have been new or transferred from somewhere else recently since they were in much better shape than the rest of the aeroplanes.
“I think one of these will work,” Fieran whispered and rested a hand on the side of the nearest aeroplane. “Let me check the fuel levels before we pick one.”
They wouldn’t have a chance to refuel, even if he knew how to do that. He had to make sure whatever aeroplane they picked wouldn’t just conk out on them.
Annoying fuel-burning engines. He couldn’t wait to get back to the Alliance with magic-powered engines.
He climbed into each of the aeroplanes, checking what he guessed was the fuel gauge. Two of the aeroplanes were completely full while the other two only had half tanks.
Fieran chose the aeroplane with a full tank that was farthest down the line and motioned for Dacha and Aaruk to join him. Once they’d crept to him, he whispered, “We’ll take this one.”
Dacha peered around before he knelt. “Get it. I will start the distraction.”
“I can help if you wish.” Fieran held up his hand, although he didn’t unleash his magic. “It has been nearly a week.”
“No, not yet. Rest your magic for one more night.” Dacha laid his hand on the ground. “I can handle a small distraction alone.”
He hadn’t expected anything else. Fieran motioned to Aaruk. “Take the rear seat.”
Aaruk nodded and clambered into the aeroplane, settling into the rear-facing seat.
Fieran found the toe step on the side and settled into the unfamiliar pilot seat.
Thankfully, the pilots had left their flight caps and goggles in the aeroplane, and Fieran tugged them on, though he left the goggles on his forehead for the moment.
He swept a glance over the gauges. They had a few not installed on Alliance aeroplanes, including the fuel gauge, and far more switches.
After a few moments, he located the switch that he thought would turn the two engines on, but he didn’t flip it yet.
Blue bolts flared around Dacha’s hand and burst into the ground. They shot off into multiple directions, rushing through the ground and reaching for various points in the aerodrome.
A building to the far side of the hangars exploded in a flash of blue giving way to orange. More blue magic climbed over many of the parked aeroplanes before they exploded in balls of fire.
A siren alarm rang out over the sounds of shouting and anti-aeroplane guns barking out toward the sky.
As Fieran had hoped when he and Dacha had discussed this plan.
The Mongavarians assumed this attack was coming from the air.
In the darkness, they wouldn’t have been able to see any aeroplanes in the sky, and with how quiet Alliance aeroplanes were compared to the roar of the Mongavarian engines, they wouldn’t think it strange that they hadn’t heard them.
Men came running in their direction, and Dacha cut off his magic. He stood, poised, although he didn’t climb into the aeroplane just yet. He would need to take out any of the Mongavarians who seemed inclined to take this aeroplane.
Pilots reached the section of aeroplanes that Dacha had left untouched, and engines roared to life.
Fieran waited another few seconds before he flipped the switch.
Nothing happened but a clicking sound.
Was this the wrong switch? He’d never tried to start a Mongavarian engine before.
He peered at the Mongavarians starting their aeroplanes. There seemed to be someone spinning the propeller before the engine roared to life.
“Dacha,” Fieran hissed and gestured at the front of the aeroplane.
For a moment, Dacha glanced from him to the other aeroplanes before he nodded and headed for the front of the aeroplane. He gripped one of the blades and tugged it downward.
The engine gave a little shudder, but it didn’t fully catch.
Dacha grabbed a blade again and gave it another quick tug downward.
This time, the engine caught with a shaking rumble. Dacha leapt back as the propeller spun into motion, quickly whirling into a blur.
Fieran grinned at the feeling of an aeroplane coming to life around him again. It had been less than two weeks since he’d last flown an aeroplane, but how he’d missed it.
Several of the aeroplanes that had first spun up were moving forward, headed for the airfield.
After another moment, Dacha grabbed the wheel chocks, tossed them aside, and jumped onto the aeroplane as it rolled forward. He sank into the seat behind Fieran as Fieran steered the aeroplane into line with the others.
In the darkness, no one gave them a second glance, not even the men at the end of the airfield who waved each aeroplane forward once the previous one had successfully taken off.
When it was their turn, Fieran spun the engine all the way up. These fuel-powered engines felt sluggish compared to the quick-responding magically-powered engines. The rumble was so loud that his ears hurt with it even with the slight muffling provided by the flight cap.
At least the feel of the rudder bar on his feet and the control column in his hands was familiar, although there was no talk button. After all, there was no radio. He would have said the cockpit was silent without all the familiar radio chatter, but the engine noise far made up for the lack.
The aeroplane rumbled down the airfield, jouncing and bouncing like a sluggish, drunken turtle. The end of the airfield rushed ever closer, marked only by men holding lanterns.
Finally—finally—the aeroplane’s wings caught the air, dragging the aeroplane from the ground.
Fieran tugged the nose upward, willing the aeroplane to claw its way into the sky.
It rose slowly, both engines choking the air with exhaust. Hot oil splashed back into his face, and he tugged his goggles down to protect his eyes.
The other aeroplanes ahead of them were only black shapes against the dark sky. In the confusion of the scramble, none of them even got close or seemed to think anything of it as Fieran turned his aeroplane in a different direction, pointing its nose toward Landri.
Toward Pip.