Chapter 31 #2
Neither he nor his dacha could have done this at the beginning of the war. If Fieran hadn’t had the magical stamina or connection to his magic, then Dacha had needed the war to return to the warrior he’d once been instead of the husband and father he’d become. More, they hadn’t been angry enough.
They were angry now.
His and Dacha’s magic shot outward, covering not just the city, not just the surrounding urban sprawl, not even just the outlying farm fields. It surged mile after mile, crackling and powerful and yet not incinerating the people, the structures, the plants.
When that distant, rational part of him sensed the mechanisms of war—the metal, the gunpowder, the industry—only then did he exert enough control to consume or explode, annihilating whatever ability to make war that Mongavaria had left.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder a moment before a flood of a strangely cool but soothing magic washed over him. It twined through his magic, somehow not consumed as it followed the crackling tide outward.
Fieran peeled his eyes open and peered upward through a blue, crackling haze.
Aaruk stood there, a hand on both Dacha’s shoulder and Fieran’s, his eyes closed as he poured his magic over theirs. His mouth pressed into a tight line as he opened his eyes and met Fieran’s gaze. “Destroy those machines. Don’t let them keep the magic they stole. Avenge my people.”
Maybe in the end, this was the pinnacle of purpose for a warrior of the magic of the ancient kings. They didn’t just fight wars. They didn’t just end them. They were the vengeance for all those who couldn’t fight for themselves.
Fieran could only manage a tiny nod as his magic burned even hotter in his chest until he could barely breathe past the force of it. All he could do was drown in it as he let the waves crash across the Mongavarian landscape.
Where he sensed captured and twisted ogre magic, he released it or consumed it. Far away, aeroplanes lined up on an airfield exploded as they were incinerated. Artillery guns melted. Rifles disappeared in the power of his and Dacha’s magic.
Then another magic burst outward, racing toward his and Dacha’s across the land from a distance far closer than Fieran would’ve expected. An icy magic joined Adry’s as Rhohen, too, poured his magic over the ground. Somewhere even farther away, Louise unleashed her magic.
Yet when their magic met, it didn’t clash or spark as it always had in morning practices.
Instead, the magic twined together until Fieran could no longer tell when his magic ended and his family’s began.
As the magic melded, it magnified into one massive maelstrom.
Only Rhohen’s remained somewhat distinct, not merging with the rest as fully.
This was something the world hadn’t seen since the days of the ancient kings for whom this magic was named. Multiple warriors of the magic of the ancient kings wielding their magic together and unleashing a power that would destroy the world without an honorable heart to guide it.
Dacha spoke, his voice resonating in deep tones. “We are Laesornysh.”
“We hold your kingdom in our hands.” Fieran’s own voice felt as ancient as his power as it clawed up his throat and reverberated in his ears. He dragged his eyes open, barely able to discern hazy shapes past the blaze of blue across his vision.
“Surrender. Now.” Dacha’s voice rang hard and sharp through the magic filling the air.
“Please, Your Majesty! We must consider terms of surrender!” One of the officials was on his knees. Many of the others were sobbing, pleading. “They will destroy us!”
Empress Bella’s mouth worked. Was she still thinking about resisting even now?
Behind her, the government buildings crumbled, the roar of collapsing stone accompanied by a cloud of dust.
How much more destruction would it take before Mongavaria surrendered? The Alliance had battered Mongavaria to its knees. Would Fieran and his family have to level the entire kingdom before Empress Bella let go of her pride? Surely she couldn’t be that heartless, right?
“There will be no one left to rule if we don’t surrender!” Even protected within Pip’s shield as he was, the crown prince had gone white and shaking, all defiance gone.
Would Fieran, his dacha, and his siblings do it? They held the lives of every man, woman, and child in Mongavaria in their hands. Would they kill them all if that was what it took to keep the Alliance safe?
In that moment, Fieran couldn’t be sure just how far he’d go. This war had stripped him of his na?veté, leaving a ruthless warrior behind.
Empress Bella swept a glance around, as if taking in her burning city, her fallen empire. She gave a shuddering sigh. “Mongavaria surrenders. Please present your terms.”
Fieran breathed a magic-laced sigh, a sudden exhaustion pressing on him. How was he going to release all this magic without destroying everyone and everything?
Dacha’s magic swept over his, as if gathering it up like a harvest. Fieran followed his dacha’s nudging and sent his magic rushing toward the far Escarlish-Mongavarian border.
Dacha’s magic herded Adry’s and Louise’s magic as well.
Rhohen’s resisted a moment longer before he, too, sent his magic toward the border.
The residue of all the magic Dacha, Uncle Rharreth, and Uncle Weylind had poured into the Wall still remained, marking the location of the border.
With Dacha’s magic binding theirs into one great rush of magic, they slammed their unleashed magic into the ground.
It sought the remnants of Uncle Rharreth’s and Uncle Weylind’s magic, anchoring it in place.
Perhaps it was Fieran’s imagination, but the ground beneath his knees shook, even this far away. Or perhaps he was shaking as he released his magic, his limbs dissolving into the tired trembling of an exhausted body.
He slumped, his swords stabbed into the ground the only thing propping him upright. It took all his remaining strength just to crack his eyes open, his vision too blurry to focus.
Figures in gray and white uniforms were marching, taking up positions around them. Voices spoke, an indistinct rumbling.
A hand settled on Fieran’s arm, the grip as trembling as Fieran felt. “Sason.”
“You’re right.” Fieran’s words rolled slow and slurred off his thick tongue. “Draining your magic is uncomfortable.”
Then Pip was there, kneeling before him, her hands cradling his face. “Fieran.”
He couldn’t seem to focus on her. Or keep his eyes open.
Another voice rang near Fieran’s ear, and it took his sluggish brain a long moment to recognize his cousin Rokyd. “Let’s get you aboard my ship. You look like you could use some rest. And a shower. Maybe not in that order.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Fieran mumbled, not sure if anyone even heard him.
As strong arms lifted him, he tumbled the rest of the way into peaceful darkness.