Page 47

Nodding, Fieran turned and sprinted up the hill, his strides long and easy.

The sight sent a stab through Merrik. He once would have been able to run just as easily.

With one last clasp to Merrik’s shoulder, Dacha and Uncle Farrendel also raced up the hill to join the effort protecting Fort Defense on the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Merrik set out as quickly as he could, his strides lurching and unsteady the faster he tried to push himself. He forced himself to slow. It would do him no good to hurry and hurt himself.

Aeroplanes roared overhead as they took off from the airfield to the left of the hollow, led by Fieran’s aeroplane wreathed in the crackling blue bolts of his magic.

Merrik should have been taking off in Fieran’s wake as his wingman. Instead he was still limping and struggling along, trying to get his legs to cooperate. It was all he could do to keep a hold of his magic to move his wooden leg more fluidly.

As he crested the rise, the aerodrome came into view, the metal sides and roof of the sprawling building glinting in the light of the rising sun. Aeroplanes lined up at the end of the airfield, their propellers beating the air and setting up a steady humming sound that filled the morning air.

Near the hangar, a female elf waving caught his eye. Aylia stood by two aeroplanes pulled outside of the hangar but slightly away from the main line waiting to take off. “Merrik! Over here!”

He veered in that direction. As he approached, he glanced at the second aeroplane. It was one of the new Defenders the flyboys had shown him the night before. Yet this one had a familiar leaf with an elf ear emblazoned over it painted on the side of the nose.

Merrik gaped at it. His aeroplane had crashed. Besides, that one had been an older model. “When…how?”

“Pretty Face did that before he crashed.” Pip’s voice came from behind him. When he turned, she was hurrying toward him, the bundle of his flight gear in her arms.

Even then, Pretty Face had hoped Merrik would return. His whole squadron must have believed it since they’d set aside one of the new aeroplanes for him.

Taking the flight gear from Pip, he hurriedly shrugged into the coat, scarf, and cap. There wasn’t time to swap his boots for the thigh-height flight boots. Besides, only one of his feet would actually feel the cold.

As he scrambled into his gear, Pip gave his aeroplane a hurried once-over. As the head mechanic for their squadron, she likely would have already inspected this aeroplane several times. But she did it one more time now, as if she needed to reassure herself that she hadn’t missed anything.

With a nod to her, he grasped the wing strut, placed his left foot on the toe step, and pulled himself up. His ankle twinged at taking his full weight in such an awkward position, but he got himself high enough to awkwardly swing his prosthetic up and over the side of the cockpit.

Once he’d settled into the unfamiliar cockpit, he switched on the power and plugged the wire from his flight cap into the connection at his side, flooding his ears with the chatter of the squadron both in battle and taking off.

His stomach churning, he tugged his goggles onto his forehead, his hands shaking even more than before. He tucked his toes into the loops on the rudder bar.

This was it. Not only was he going to fly again, but he was going into battle once more. This wouldn’t be like the gentle flight in the skies over Estyra to prove he could pilot an aeroplane without endangering himself or others.

He remembered all too well the sensation of dropping lower in the sky, the wings burning, the ground rushing up to meet him.

No, he couldn’t dwell on his few, fractured memories of the crash. He had a duty to his friend, his squadron, and his kingdom, and he wouldn’t flinch now. If he couldn’t handle this, then he never should have returned.

Merrik flipped the switch to turn on his aeroplane’s engine, feeling the steady, whining hum as the rotary engine spun up, rotating the propeller.

“Ready to take off?” Aylia’s voice came over the radio, just as cheerful as always.

“Yes.” Merrik gripped the control stick as Aylia gave the orders over the radio so that the two of them could jump the rest of the line and take off next.

The ground crew raced forward and retrieved the wheel chocks, dodging out of the way as Merrik’s and Aylia’s aeroplanes began rolling forward.

The aeroplanes bumped and wobbled over the ground, the tail skids dragging. They turned the biplanes into gentle curves to line up at the end of the airfield.

After so many weeks, the spot where Merrik’s last aeroplane had crashed—and apparently blown up, though he’d been unconscious for that part—had grown back, the weeds at the edges of the shorn grass just as tall and green as before.

He swallowed, his grip white-knuckled on the control stick, as he pushed the engine to full power. His aeroplane bumped and jounced behind and to the side of Aylia’s, ready to rise into the sky in her wake.

His heart thundered louder than the roar of his engine. His knees shook more than the frame of his aeroplane around him.

Then his aeroplane’s wings caught the hardening air, lifting the wheels from the ground. In an instant, the ungainly contraption transformed into a graceful warbird, soaring toward the skies far above.

His heart still beat hard in his chest, but a sense of calm settled over him as the world somewhat quieted and the aeroplane became an extension of his hands and feet.